"Of course you're not," consoled Jean, "You're ever so bright in school and you--why, Sallie! It's all in your own hands. If you learn every blessed thing you can, some day you'll be smart enough to teach. And then, probably, they'd be glad enough to have you teach right here. And if they wouldn't, you could go some place else. Don't ever _think_ that you have to stay here and be a stupid, downtrodden servant like poor old Abbie."
"Well, do you know," said Sallie, visibly brightening, "I _did_ think just exactly that. I wake up nights and worry about it. Oh, Jean! I do wish you'd poke me up once in awhile, whenever you see me losing my backbone or looking like Abbie--"
"You _don't_ look like Abbie--you _couldn't_. Abbie never was pretty or bright and you _are_. Wait, I want to give you these history notes I dug up--I know they kept you busy all study hour sorting the clean clothes so of course you didn't have time to look anything up. You'll just _have_ to have splendid marks from now on."
"You're a darling!" cried Sallie, rubbing her cheek against Jean's. "I wish you'd reached Hiltonburg a whole lot sooner. I _needed_ you."
Almost at once, there was one very curious and amusing result of Madame Bolande's friendship for "Gladys de Milligan." Madame, who apparently took no interest in her own hair, professed great admiration for that of the new pupil and offered to teach her a new and even fancier way of arranging it.
One night, to that end, Madame mixed an exceedingly sticky something in a cup--quince seed and water, Laura explained afterwards--and applied it to Laura's pale yellow locks. After plastering them down in large wet rings all over Laura's foolish head, Madame fished the remnant of an old green veil from her untidy bureau drawer and tied it firmly over the slippery mass. Her intentions were perfectly good but the result was surprising.
By morning, the quince seed was dry and it was possible to brush the stuff, in a powdery shower of white particles, from the mass of loose curls. But alas! A shocking thing had happened. The dye in the green veil had proved anything but permanent. It had spent the night _running_. Poor Gladys Evelyn appeared late for breakfast with red eyes and bright green hair. It was at least a month before her tangled locks lost their verdant hue.