“Miss Blyth, I shall report you for talking after midnight.” 

 This was Miss Ashton, cold, and hard, and short as usual. Trust her to go to sleep while there was a chance to snatch at somebody else’s penny! 

 “Very well, Miss Ashton, you can report me, and you can say, at the same time, that it’s a wonder that I was alive to talk at all, for what I’ve gone through this day, and this night, I alone can tell.” 

 I plumped down on my box, and I leaned my back against the wall, and I had to cry. Then all the girls set off together. Lucy Carr sat up in bed, and she put her arms about my neck; she was a nice girl, was Lucy Carr, we hardly ever quarrelled. 

 “Never mind her, my love; you know what she’s like; she can’t help it, it’s her nature. Don’t you cry, my dear.” 

 And then there were such remarks as “It’s a shame!” “Poor dear!” and “How can people be so cruel?” from the others. But Miss Ashton was not touched, not she; she simply said, in her cold, hard tones: 

 “Miss Carr, Miss Sheepshanks, Miss Flick, Miss James, I shall report you for talking after midnight.” 

 “That’s right,” said Lucy, “and much good may our money do you. I wish it would burn a hole in your pocket!” 

 Then the girls were still. Of course they did not want to lose all their money, and there was no knowing what the fine might be for talking at that time of night, and especially for keeping on. So I sat on my box, and I wiped my eyes; I never do believe much in crying, and somehow I felt too mad for a regular weep. I should like to have given Miss Ashton a real good shaking—everything would go wrong! 

 Just as I was beginning to undress—I actually had unhooked my bodice—I thought of what the object in the grey canvas cloth had slipped into my hand. What had become of it? In my agitation I had forgotten all about it. I was holding it when I came into the room—I remembered that. What had become of it since? I felt on my knee; it was not there. I had not put it in my pocket. It must have dropped on the floor. Intending to start a search I put out my foot and touched something with my toe. I reached out my hand; it was the scrap of paper. 

 As I picked it up I knew quite well that there could be nothing in it of the slightest consequence. People don’t give things worth having to perfect strangers, especially such people as that 

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