“No; Aunt Hulda will take care of me. Good night.”
“Good night, mother” with a kiss. “Don’t worry about me. I mean to try, O, so hard—”
She could say no more. The tears would come, spite of her efforts to repress them; and she ran from the room.
She slept little that night; the new tenant—thought—rambled strangely about in its unfamiliar quarters, as if uncertain at what task to set itself, in what corner of this little head to find a resting-place.
Mr. Drinkwater was no better the next morning, and Harry Thompson opened the school, as usual. He was gratified, on casting his eyes about the room, to see Becky and Teddy in the places assigned them the day before; and very much surprised, when the religious exercises were concluded, to see Becky rise from her place, and march to the centre of the room.
“Master Thompson, if you please, I was very rude to you yesterday. I want to beg your pardon before all the scholars.”
“Very well, Miss Becky; you were somewhat rude; but this free confession amply atones for it. You are forgiven.”
“I want all the scholars to know, if you please, that after school, when I was told to take my place upon the platform, I jumped out of the window.”