'From Hebrew wit the maxim sprung,
Though feet should slip, ne'er let the tongue.

Polly came at once to the tent, where she found Laura getting her belongings together.

'Why, Laura, it seems too bad you should go off so suddenly. What can I do to help you?'

The very spirit of evil entered Laura's heart as she looked at Polly, so fresh and pretty and radiant, with her dimples dancing in and out, her hair ruffled with the effort of literary composition, and the glow of the day's happiness still shining in her eyes. She felt as if Polly was 'glad inside' that she was poisoned; she felt sure she was internally jumping for joy at her departure; and, above all, she felt that Polly was entirely too conceited over the attention she had received that day, and needed to be 'taken down a peg or two.'

'Red-haired, stuck-up, saucy thing,' she thought, 'how I should like to give her a piece of my mind before I leave this place, if I only dared!'

'I don't need any help, thank you,' she said aloud, in her iciest manner.

'But it will only make your head ache to bend over and tug away at that valise, and I'll be only too glad to do it.'

'I've no doubt of that,' responded Laura, meaningly. 'It is useless for you to make any show of regret over my going, for I know perfectly well that you are glad to get me out of the way.'

'Why, Laura, what do you mean?' exclaimed Polly, completely dazed at this bombshell of candour.

'I mean what I say; and I should have said it before if I could ever have found a chance. Because I didn't mention it at the time, you needn't suppose I've forgotten your getting me into trouble with Mrs. Winship, the day before the Howards came.'

'That was not my fault,' said Polly, hotly. 'I didn't speak any louder than the other girls, and I didn't know Aunt Truth objected to Mrs. Pinkerton, and I didn't know she was anywhere near.'

'You roared like the bull of Bashan--that's what you did. Perhaps you can't help your voice, but anybody in the canyon could have heard you; and Mrs. Winship hasn't been the same to me since, and the boys don't take the slightest notice of me lately.'

'You are entirely mistaken, Laura. Dr. and Mrs. Winship are just as lovely and cordial to you as they are to everybody else, and the boys do not feel well enough acquainted with you to "frolic" with you as they do with us.'

'It isn't so, but you are not sensitive enough to see it; and I should never have been poisoned if it hadn't been for you!'

'Oh, go on, do!' said Polly, beginning to lose her self-control, which was never very great. 'I didn't know I was a Lucrezia Borgia in disguise. How did I poison you, pray?'

'I didn't say you poisoned me; but you made me so uncomfortable that day, bringing down Mrs. Winship's lecture on my head and getting my best friend abused, that I was glad to get away from the camp, and went out with Jack for that reason when I was too tired and warm; and you are always trying to cut me out with Bell and the boys.'

'That's a perfectly--jet black--fib!' cried Polly, who was now thoroughly angry; 'and I don't think it is very polite of you to attack the whole party, and say they haven't been nice to you, when they've done everything in the world!'

'It isn't your party any more than mine, is it? And if I don't know how to be polite, I certainly shan't ask YOU for instruction; for I must know as much about the manners of good society as you do, inasmuch as I have certainly seen more of it!'

Polly sank into a camp-chair, too stunned for a moment to reply, while Laura, who had gone quite beyond the point where she knew or cared what she said, went on with a rush of words: 'I mean to tell you, now that I am started, that anybody who isn't blind can see why you toady to the Winships, who have money and social position, and why you are so anxious to keep everybody else from getting into their good graces; but they are so partial to you that they have given you an entirely false idea of yourself; and you might as well know that unless you keep yourself a little more in the background, and grow a little less bold and affected and independent, other people will not be quite as ready as the Winships to make a pet of a girl whose mother keeps a boarding-house.'

Poor Laura! It was no sooner said than she regretted it--a little, not much. But poor Polly! Where was her good angel then? Why could she not have treated this thrust with the silence and contempt it deserved? But how could Laura have detected and probed the most sensitive spot in the girl's nature? She lost all command of herself. Her rage absolutely frightened her, for it made her deaf and blind to all considerations of propriety and self-respect, and for a moment she was only conscious of the wild desire to strike-- yes, even to kill--the person who had so insulted all that was dearest to her.

