It was at this moment that little Sarah Wenner appeared by the side of the tall principal. Her cheeks were flushed, she clasped her hands across the bosom of her red dress.
"Is it anything I can do?" she asked. "I know what the ghosts should say, and where they should stand always. You begin here, and then you wheel a little piece up there and—Ach, I know it all by heart. I heard them say it every evening when they practiced. You said—you said—"
But the impulsive courage which had prompted her speech had fled, her voice failed, and she stood abashed, her face growing scarlet.
It was several minutes before she dared to look up. She expected that Miss Ellingwood would reprove her sternly. She knew better than to interrupt older persons like that, but she had forgotten. She was always forgetting. In one awful moment of forgetfulness she had emptied a pitcher of water on Miss Ellingwood's head. Her presumption in offering overwhelmed her. They would think that she was crazy. If she could only get away, where she would not need to look up and see the frowns on their faces.
"Ach," she began, "I do not know what I am talking about. Sometimes I act so dumb. I—" She backed slowly away. "I—"
Suddenly Miss Ellingwood was at her side. She seized her arm, and held her for a moment without speaking.
"Wait a minute." Then she looked up at Dr. Ellis. "I believe—I believe it could be done. Come, Sarah."
Dr. Ellis followed them behind the scenes.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes. Postpone the ringing of the bell till a quarter after eight. And send all the Juniors here at once. Sarah, run up and get into your gymnasium suit, and bring two stiff petticoats and my long white wrapper, and tell Ethel and Gertrude to come as fast as they can. Go like a breeze, Sarah dear."