The girl had started at the sound of her name, and seeing Harry's eyes on her, a little flush passed over her thin olive cheeks. She came toward her teacher, moving awkwardly in the heavy coat.
"Don't you want to do something for me," Harry began in her quick, easy-going way. "There's a book, a new book just come from New York that I want to read to you this afternoon. It's up in my room over at Mrs. McCullon's. I want you to go over and get it for me. Will you, dear? I can't leave these children and go myself. You'll find the book on the table beside the bed. It's blue with gold letters. Tell Mrs. 'Mac' I sent you. Here! Put on my sweater. You don't need that heavy jacket to run up the street."
While she talked Harry had unbuttoned her sweater, slipped it off, then, still smiling into Isita's wondering eyes, she unfastened with quick, sure hands the sheepskin coat and drew it easily from the girl's shoulders. Isita had made a weak effort of resistance, drawing back a little, an odd look of fear in her face; but Harry was so quick, so sure of herself, that the change was made before there was time to remonstrate. She had the thick, warm sweater on and buttoned round Isita's chin and was walking with her to the road. "You've plenty of time," she encouraged. "Don't run."
With the girl's coat on her arm she stood a moment watching Isita hurry away, skip a few steps, then abruptly break into running.
"Of course!" Harry said. "She likes to run as much as anybody. No wonder she can't play with this thing on." She looked disapprovingly at the heavy, much-worn canvas "sourdough" coat on her arm. "She's going to keep my sweater! No reason on earth why I shouldn't wear my new one every day. What queer people the Bianes must be to let their child wear such clothes. It's not because they're poor, either. Biane's a sheep shearer and makes good wages. I must get up the creek to see Mrs. Biane. Teaching children satisfactorily without knowing their parents is like trying to furnish a house by guessing at it from the outside."
It was getting near one o'clock and she went in, shut the windows, stirred up the fire and came out to look up the road for Isita before ringing the hell. Isita was almost at the gate, the book under her arm and a real rose-color in her cheeks. Harry watched her, not noticing that Joe Biane was coming from the opposite direction. He had been with the other boys to skate on the river and he, too, had seen his sister coming. He reached the gate before her and stood waiting.
Harry, standing in the porch, saw him speak to his sister, saw the girl draw back, warding him off—"Why what is he doing!" Harry exclaimed, and ran sharply down the steps just as he snatched the book from Isita, threw it on the ground and began pulling off the jacket she was wearing.
"Stop! Joe Biane—" Quick as thought the remembrance of what Katie Riordan had done to this bully flashed back to Harry. She caught him by the shoulder, gave him a shake and pushed him back. Her face was white, her eyes sparkled. Taken utterly by surprise Joe made no attempt to resist. "Pick up that book," Harry ordered, her eyes steadily on his.
His scowl deepened. "My sister ain't here to work for you, nor nobody," he growled. "She ain't wearing nobody's rags, neither. You take that off, 'Sita, d'you hear?"
"Pick up that book or stay after school for an hour every day this month," Harry interrupted. "Isita, leave that sweater on. I am in charge here, Joe Biane. If your sister goes on an errand for me, that is my affair and hers. Go inside and take your seat and don't say another word. Thank you, Isita, for going after this. That little run did you good. I'll have to think up excuses to get you out every day." She smiled as she said it, gave a little pat to the girl's shoulder and went back to the door to order the children who had all been watching and listening to this interlude, back to work.