[Illustration: “Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a gray shawl.”] It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended the hill leading to St. Helen’s in such a short space of time. When she arrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was just preparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interested audience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease until she might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throat vigorously: “Priscilla,” she said, “dismount immediately. Virginia, tie that dangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly to come at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me to Miss King’s office!” The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, more dazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stony silence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King’s gold and brown room. Miss King sat by the western window, a book in her hand. She smiled as they entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green’s face. “What is it?” she asked. Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by the window, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willful disobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusal to stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished, she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or an explanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however—very quietly. “You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did not understand matters—quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding, I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know so little of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. I am sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fully described to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I will talk this matter over with you.” Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia, still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in her cheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked together of books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and the mountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation of Virginia’s inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak of horseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than when she had entered. As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watched the sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful—troubled, perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to the desk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight.