"She means she will tell Miss Rosalie," said one of the girls.
"I don't, either. I can look after my own afffairs," retorted Sylvia
bravely. "I'm not a tell-tale. Although I suppose girls who act the way
you do would tell."
"Get down on your knees," commanded Elinor, trying to push the little
girl.
"There's the bell," and they all turned and scampered back to the house,
leaving Sylvia on the path; for Elinor had let go of her so suddenly
that she had fallen forward.
Her knees were hurt, and one of her hands was bruised by the fall. For a
moment she lay sobbing quietly. She was angry and miserable. She had
been brave enough when the girls had seemed to threaten her, but now her
courage was gone. She could not go back to the schoolroom and face all
those enemies. If Miss Rosalie came in search of her she might not be
able to resist telling her what had happened; and, miserable and unhappy
as she was, Sylvia resolved that she would never tell.
"But Elinor Mayhew and all the rest of them shall be sorry for this.
Yes, they shall," she sobbed as she got to her feet and turned toward
the shore. She knew she must either go straight back to the schoolroom
or else find a hiding-place until they had ceased to search for her.
There was a wall at the foot of the garden, covered with fragrant
jessamine and myrtle. If she could only get over that wall, thought
Sylvia, she would be safe. She ran swiftly forward and began to scramble
up, grasping the sturdy vines, and finding a foothold on some bit of
rough brick.
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