When she goes up to Mr. Holmesland’s desk, gets “Correct” on all her examples, and comes down again with that unspeakably self-satisfied look of hers, she is so exasperating to me that I feel like flying right at her and knocking her over. My! Suppose I should do it some day!
I worked out four examples that hour. One I really thought was right, but the others I had no hope of.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,” said Mr. Holmesland, as he drew a heavy mark through them all.
Pshaw!
“You are most remarkably incapable as an arithmetician,” said Mr. Holmesland. “I believe if any one asked you how many eyes you had, you would make a mistake in counting them.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the pupils at their desks, Anna Brynildsen with them—she who seldom laughs at anything. She laughed so exasperatingly, too, keeping her mouth tight shut, and not making any sound except “h’m, h’m, h’m.”
At last the bell rang and I rushed around opening windows. Fresh air I must have.
Anna Brynildsen took up her lunch-box and began to eat her sandwiches, made with sausage. She spends the whole recess eating.
This was the time to study my history lesson; but as I threw open the farthest window, the one that looks out on a little grassy place, I suddenly had an irresistible desire to jump out into that green grass. Although our class-room is on the first floor, it is quite far from the ground, because the foundation of the building is so high. Massa wanted to jump out, too, so out we went, I with my history book in my hand. Thump, thump! It was lots of fun. Other girls jumped out after us, thump, thump, thump!
Anna Brynildsen was the only one of the class who didn’t jump out. She stood at the window eating her bread and sausage.