the hope of learning if anything that had been forbidden, was
being smuggled into the house inside the folds of gayly flowered goods
that Patricia had declared was a tea-gown. After a moment, Miss Fenler
nodded as if dismissing the matter, and Patricia, her chin very high,
passed into the hall. Miss Fenler turned to look after her, as if not
sure if she had done wisely in permitting Patricia to enter with so
large a bundle, without first compelling her to open it, and spread its
contents for inspection.

Patricia's eyes had flashed when questioned about her parcel, but once
inside the hall, her anger increased, and she mounted the stairs,
tramping along the upper hall so noisily that several pupils looked out
to learn who had arrived. Farther down the hall a door opened, and Betty
Chase's laughing face looked out. She, too, had seen Patricia and Miss
Fenler on the porch and, while she did not like Patricia, she detested
the woman who seemed to enjoy spying, so her sympathy was, of course,
with the pupil.

"Had a scrap with the 'Fender'? I'd half a mind to say 'cow-catcher,'"
she said.

"Well, what if I did?" Patricia said, rudely, and walked on toward her
room.

Betty looked after her.

"Well, of all things!" she whispered, then said, "The next time you need
sympathy, try to buy some at the grocer's. Don't look to me!"

Patricia had done a rude, and foolish thing. Betty Chase was a favorite,
and Patricia had longed to be one of her friends, but thus far Betty had
been surrounded by her classmates, who hovered about her so persistently
that the pupils from Merrivale had not yet become acquainted with her.
Betty had hailed Patricia pleasantly, and she really might have paused
for a little chat, but she was one of those unpleasant persons who, when
some one person has annoyed her, is vexed with the whole world. She took
little heed as to where she was going, and stamped along, muttering some
of the many wrathful thoughts that filled her mind.

Reaching a door that stood ajar, she pushed it open, and rushed in
exclaiming:

"The horrid old thing tried to pick open my parcel, but I wouldn't let
her. I guess Miss Sharp-eyes won't try again to--Why, where are you,
Arabella?"

A tall, thin girl with a pale face and colorless hair emerged from the
closet where she had been hanging some garments.

"Do you rush into people's rooms, and call them names?" she asked in a
peculiar drawl.

Patricia for once, was too surpr