'Don't dare to say another word!' she panted, with such flaming cheeks and such flashing eyes that Laura involuntarily retreated towards the door, half afraid of the tempest her words had evoked. 'Don't dare to say another word, or I don't know what I may do! Yes, I am glad you are going, and everybody will be glad, and the sooner you go the better! You've made everybody miserable ever since you came, with your jealousy and your gossip and your fine-lady airs; and if Aunt Truth hadn't loved your mother, and if we were mean enough to tell tales, we would have repeated some of your disagreeable speeches long ago. How can you dare to say I love the Winships for anything but themselves? And if you had ever seen my darling mother, you never could have called her a boarding-house keeper, you cruel--'

Oh, but the dashing torrent of angry words stopped at the mere mention of her mother. The word recalled her to herself, but too late. It woke in her memory the clasp of her mother's arms, the sound of the sweet, tired voice: 'Only two of us against the big world, Polly--you and I. Be brave, little daughter, brave and patient.' Oh, how impatient and cowardly she had been! Would she never learn to be good? The better impulses rushed back into her heart, and crowded out the bad ones so quickly that in another moment she would have flung herself at Laura's feet, and implored her forgiveness merely to gain again her own self-respect and her mother's approval; but there was no time for repentance (there isn't sometimes), for the clatter of wheels announced Pancho's approach with the team, and Mrs. Winship and Anne Burton came into view, walking rapidly towards the tent.

Laura was a good deal disconcerted at their ill-timed appearance, but reflected rapidly that if Mrs. Winship had overheard anything, it was probably Polly's last speech, in which case that young person would seem to be more in fault than herself, so stepping out of the tent she met Mrs. Winship and kissed her good-bye.

Little Anne ran on and jumped into the wagon, with all a child's joy at the prospect of going anywhere. Polly's back was turned, but she could not disappear entirely within the tent without causing Mrs. Winship surprise; and she went through a lifetime of misery and self- reproach in that minute of shame and fear, when she dared neither to advance nor retreat.

'I don't quite like to let you go alone, Laura, without consulting the doctor, and I can't find him,' said Mrs. Winship. 'Why, you are nervous and trembling! Hadn't you better wait until to-morrow?'

'No, thank you, Mrs. Winship. I am all ready now, and would prefer to go. I think perhaps I have stayed quite long enough, as Polly has just told me that everybody is glad to see the last of me, and that I've made you all miserable since I came.

This was the climax to Polly's misery; for she was already so overcome by the thought of her rudeness that she was on the point of begging Laura's pardon for that particular speech then and there, and she had only to hear her exact words repeated to feel how they would sound in Mrs. Winship's ears.

Mrs. Winship was so entirely taken aback by Laura's remark, that she could only ejaculate, 'Polly--said--that! What do you mean?'

'Oh, I am quite ready to think she said more than she intended, but those were her words.'

'Polly!'

Polly turned. Alas! it was plain enough that this was no false accusation. Her downcast eyes, flushed, tear-stained cheeks, quivering lips, and the silent shame of her whole figure, spoke too clearly.

'Can it be possible, Polly, that you spoke in such a way to a guest who was about to leave my house?'

'Yes.'

The word was wrung from Polly's trembling lips. What could she say but 'Yes,'--it was true,--and how could she repeat the taunts that had provoked her to retort? They were not a sufficient excuse; and for that matter, nothing could be a sufficient excuse for her language. Now that she was confronted with her own fault, Laura's seemed so small beside it that she would have been ashamed to offer it as any justification.

Mrs. Winship grew pale, and for a moment was quite at a loss as to the treatment of such a situation.

'Don't say any more about it, Mrs. Winship,' said Laura; 'we were both angry, or we should never have forgotten ourselves, and I shall think no more of it.' Laura spoke with such an air of modest virtue, and seemed so ready to forgive and forget, that Polly in her silence and confusion appeared worse than ever.

'But I want you to remember that you are my guest, not Pauline's; that I asked you to come and ask you to remain. I cannot allow you to go simply because you do not chance to be a favourite with another of my guests.' (Oh! the pang these words gave Polly's faulty, tender little heart!)

'I am only going because I feel so ill,--not a bit because of what Polly said; I was in the wrong, too, perhaps, but I promise not to let anybody nor anything make me quarrel when I visit you again. Good-bye!' and Laura stepped into the wagon.

'I trust you will not mention this to your mother, since I hope it is the only unpleasant incident of your visit; and it is no fault of mine that you go away with an unhappy impression of our hospitality.' Here Mrs. Winship reached up and kissed little Anne, and as the horses were restive, and no one seemed to have anything further to say, Pancho drove off.

'I don't care to talk with you any more at present, Polly,' said Mrs. Winship. 'I am too hurt and too indignant to speak of your conduct quietly. I know the struggles you have with your temper, and I am quite willing to sympathise with you even when you do not come off victorious; but this is something quite different. I can't conceive how any amount of provocation or dislike could have led you into such disloyalty to me'; and with this she walked away.

