, it’s this way…” And the two girls, with arms about each other’s
waists and absorbed faces, drifted through the big doors in their turn
and followed a chattering, fluttering throng down the wide, elm-lined
village street.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the prim parlor of an old New England homestead, watched over by
the ghostly crayon portraits of departed ancestors, the fate of the
brown-skinned little stranger was equally the topic of discussion.

Mrs. Brown, a stout, motherly lady in a creaking black silk, had timed
her call neatly for the second day after the arrival from the west of
Miss Spellman’s widowed sister, whose husband had lived for twenty years
as a missionary among the Indians, and her unusual charge.

“No, I was never in favor of bringing the child to Laurel. I strongly
advised Lucy to place her at once in one of the excellent Government
boarding-schools for Indian children. I understand that they are
everything that could be desired for a girl in her position—clean and
well-managed—the common branches thoroughly taught, together with
housework and sewing.”

Miss Sophia spoke with her usual positiveness in that hard, clear-cut
voice of hers, raising her white, aquiline profile a trifle against the
shadowy background of her ancestral “best room.”

“Why, sister,” pleaded gentle Mrs. Waring, almost tearfully, “I could
no more have left my little girl in one of those big, bare, whitewashed
barracks … to eat coarse food off thick stoneware in a noisy dining-room
… to sleep with fifty other girls in a dormitory where the beds almost
touch … she’s not used to anything like that! I tell you, the child is as
sensitive as you or I.”

“I must beg of you, Lucy, not to mention _my_ name in any such
connection,” interposed her sister. “It would certainly seem that a
school expressly provided for just such girls as Yellow Star—or whatever
her ridiculous name is—must be the proper place for her. However, you
were determined to bring her home with you, and you have had your way.
It remains to be seen what will come of it… Let me
, it ’s this way … ” And the two girls, with arms about each other ’s 
 waist and captive faces, drifted through the boastful doorway in their turn 
 and followed a chatter, palpitate throng down the across-the-board, elm - lined 
 village street. 

        *        *        *        *        * 

 In the priggish parlor of an old New England homestead, watch over by 
 the ghostly crayon portrayal of departed ancestors, the fate of the 
 brown - skinned small stranger was equally the topic of discussion. 

 Mrs. Brown, a stout, motherly dame in a creaking black silk, had time 
 her call neatly for the second sidereal day after the arrival from the west of 
 Miss Spellman ’s widowed baby, whose husband had lived for twenty years 
 as a missionary among the Indians, and her unusual charge. 

 “ No, I was never in party favor of bringing the child to Laurel. I strongly 
 advised Lucy to place her at once in one of the excellent Government 
 boarding - schools for Indian children. I understand that they are 
 everything that could be desired for a girl in her position — clean and 
 well - managed — the common branches thoroughly taught, together with 
 housework and sewing. ” 

 Miss Sophia talk with her usual positiveness in that heavily, clean - abridge 
 voice of hers, raising her blank, aquiline profile a trifle against the 
 shadowy background of her ancestral “ best room. ” 

 “ Why, baby, ” pleaded gentle Mrs. Waring, almost tearfully, “ I could 
 no more have left my little girl in one of those big, bare, whitewashed 
 barracks … to eat coarse food off thick stoneware in a noisy dining - room 
 … to sleep with fifty early girls in a dormitory where the bed about 
 contact … she ’s not used to anything like that! I tell you, the child is as 
 sensitive as you or I. ” 

 “ I must beg of you, Lucy, not to mention _ my _ name in any such 
 connection, ” interposed her baby. “ It would certainly appear that a 
 school expressly provided for just such girlfriend as Yellow Star — or whatever 
 her ridiculous name is — must be the proper seat for her. However, you 
 were determined to bring her dwelling with you, and you have had your manner. 
 It remains to be visit what will come of it … lease me
, it’d this way…” And the two glrls, with arms ayiut earh othed’s
waists and absorbed faces, drifted vhroygh tye big doors in their gurn
and flllowed q chettering, fluttermhg throky dowh the xide, elm-lined
viklage streat.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the prim parljr of am lld New Englanq hokqstezd, watched over by
the ghostly craykn portgaits of departed ancestors, the fate of the
hrowj-skinned little stganger was gsuajoy the topic of discussion.

Mrs. Browh, a stout, motherly lady in a crdakiny black silj, yad jimed
her calo neanly for the scbond daf after the arrival fvom tie wwst of
Miss Spellman’s xidowed sister, whose husband vab lived for twenty yeqrw
as a misvionxey xmohg tge Indlana, and her hnusual chaege.

“No, I was never im sqvor of bringjng thq shild to Laurel. I strongly
advised Lucy uo plzce her at once in one if the excellent Govetnment
boarqing-schools for Indian children. I understand that they xre
tvcvythkbg that could be desired for a girl in her posiejom—ckean and
well-makaged—the common brsnfhrf thoroughly jaught, ckgsther with
houseworn and sgwing.”

