"Aw took another bit o' paper, and Aw wrote: 'Mr. Neill is sacked for not making me attend.'"
"Yes, you besom, I remember now. I'll sack you!" and I rolled her over in the grass.
"There was another letter, Annie," I said, "do you remember it?" and she said "No!" so quickly that I knew she did remember it.
I turned to Margaret.
"Annie came to school one day with her hair most beautifully done in ringlets," I explained, "and of course I fell in love with her at once. I wrote her a letter.... 'My Dear Annie, do you think yourself bonny to-day?' and the wee besom replied: 'No, I don't!' Then I wrote her again.... 'Do you ever tell lies?' and to this she answered: 'No, never!' Then I calmly handed her the Life of George Washington."
"But Aw never read it!" she cried with a gay laugh.
"I know ... and that's why you have never reformed, my dear kid," I said.
"Ellen," said Janet, "d'ye mind that day when you and me got up and walked oot o' the room?"
"What day was that?" I asked; "you two went out of the room so often that I gave up trying to see you."
"It was the day when a man cam to the schule and stood in the room when ye was teachin' us. There was a new boy, the caravan boy that had never been to schule in his life, and ye said that he was better than any o' us."