Polly staggered into a little play-room tent of Dicky's, where she knew that she could be alone, pinned the curtains together so that no one could peep in, and threw herself down upon the long cushioned seat where Dicky was wont to take his afternoon nap. There, in grief and despair, she sobbed the afternoon through, dreading to be disturbed and dreading to be questioned.

'My beautiful birthday spoiled,' she moaned, 'and all my own fault! I was so happy this morning, but now was ever anybody so miserable as I? And even if I tell Aunt Truth what Laura said, she will think it no excuse, and it isn't!'

As it neared supper-time she made an opening in the back of the tent, and after long watching caught sight of Gin on his way to the brook for water, signalled him, and gave him this despairing little note for Mrs. Winship:-

Dear Aunt Truth,--I don't ask you to forgive me--I don't deserve to be forgiven--but I ask you to do me just one more of your dear little kindnesses. Let me stay alone in Dicky's tent till morning, and please don't let any one come near me. You can tell everybody the whole story to-night, if you think best, though I should be glad if only Dr. Paul and Bell need know; but I do not mind anything after displeasing you--nothing can be so bad as that. Perhaps you think I ought to come out and confess it to them myself, as a punishment; but oh, Aunt Truth, I am punishing myself in here alone worse than any one else can do it. I will go back to Santa Barbara any time that you can send me to the stage station, and I will never ask you to love me again until I have learned how to control my temper. Your wretched, wretched

POLLY.

P.S.--I remember that it is my birthday, and all that you have done for me, to-day and all the other days. It looks as if I were ungrateful, but in spite of what I did I am not. The words just blazed out, and I never knew that they were going to be said till I heard them falling from my mouth. It seems to me that if I ever atone for this I will have a slate and pencil hanging to my belt, and only write what I have to say. POLLY.

The moisture came to Mrs. Winship's eyes as she read this tear- stained little note. 'There's something here I don't quite understand,' she thought; 'and yet Polly confessed that Laura told the truth. Poor child!--but she has got to learn patience and self- control through suffering. However, I'll keep the matter a secret from everybody at present, and stand between her and my inquisitive brood of youngsters,' and she slipped the note into her pocket.

At six o'clock the members of the family came into camp from various directions, and gathered about the supper-table. All were surprised at Laura's sudden departure, but no one seemed especially grief- stricken. Dicky announced confidentially to Philip that Laura was a 'norful 'fraid-cat of frogs,' and Jack ventured the opinion that Miss Laura hadn't 'boy' enough in her for camp-life.

'But where is Polly?' asked Bell, looking round the table, as she pinned up her riding-skirt and sat down in her usual seat.

'She has a bad headache, and is lying down,' said Mrs. Winship, quietly; 'she'll be all right in the morning.'

'Headache!' ejaculated four or five people at once, dropping their napkins and looking at each other in dismay.

'I'll go and rub her head with Cologne,' said Margery.

'Let me go and sit with her,' said Elsie.

'Have you been teasing her, Jack?' asked Mrs. Howard.

'Too much birthday?' asked Dr. Paul. 'Tell her we can spare almost anybody else better.'

'Bless the child, she wants me if she is sick. Go on with your suppers, I'll see to her,' and Bell rose from the table.

'No, my dear, I want you all to leave her alone at present,' said Mrs. Winship, decidedly. 'I've put her to bed in Dicky's play-tent, and I want her to be quiet. Gin has taken her some supper, and she needs rest.'

Polly Oliver in need of rest! What an incomprehensible statement! Nobody was satisfied, but there was nothing more to be said, though Bell and Philip exchanged glances as much as to say, 'Something is wrong.'

Supper ended, and they gathered round the camp-fire, but nothing was quite as usual. It was all very well to crack jokes, but where was a certain merry laugh that was wont to ring out, at the smallest provocation, in such an infectious way that everybody else followed suit? And who was there, when Polly had the headache, to make a saucy speech and look down into the fire innocently, while her dimples did everything that was required in order to point the shaft? And pray what was the use of singing when there was no alto to Bell's treble, or of giving conundrums, since it was always Polly who thought of nonsensical answers better than the real ones? And as for Jack, why, it was folly to shoot arrows of wit into the air when there was no target. He simply stretched himself out beside Elsie, who was particularly quiet and snoozed peacefully, without taking any part in the conversation, avowing his intention to 'turn in' early. 'Turn in' early, forsooth! What was the matter with the boy?

'It's no use,' said Bell, plaintively; 'we can't be anything but happy, now that we have Elsie here; but it needs only one small............