"Ach, no! I am just thinking. It is so nice and still here. I could learn the whole book through."
Once she ventured to ask a question.
"Please, ma'am, it gives a word here. I cannot say it right, s-y-n, swine, t-a-x, tax, swinetax. Is that the way to say it?"
"No. S-y-n, sin—syntax. It is not English to say, 'it gives a word here,' Sarah. Try again."
"Here is a word," said Sarah painstakingly. "Ach,—no, I don't mean ach! But will you tell me sometimes when I am wrong?"
"Yes, indeed."
Sarah gazed at Miss Ellingwood with deep admiration and gratitude, and set again to work. She had only the simple Latin rules to commit to memory, and then all the lessons assigned her would be learned, even though it was not until the day after to-morrow that she recited them.
But the page of rules was the most difficult task she had attempted. The words seemed to dance before her eyes, the lines were crooked, the letters blurred. She propped her head on her hand, and rubbed her eyes a countless number of times.
Miss Ellingwood was too much engrossed by her task to see. Each year under the direction of the teacher of Elocution, the Junior class gave a play. It was given usually the week before Christmas, and Miss Ellingwood had selected an arrangement of Dickens's "Christmas Carol," whose spirit was so appropriate to the season. She was going over it now, so that the parts should be fresh in her mind before she began to get acquainted with the Juniors in her classes, and she smiled at old Scrooge and sighed over Tiny Tim. She had quite forgotten the student at her side.
Then, suddenly, there was a dull little bump, as her guest slid from her chair to the floor, asleep. Strange to say, the fall did not rouse her. Miss Ellingwood thought that she must be sleepy indeed.