“Yes, I am here,” said Sage Portlock, rather feebly, for she had nothing else to say.
“Only the other day you were a thin strip of a girl. Deny it if you can!”
“I do not deny it, Mr Bone,” said Sage, determining to be firm, and speaking a little more boldly.
“No,” he continued, in his husky tones, “you can’t deny it. Then you leave Miss Quittenton’s school, and your people send you to town for two years to be trained; and now here you are again.”
Sage Portlock bowed, and looked longingly at the door, hoping for some interruption, but none came.
“And now—” began the old master.
“Mary Smith, take the large ink-bottle into the boys’ school,” said the young mistress, quickly; and the girl went to the school cupboard, took out the great wicker-covered bottle, and was moving toward the door, when the old master caught her by the shoulder, and held her back.
“Stop!” he said sharply. “Take it myself. Ha! ha!”
Sage started and coloured, for the children were amused.
“Ha, ha!—Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!”