would not, I felt, be understood.

One morning in June I left home with
my resentment burning fiercely within
me. I had not cared for the things we
had for breakfast, for I was half-ill
with fretting and with the closeness of
the day, but my lack of appetite had
been passed by with the remark that
any one was likely not to have an ap-
petite on such a close day. But I was
so languid, and so averse to taking up
the usual round of things, that I begged
mother to let me stay at home. She
shook her head decidedly.

"You've been out of school too many
days already this term," she said.
"Run along now, or you'll he late!"

"Please --" I began, for my head
really was whirling, although, quite as
much, perhaps, from my perversity as
from any other cause. Mother turned
on me one of her "lastword" glances.

"Go to school without another word,"
she said, quietly.

I knew that quiet tone, and I went.