Meanwhile Alma Driscoll had hastened home to an empty cottage, where she threw herself on the calico-covered bed and gave way again to her hurt and sorrow, until she had cried herself to sleep.
There her mother found her when she returned from work. Mrs. Driscoll had plenty of troubles of her own in these days, adjusting herself to her present situation and trying hard to fill the position which her old friend Mr. Knapp had found for her. Alma knew this, and every evening when her mother came home from the factory she met her cheerfully, and had so far bravely refrained from telling of the trials at school, which were big ones to her, and which she often longed to pour out; but the sight of her mother's face always silenced her. She knew, young as she was, that her mother was finding life in the great school of the world as hard as she was in pretty Miss Joslyn's room; and so she kept still, but her eyes grew bigger, and her mother saw it.
To-day when Mrs. Driscoll came in, she was surprised to find the house dark. She lighted the lamp and saw Alma asleep on the bed. "Poor little dear," she thought. "The hours must seem long between school and my coming home."
She went around quietly, getting supper, and when it was ready she came again to the bed and kissed Alma's cheek.
"Doesn't my little girl want anything to eat to-night?" she asked.
Alma turned and opened her eyes.
"Guess which it is," went on Mrs. Driscoll, smiling. "Breakfast or supper."
"Oh, have you come?" Alma sat up. She clasped her arms around her mother. "Please don't make me go to school any more," she said, the big sob with which she went to sleep rising again in her throat.
"Why, what has happened, dear?" Mrs. Driscoll grew serious.