Poor Bessie! When she did come—and she made it as late as ever she could—she looked as if she had just made the acquaintance of the ducking-stool.
"I know you wanted to hear what that superintendent said, and that's just why I didn't want to come in," she blurted out.
"Poor old Bessie!" said Phebe, quite pained to see the change in her, "but don't fret about it, whatever it was."
"But I can't help it! It is a downright big shame."
"What dreadful thing did he say?"
"He's going to take the class himself, but I can't stay any longer, mother will want me."
"Bessie," said Phebe, laying her hand firmly on her arm, "there is something else troubling you."
"The girls don't want a man to teach them—but I really must be going."
"Bessie," Phebe forced her into a chair, and stood over her, "you are to tell me right out what is troubling you. Surely there are to be no secrets between us! Tell me just what the superintendent said."