"It's very good of the girls, and it is just what I should like to do; but there is one thing they have forgotten to do." "What is that?" quickly questioned Bessie. "You have never asked the permission of the superintendent." "Never thought of that," exclaimed Bessie; "but there will be no difficulty in that quarter. Why should there be? Then you do really say 'Yes'?" "I will certainly try what I can do, but understand, the invitation must also come from the superintendent." "You are a dear," and impulsive Bessie flung her arms round her neck and kissed her. "Do you know I feel so good and virtuous I don't think I shall sleep to-night." Certainly Phebe did not go to sleep quickly that night, the idea of partly mothering twenty girls quite taking possession of her. If only she could get them to rise up to the full dignity of Christian womanhood what a splendid piece of work that would be! And there and then she began shaping her introductory talk to them. She looked upon Bessie's scheme as another means sent by God to fill the void left in her heart and life. The following Sunday afternoon she quite expected that Bessie would come in to tea, bringing with her the more formal invitation. The meal was even kept waiting, but no Bessie came. "She will come in after tea," said Phebe--still no Bessie. "She will be here at supper-time, sure enough," said Mrs. Colston. Supper-time came, but no Bessie. "She must be unwell, surely," thought Phebe; but Bessie's high voice overheard on Monday morning proved that to be quite a mistake. All Monday passed, but no Bessie came. On Tuesday morning Mrs. Colston sent her a message: "Why do you not come in? Have you forgotten what we are expecting?" To Phebe she said: "No doubt the superintendent was not present on Sunday, but at least she ought to have come in and told us so. I don't hold with girls being so thoughtless." Bessie's answer was: "I'll come in this evening." Poor Bessie! When she did come--and she made it as late as ever she could--she looked as if she had just made the acquaintance of the ducking-stool. "I know you wanted to hear what that superintendent said, and that's just why I didn't want to come in," she blurted out. "Poor old Bessie!" said Phebe, quite pained to see the change in her, "but don't fret about it, whatever it was." "But I can't help it! It is a downright big shame." "What dreadful thing did he say?" "He's going to take the class himself, but I can't stay any longer, mother will want me." "Bessie," said Phebe, laying her hand firmly on her arm, "there is something else troubling you." "The girls don't want a man to teach them--but I really must be going." "Bessie," Phebe forced her into a chair, and stood over her, "you are to tell me right out what is troubling you. Surely there are to be no secrets between us! Tell me just what the superintendent said." [Illustration: "'BESSIE, YOU ARE TO TELL ME RIGHT OUT WHAT IS TROUBLING YOU.'"]