"Do you suppose you will ever grow clear white?"
Cynthia had half a mind to be angry. Even Miss Elizabeth was fair, and Miss Eunice had such a soft, pretty skin.
"There, that's your corner. You're coming this afternoon?"
"Oh, I suppose so."
Miss Elizabeth was all bustle and hurry. It was clouding up a little. It hadn't been a real fair day, and the hot sun had dried the clothes too quick. She liked them to bleach on the line, it was almost as good as the grass. And Miss Drake couldn't stay and iron, they had sickness over to the Appletons and she had to go there. Everything was out of gear.
"I'd help with the ironing, if you would like," said Miss Winn.
"Well, the ironing isn't so much;" rather ungraciously. "You see, there were four blankets. I never touch an iron to them, but shake them good and fold them, and let them lay one night, then hang them on the line in the garret. The bulk of it was large. And a good stiff breeze blows out wrinkles. The wind hasn't blown worth a Continental;" complainingly.
"Did you like the school?" Miss Winn inquired in the hall.
"No, I didn't. And I don't seem to know anything;" in a discouraged tone.
"Oh, you will learn."