I suppose it will be one
hundred and fifty next Friday. I don't believe I'll _ever_ miss again,"
she said, her lips trembling at the mention of it.
"I think I'll have a word or two to say to the master if you do. I wonder
how Linnet would have taken it."
"She wouldn't have missed."
"I'll ask Mr. Holmes to put you over on the boys side if you miss next
week," he cried mischievously, "and make you sit with us all the
afternoon."
"I'd rather write each word five hundred times," she cried vehemently.
"I believe you would," he said good humoredly. "Never mind, Mousie, I
know you won't miss again."
"I'll do my examples to-night and father will help me if I can't do them.
He used to teach in this very schoolhouse; he knows as much as Mr.
Holmes."
"Then he must be a Solomon," laughed the boy.
The stamp of Hollis' boots and the sound of his laughter had frightened
the mouse back into its hiding-place in the chimney; Marjorie would not
have frightened the mouse all day long.
The books were pushed into her satchel, her desk arranged in perfect
order, her rubbers and red mittens drawn on, and she stood ready, satchel
in hand, for her ride on the sled down the slippery hill where the boys
and girls had coasted at noon and then she would ride on over the snowy
road half a mile to the old, brown farmhouse. Her eyes were subdued a
little, but the sunshine lingered all over her face. She knew Hollis
would come.
He smiled down at her with his superior fifteen-year-old smile, she was
such a wee mousie and always needed taking care of.
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