"Gracie is absent. Did you make her sick at your party last night, Maggie?"
Then Maggie told of Gracie's loss; and two or three of the children said they remembered quite well that Mrs. Bradford had come into the hall, and handed Gracie her paper just before she went away.
The child came in a little later, looking the very picture of woe, and bringing an excuse for tardiness from her mother. But she was in no mood to meet any extra kindness in a grateful spirit; and showed herself altogether so pettish and disagreeable that Miss Ashton was more than once obliged to call her to order. Then she cried afresh, and said that every one was "hateful," and no one cared for her, and that she just believed they would not tell her if they knew where her composition was.
"Come here, Gracie," said Miss Ashton; and Gracie went slowly and reluctantly to her teacher's side. "Do you really think, if any of your schoolmates knew where your composition was, they would not tell you?" said the lady.
Gracie put up her shoulder, hung her head, and fidgeted from one foot to another; but Miss Ashton repeated her question.
Then, her ill-temper getting the upper hand of all her better feelings, she answered sulkily,—
"I don't believe Maggie or Bessie would. I know they are just glad enough."
"O-o-o-o-h! o-o-o-o-h! What a shame!" and such exclamations broke from the other children. But Miss Ashton commanded silence.
"That is a grave charge to bring against any one, Gracie, and especially against those who have been your friends for so long," said the lady. "I am ashamed of you."
And Gracie was ashamed of herself, though she would not acknowledge it; but only pouted the more at Miss Ashton's gentle reproof.