“You must wait till to-morrow, girls,” she said, pleasantly, as they left the apartment.
It was a bright and beautiful morning that dawned on the day of the exhibition.
The girls were all absorbed in their preparation. White muslins were to be in requisition, trimmed with different-coloured ribbons, according to the various classes of which their wearers were members.
There was little enough time for dressing after breakfast; and all were so much engaged in their preparations that the compositions were quite forgotten.
It was not until the first bell rang for school that Florence gathered up her books and papers for the day.
“Where is my composition?” she asked, rummaging over the table-drawer into which she had thrown it the night before.
“Have you seen my composition, girls?” she inquired of her room-mates. “Where can it be? It is strange enough where it can have gone!”
Strange enough it was; for, though several of her schoolmates remembered seeing her put it in the drawer, it was not there.
Mr. Worcester was informed of the loss, and gave Florence permission to be excused from school-duties for a while, that she might find it; but, after a thorough examination of the room, she was obliged to give it up in despair.
Where it had gone nobody could even guess; but that it had disappeared past recovery was certain.