"Oh, but you must; that would seem very bad, and make your aunt so angry. She might think that you had refused to do so out of temper, and might keep you two years at school instead of one." "Do you think so, really? That would be too appalling." "I am not at all sure; from what you tell me of her character, I think it would be extremely likely." "Well, I will do something. For that matter, I _have_ done something. Can't I send it in?" "No, no!" said Annie. "You showed it to me, and I never read such rubbish in all my life. Now, look here, Mabel. You shall write a paper, and it must be the very best paper you can put together; and I will help you all I can." "But there is no time." "Yes, there is. We can do it to-night." "To-night? You know we can't." "I know we can. Miss Phillips goes round to see that all the girls are tucked up properly at ten o'clock. Soon afterwards she goes to bed, poor old dear! When the cat's away the mice will play. I will tap three times on my wall, and you must tap three times on yours. Not another soul will hear us. Then we'll both get up and slip stockings over our shoes, and we'll go down, hand-in-hand, through the silent house until we find ourselves on the ground-floor. I know a window where the hasp is broken. We'll raise the sash and go out. We will go to the summer-house at the far end of the grounds. I will have candles and manuscript paper and ink there all ready. You will write your essay there, in the summer-house, and I will help you." "It is a very dangerous thing to do, Annie, and it strikes me we risk a great deal for very little. For if I were to steal out every night between now and prize day, and write an essay every night in the summer-house, I should not get a prize." "You certainly wouldn't get a prize in that way; but what you do to-night will lead you to the prize." "Now I don't understand you." "I will tell you, Mabel. You must listen very attentively, and if you positively decide to have nothing to do with it, you must not be shocked with me or attempt to betray me. What I do I do for your good-- although, I will confess, partly for my own also." "Ah, I thought a little bit of self would come in," said Mabel, who knew her school friend better, perhaps, than most people did. "Yes," said Annie quite calmly; "I don't pretend for a moment that I haven't a bit of self at the bottom of this. But let me tell you my scheme. Only before I breathe it, you will promise most, most faithfully not to betray me?" "Of course I will. I know you better than you imagine, Annie. You have your good impulses, but you are not the very straightest girl in all the world."