"But your father can't blame YOU, honey, if I won't let you go
home."

"He wouldn't stop to ast me was it my fault, Miss Margaret. If I
wasn't there on time, he'd just--"

"All right, dear, you may go at half-past three, then," Miss
Margaret gently said, patting the child's shoulder. "As soon as
you have written your composition."

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Margaret."

It was hard for Tillie, as she sat at her desk that afternoon, to
fix her wandering attention upon the writing of her composition,
so fascinating was it just to revel idly in the sense of the touch
of that loved hand that had stroked her hair, and the tone of that
caressing voice that had called her "honey."

Miss Margaret always said to the composition classes, "Just try to
write simply of what you see or feel, and then you will be sure to
write a good 'composition.'"

Tillie was moved this afternoon to pour out on paper all that she
"felt" about her divinity. But she had some misgivings as to the
fitness of this.

She dwelt upon the thought of it, however, dreamily gazing out of
the window near which she sat, into the blue sky of the October
afternoon--until presently her ear was caught by the sound of Miss