She and Cicely were seated at their desks one afternoon. It was half-past four and study hour. Cicely was hard at work upon her algebra lesson, but Toinette was writing a letter. This, she knew quite well, was not what she was supposed to be doing, but the five weeks had not sufficed to undo the mischief done in seven years, and she was writing simply from a spirit of perversity. There was ample time to do it during her hours of freedom, but the very fact of doing it when she knew full well that she ought to be at work on her German added piquancy to the act. Moreover, the letter was to a boy with whom she had become acquainted while at Miss Carter’s, and had kept the acquaintance a most profound secret. Not that she cared specially for the boy, although he was a jolly sort of chap, and had been a pleasant companion during their stolen interviews, and often smuggled boxes of candy and other “forbidden fruit” into the girl’s possession.
Still, at Miss Carter’s a boy sprouting angel’s wings would have been regarded in very much the same light as though he were sprouting imp’s horns, and any girl caught talking to one—much less corresponding—would have had a very bad quarter of an hour, indeed. So, though she did not care two straws whether she ever saw him again or not, all the wrong-headedness which had been so carefully fostered for the past years delighted in the thought that she was doing something which might not be approved; indeed, from her standpoint, would be decidedly criticised, and to get ahead of a teacher had been the “slogan” of the Carter school.
It was the custom at Sunny Bank for the teachers to go around to the girls’ rooms during the study hour to help, suggest, or give a little “boost” over the hummocky places, so when a pleasant voice asked at the door: “Can I help you any, dearies?” Cicely answered from her room:
“Oh, Miss Howard, will you please tell me something about this problem? I am afraid my head is muddled.”
“To be sure, I will,” was the cheery reply, and Miss Howard passed through Toinette’s room to Cicely’s.
As she did so her dress created a current of air which carried a paper from Toinette’s desk almost to her feet. She stooped to pick it up and hand it back to Toinette, who had sprung up to catch it, and, as she handed it to her, Miss Howard noted the telltale color spring into the girl’s face.
“Zephyrus is playing you tricks, dear,” she said, smiling, and passed on to Cicely. After giving her the needed assistance, she left them, and a little further down the corridor met Miss Preston.
“How are my chicks progressing, Miss Howard?”
“Nicely, Miss Preston. Cicely needed a little help with a problem in algebra, but I think Toinette needs a little of yours in the problem of life,” and Miss Howard went her way.
A word to the wise is sufficient.