Miss Mason took no notice of him for a moment, sending several others to the board, among them Tim Roon and Charlie Black. Then she came down the aisle to Bobby’s desk, a piece of chalk in her hand.
“Go to the board, Robert,” she said quietly, putting the chalk into his unwilling fingers and closing them around it with a warm friendly pressure of her own strong, slim fingers.
Bobby was suddenly ready to go, though not ready yet to show that he was ashamed of the way he had acted. Miss Mason read aloud the problem, and those at the board began their figuring.
“Margaret!” Miss Mason spoke so suddenly 72 that Meg jumped. “Are you interested in this lesson? Have you finished your page?”
Meg blushed brightly and bent over her copy book. She had made only seven letters, but then she had been anxious lest Bobby get one of his “stubborn fits,” as Norah called them, when no one but Father Blossom could persuade him to change his mind.
“I think Miss Mason is as mean as can be!” thought Meg to herself, carefully tracing the outline of a graceful “S.” “She says cross things all the time. I wonder is she old?”
Old people had a right to be cross, Meg considered. Miss Mason didn’t look old––she had hair as yellow as Meg’s own, and big brown eyes. And she wore pretty dresses. Meg was so interested in studying Miss Mason that the recess bell rang before she had finished her copy-book page.