"You needn't be a bit," said the boy. "I know some of the boys that go there, and I went to see the principal with father. He's real pleasant. I know the Latin teacher, Miss Durgin, too. My Uncle Frank married her cousin, and she has been to my house. You'll be in her class." Wollaston spoke with a protective warmth for which Maria was very grateful. She had a very successful although somewhat confused day. She was asked this and that and led hither and yon, and so surrounded by strange faces and sights that she felt fairly dizzy. She felt more herself at luncheon, when she sat beside Maud Page in the dining-hall, with Wollaston opposite. There was a restaurant attached to the academy, for the benefit of the out-of-town pupils. When Maria went down to the station to take her train for home, Maud Page was there, and Wollaston. There was a long time to wait. They went out in a field opposite and picked great bunches of golden-rod, and the girls pinned them on their coats. Edwin Shaw was lingering about the station when they returned, but he was too shy to speak to them. When the train at last came in, Maria, with a duplicity which shamed her in thinking of it afterwards, managed to get away from Maud, and enter the car at the same time with Wollaston, who seated himself beside her as a matter of course. It was still quite light, but it had grown cold. Everything had a cold look--the clear cowslip sky, with its reefs of violet clouds; even the trees tossed crisply, as if stiffened with cold. "Hope we won't have a frost," said Wollaston, as they got off at Edgham. "I hope not," said Maria; and then Gladys Mann ran up to her, crying out: "Say, Maria, Maria, did you know your little sister was lost?" Maria turned deadly white. Wollaston caught hold of her little arm in its brown sleeve. "When was she lost?" he asked, fiercely, of Gladys. "Don't you know any better than to rush right at anybody with such a thing as that? Don't you be frightened, Maria. I'll find her." A little knot of passengers from the train gathered around them. Gladys was pale herself, and had a strong sense of the sadness of the occasion, still she had a feeling of importance. Edwin Shaw came lumbering up timidly, and Maud Page pressed quickly to Maria's side with a swirl of her wide skirts. "Gladys Mann, what on earth are you talking about?" said she, sharply. "Who's lost?" "Maria's little sister." "Hm! I don't believe a word of it." "She is, so there! Nobody has seen a sign of her since morning, and Maria's pa's most crazy. He's been sending telegrams all round. Maria's step-mother, she telegraphed for him to come home, and he come at noon, and he sent telegrams all round, and then he went himself an hour ago." "Went where?"