"And I can't bear rudeness," said Miss Row, beginning to move away. Her face was very red, and her eyes ugly. "Don't come to me again this week for a lesson," she said, turning round to face Penelope once more. "I--I don't want to see you for a while. When I do I will send for you."; and Miss Row walked away very quickly, chattering volubly all the way to her companion, while Penelope stood, stunned and wounded, scarcely able to believe her own ears. For a few seconds she remained looking after the retreating pair, then turned, walked silently for a little distance, and suddenly dropped on the old brown turf in a passion of sobs. For a moment Poppy gazed, too entirely astonished to know what to do. She could not remember when she had last seen Penelope weep; it happened so rarely. Flinging herself on the turf beside her, she threw her arms lovingly about her. "Don't cry, darling. Oh, Pen, don't cry," she pleaded. "It doesn't matter what that horrid old Miss Row says, and we all love you. Don't cry, dear." She was too young to comprehend what was hurting Penelope most--the words that rankled, and stung; the charge of ingratitude; the taunt; the throwing up to her of favours she had received--things no lady should ever permit herself to do. Under the lash of it all Penelope sobbed on uncontrollably. When she did weep, she did weep--a perfect storm of tears that shook and exhausted her. Poppy grew frightened at the violence of her grief. There seemed to be something more here than she could understand. "Oh, where is Essie? Essie must come," she cried, raising herself on her knees and looking about for her sisters; but Esther and Angela were at some distance, walking slowly but steadily away, apparently absorbed in talk. Poppy sighed a big sigh which sounded almost like a sob. "My poor little birthday," she murmured wistfully, "that I fought was going to be so lovely!" The words and the tone touched Penelope. Her sobs grew less, broke forth again, then stopped, and she struggled up into a sitting position. "Oh, you poor little Poppet," she cried. "It _is_ hard on you. I _am_ so sorry, dear. It is too bad that your birthday should be spoilt like this. I wish--I wish we had kept to the moor, and not come anywhere near human beings." Tears welled up into her eyes again, but she only threw up her head and tilted her nose a little higher, as though to make them run back. "Never mind, darling. We will try to forget all about it, and enjoy ourselves."; but a sob shook her even as she spoke. "And it began so beautifully," Poppy was murmuring. "Anna said 'Laugh before breakfast, cry before night,' and it's come true. I'll never laugh before breakfast again."