Upon her return after the Christmas recess Beverly made some casual allusion to this fact, and at once started a new and livelier interest. Why couldn’t a party of girls be chaperoned there by one of the teachers, choosing the same time?
In five minutes it was all planned. But they had Miss Woodhull to reckon with, and Easter was still many weeks ahead on the calendar.
When not long after came the mid-year examinations. The girls had been working hard all the week and were tired. Examinations had ended the day before and they had about reached the limit for that week. February was the month most dreaded of all the eight. The last period of each day was twelve to one, the juniors had history and English literature under Miss Baylis. Now Miss Baylis at her very best was not a restful individual with whom to come in touch, and after a long morning of hard work and the growing hunger of healthy appetites for food for the body rather than for the mind, the girls did not find “a barbed tongue” and a caustic disposition soothing.
English literature as taught by Miss Baylis was not inspiring to say the least, and the half hour devoted to it had not aroused enthusiasm. Then came the second half hour for English history; Miss Woodhull believing it well to take up the kindred subject while the girl’s minds were well imbued with the first one. Just as Miss Baylis was about to begin she was summoned from the recitation room by Miss Forsdyke.
“Take your books and refresh your memories for a moment or two: I shall be back immediately, and I hope you will employ this special privilege in studying diligently. You in particular, Electra, for you certainly did not make a brilliant showing in your literature recitation. Remember I shall expect you to redeem yourself in history, for the periods are identical,” was her admonition as she went toward the door. As she was about to pass through it, she paused to repeat her words. Sally yawned behind her book. As the door closed Petty’s inevitable “tee-hee-hee” was audible. The next second the door was hastily opened.
“I hope,” and Miss Baylis’ suspicious eyes were upon her charges. Then she vanished. Naturally someone else tittered.
Barely five minutes passed and when she returned her first words were:
“I hope—” then she paused for a smile appeared upon every face bringing the abstracted lady back to earth. It was Beverly who asked innocently: “Excuse me, Miss Baylis, but did you tell us to begin our literature papers at the ninety-fifth line of Pope’s Essay on Man: ‘Hope springs eternal’?”
“We ended our literature recitation ten minutes ago, Beverly. If you were so inattentive as to miss what I said that is your misfortune,” was the austere retort. Nevertheless, the shot had told.
Ten more minutes of the period slipped by, nay, crawled by, in which Miss Baylis darting from one victim to another bent upon reaching their vulnerable points. Then it came, Electra Sanderson’s turn to recite.