“Of course not. Now remember. At dinner-time I shall ask you.” How Maggie fared Deborah never knew, but she herself fared badly. She was placed next to a very loquacious child to whom pride, _that_ kind of pride, was a sealed book. “Yer’ll need-a-bag ter keep yer books in like me,” said she. No answer. “D’ye ’ear? Yer’ll need-a-bag.” “Ye-es.” “Yer new, aren’t yer?” “Ye-es.” Then she began stroking Deborah down the back in a most friendly manner. “Is this yer frock or yer pinnifore?” “It’s my frock.” “Sara Jenkins, come out, you’re talking,” came the sound of a teacher’s voice across the class. “Please it was me,” said Deborah, getting up, trembling in every limb. “Sit down. Sarah Jenkins, come out.” So out went Sarah and received two raps with a cane. She came back howling and wringing her hands, but she soon recovered. “Have you ever had the toffee stick?” she asked. “What’s that?” queried Deb. “Why, the cane. Yer don’t know nothing.” “No,” said Deborah, meekly. “Shut up—she’s looking at us.” Deborah reddened painfully. It was the first time she had ever been told to “shut up” by a stranger. Thus the time passed till twelve o’clock. The three children waited for each other. “Did you speak to anyone, Maggie?” asked Elinor, imperatively. “Oh, no,” replied Maggie, and looked straight ahead. “Did you, Deborah?” “I—I only said ‘thank you’ when a girl lent me a pencil.” “There was no need.” On the second day Elinor altered her order. “You can speak to the other children,” she said. “Some of them are really very nice.” But Elinor was a cure. She was up to as many antics as the day was long, and formed a friendship with all the pupil-teachers of that school, keeping them for the most part screaming with laughter, or open-eyed with astonishment. For the particular mistress who taught her she formed a more reverent attachment. One day Deborah came across her just before school time, busy stuffing the front of her bodice with brown paper. “What are you doing?” she asked languidly. “Well, you see, Miss So-and-So has a remarkably good bust, and I want to be more like her,” she answered. “But you’re not going to school like that,” said Deborah, still with the same half-interest, as she saw Elinor fastening her buttons over the crude padding. “Of course I am. What’s wrong with me?” “Oh, nothing,” but she eyed her with mild astonishment. All that afternoon the pupil-teachers were a mixture of giggles and laughter, but Elinor looked as serious as a judge, and as matronly as if she were her own mother. A little while after this a mouse ran out in her particular class, causing most naturally great excitement.