And dared she recite to a teacher who had made a
book?
"When is your Speller coming out?"
"In the fall. I'm busy on my Reader now."
Prudence stepped to his desk and examined the sheets of upright
penmanship; it could be read as easily as print.
"And the Arithmetic?"
"Oh, I haven't tackled that yet. That is for winter evenings, when my
fire burns on the hearth and the wind blows and nobody in the world cares
for me."
"Then it won't be _this_ winter," said Marjorie, lifting her eyes from
the binding of the dictionary.
"Why not?" he questioned.
"Because somebody cares for you," she answered gravely.
He laughed and shoved his manuscript into the desk. He was thinking of
her as he raised his head from the desk this afternoon and found the sun
gone down; he thought of her and remembered that he had promised to call
to see her to-night. Was it to take tea? He dreaded tea-parties, when
everybody talked and nobody said anything. A dim remembrance of being
summoned to supper a while ago flashed through his mind; but it hardly
mattered--Mrs. Devoe would take her cup of tea alone and leave his fruit
and bread and milk standing on the tea-table; it was better so, she would
not pester him with questions while he was eating, ask him why he did not
take more exercise, and if his room were not suffocating this hot day,
and if he did not think a cup of good, strong tea would not be better for
him than that bowl of milk!
Mrs. Devoe, a widow of sixty-five, and her cat, Dolly, aged nineteen,
kept house and boarded the school-master.
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