As soon as ever breakfast was over, Aneta went to Mrs. Ward’s private room.
“Now, dear, what is it?” said the head-mistress. “I have to take the class for literature at half-past nine, and have very little time to spare.”
“I won’t keep you,” said Aneta; “but what I wanted was to beg for a day’s holiday.”
“My dear girl! What do you mean? In the middle of term—a day’s holiday! Can you not take it to-morrow?—oh, I forgot, to-morrow Maggie is having her grand carnival, as I call it. But what is the matter, Aneta? Have you any trouble?”
“Yes,” said Aneta; “and I cannot tell you, dear Mrs. Ward.”
“I trust you, of course, Aneta.”
“I know you do; and I want you to trust me more than ever. It has something to do with Maggie.”
Mrs. Ward slightly frowned. “I am never sure”—she began.
But Aneta stopped her impulsively. “If you give me that holiday to-day,” she said, “and if you trust me, and if you will also give me Mrs. Martin’s address, which, of course, you must have on your books”––
“Mrs. Martin’s address?” said Mrs. Ward.