The fun went on after that with more moderation, and everybody had a pleasant time. That is, so supposed Hiram Strong until, in going out of the barn again to get a breath of cool air after one of the dances, he almost stumbled over a figure hiding in a corner, and crying.
“Why, Sister!” he cried, taking the girl by the shoulders, and turning her about. “What's the matter?”
“Oh, I want to go home, Hi. This isn't any place for me. Let me—me run—run home!” she sobbed.
“I guess not! Who's bothered you? Has that Pete Dickerson come back?”
“No!” sobbed Sister.
“What is it, then?”
“They—they don't want me here. They don't like me.”
“Who don't?” demanded Hiram, sternly.
“Those—those girls from St. Beris. I—I tried to dance, and I slipped on some of that horrid soap and—and fell down. And they said I was clumsy. And one said:
“'Oh, all these country girls are like that. I don't see what Let wanted them here for.'