tle, but there was an air of encouragement about her
which urged Gwen to her best efforts.

"I made up my mind I'd let them all see I could do the work as well as
anybody, though I am the youngest," she said to herself. "They don't
sneer at me now."

Her translation from the Lower School was beginning to feel quite an
old remembrance. Her thoughts went back sometimes to that first day in
the Fifth, the day when Netta had taken her into Miss Roscoe's private
sitting-room, and she had broken the box of china. That was a
recollection which always stung, and which she would thrust away
uneasily into the lumber-room of her mind. So far she had heard
nothing more from Parker's, but the consciousness of the debt was
there, and she knew that sooner or later she would be called upon to
face the difficulty.

Nor was she mistaken. One Saturday morning, when she was taking a
little vigorous exercise with the lawn mower before breakfast, she saw
the postman coming in at the gate, and obeying a sudden impulse, ran
to receive the letters, instead of allowing him to deliver them as
usual at the door. There were four circulars for Father, a postcard
for Beatrice, and one thin business envelope addressed to "Miss Gwen
Gascoyne, c/o Miss Goodwin, The Thorns, Manor Road, Stedburgh," and
re-directed in Netta's handwriting to "Skelwick Parsonage, North
Ditton". Full of apprehension Gwen turned it over, and saw the name
"J. Parker & Sons" printed on the flap. So it had come at last!
Without even opening it she knew perfectly well what must be inside.
She wondered they had waited so long before sending in the account
again. What a mercy she had intercepted the postman that morning and
taken the letters herself! If Beatrice had got hold of this it would
have been impossible to conceal the matter any longer. Why had Netta
sent the letter on by post instead of giving it to her at school?
Surely it was a piece of spite on her part. Gwen turned quite hot as
she thought of what Beatrice would have said. She hastily put the
postcard and circulars on the breakfast-table, and ran down the garden
to a retired place in the orchard, where she could open her ill-fated
envelope in privacy.

Yes, it was just what she anticipated--a bill for ten shillings, and a
polite but urgent request that the amount should be paid without
further delay. She crushed it angrily in her hand, then stuffed it
into her pocket and stood thinking. What was she to do? What co