Hetty flushed up to the roots of her hair and for a few moments could not speak. She had just been on her knees asking for strength from God to overcome her pride, and here was an opportunity for practising meekness. But it was dreadfully hard, thought Hetty.
"I will try and do it, Miss Davis. But may I write a letter in my own way?"
"Certainly, my dear. I am glad to find you so willing to acknowledge yourself in fault."
Left alone to perform her task Hetty opened her desk and sat biting her pen. At last she wrote:
"Dear Phyllis,—I am very sorry I said so rudely that you did not tell the truth. But oh, why did you not tell it, and then there need not have been any trouble?
"HETTY."
Hetty brought this note herself into the school-room, and in presence of Miss Davis handed it to Phyllis.
"Do you call that an apology?" said Phyllis, handing the note to Miss Davis.
"I don't think you have made things any better, Hetty," said Miss Davis.
"I said what I could, Miss Davis. Phyllis ought to apologize to me now."
Phyllis gave her a look of cold surprise, and took up a book.