r soul. What would Professor Sutton do?--he was fearfully strict. And
father and mother would never understand...

If only Don Jones would stop babbling to her! Why did he persist in
walking beside her, anyway? That lock of hair didn't mean anything!
She wished she hadn't given it to him; why had she, anyway? She herself
couldn't comprehend why, and Raymond would never, never comprehend.

The farther she walked, the less she saw the pleasanter aspects of
Raymond's jealousy and the more what might be the outcome of it. Perhaps
he'd never have anything to do with her again. That would be terrible!
And she'd have such a short time to try making it up. For in less than
a month she'd have to go with Aunt Isabel to Colorado; and, then, she
wouldn't see Raymond for weeks and weeks. Colorado! It was like talking
of going to the moon, a dreary, dead, far-off moon, with no one in it to
speak to. Aunt Isabel? Aunt Isabel was sweet, but she was so old--nearly
thirty! How could she, Missy, go and leave Raymond misunderstanding her
so?

But who can tell how Fate may work to confound rewards and punishments!

It was to become a legend in the Cherryvale High School how, once on
a day in May, a daring band ran away from classes and how the truant
class, in toto, was suspended for the two closing weeks of the semester,
with no privilege of "making up" the grades. And the legend runs that
one girl, and the most prominent girl in the class at that, by reason of
this sentence fell just below the minimum grade required to "pass."

Yes; Missy failed again. Of course that was very bad. And taking her
disgrace home--indeed, that was horrid. As she faced homeward she felt
so heavy inside that she knew she could never eat her dinner. Besides,
she was walking alone--Raymond hadn't walked home with her since the
wretched picnic. She sighed a sigh that was not connected with the grade
card in her pocket. For one trouble dwarfs another in this world;
and friendship is more than honours--a sacred thing, friendship! Only
Raymond was so unreasonable over Don's lock of hair; yet, for all the
painfulness of Raymond's crossness, Missy smiled the littlest kind of
a down-eyed, secret sort of smile as she thought of it... It was so
wonderful and foolish and interesting how much he cared that Missy began
to question what he'd do if she got Don to give her a lock of his hair.

Then she sobered suddenly, as you do at a funeral after you have
forgotten where