“Go down every week for a lesson,” Jim ordered easily. “Don’t miss a chance at a ripping New England autumn with all this good society thrown in.”
“Even if you’re not staying long, do take them off my hands for a few weeks,” begged Mr. Thayer. “They’re afraid of me and sulk stupidly if I try to teach them, and they’ve been rather too much for any of the girls who’ve tried.”
“Then what makes you think——” began Eleanor.
“You’ve been elected, Eleanor,” Madeline broke in impatiently. “That settles it. You can manage them the way you managed that newsboys’ club in Denver. Oh, I’ve heard——” as Eleanor flushed and protested. “That’s why I elected you. Now we want some songs. Where’s her guitar, Monsieur Jacques? If Rafael won’t learn the alphabet any other way, you can sing it to him.”
So Eleanor laughingly consented to meet the Terrible Ten, as Babbie called them, the next night, and the Ten won her heart, as Jim had hoped they would.
Eleanor never mentioned the alphabet. She merely inquired of the circle of dark faces who had heard of Robin Hood, and receiving only sullen negatives, she began a story. One by one the sullen faces grew eager. At a most exciting point, where Robin and his band were on the point of playing a fine joke on the Sheriff of Nottingham, she stopped abruptly.
“I’m tired,” she said. “That’s all for to-night.”
“You tella more next day?” demanded the graceless Rafael. He had fairly drowned out the first part of the tale with muttered threats upon Pietro, who had hidden his cap.
Eleanor hesitated diplomatically. “Would you really like to hear the rest?” she asked finally.
Rafael’s brown eyes met hers, clouded with supreme indifference, and his expressive shoulders shrugged coldly.