"Don't leave me," she whispered imploringly. "Please take me back with
you. Oh, please!"

"Dearie, I wish I could," her friend answered with a caress. "But I
can't. My little girl must stay here now--and study--and be good."

Anne watched the carriage start off, feeling that it must, must, must
turn and come back to get her. But it rolled out of sight under the
archway of trees. Then Miss Morris took her by the hand and led her into
a small office. She read a long list of things that Anne must do and a
still longer list of things that she must not do. She called on Anne to
read in two or three little books, and questioned her about arithmetic
and history and geography.

Finally she escorted the new pupil to the dormitory. It was a large,
spotless apartment which Anne was to share with five other American
girls, some older, some younger, than herself. Each girl had her own
little white bed, her own little white dressing-table and washstand, her
own little white box with chintz-cushioned top, in which to keep her
private belongings. Miss Morris called Louise, one of the maids, to
unpack Anne's trunk. As the articles were put in her box and drawers and
on her shelves and hooks in the dormitory closet, Miss Morris said: "Now
remember where your shoes are, and keep them there."

"Do not forget to put your aprons always in that corner of the third
shelf."

"The left-hand drawer of the dressing-table is for your handkerchiefs,
and the right-hand drawer is for your hair-ribbons."