She tried to make it up to Elsie; but a change had come over the child, and she shrank from her friend. Meg knew Elsie felt ashamed, and she busied herself about the child to prove that the sorrowful time was not forgiven only, but forgotten also. She watched her opportunities to help the little one at her lessons; to put away her books, pencils, and other belongings. Elsie refused help, and avoided giving Meg those opportunities. The old clinging ways were gone. The chattering voice was hushed. A circle of ice seemed to surround the child.
Meg felt lonely and blank; and pity mingled with her desolateness. All the graceful radiance of childhood had gone from Elsie. Meg knew the change was due to remorse; the shyness of guilt was upon Elsie's heart. She longed to make the child smile and prattle again. As Elsie had longed for that foolish diamond, so Meg longed for Elsie's smile and prattle.
April had come; there were violets and primroses in the woods about Moorhouse, and Miss Reeves announced that the Saturday half-holiday might be spent afield. Meg determined that to-day she would conquer her pet's shrinking—that she would win that laugh. She went to look for Elsie. She found her lying listlessly on a bench in the sunshine. As she approached Elsie turned her face away.
"We are going out into the country to pick flowers," said Meg, kneeling beside her.
Elsie did not answer, and made a little movement with her elbow as if to wave Meg away.
"We are not to walk two and two together like soldiers," Meg went on, taking no notice. "When we get to the woods we are to break up our ranks and run wild. You and I will hunt for violets together."
"I don't want to go," said Elsie.
"You are not well, my pet," said Meg, patting the little hand.
"I am quite well," said Elsie harshly. "I do not want to go, that is all."