"I don't see," meditated Amarilly, "what possessed the cow. She's been so gentle always, and then to fly to pieces that way, and riddle the surplice to bits! It was lucky there was nothing else on the line."
"It's very simple," said Colette. "I suppose she wanted to go to the train. Maybe she expected to meet a friend. And as nearly everyone else had worn the surplice on special occasions, she thought she could do the same; only, you see, never having been to church she didn't quite know how to put it on, and I suppose got mad at it because it didn't fit her and gave vent to her anger by trampling on it."
Amarilly's doleful little face showed no appreciation of this conceit.
"Don't look so glum, Amarilly. I have something to show you that will please you."
She opened a desk and took a thick, white square envelope from it, and handed it to the little girl.
Wonderingly Amarilly opened it and took out a folded, engraved sheet of thick paper. She read eagerly, and two little spots of pink came into her cheeks.
"Oh, oh!" she cried, looking up with shining eyes, which in another moment glistened through tears.
"Why, Amarilly, aren't you glad that I am going to be—"
"Mrs. St. John?" smiled Amarilly. "I think it's beautiful. And," anxiously, "you will surely be good to—him?"
"Yes," replied Colette softly "I will be good—very good—to St. John.
Don't fear, Amarilly."