When noon came, and Cassy went home to dinner, she put a brave face on the matter. She knew it would break her father's heart to know how keen had been her disappointment. So she spoke of the large school-room, and of the classes in which she had been placed; and Mr. Deane nodded approval, while his wife put her head on one side to see if that changeable silk could not bear to be taken in a little in the biases. How could Cassy tell her that the gown was "queer"? How could she even mention that her shoes were coarse, and that they hurt her feet?
"Perhaps the girls will speak to me to-morrow," she thought, patiently.
But they did not. Again Cassy sat in her corner quite alone. In vain she told herself that it was "no matter," in vain she "played" that she did not care.
"I sha'n't mind it to-morrow."
To-morrow came, and it was just as hard as to-day.
At last one morning at recess it did seem as though she could not bear it any longer. A big lump was in her throat, and two tears sprang to her eyes; but still she tried to say, "Never mind; oh, never mind."
Just at that moment a voice sounded in her ear. She turned and saw a face rosy with blushes.
"I didn't know," began the voice, hesitatingly—"I thought you might like—anyway, I am Bessie Merriam."
Cassy looked out shyly from under her lashes. "I am Cassy Deane," said she.
"You're a new girl," continued Bessie, more boldly, "so I had to speak first. Would you like to play, 'I spy'?"