"I had a headache this morning, and went to lie down," began Betty. "Miss Symes wanted me to stay lying down until dinner-time, but afterwards she gave me leave to go out when I had been in my room for an hour. I did so. I went as far as that bit of common of yours." "Our 'forest primeval'?" said Mrs. Haddo with a gracious smile. "Oh, but it isn't really!" said Betty. "Some of us think it so, Betty." Betty gave a curious smile; then with an effort she kept back certain words from her lips, and continued abruptly, "I got to the end of the common, and there was a railing----" "The boundary of my estate, dear." "Well," said Betty, "it drove me mad. I felt I was in prison, and that the railing formed my prison bars. I vaulted over, and got into the road. I walked along for a good bit--I can't quite tell how far--but at last two dogs came bounding out of a farmyard near by. They barked at first very loudly; but I looked at them and spoke to them, and after that we were friends of course. I sat on the grass and played with them, and they--I think they loved me. All dogs do--there is nothing in that. The farmer and his wife came out presently and seemed surprised, for they said that Dan and Beersheba were very furious." "My dear girl--Dan and Beersheba--_those_ dogs!" "Those were the names they called them. We call our dogs on the Scotch moors Andrew and Fritz. They are much bigger dogs than Dan and Beersheba; but Dan and Beersheba are darlings for all that. I went into the Mileses' house and had my dinner with them. It was a splendid dinner--pork and really _nice_ potatoes--and the dogs sat one on each side of me. Mrs. Haddo, I want to go to the Mileses' again some day to tea, and I want to take Sylvia and Hester with me. The Mileses don't mind about their being twins, and they'll be quite glad to see them, and Sylvia and Hester are about as fond of dogs as I am. Mrs. Miles said she was quite willing to have us if you gave leave, but not otherwise." "Betty!" said Mrs. Haddo when the girl had ceased. She raised her head, and looked full into the wonderful, pathetic, half-humorous, half-defiant eyes, and once again between her soul and Betty's was felt that firm, sure bond of sympathy. Involuntarily the girl came two or three steps closer. Mrs. Haddo, with a gesture, invited her to kneel by her, and took one of her hands. "Betty, my child, you know why you have come to this school?" "I am sure I don't," said Betty, "unless it is to be with you and--and Margaret Grant."