"There, deacon," said Mr. Blake, soothingly. "There's no use getting angry about it. Miss Wallace's costume was the same as thousands of other women have worn in public."
"That don't make it right," snapped the deacon.
"Nor wrong," retorted Mr. Blake.
"We'll see," said the deacon, as he drew on his mittens and started for the door. "We'll see when the school committee meets to-night what they think about it." There was a triumphant gleam in the deacon's eyes when he fired that shot, and while his audience was still in a stunned condition from the effect of it he went out.
The morning after, Mrs. Tweedie was still determined on her course, and Fanny's continued pleading did not move her. Barbara must go, and the angry, narrow-minded woman told her so and gave her reasons immediately after breakfast. Barbara had expected to be insulted again, but to be turned out on such short notice was incomprehensible.
"You must go to-day," were Mrs. Tweedie's parting words as Barbara started for school. "To-day," Barbara repeated to herself as she went down the steps. On her way she wondered if it was really as bad as Mrs. Tweedie had said. What were others thinking and saying? Her duties that day were performed mechanically. Her heart was not in the work, and she was glad when school was over, though there was a perplexing task to be accomplished before the day was done.
Fanny called for her late in the afternoon, and they started toward home together.
"I've got all of your things together, Barbara," said Fanny, trying to speak cheerfully. "I thought—mother, you know—" Poor Fanny! it was impossible to explain, or smooth over her mother's conduct, and she burst into tears. Barbara understood, and instead of being comforted turned comforter herself.
"I know that you are my friend, Fanny," she said, as she linked arms with the sobbing girl.