Mercy Curtis even gave up her beloved books during the hour of these informal concerts. Other times she would have railed because she could not study. Mercy was as hungry for lessons as Heavy Stone was for layer-cake and macaroons.
"That's all that's left me," croaked the lame girl, when she was in one of her most difficult moods. "I'll learn all there is to be learned. I'll stuff my head full. Then, when other girls laugh at my crooked back and weak legs, I'll shame 'em by knowing more out of books."
"Oh, what a mean way to put it!" gasped Helen.
"I don't care, Miss! You never had your back ache you and your legs go wabbly—No person with a bad back and such aches and pains as I have, was ever good-natured!"
"Think of Aunt Alvirah," murmured Ruth, gently.
"Oh, well—she isn't just human!" gasped the lame girl.
"She is very human, I think," Ruth returned.
"No. She's an angel. And no angel was ever called 'Curtis,'" declared the other, her eyes snapping.
"But I believe there must be an angel somewhere named 'Mercy,'" Ruth responded, still softly.
However, it was understood that Mercy was aiming to be the crack scholar of her class. There was a scholarship to be won, and Mercy hoped to get it and to go to college two years later.