Miss Tucker here held the slate up in front of her and stared at the picture of Periwinkle. Whereupon the scholars who were spectators of Miss Tucker's indignation smiled. Some of them grew red in the face and looked at their companions. Little Charity Jones rattled out a good, hearty, irrepressible giggle, which she succeeded in arresting only by stuffing her apron into her mouth.
"Charity Jones, what are you laughing at?"
But Charity only stuck her head down on the desk and went into another snicker.
"Come here!"
Charity was sober enough now. Miss Tucker got a little switch out of her desk and threatened little Charity with "a good sound whipping" if she didn't tell what she was laughing at.
"At the picture," whimpered the child.
"I don't see anything to laugh at," said the mistress, holding the slate up before her.
Whereupon the school again showed signs of a sensation.
"What are you laughing at?" and Miss Tucker instinctively felt of her back hair.
"It's on the other side of the slate," burst out Charity's brother, who was determined to deliver his sister out of the den of lions.