Then down came the cane, anywhere it could land on Meggie's body as she flung up her arms to shield her face and cringed, still retching, into the corner. When Sister Agatha's arm was so tired it did not want to lift the cane, she pointed toward the door.

  "Go home, you revolting little Philistine," she said, turned on her heel and went through into Sister Declan's classroom. Meggie's frantic gaze found Stu; he nodded his head as if to tell her she must do as she was told, his soft blue-green eyes full of pity and understanding. Wiping her mouth with her handkerchief, she stumbled through the door and out into the playground. There were still two hours to go before school was dismissed; she plodded down the street without interest, knowing there was no chance the boys would catch up with her, and too frightened to find somewhere to wait for them. She had to go home on her own, confess to Mum on her own.

  Fee nearly fell over her as she staggered out of the back door with a full basket of wet washing. Meggie was sitting on the top step of the back veranda, her head down, the ends of her bright curls sticky and the front of her dress stained. Putting down the crushing weight of the basket, Fee sighed, pushed a strand of wayward hair out of her eyes. "Well, what happened?" she demanded tiredly.

  "I was sick all over Sister Agatha."

  "Oh, Lord!" Fee said, her hands on her hips.

  "I got caned, too," Meggie whispered, the tears standing unshed in her eyes.

  "A nice kettle of fish, I must say." Fee heaved her basket up, swaying until she got it balanced. "Well, Meggie, I don't know what to do with you. We'll have to wait and see what Daddy says." And she walked off across the backyard toward the flapping half-full clotheslines. Rubbing her hands wearily around her face, Meggie stared after her mother for a moment, then got up and started down the path to the forge. Frank had just finished shoeing Mr. Robertson's bay mare, and was backing it into a stall when Meggie appeared in the doorway. He turned and saw her, and memories of his own terrible misery at school came flooding back to him. She was so little, so baby-plump and innocent and sweet, but the light in the eyes had been brutally quenched and an expression lurked there which made him want to murder Sister Agatha.