“Oh-o-o! You jes’ bet I am!” exclaimed Celia, running to the door ahead of her friends.
“Nice bread and milk for little girls—and plenty of it,” promised Dorothy.
“Don’t they haf to save the milk here at this school?” asked Celia, wonderingly. “Sometimes I get a little skimmed milk; but Mrs. Hogan says it pays best to give it to the hens and pigs.”
“I suppose it does!” growled Tavia. “She can’t sell little girls when they are fattened.”
“Hush!” warned Dorothy, opening the door for the impatient Celia. “Now, wait and walk beside me—like a little lady.”
The other girls were eager to see and speak with the little runaway. Miss Olaine being absent from her station at the head of the senior table, the classmates of Dorothy and Tavia hardly ate, watching Celia and listening to her prattle.
“She just is the cutest little thing that ever happened!” murmured Cologne.
Dorothy had placed Celia between herself and Tavia, and the little girl sat upon a dictionary borrowed from the principal’s office. Celia had been neglected in many ways, one of which was in the niceties of etiquette. So Dorothy whispered to her to use her fork more frequently than she did a spoon, or her fingers—for there was something beside bread and milk for the little visitor.
“Ain’t that funny?” cried Celia, in her shrill voice. “I used to eat with my spoon, an’ now you tell me to eat with my fork, Dorothy; how old must I be ’fore I eat with my knife—say?”
The upper class had the fun of Celia at table; but afterward she was borne off to the gym., where the whole school could entertain her.