At the long recess, thoughts of this possible quarrel mingled with her pleasure in the visit with Miss Joslyn, who was a charming hostess.  Many a girl or boy came to peep into the forbidden schoolroom, when the report was circulated that Alma Driscoll was up on the platform laughing and talking with the teacher and eating lunch with her in the cosy corner.

Miss Joslyn insisted on exchanging a part of her lunch for Alma’s, spreading the things together on the white napkin, and chatting so eagerly and gayly that the little girl’s face beamed.  She soon told the teacher about the good news that came after she left the night before, and Miss Joslyn was very sympathetic.  “It’s a pretty nice world, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes’m, it’s just a lovely world to-day, only—­only there’s one thing, Miss Joslyn.”

“What is it?”

“I think Lucy Berry and Ada Singer have had a quarrel.”

“Oh, the inseparables?  I guess not,” the teacher smiled.

“Yes’m.  The worst is, I think it’s about me.  Could I go out in the dressing-room to get my handkerchief, and see if they’re on their usual window-sill?”

“Yes, indeed, if it will make you feel easier.”

So Alma went out and soon returned.  Lucy and Ada were not on their window-sill.  Each was sitting with a different group of girls.

Miss Joslyn saw the serious discomfort this gave her little companion, and persuaded her away from the subject, returning to the congenial theme of Mr. Driscoll’s new prospects.

But as soon as recess was over, Alma’s thoughts went back to Ada Singer, for she felt certain that whatever had happened, Ada was the one to be appeased.  The child could not bear to think of being the cause of trouble coming to dear, kind Lucy.

When school was dismissed, Ada Singer, her head carried high, put on her things in the dressing-room within a few feet of Lucy, but ignoring her presence.  “I love her,” thought Lucy, “and she does love me.  Nothing can cheat either of us.”

Ada went out without a look, and waited at the head of the stairs for Frank Morse.  Alma Driscoll hastened up to her.

Ada drew away.  Alma needn’t think that because she had shared Miss Joslyn’s luncheon she would now be as good as anybody.

“Can I speak to you just one minute?” asked the little girl so eagerly, yet meekly, that Ada turned to her; but now that she had gained attention, Alma did not know how to proceed.  She hesitated and clasped and unclasped her hands over the gingham apron.  “Please—­please”—­she stammered, “don’t be cross with Lucy.  She felt sorry for me, but I’ll never eat lunch with her,—­truly.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” rejoined Ada coldly.

“Yes, she does.”  It was Frank Morse’s voice, and Ada, turning quickly, saw him and Lucy standing a few feet behind her.  The four children were alone in the deserted hall.