Next day in school was a hard one for Faith. Mary Vance had told the tale of Adam, and all the scholars, except the Blythes, thought it quite a joke. The girls told Faith, between , that it was too bad, and the boys wrote notes of condolence to her. Poor Faith went home from school feeling her very soul raw and smarting within her.  
"I'm going over to Ingleside to have a talk with Mrs. Blythe," she . "SHE won't laugh at me, as everybody else does. I've just GOT to talk to somebody who understands how bad I feel."
 
She ran down through Rainbow Valley. had been at work the night before. A light snow had fallen and the powdered firs were dreaming of a spring to come and a joy to be. The long hill beyond was richly purple with leafless . The light of sunset lay over the world like a pink kiss. Of all the airy, fairy places, full of , elfin grace, Rainbow Valley that winter evening was the most beautiful. But all its dreamlike loveliness was lost on poor, sore-hearted little Faith.
 
By the she came suddenly upon Rosemary West, who was sitting on the old pine tree. She was on her way home from Ingleside, where she had been giving the girls their music lesson. She had been lingering in Rainbow Valley quite a little time, looking across its white beauty and roaming some by-ways of dream. Judging from the expression of her face, her thoughts were pleasant ones. Perhaps the faint, occasional from the bells on the Tree Lovers brought the little smile to her lips. Or perhaps it was occasioned by the consciousness that John Meredith seldom failed to spend Monday evening in the gray house on the white wind-swept hill.
 
Into Rosemary's dreams burst Faith Meredith full of bitterness. Faith stopped when she saw Miss West. She did not know her very well—just well enough to speak to when they met. And she did not want to see any one just then—except Mrs. Blythe. She knew her eyes and nose were red and and she hated to have a stranger know she had been crying.
 
"Good evening, Miss West," she said uncomfortably.
 
"What is the matter, Faith?" asked Rosemary gently.
 
"Nothing," said Faith rather shortly.
 
"Oh!" Rosemary smiled. "You mean nothing that you can tell to outsiders, don't you?"
 
Faith looked at Miss West with sudden interest. Here was a person who understood things. And how pretty she was! How golden her hair was under her plumy hat! How pink her cheeks were over her coat! How blue and companionable her eyes were! Faith felt that Miss West could be a lovely friend—if only she were a friend instead of a stranger!
 
"I—I'm going up to tell Mrs. Blythe," said Faith. "She always understands—she never laughs at us. I always talk things over with her. It helps."
 
"Dear girlie, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Blythe isn't home," said Miss West, sympathetically. "She went to Avonlea to-day and isn't coming back till the last of the week."
 
Faith's lip quivered.
 
"Then I might as well go home again," she said .
 
"I suppose so—unless you think you could bring yourself to talk it over with me instead," said Miss Rosemary gently. "It IS such a help to talk things over. I know. I don't suppose I can be as good at understanding as Mrs. Blythe—but I promise you that I won't laugh."
 
"You wouldn't laugh outside," hesitated Faith. "But you might—inside."
 
"No, I wouldn't laugh inside, either. Why should I? Something has hurt you—it never amuses me to see anybody hurt, no matter what hurts them. If you feel that you'd like to tell me what has hurt you I'll be glad to listen. But if you think you'd rather not—that's all right, too, dear."
 
Faith took another long, earnest look into Miss West's eyes. They were very serious—there was no laughter in them, not even far, far back. With a little sigh she sat down on the old pine beside her new friend and told her all about Adam and his cruel fate.
 
Rosemary did not laugh or feel like laughing. She understood and sympathized—really, she was almost as good as Mrs. Blythe—yes, quite as good.
 
"Mr. Perry is a minister, but he should have been a BUTCHER," said Faith bitterly. "He is so fond of things up. He ENJOYED cutting poor Adam to pieces. He just sliced into him as if he were any common rooster."
 
"Between you and me, Faith, I don't like Mr. Perry very well myself," said Rosemary, laughing a little—but at Mr. Perry, not at Adam, as Faith clearly understood. "I never did like him. I went to school with him—he was a Glen boy, you know—and he was a most detestable little prig even then. Oh, how we girls used to hate holding his fat, clammy hands in the ring-around games. But w............