affair."

There was one of the seven faces far more discomposed than the rest,
a sweet and spiritual little countenance; it was tear-stained,
red-eyed; the eager look, the trembling lips spoke some intimate
cause of sympathy. Before the girl addressed had time to begin her
answer, this other, one would have said in spite of herself,
intervened with an almost agonised question.

"Oh, Miss Rutherford, is Harriet really dead?"

"Hush, hush!" said the lady, with a shocked look. "No, my dear, she
is only badly hurt."

"And she really won't die?" pleaded the child, with an instant
brightening of look.

"Certainly not, certainly not. Now be quiet, Maud, and let Lucy
begin."

Lucy, a sensible and matter-of-fact girl, made a straightforward
narration, the facts of which were concurred in by her companions.
Harriet Smales, it seemed, had been exercising upon Ida for some
days her utmost powers of irritation, teasing her, as Lucy put it,
"beyond all bearing." The cause of this was not unknown in the
school, and Miss Rutherford remembered the incident from which the
malice dated. Harriet had copied a sum in class from Ida's slate--
she was always copying from somebody--and the teacher, who had
somehow detected her, asked Ida plainly whether such was not the
case. Ida made no reply, would not speak, which of course was taken