“What will poor Abby do, now?” exclaimed Jessie, with unaffected sympathy.
“I don’t pity her one mite—she’d no business to be stuck up so,” said Kate, who had not yet fully recovered her usual good nature.
“Her pride will have a fall now, wont it?” added Otis.
“I shouldn’t wonder if it proved the best thing that ever happened to her,” said Oscar.
“I wonder if she has heard of it, yet,” said Ronald. “I’ve a good mind to go and tell her—would you?”
“She’s heard of it, before this time—bad news travels fast,” said Mrs. Page.
“Well, I’m sorry for the poor girl—it must be a terrible blow to her,” said Marcus.
And so one and another commented on the news, most of the little company expressing sympathy for Abby, though she was by no means a favorite with any of them. Even Kate so far relented, before the matter was dropped, as to express the hope that none of the scholars would “twit” Abby about the sudden change in her position.
Abby appeared at school, the next morning, holding her head as high as ever, and apparently as calm and happy as though nothing out of the usual course had occurred. She must have been conscious, it would seem, that she was the centre of many sidelong glances, and that there was an unusual amount of whispering going on among the girls; but she did not appear to notice these significant signs. So it began to be believed that she had not heard of her father’s failure. After a while, however, one miss who had had many a sharp encounter with Abby, unable to stand the painful suspense any longer, bluntly put the question to her old enemy, in the presence of several of her school-mates—
“Did you see the Boston papers, yesterday?”