Anne’s glance at her friend was scornful. “Do you mean to tell me, Kathryn Von Wellering, that you don’t care whether you frighten that little old lady to death or not? You’d sneak away, would you, and leave her all alone here unable to get up and terrorized for the long hour before her daughter gets back?”
Luckily the moaning of the wind made it impossible for the little old lady to hear this whispered conversation.
Kathryn’s lips curled, but before she could reply, her searching eyes discovered the manuscripts tied in a neat bundle. They were ready to be given to Virginia on the morrow. Seizing them, the girl climbed through the window, upsetting, as she did so, a flower pot that was on the sill. It fell to the floor with a crash.
At that moment they heard a pitiful, frightened cry from the room occupied by the frail, elderly mother of Miss Torrence.
Anne Petersen turned, her eyes flashing. “Kathryn Von Wellering,” she said, “I’m going back there and comfort that poor little old lady. I have a grandmother of my own at home and I wouldn’t want her to be treated in this way. You are the most heartless girl I have ever known. Here, take your bracelet; take it or I’ll throw it in the snow.”
Kathryn caught the arm of the other and tried to drag her toward the school, but Anne shook herself free. “Coward,” she said, “all you are afraid of is that I’ll squeal on you. Don’t you worry. I won’t. And don’t you ever speak to me again. I’m through.”
Turning, she walked around to the front of the cabin and entered the door. She heard the pitiful sobbing of the little old lady.
“Mrs. Torrence,” she called reassuringly, “don’t be frightened. It’s just one of the girls from the school. I—I had a sort of a headache, and I—I came out to let the cool night air—” For the first time in her fifteen years Anne felt a scorn for lying. She wished she could tell the truth, but she couldn’t. She had promised Kathryn she wouldn’t squeal.
“Who is it? Which one of the girls, and what was it fell?” came the faint voice, but Anne noted with relief that the fear was gone.
She walked to the door of the bedroom and switched on the light. “I’m Anne Petersen,” she said. “You haven’t seen me before. I haven’t been over to Pine Cabin, but I heard you call out and so I came in.”