"Can't you tell me, Ivy? Then Mary must. Shove along!"—in an authoritative whisper. "Hurry!"—and Hecla herself gave the needed push. "Now you're Mary; and you're to hold out your hand—right out!—'cause you've got to know. You're to say—'Six'—no, I mean—auntie, how many was there in the Ark?"
Miss Storey was trying to get to sleep.
"What, dear?" she inquired drowsily.
"How many people was it that got into the Ark, auntie?"
"Eight," murmured Miss Storey. "Don't ask me any more questions."
"No, auntie, I won't. Now then, Mary, you've got to say—'eight.' Say—'eight'—Ivy."
Ivy made no effort.
"Oh dear me, you don't understand yet! Get up, and I'll show you. Now, you ask me, and I'll answer. I'm the class now. Ask me—'How many people were there in the Ark?'
"Well—I'll pretend that you have. Look—I'm Hecla, and I can't answer. Now I'm Mary, and I can't answer. Hecla and Mary are stupid. Now I'm Jane, and Jane is cleverer, and I can answer. And I stick out my hand like that—I've seen the children do it!—And I shout out—'Eight!'"
Hecla did shout too, forgetting all about poor Miss Storey.