“My! That’s what Papa calls him: thoroughbred; an’ says when he’s trained he’ll be su-perb. But I’d like to know who’ll do it. Say. Is that old man coming to school too? Who is he? Isn’t he queer? He’s as wizzly-up as can be; but he makes me think of grasshoppers, he’s so awful jumpy an’ quick.”
Steenie laughed. “He’s my body-servant, he says; but he’s a real ’ristocratic. He’s a Californian, like they used to be, and a caballero. But after my mother died, he gave up everything but taking care of me. He’s a perfect darling.”
“Is he?” asked Beatrice, doubtfully. “He doesn’t look very—very pretty; but, I mean he’s beautiful, of course, only—here’s Ma’amselle! Now for b-a-ba k-e-r-ker, baker; p-a-pa pay-e-r, I mean p-e-r-per. Do you like to spell?”
“No. It makes me awful dizzy.”
“Me, too. But ’rithmetic’s more worser. Never mind. The quicker we get done, the quicker recess’ll come. I think recess is the nicest part of studying, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Steenie, with conviction. “Why, look there! There’s my Sutro talking to your father! And they’re walking away toward—oh!—do—you b’lieve they’ll go to the horse fields without us?”
“I s’pose they will.”
“Oh, dear!”
At which tone of regret, Beatrice said, kindly, “You’re the queerest girl! But I’ll ask Papa to let us go, recess-time. Papa! Papa!”
The Judge turned about and waited while the children ran up to him. “Well, little folks! What now? How could you tear yourselves away from your dear books? Eh?”