"I have been hateful and horrid," sighed the weary girl at last, giving up the struggle and facing the accusing conscience. "No one will like me if I behave like that. I promised Mrs. Vane to be good and just see what a beginning I have made! A scolding already and I haven't been here a day. Oh, dear! Chrystobel _was_ selfish, but maybe if I had been good, she would have given up that drawer and the hooks without any fuss. I acted like a perfect--cat! Because she was selfish and--mean, yes, I think she was mean--that was no reason for my being hateful. Oh, it is such hard work to be good! I wonder if it will ever be any easier. Carrie doesn't seem to have any trouble that way at all, and her room-mate is a spoiled darling, too. If she can put up with Cassandra, I ought to be able to deal with Chrystobel. I suppose--I--ought to--tell her I am sorry. I hate to think of doing such a thing, for maybe she will be a--cat. Perhaps I needn't tell her, but just explain to Miss Pomeroy how bad I feel to think I made such a scene--no, I didn't fight with Miss Pomeroy, and apologizing to her won't make Chrystobel feel any better toward me. Oh, dear, I suppose I must do it! Well, here goes--I've got the shivers clear to my toe-tips already, thinking of what she may say. Chrystobel!" She spoke the name softly, but the occupant of the other bed heard, and slowly turned over facing the window, surprised, wondering whether or not her ears could have deceived her. "Chrystobel!" There was no mistaking that sound. Should she answer? Chrystobel, too, had passed a very uncomfortable evening, and found bed far from agreeable. Away from her mother for the first time, she was battling with pangs of homesickness as well as with her conscience, for she had suddenly come to realize just how selfish her acts must have seemed not only to the queer little girl, who was to share this room with her, but also to the white-haired principal, whom she wanted to love her. But fear that Tabitha would only say something to make matters worse held her silent when she heard the whispered name from the bed by the window. "Chrystobel!" The voice was not only insistent, but pleading, and the elder girl lifted herself somewhat impatiently on her elbow, as she muttered ungraciously, "Well?" "I was afraid you would be asleep," came the relieved reply. "Say, Chrystobel, I'm sorry I got mad this afternoon. Maybe if I had had more patience I could have shown you just how selfish you were without all that fuss and squabble. Will you forget the hateful things I said and be friends with me? You can have both big drawers and twenty-one hooks in the closet if you want them." Chrystobel gasped, overcome by mingled emotions. Surprise, anger, regret in turn filled her heart, and for a moment she was silent because the lump in her throat choked her.