We stormed back into the room, out of the window again, every one of us. What uproarious fun we had!
And then, my gracious, if recess wasn’t over!
Ugh! Olaf Kyrre. I read hastily as we went into the class-room. Mr. Juul, who teaches our history class, was already there. Such a beautiful nose as he has! It could be a model for a sculptor, it is so finely shaped.
Mr. Juul swung himself up to his chair on the platform.
“Close the windows,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Juul! Let us have one open; just one!”
“Close the windows, I say.”
Pshaw! We have to sit as if in a box with the lid on when Mr. Juul has the class.
Now for the lesson. How in the world should I get along when I didn’t know anything at all about him,—that bothersome old Olaf Kyrre.
I had a faint hope that Mr. Juul might forget to call on me. I wouldn’t even look at him for fear that might remind him of me; and I made myself as small as possible and sat as still as a stone.