“I am afraid I did,” Elizabeth finally replied in so low a voice that her teacher could scarcely hear her.
Miss Jewett’s face fell. She sat looking at Elizabeth’s downcast face which had all the expression of one in the wrong. After a few minutes of silence Miss Jewett arose. “We’d better not say any more about this now,” she said. “I am so grieved and disappointed that I don’t know exactly what to say. I want to think it over, and I want you to think it over. Perhaps you can give me some explanation after awhile. Of course, Elizabeth, one looks for an apology for a thing of this kind, but I would rather wait till tomorrow, after school. You may go now.”
Elizabeth walked out, the tears running down her cheeks. It was the first time she had left Miss Jewett’s adored presence in such a manner. There had always been a loving kiss and a gay good-bye. What had possessed her not to explain, but to sit there and let all this wrong construction be put upon her actions? She hardly knew. She only felt that Miss Jewett should have known her better than to believe that she had planned such mischief. Appearances were against her and by some strange contrariness she had not been able to prevent it. She would not tell on Bert, that was certain; she had never been a tattler and she was not going to begin now. She walked home, being glad that Betsy had gone on ahead and that she was so late as not to encounter any of the other girls. When she reached home she went straight to her own room and threw herself down on the bed to have her cry out. After a little while Babs came trudging up the stairs. She paused a moment at the door before she called, “Lizabef, is you comin’ down to dinner?”
“I don’t want any,” returned Elizabeth from within.
Another pause while Babs considered this. “Muvver says you’d better come and get you dinner!” came the second call.
“Tell mother I have a headache and don’t want any dinner,” was the reply.
Babs went off murmuring to herself: “Has a headache; doesn’t want any dinner.”
Elizabeth spoke truly, for by the time her mother came up she was flushed and feverish and her head ached badly. Mrs. Hollins asked no questions, but drew down the shades and dropped a light kiss on the child’s hot cheek. “Try to go to sleep, dear,” she said. “I will send word by Bert that you will not be at school this afternoon.” Elizabeth was usually so eager to go that her mother knew there was no pretence in this excuse of a headache.
In the darkened room where all was quiet Elizabeth finally did fall asleep, and when she awoke life did not appear quite so dreary to her. She even thought of writing a touching appeal in verse to Miss Jewett and composed the first two lines in her mind, then she decided that this was not the occasion for anything of the kind. She had been wrong and yet she had not been wrong. The next day after school she would explain in a very dignified manner and then if Miss Jewett still demanded an apology she would see. She had been misjudged and—well, no, she had not been condemned exactly. Miss Jewett had said she must think it over. She had given her a chance to make an explanation, certainly she had. Why, she had been very patient and kind when you came to think of it. Of course nobody would like to be made ridiculous before the whole school and it was very mortifying to be made to jump and scream in that way. In her calmer judgment Elizabeth saw all this and was really quite cheerful when she at last made up her mind to trust to the morrow to smooth out the tangle. “I suppose,” said the little girl to herself, “if she had kissed me as she always does I wouldn’t have been so sure that she was angry with me. I got all worked up over that and thought it was much worse than it is.” So she arose from her bed, washed away the traces of tears, discovered that she was very hungry and when the summons to supper came, was ready to respond with the greatest alacrity.