Miss Rutherford's name,--nothing more. That lady herself was
middle-aged, grave at all times, kindly, and, be it added, fairly
competent as things go in the world of school. The room was rather
bare, but the good fire necessitated by the winter season was not
wanting, and the plain boarding of the floor showed itself no
stranger to scrubbings. A clock hanging on the wall ticked very
loudly in the perfect stillness as the schoolmistress took her seat.

She appeared to examine a book for a few moments, then raised her
head, looked at the faces before her with a troubled expression, and
began to speak.

"I wish to know who can give me any account of the way in which
Harriet Smales received her hurt. Stop! Hands only, please. And only
those raise their hands who actually saw the blow struck, and
overheard _all_ that led to it. You understand, now? One, two, three
--seven altogether, that is quite enough. Those seven will wait in
the room at four o'clock till the others have all gone. Now I will
give the first class their sums."

The afternoon passed Very slowly to teacher and pupils alike. When
the clock struck four, work was put away with more than the usual
noise and hurry. Miss Rutherford seemed for a time to be on the
point of making some new address to the school before the children
departed, but eventually she decided to keep silence, and the
dismissal was got over as quickly as possible. The seven witnesses
remained, solemnly seated at their desks, all anxious-looking.

"Lucy Wood," Miss Rutherford began, when the door was closed and
quiet, "you are the eldest. Please tell me all you can of this sad