Two hours later, Talitha came unexpectedly upon Mrs. Donnelly. “I have been looking for you,” said that lady soberly.—It was a very difficult thing she had to do.—“I am very sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, but we shall be obliged to send Gincy home—” “Send her home!” echoed Talitha in amazement, turning pale and trembling. “Yes, Urilla Minter has come back, and there isn’t room for both of them; we’re crowded beyond the limit now. I’ve done my best, but not a place can be found for her. I’ll keep her name on the books so she will have an opportunity to come back next year.” Mrs. Donnelly’s heart was sore at parting with one of her flock who was so eager for an education. There were tears in her eyes as she turned away. Talitha wandered out to a seat on the campus to think over the dreadful tidings. Gincy going home after working so hard all the summer to come! This would be her last chance, for Dan Gooch would never get over her being sent back, and he would hate the Coyles because Gincy would not have thought of attending the school had it not been for Talitha. All the beautiful, rosy clouds which had glorified the morning sky faded, leaving it dull and grey. Gincy must not go home; that Talitha instantly decided, but—The girl sat for a long time struggling with herself, her hands clasped over the precious little pile of books in her lap. She was in a far corner, unnoticed by the merry bands of students passing back and forth. She could hear their laughter and happy chatter. Oh, it was hard, so hard! At last, Talitha rose quickly as though she were afraid her courage might vanish, and hastened to the hall and straight to Mrs. Donnelly’s room. “I’ve come to tell you,” she began breathlessly, with a little tremor in her voice, “that I’ve—I’ve decided to go home. Gincy can stay, then. She mustn’t go, Mrs. Donnelly, she’s been workin’ and lottin’ on it all summer and her folks wouldn’t ever let her come back again. I’ll go and you’ll give her my place, won’t you?” The dean never forgot the pleading face lifted to hers. It was white and the lips were trembling, but the light of a heroic, self-sacrificing spirit shone in the dark eyes. “Oh, my child,” protested the woman, “I can’t bear to think of your going home. If I could only plan some way, but I’ve tried and tried.” “I know it,” nodded Talitha, “but I never once thought there wouldn’t be room for everybody who wanted to come. Anyway, I’m glad Gincy’s going to have a chance. You ought to hear her sing, Mrs. Donnelly. And if you’ll sort o’ mother her a little I’ll be real thankful. Gincy’s never been away from home before, and her folks were going to feel so easy because I was with her. Don’t feel bad, it couldn’t be helped, I reckon, and maybe I’ll come back next year.”