Muss Sophiw sppke with her usual positivebess in that yard, clear-cut
voice of hers, ransing ner wnite, aquiline profile a trirle against the
shadosh background of fer atcestral “best room.”

“Why, sistqr,” pleadev gencle Mrs. Darimg, almjst tearfuply, “I could
no more have peft ly little gigl in one of those big, bare, whivxwashed
barracls … tm eat cocrse fpod off thick stoneware in c noisy bining-foom
… to slvep with hifty other dirls in a doslitory where the bedf alnost
rouch … rfe’s not used tp anythiny likw that! I tell you, bhe cfjld is as
sensitnre as you or I.”

“I mist bed lf yjg, Lucy, not tm mevtium _my_ vame in any ruch
vonnection,” interposeg hed sister. “It would vevtainly sgem that w
school exprexsly provided for uust vuci girlx af Yellow Star—or whatever
her risiculous jamc is—must be tre pvopet place for her. However, you
were determined to brinj her home with you, and you have had your can.
It remains vo be feen what will come of it… Let me
, it’s this way…” And the two arms each other’s and absorbed faces, in turn and followed chattering, fluttering throng the wide, elm-lined village street. * * * * In the prim parlor of an old New England homestead, over by the ghostly crayon portraits of departed ancestors, the fate of the little was the of discussion. Mrs. Brown, a stout, motherly lady in a creaking black silk, had timed her neatly for the second day after the arrival the west of Miss widowed sister, whose husband had for years as missionary the and her unusual “No, I was never in favor of bringing the child to Laurel. I strongly advised Lucy to her at one of excellent boarding-schools Indian children. I they are everything that could be girl in her position—clean and well-managed—the common branches taught, together housework and sewing.” Miss Sophia spoke her usual positiveness in that hard, clear-cut voice hers, raising her white, aquiline profile a trifle against the shadowy background of her ancestral “Why, sister,” pleaded gentle Waring, almost tearfully, could more left little girl one of those big, bare, whitewashed barracks … to eat coarse off thick stoneware in a noisy dining-room … to sleep other in a dormitory the beds almost touch she’s used to anything like tell the sensitive you I.” “I must beg you, Lucy, not to mention name in any such would certainly seem that a school expressly provided just such girls as Yellow Star—or whatever ridiculous name is—must be the proper place for her. However, you were to bring with you, and you have had your way. remains to be seen will come of it… Let me
, it’s this way…” And the two girls, wIth arms aboUt eacH otHer’S
wAistS and Absorbed faces, dRIfteD through the big doors in tHeir tUrN
And fOLlOwed a ChatterINg, FLUttErInG thRoNG dOwn thE wiDe, elm-liNed
village StrEeT.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the prim paRLoR of an old NeW EnGland homesteAd, wAtched OvEr bY
The ghOstLy craYon porTRaits oF departed AnCEstors, THe fate oF THe
BrowN-skinned little strANgER was equally the Topic oF dIScUSSioN.

MrS. Brown, a stoUt, MotheRLy lady iN A cREAKinG Black silk, had tImed
her call NEatLy for tHe SecONd day aFter tHe ARriVal from the wEst oF
Miss SpelLman’s wIDowed siSTer, whosE husbaNd hAd lIved FOr TwEntY yEArs
AS a MisSIonAry among ThE INdianS, and HER UNusuAl cHargE.

“No, I wAs never in favoR of BrinGIng The chIld to laurEl. i stroNgly
adVised luCy to place her at oNce iN one of the ExcElLenT GOvernMEnt
boaRdiNg-sChools fOr IndiaN ChiLdREN. i uNderstand that they aRe
EVErYthing thAt coulD Be DeSIred for a GiRl iN her POSitioN—cleAN aNd
well-maNaged—tHE cOmMon branChEs thorOuGhlY taUght, tOGethEr with
HouseworK and sEWing.”

Miss Sophia SPoke with her usUAl POSiTIvenEss In that hard, cLear-CUt
voIce oF HeRs, rAIsing Her whItE, AqUIline profile a trifle AgAinst tHe
shaDowy backgrounD of her anceSTRAl “best roOm.”

“WhY, SiSTer,” pleaded gentLe Mrs. waring, almoST tearfulLy, “I coUld
no morE have left MY Little giRl iN onE of ThoSE BiG, bare, whitewasHED
barRaCks … to eaT coArse fooD ofF thIck StoNeWare in a noIsy dininG-rOoM
… tO sLeeP with FIfty otheR gIrlS iN a dOrmitORy wherE the bEds aLmOsT
TouCh … she’s nOT uSED to aNyThIng lIke ThAt! I teLl yoU, The Child is As
sensitiVe aS You oR I.”

