‘What sort of punishments?’ asked Barbara.
‘Stupid punishments,’ answered Jean, vaguely. ‘Punishments that made you feel foolish, and made you hate people. I did hate a lot of people at that school. I thought I was awfully wicked because I hated so many people. And then I came here,’ she wound up triumphantly.
‘And did you find you were good when you came here?’ asked Babs.
‘You shut up and get yourself ready for bed, or else Fräulein will catch you,’ was all Jean said in reply to this.
Barbara gave one or two perfunctory taps to her head with a brush. ‘I suppose that’s why we’re left so much to ourselves,’ she remarked, after a pause. ‘We never see the teachers except at meals or in lesson time, do we?’
‘Of course we don’t,’ replied Ruth; ‘that’s where Finny’s school is so different, you see. In most schools you are being watched all day by some one or another, and it makes you whisper because you don’t want to be overheard. Nothing makes Finny so furious as to catch any one whispering.’
‘Is she ever furious?’ inquired Barbara.
‘Don’t be a young silly,’ said Ruth, good-naturedly, a reply which had no effect whatever upon Barbara.
‘It seems to me,’ she went on thoughtfully, ‘that it’s very difficult to know what is wrong and what isn’t, when there aren’t any punishments and no one is there to tell you.’
‘Well, you’re supposed to have some sense, you know,’ explained Ruth. ‘Finny’s great idea is that you should think for yourself and not go to other people to find out things. She says being good isn’t worth much, if you’re only good because some one else tells you to be good.’