Katy's heart gave a great thump, but she rose bravely: "I made up the
game, and I was Father Ocean," she said to the astonished Mrs. Knight,
who glared at her for a minute, and then replied solemnly: "Very well,
Katy--sit down;" which Katy did, feeling more ashamed than ever, but
somehow relieved in her mind. There is a saving grace in truth which
helps truth-tellers through the worst of their troubles, and Katy found
this out now.
The afternoon was long and hard. Mrs. Knight did not smile once; the
lessons dragged; and Katy, after the heat and excitement of the
forenoon, began to feel miserable. She had received more than one hard
blow during the meetings of the waters, and had bruised herself almost
without knowing it, against the desks and chairs. All these places now
began to ache: her head throbbed so that she could hardly see, and a
lump of something heavy seemed to be lying on her heart.
When school was over, Mrs. Knight rose and said, "The young ladies who
took part in the game this afternoon are requested to remain." All the
others went away, and shut the door behind them. It was a horrible
moment: the girls never forgot it, or the hopeless sound of the door as
the last departing scholar clapped it after her as she left.
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