“Say! what’s the matter with that Somers chap, too?” muttered Harris.
But Lyddy feared that the teacher felt he had cause for offence, and she certainly was uncomfortable.
The recess–or intermission–between the two halves of the literary and musical program, was announced. This was a time always given to social intercourse. The company broke up into groups and chattered and laughed in a friendly–if somewhat boisterous–way.
Newcomers and visitors were made welcome at this time. Nobody now came near the Bray girls–not even Mr. Somers. Whether this was intentional neglect on his part or not they did not know, for the teacher seemed busy at the desk with first one and then another.
Sairy Pritchett and the club historian had their heads together, and the latter, Mayme Lowry, was evidently adding several items to her “Club Chronicles,” which amused the two immensely. And there was a deal of nudging and tittering over this among the other girls who gathered about the arch-plotters.
“I’m glad they’ve got something besides us to giggle about,” Lyddy confided to her sister.
But ’Phemie was not sure that the ill-natured girls were not hatching up some scheme to offend the Hillcrest party.
“I believe I’d like to go home,” ventured ’Phemie.
“Aw! don’t let ’em chase you away,” exclaimed the young farmer.
“Oh, I know: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!’ But being called names–or, even having names looked at one–isn’t pleasant.”