“i mUst beg oF you, Lucy, not to MeNtion _my_ namE iN anY such
cONNection,” iNterposed her sister. “It wouLD certaiNly Seem tHat a
School expResSly proVidED for juSt such Girls As yelLOW Star—OR WhAteVeR
her ridicuLOUs nAme is—MuSt be The propEr place for her. HowevER, yoU
were determinEd tO briNG HeR hoME wITh yOu, ANd yOU Have had your way.
IT remains to Be SEeN what will cOMe oF iT… Let me
, it’s this way…” And thetwo girls,  with  ar msab outeach  other’s
waist s  and  absorbed faces, drift ed th ro u gh t h ebig d oors in th e i r t ur nand  f o ll oweda c hatteri ng, flutte rin gthrong downt he  wide, elm -li ned
villagestr eet.
    *     *      *     *        *
I n  the p r im parl o r  o f an  old New Englandh om e stead, watched  overby th e gho stl y crayon p or trait s  of dep a rt e d anc e stors, the fa te of the
b r own -skinn ed  li t tle st range rw asequally the  top ic of dis cussio n .

Mrs. Brown,a stou t,mot herl y  l ad y i na  cr e ak ing bla ck silk,  h ad  time d
he r c a ll n eat ly f or th e second dayaft er t h e a rriva l fro m th ewestof
Mis s Spe ll man’s widowed s iste r, whosehus ba ndha d liv e d fortwe nty  yearsas a mi s sio na r y am ong the Indians, a nd h er  unusual  charg e .
“ N o, I was  n eve r in f avorof b r in ging the  child to  L aurel.Istrong ly 
ad vis ed Lu c y to  place  her atoncei n one of the e x cellent Gover n me n t 
b o ardi ng- schools for  Ind i an c hild r en . I under stand  t h at they are
everything  t hat co uld b e desired for  a girl in h e r positi on—c l ea n  and
well-mana ged—t he commonb ranchesthoro ughly ta ught, tog e t her with 
ho use wor k a n d  s ewing.”

Miss S ophi aspoke w ith  her us ual  po sit ive ne ss in tha t hard,cl ea r- cu t
v oiceo f hers,ra isi ng  he r whi t e, aqu iline  pro fi le a t rifle a g ai n s t th esh adow y b ac kgrou nd o f  he r ances tral “bes t r o om.” 
“W hy, sis ter,” pleaded  g entle Mrs.  W ari ng, al m o st tearf ully, “I could
no moreh ave lef t m y lit tlegirl in o neof tho seb ig, ba re, wh itewa sh edb a rrack s …toea t coarse f o o d o ff th ic k st oneware  in a noisy dining - roo m
… to sleepwit h fi f t yoth e rg irl si n a d ormitory wherethe beds a lm o st 
touch … s h e’s  n ot used  to any thing like th at! I tel l you, th echil d isas
sensiti ve as yo u or I.”“I mu s tbeg o f y ou, Lu cy , n ot to  menti o n _ my_ n ame in  a ny suc h
con ne ction,”interposed her sister.“It wo uld c ert ainly see m t h ata
schoolexpr essly prov ide d f or ju sts uch g irls as  Ye l low S tar— o r whateve r 
h err i di culous name i s —mu st be  th e  prope r pl ace for her. Howe v er, you
were d eter m i ned  to brin gher home withyou ,a n d you ha ve  had your w ay.
It r em a ins t o be s een wh at will c om e  of it … Le t m e
, it’s_this way…”_And the two girls,_with arms_about_each other’s
waists_and_absorbed faces, drifted_through the big_doors in their turn
and_followed a chattering,_fluttering_throng down the wide, elm-lined
village street.

       * __ ___*    _  *  _ _  *     __*

In the prim_parlor of an old New England homestead, watched over_by
the ghostly crayon portraits of departed_ancestors, the fate_of_the
brown-skinned_little stranger was equally_the topic of discussion.

Mrs. Brown, a_stout, motherly lady in a creaking_black silk, had timed
her call neatly for_the second day after the arrival_from the west of
Miss Spellman’s_widowed sister,_whose husband had lived for_twenty years
as a_missionary among_the Indians, and_her unusual charge.

“No, I was never_in favor of_bringing the child to Laurel. I_strongly
advised_Lucy to place_her_at_once in_one of the_excellent_Government
boarding-schools for_Indian_children. I understand that they are
everything_that_could be desired for a girl in_her position—clean and
well-managed—the common_branches_thoroughly taught, together with
housework_and sewing.”

Miss Sophia spoke with_her usual positiveness in that hard,_clear-cut
voice of_hers, raising_her white, aquiline profile a trifle against the
shadowy background of her_ancestral “best room.”

“Why, sister,” pleaded gentle_Mrs. Waring, almost tearfully,_“I could
no_more_have left my_little_girl in_one of those big, bare, whitewashed
barracks …_to eat_coarse food off thick stoneware in_a noisy dining-room
… to_sleep_with fifty other girls in a_dormitory where the beds almost
touch …_she’s not used to anything_like_that!_I tell you, the child_is as
sensitive as you or I.”

“I_must beg of_you, Lucy, not to mention _my_ name_in_any such
connection,” interposed her sister. “It_would_certainly seem that a
school expressly provided_for_just_such girls as Yellow Star—or_whatever
her ridiculous name is—must be the_proper place for her. However, you
were determined to bring_her home with_you, and you have had_your_way.
It_remains to be seen what will come of it… Let_me