"So Jan and me took the tig," said Ellen, "and we went oot and sat on the dike."
Janet hee-heed.
"D'ye mind what we said, Ellen? We said we werena to go back to the schule; we were to go up to Rinsley schule to Mester Lawson."
"Aye," said Ellen, "and we said we wudna gie ye another sweetie ... no, never!"
"And I suppose you gave me sweeties next day?" I suggested.
"We gave ye a whole ha'penny worth o' chocolate caramels," said Janet. Her head rested on my knee and she smiled up in my face. "Ye were far ower easy wi' us," she said seriously, "we never did half the lessons ye gave us to do."
"I know, Jan, but I didn't particularly want you to do lessons; all I wanted was that you should be Janet Brown and no one else. I wanted you to be a good kind lassie ... and of course, as you know, I failed." And she pulled my nose at this.
"I didn't like the school when I was there," said Margaret; "I never was so glad in my life as when I was fourteen."
"Poor Margaret," I said, "your schooling should be the pleasantest memory of your life. What you learned from books doesn't matter at all; what matters is what you were. And it seems that memory will bring to you a picture of an unhappy Margaret longing to leave school. What a tragedy!"