But she cried all the more at that, and flung herself upon me, and, of course, I began to cry, too--and you can't stay superb and haughty and disdainful when you're all the time trying to hunt up a handkerchief to wipe away the tears that are coursing down your wan cheeks. And of course I didn't. We had a real good cry together, and vowed we loved each other better than ever, and nobody could come between us, not even bringing a chocolate-fudge-marshmallow college ice--which we both adore. But I told her that she would be all right, just the same, for of course I should never step my foot inside of that schoolhouse again. That I couldn't, out of respect to Mother. That I should tell Aunt Jane that to-morrow morning. There isn't any other school here, so they can't send me anywhere else. But it's 'most time for school to close, anyway. There are only two weeks more. But I don't think that will make any difference to Aunt Jane. It's the principle of the thing. It's always the principle of the thing with Aunt Jane. She'll be very angry, I know. Maybe she'll send me home. Oh, I _hope_ she will! Well, I shall tell her to-morrow, anyway. Then--we'll see. * * * * * _One day later_. And, dear, dear, what a day it has been! I told her this morning. She was very angry. She said at first: "Nonsense, Mary, don't be impertinent. Of course you'll go to school!" and all that kind of talk. But I kept my temper. I did not act angry. I was simply firm and dignified. And when she saw I really meant what I said, and that I would not step my foot inside that schoolroom again--that it was a matter of conscience with me--that I did not think it was _right_ for me to do it, she simply stared for a minute, as if she couldn't believe her eyes and ears. Then she gasped: "Mary, what do you mean by such talk to me? Do you think I shall permit this sort of thing to go on for a moment?" I thought then she was going to send me home. Oh, I did so hope she was. But she didn't. She sent me to my room. "You will stay there until your father comes home this noon," she said. "This is a matter for him to settle." _Father_! And I never even thought of her going to _him_ with it. She was always telling me never to bother Father with anything, and I knew she didn't usually ask him anything about me. She settled everything herself. But _this_--and the very thing I didn't want her to ask him, too. But of course I couldn't help myself. That's the trouble. Youth is _so_ helpless in the clutches of old age! Well, I went to my room. Aunt Jane told me to meditate on my sins. But I didn't. I meditated on other people's sins. _I_ didn't have any to meditate on. Was it a sin, pray, for me to stand up for my mother and refuse to associate with people who wouldn't associate with _me_ on account of _her_? I guess not!