"No you don't!" cried Zillah now, as she saw the mystery threatening so
meanly to escape her.

"No you don't!" cried Helene. "You've seen our mottoes--and now we're
going to see yours!"

Almost crazed with new terror Rae Malgregor went dodging to the
right,--to the left,--to the right again,--cleared the rocking-chair,--a
scuffle with padded hands,--climbed the trunk,--a race with padded
feet,--reached the door-handle at last, yanked the door open, and with
lungs and temper fairly bursting with momentum, shot down the
hall,--down some stairs,--down some more hall,--down some more stairs,
to the Superintendent's office where, with her precious motto still
clutched securely in one hand, she broke upon that dignitary's startled,
near-sighted vision like a young whirl-wind of linen and starch and
flapping brown paper. Breathlessly, without prelude or preamble, she
hurled her grievance into the older woman's grievance-dulled ears.

"Give me back my own face!" she demanded peremptorily. "Give me back my
own face, I say! And my own hands! I tell you I want my own hands!
Helene and Zillah say I'm insane! And I want to go home!"




CHAPTER III


Like a short-necked animal elongated suddenly to the cervical