"I--I don't know. I have never been before." Several of the other girls swarmed around her with curious eyes. "What a pretty frock!" began Betty Upham. "I suppose it's your Sunday best, with all that work." "Betty said you were an Injun," said another. "I never saw an Injun who didn't have coarse, straight, black hair, and yours is lightish and curls. I'd so love to have curly hair." "I'm not the kind of Indians you have here," she returned indignantly. "I was born right here in Salem. I've lived in Calcutta and in China, and been to Batavia, and ever so many places." "Then you ain't an Injun at all! Betty, how could you?" "Well, that's what some of them said. Maybe your mother was an Injun!" looking as if she had fixed the uncertain suspicion. "No, she wasn't. She lived here part of the time. She was born in Boston." They glanced at each other in a kind of upbraiding fashion. "And you had to be put with the little children! Aren't there any schools in that place you came from? It's a heathen country. Our minister prays for it. Don't you have any churches either? What do people do when they are grown up if they never go to school?" "Are you coming stiddy?" "Is Mr. Chilian Leverett your real relation?" "Oh, tell me--have you any other frock as pretty as this? My sister Hetty has a beautiful one, all lace and needlework. She's saving it to be married in." "Martha, I dare you to a race!" Two girls ran off as fast as they could. Betty Upham caught Cynthia's arm. "I didn't say you were a real Injun. Debby Strang always gets things mixed up. But it is something queer----" "East India;" in a tone of great dignity. "Where the ships are coming from all the time? Is it prettier than Salem?" "It's so different you can't tell. We do not have hardly any winter. And there are vines and flowers and temples to heathen gods, and the people _are_ yellow and brown." "Do you suppose you will ever grow clear white?" Cynthia had half a mind to be angry. Even Miss Elizabeth was fair, and Miss Eunice had such a soft, pretty skin. "There, that's your corner. You're coming this afternoon?" "Oh, I suppose so." Miss Elizabeth was all bustle and hurry. It was clouding up a little. It hadn't been a real fair day, and the hot sun had dried the clothes too quick. She liked them to bleach on the line, it was almost as good as the grass. And Miss Drake couldn't stay and iron, they had sickness over to the Appletons and she had to go there. Everything was out of gear. "I'd help with the ironing, if you would like," said Miss Winn. "Well, the ironing isn't so much;" rather ungraciously. "You see, there were four blankets. I never touch an iron to them, but shake them good and fold them, and let them lay one night, then hang them on the line in the garret. The bulk of it was large. And a good stiff breeze blows out wrinkles. The wind hasn't blown worth a Continental;" complainingly. "Did you like the school?" Miss Winn inquired in the hall.