be made to linger so
pleasantly over the whole morning, was accomplished for once in an hour
or so; and the girls found themselves, at eleven o'clock, with nothing
further to do until Miss Tomlinson should send for them to pack their
things. On any other packing-day the playroom would have been cleared
of chairs and tables in a few minutes, and somebody would have been
dragged to the piano to play a valse, and there would have been plenty of
amusement for every one until dinner-time. But to-day nobody wanted
to dance, and hardly any one talked.

Jean Murray sat motionless on one of the window-seats in the senior
playroom. On packing-day all ordinary restrictions were suspended, and
the younger children wandered in and out of the two rooms as they pleased.
Jean had taken advantage of this privilege to escape from her usual
play-fellows, who were remaining behind from force of habit in their own
domain. The way Angela persisted in crying was enough to drive any one
away; she had cried all through prayers, and had begun again directly
after breakfast. Mary Wells, forgetting how much she had endured on former
occasions from the triumvirate, sat with her arm round Angela's neck,
calling her 'Poor darling!' at intervals, with an occasional sob of her
own to keep her company. Some of the others cried a little too,--at least,
they did when they came near Angela,--and Charlotte Bigley was in such
a temper that no one dared speak to her. All together, the juniors' room
was more than Jean could bear just then. Jean was not crying herself: she
had not cried a drop since she saw the streak of scarlet twist round in
the air and drop with a thud that still sounded in her ears.

It was not a bit like the last day of the term. 'Tommy' did not once
come to the door and call out the name of the next girl who was to go
upstairs and pack. Nobody in the room was exchanging addresses with any
one else, or promising to write weekly letters during the holidays.
Margaret was as cross as Charlotte Bigley, it seemed, for she allowed no
one but Ruth Oliver to come near her; and the other big girls were
scattered about the room in idle, listless groups, conversing a little,
now and then, in hushed tones. None of them noticed Jean; and Jean
never saw them. She just sat rigidly on the window-seat, and looked
straight in front of her, with the odd, hard expression on her face
that had been there since the night before.

Margaret was sitting at the t