“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, “we’re both sorry, and I will get you a new red dress.”
“Do,” said Ladybird, cheerfully: “and get yourself a new black silk one, won’t you, aunty?”
CHAPTER IX
DOING RIGHT
Ladybird hated school. Not the lessons, they were learned quickly enough, and with but little study; but the out-of-doors child grew very restive in the restraint and confinement of the school-room, and her whole touch-and-go nature rebelled at the enforced routine.
Many battles were fought before she consented to go at all; but though Ladybird was strong-willed, Miss Priscilla Flint was also of no pliable nature, and she finally succeeded in convincing her fractious niece that education was desirable as well as inevitable.
So Ladybird went to school—to a small and not far distant district school—whenever she could not get up a successful excuse for staying at home.
With her sun-dial-like capability of marking the bright hours only, she eliminated as much as was possible of the ugly side of school life.
She enjoyed the walks to and from the school-house, across the fields and through the lanes, and she enjoyed them so leisurely that she was a half-hour late nearly every morning, thus escaping the detestable “opening exercises.”
During school hours, when not studying or reciting her lessons she read fairy-tales or else worked out puzzles. Though this was not exactly in line with the teacher’s methods of discipline, yet it was overlooked after several experimental endeavors which showed unmistakably what was the better part of valor.
Also, Ladybird always kept fresh flowers on her desk, and kept lying in her sight any new toy or trinket which she might have recently acquired.