When the second tug at the bell-rope gave the final call for the opening of school there was an air of gladness in the room. The new teacher possessed enough of the elusive "something" the country children felt belonged to a teacher from a big city like Philadelphia. The way she conducted the opening exercises, led the singing, and then proceeded with the business of arranging classes and assigning lessons served to intensify the first feelings of satisfaction. When recess came the children ran outdoors, ostensibly to play, but rather to gather into little groups and discuss the merits of the new teacher. The general verdict was, "She's all right."
"Ain't she all right?" David Eby asked Phœbe as they stood in the brown grasses near the school porch.
"Ach, don't ask me that so often!"
"But honest now, Phœbe, don't you like her?"
"I don't know."
"When will you know?"
"I don't know," came the tantalizing answer.
"Ach, sometimes, Phœbe, you make me mad! You act dumb just like the other girls sometimes."
"Then keep away from me if you don't like me," she retorted.
"Sassbox!" said the boy and walked away from her.