"You'll see," she said, fighting down her tears--"you'll see I shall be better." She felt the other hand laid softly on her head, and neither of the two spoke or moved for a long time. A sharp ring broke the spell, and the quick following clatter of "E. Gano's" knocker sent all gentle influences flying. "Miss Appleby!" Val sprang up. Yes. They could hear her voice. Before Venus had time to come and say she was in the parlor, Mrs. Gano had opened her own door and closed it behind her. Val stood looking out of the window, trembling with anxiety, registering vows that if she were let off this time, if by some miracle she were not expelled, she would be such an honor to the family, such a comfort to her father, that he would be encouraged to live practically forever. Emmie presently opened the door very softly, and crept in. "She's just goin', I think," whispered the little sister, who seldom bore a grudge. "Oh, she _has_ been getting it!" "Not gran'ma?" Emmie squirmed with suppressed merriment at this notion. "I should think not! Miss Appleby's been getting it. Gran'ma said they were making a mounting out of a molehill--and expelling people did the school no good. Said you'd tell Miss Beach you were sorry, and that was a good deal, 'cause you didn't like beggin' pardings." "_Did_ she say that?" "Yes. An' Miss Appleby said she was very grieved, but she had promised her niece not to take you back this term." "Her niece! Her sneaking Black and White Oberlin woer-r-r-rm!" "_Gran'ma_ didn't call her that," whispered Emmie, with an air of gentle reproof. "She just said, 'Unless your niece is very foolish'" (Emmie could mimic astonishingly well), "'and unfit for her post, she will be glad to reconsider.' Miss Appleby got mad at that, and seemed to be going away, so I ran into the dining-room. When I got back gran'ma was saying, if they expelled you, I should be taken away too." "Gracious!" "And they were both _awful_ mad then, an' gran'ma said, Oh, she'd _just as soon_ take us away, and she wouldn't hesitate to say why. 'We don't send our daughters to school to be called wild beasts by young women from Oberlin.'" "Hooray! hooray!" Val spun about the room, waving her arms victoriously. "We've got a oner for a grandmother after all!" The room door opened and the hall door banged. "What _are_ you doing?" said Mrs. Gano, stopping short. "Oh, nothing," replied Val, composing herself expeditiously; "only I _do_ love you, gran'ma," and she held up her face to be kissed. "If you love me, keep my commandments," said the lady, without enthusiasm, and equally without sense of irreverence. "That will do. Now go." She was turning away, when some sudden thought occurred to her. She gleamed at Val through her glasses in an enigmatic way, and said: "Is this true about the trouble you've given your preceptors over the Bible verse every morning?"