Early Monday morning a messenger boy brought May Randall’s Woodcraft chest to the gymnasium and handed Miss Miller a note. The letter was type-written on plain paper so no clue was given to the sender or writer. Just a few lines saying how sorry the writer was that the disappearance of the box had caused the trouble it had.
The note was not signed and many conjectures were made as to who could possibly have sent it, or where the chest could have been all this time. Even Eleanor seemed as anxious as any other girl to find out who sent the note or took the box away only to return it.
To every query as to who the culprit might be, Miss Miller shook her head and maintained a strict silence. But she was greatly disappointed in Eleanor, for she had no idea the girl could act the part of a hypocrite as perfectly as she was doing in this case.
That afternoon, when the other girls had gone to Zan’s house to work on the bead bands, Eleanor stopped in at the gymnasium to see Miss Miller.
“Don’t you think I carried it out well?” said she, as she sat in the chair beside the Guide.
“It all depends on what one considers ‘well,’” replied Miss Miller, earnestly.
“I mean—I got away with the note and return of the box without anyone dreaming who it was,” explained Eleanor, evidently eager to have the teacher commend her sagacity.
“I am sorry you have such a short-sighted view of right and wrong. The last deception you played is even worse than the first, for you were informed of your mistake and ought to make full amends. As you have left it now, every innocent boy or girl in school may be wrongly thought the thief!”
Miss Miller purposely used the hard term “thief” to try and rouse the girl to a sense of her obligation. It seemed to bite in.
“O-oh—Miss Miller!” gasped Eleanor. “No one can call a practical joke a theft! You are dreadfully strict and unfair.”