"It's ten, Miss Woodford. I've done enough for this morning. I don't want to do any more."
"Oh, you've only just begun!" said Margaret quietly. "You started at half-past nine; at eleven we will put the lessons away, and go into the woods, or orchard, as you like."
"I know I'm not going to work until eleven," was the impertinent reply.
Jumping up from her seat, the child made for the door. But her governess was too quick for her. Margaret had been fully on the alert for a possible attempted escape, and in a moment she intercepted the flight.
"I am sorry, Ellice, but you cannot go yet," she said firmly. "Sit down, child, and make the best of it; only an hour more, and you will be free."
For the second time in her life astonishment bereft Ellice of speech for a few seconds, then her indignation vented itself in words as she stamped her feet in her rage.
"I hate you!—I hate you! I will go out when I want to!' she stormed, tears of passion shining in her eyes, and sobs half choking her.
"Stop that noise at once, Ellice," said Miss Woodford. "I am ashamed of you. Sit down, and understand you will remain here for one hour longer as I said; but unless you obey me now, it will be two."
With an abandonment of temper the little girl flung herself into a chair, throwing her arms across the table and hiding her tear-scorched face in her hands. There was still the sound of suppressed, gasping sobs, which gradually died down into silence. It almost appeared that, wearied out with her own temper, she had fallen asleep.
No sound now disturbed the quiet of the schoolroom, but the tick-tock of the clock on the mantelshelf. Margaret remained silent, apparently reading. Presently she glanced up at the time, laid her book down, and, rising quietly, went and stood by her pupil. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes as she looked down upon the child whose uncontrolled temper meant such misery to herself.