Lucy waited no longer, but moved off to another desk. "And what are you doing?"
"I am writing my analysis."
Lucy did not know what an analysis was, so she went a little further. "What are you doing here?" she said timidly, for these were somewhat bigger boys.
"We are drawing up an essay on the individuality of self."
That was enough to frighten any one away, and Lucy betook herself to some quite little boys, with fat rosy faces and light hair. "Are you busy, too?" she said.
"Oh yes; we are learning the chief cities of the Fatherland."
Lucy felt like the little boy in the fable, who could not get either the dog, or the bird, or the bee, to play with him.
"When do you play?" she asked.
"We have an hour's interval after dinner, and another at supper-time, but then we prepare our work for the morrow," said one of the boys, looking up well satisfied.
"Work! work! Are you always at work?" exclaimed Lucy; "I only learn from nine to half-past twelve, and half an hour to get my lessons in the afternoon."