"Yes, Dorothy," came the answer; "what have you to say?"
"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her arithmetic—I have done so several times."
Poor Miss Merton looked grieved beyond measure.
"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now; the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that your name is cleared of all stain."
A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon, neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and, in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.
Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving little heart was sore within her.
"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely nothing has happened to the boys!"
"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them coming into the station as we started off."
"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a serious matter."
As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole unhappy story.