"You'll have to do some missionary work, Sarah," Laura said merrily. "This closet seems to be empty. Hang your hat here, and take that bureau. We'll turn it this way so that the light is a little better. That is the way Helen Ellingwood used to have it when she and I roomed here together. The school wasn't so crowded and there were only two of us. Now we'll take your pitcher down the hall and fill it, and by that time your trunk may come, and perhaps the owners of these clothes, also, and then we can clear up."
They made their way round the trunks and boxes in the hall. A few doors away, a girl who was bending over her trunk stood up to let them pass. She turned her face away, but not before they had seen that it was streaked with black. Her hands, too, were as black as ink, and she was crying. Laura stopped at once.
"Why, what is the matter?"
"I packed—a—bottle of ink—in my trunk, and it—it has broken. I—"
Laura looked into the depths of the trunk.
"Oh, my child! Have you taken the bottle out?"
"Yes, but the ink is there yet."
Laura pushed back her cuffs.
"Can you get me a lot of newspapers and spread them thickly on your floor? There, in the sunshine. Why, these things seem black to begin with. Your gymnasium suit is black, isn't it? And here is a black skirt. See, it hasn't reached down to your books, and the trunk isn't stained."
"But my white petticoats are—are all black." The girl's tears made white channels on her face.