I said, “I won’t have any ears to put on if we stay out here in minus a hundred degrees for much longer.”

Jo said, “Shhhh . . .” and started reading out her letter.

Dear Ms. Beaver,

I hope in the last couple of weeks, I have been able to show you and the wonderful teachers here at Dother Hall—

[Flossie nearly swallowed her Jammie Dodger whole]

—my deep regret for the “potting-shed” incident.

I of course deserve my punishment and have been only too pleased to help Bob with his maintenance jobs. The new manure heap will, I know, have a lasting effect on future generations of students. And nearby homes.

And of course I accept the embargo on contact outside the college, though I have missed the supportive community of Heckmondwhite.

However, I do feel I should say that in the case of the boy concerned—I believe his name is Phillip—I need to disclose something that I know he never would. And no matter what my fate, I know I am doing the right thing. Because this is a crime of my own making. Darn my love of theater!!

It was after we had had your inspiring talk about The Taming of the Shrew. Of course I was fired up with ideas, I’m young, I love the theater, what can I say? Anyway, when I accidentally met with some of the Woolfe boys shortly afterwards, I said that modern boys were not as noble as Petruchio who would have taken any risk to prove himself a man. That someone like Petruchio would, for instance, have climbed any barricade to get to a woman he was interested in.

I thought little more of the conversation. But, to my endless regret, Phillip (I think that may be his name) took me at my word. He wanted to show his mettle. He meant to appear at the dorm window and leave a sausage as a sign that he had been there and then secretly steal away. Having disturbed no one and proved his point. But, as we know, his visit was no secret.

I hope you will find it in yourself to explain to the headmaster of Woolfe Academy that I am responsible. And that I hope Phillip and the other innocent boys will not be punished any further for my crazy obsession with theater. I do indeed know the proper meaning of “bleeding feet.”

Yours with deep shame,

Joanna

We all said that never, ever in a million years would anyone be stupid enough to fall for this.

As she went off to Ms. Beaver’s office with her letter, Jo said, “Have you met Sidone?”

I cannot believe this. No one can believe it.

Sidone made an announcement in assembly. She said, “Girls, I received a profoundly affecting letter yesterday. I don’t need to name names, but suffice it to say this letter reminded me of my own youthful passion for life! For art! For adventure! It seems that the ‘potting-shed incident’ as I believe it will be known in Dother Hall history”—she chuckled—“was merely the result of youthful joie de vivre. So, as of now, all girls are free to come and go as normal.”