Joyce cast a helpless look around at the busy little figures behind their desks. She glanced at the clock. It was only half past nine. There was a train to the city in three-quarters of an hour. She must make it. She would have to go home for money, too, and to change some of her things. She must get some one to take her place, and she must manage it so that no one would ask her any questions. Her brain seemed fairly burning up with the rapidity of her thoughts. Miss Beatty was a retired teacher who lived not far away and who sometimes substituted when a teacher was ill. Would she be at home now, and free? And how could she get out to telephone her? With fingers that trembled so that she could hardly move her pencil she wrote a little note to the teacher of the senior high school class and sent it by one of the children. It read: “Dear Miss Clayton: Can you let me have Mary Grover to keep order for a little while? I am obliged to be out of the room.” Mary Grover appeared in three or four minutes. Meantime Joyce had summoned her senses and picked up everything she did not want to leave in her desk, and slipped out to the telephone booth in the hall. She dared not take the time to run across the street to the drug store for more privacy. While she waited for her number she prayed that the Lord would arrange the way before her. Her head was throbbing so that she could scarcely see, and her heart beating wildly. She did not dare to think except just about getting to the train. It seemed if she did, that she would have to cry out and shout the horror of her soul at what had happened. Queer that at such a time our breathless minds will pick out trivialities and dwell upon them. During that tense moment while she waited for her answer it came to Joyce how Professor Harrington would smile in his cynical way if he knew what she was doing, and ask her, didn’t she think Miss Beatty would be at home just the same if she didn’t pray? Then Miss Beatty’s precise voice echoed reassuringly over the wire. “Yes? Ellen Beatty at the phone!” and Joyce, with a thrill of triumph, spoke in her trembling voice: “Oh, Miss Beatty, I’m so glad you are there! I hope you aren’t busy. This is Miss Radway at the school. I’ve had bad news from home and I must catch this next train. _Could_ you take my place?” “Why, yes, I think so,” answered the kindly voice. “I’m very sorry----” But Joyce cut her off quickly: “Oh, thank you, then. Will you come over at once? I’m leaving directions on the desk, and Mary Grover is with the class till you get here. I haven’t a minute. Good-bye.” She wrote a hurried note to Harrington there in the telephone booth: “I have had bad news from home and must go at once. Miss Beatty is taking my place. Did not want to disturb your class, and had not a minute to wait. Will telegraph if I cannot get back tomorrow. Sincerely, Joyce Radway.”