The boy sat motionless and the anger burned hotter in Elizabeth's heart.
"Cheaty, cheaty; go home and tell your mother!" she said in a sing-song way.
Still Brown did not move.
Elizabeth slid her hand along the seat and gave him a sharp pinch, and he started uneasily.
"Stand up the boy or girl who was speaking," ordered the master, without looking up.
A small fair-haired fair-complexioned boy, two seats above Elizabeth, flushed. His name was Cyril Bruce and he was Elizabeth's twin brother—twelve years old.
"I was only talking to myself—that's not speaking," he murmured.
Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and stood working a corner of her pinafore into a knot. The master looked around, and his brow grew dark when he saw the small offender.
"Repeat aloud what you said, Elizabeth Bruce," he ordered.
The little girl grew white, then red, then white again, and went on twisting her pinafore.