iteful jokes made by Mrs. Cole at the expense of
John's driving and Nan's sitting beside him while he did it.

Happily the horses knew the way home and were eager to get there, so
they did not have to be urged or guided. But it was necessary to hold
a tight rein, and John's hands soon began to feel tortured and twisted
with the strain upon them biting through their numbness like screws of
pain. He shook his head determinedly when Nan offered to relieve him,
and at last she had to wrench the reins from him in order to take her
share of duty and give him a chance to recover a little.

So, taking turns faithfully like good comrades, and exchanging never a
word, they got the sleigh and its load safely into town at last, and
not one of the gay, irresponsible party knew how difficult an
achievement it had been.

Miss Blake herself opened the door to Nan and let her in. One glance
at her, as she stood huddled and quivering with cold in the vestibule,
was enough. Not a question was asked. She was led gently into the
warm dining-room, her hood and cloak taken from her and her frozen
hands briskly chafed, while on Miss Blake's tea-stand stood her little
brass kettle, bubbling and purring merrily above its alcohol flame, and
hinting broadly at soothing cups of something "grateful and comforting."

Nan let herself be waited upon in a sort of half dream. The agony in
her hands had been so great that it had taken all her strength to bear
it, and now it was going she felt weak and babyish.

"O dear!" she broke down at last, with a gulp of relief. "It's been an
awful evening! Mrs. Cole was detestable. Do you know what she did?"
and then came out the whole story pell-mell: all told in Nan's blunt,
uncompromising way, and giving Miss Blake a better idea than anything
else could have done of just how right she had been in opposing the
girl's going under such chaperon age.

She was too wise to say "I told you so," and she was too sincere to try
to gloss over the probable result of the episode. She looked grave and
thoughtful when Nan had finished her account, and her voice was very
serious as she said:

"What the consequences to the others may be I don't know; I dread to
think. But I feel that at least you and John and Mary have seen things
as they are, and will profit by your experience. You remember the talk
we had at Mrs. Newton's before the holidays? She said 'Experience is
an expensive school, and only fools can af