"Jean Arnot. How old are you?"
"I'll be fifteen next July." This was August.
"What's that you were drawing? Is it a windmill?" staring intently down at it.
"A windmill!"—with unutterable scorn. "And you say you're thirteen! That's Euclid—Prop. 47. It's a thumper too."
"I haven't begun Euclid yet," she said meekly, and regarded him with a face full enough of questioning to amply justify her nickname. "Will you please tell me something?"
He began to laugh, and she knew that "Miss Inquisitive" was on the tip of his tongue. He only nodded, however.
"Do all the herd-boys about here do Euclid?"
"I d'n' know. There's nothing to stop them if they want to."
"Why do you speak so differently from most other boys? You speak almost as well as I do."
A smile flickered in his face for a second, but died out, and he said quietly—