“Ophelia!”
The girl’s hand was already on the latch, and in another moment she would have darted through; but Hazel Thorne’s quiet voice seemed to affect her in a way that she could not understand, and letting her hand fall to her side, she hesitated and turned.
“Come here, Ophelia.”
The girl hung back for a moment, and then, as if drawn to the speaker, she approached in a slow, half-sulky, defiant way, gazing sideways at her teacher, and seeming ready to dart off at a word.
“She’d better not hit me,” thought Feelier. “I won’t never come no more if she do. I’ll soon let her know, see if I don’t.”
By this time she was close up to Hazel, who, instead of looking at her in a mending way, smiled at the girl’s awkward approach and suspicious gaze.
“You think I am going to punish you, Ophelia, do you not?”
“Yes, teacher; Miss Lambent told you to.”
“Miss Lambent said that you deserved punishment for behaving badly in school, but I told her that there was no need, for I am going to ask you to help me, Ophelia, and not give me more work to do. There are so many girls, and if they are tiresome, my work grows very, very hard.”
“The girls are very tiresome, please, teacher.”