“Well, it seems to me positive affectation. I can’t believe you understand that explanation of expansion by heat.”
“But I do. I have read the original carefully. See!” and taking a lot of spools from her mother’s work-basket, she piled them up compactly, their sides all parallel. “Now imagine these spools the atoms of iron, for example, as they lie when the iron is cold. Now a motion is set up among these atoms. That motion is heat, and it changes the relative position of the atoms in this way, or something like it, only I can’t make them stand; but don’t you see, if I pile them so that their corners only touch, they will occupy more space?”
“Well, yes. I think I see it somewhat mistily; but where did you read this and other ponderous books like it? I think I remember you devoting your time to novels, quite as naturally as other girls.”
“Oh, I read a great deal at Stonybrook. We had a blue-stocking society, only we called it The Bas Bleu Club. We met every Saturday morning, and darned our stockings to the accompaniment of such reading as this, and the girl who read, got her own stockings darned that day for nothing. One of our obligations was to let nothing pass until we thoroughly comprehended it, and sometimes the matter would be so ponderous, as you say, and our interruptions so numerous, that we got over scarcely a page at a sitting; but we learned a great deal in that way; even our crude guesses at the author’s meaning often led to the truth, and our circuitous wandering had a comical charm about it.”
“And how many young ladies could be induced to spend their time so seriously?”
“We commenced with over sixty, dwindled down to about twenty, and kept that number very steadily. Miss Marston was the only teacher whom we ever invited to join us. One of her tricks deceived us for a long time. This was to pretend ignorance, and get the other Bas Bleus to enlighten her. When we found her out, we revenged ourselves by assuming that she knew nothing, and so explained everything elaborately.”
“A secret society, no doubt,” said the doctor.
“Oh, yes. We were sworn to the deepest secrecy. We were required to swear by the ‘unholeyness of our stockings;’ and when any candidate blushed and hesitated, there was a roar, and we mercifully changed the oath to the ‘un-hole-y-ness of our future stockings.’”
“And pray, which way did you swear, my dear?”
“Now, mamma dear, that is personal,” said Clara, laughing. “When the session was over, the stockings all nicely mended, and our heads well crammed with scientific nuts for future digestion, the Bas Bleus gave way to the most unrestrained jollity. Miss Marston was perfectly charming, and the greatest romp among us. Often, the next Monday in class, listening to her demonstration of problems in trigonometry, we could hardly believe that this grave personage was the Bas Bleu who had actually rolled on the carpet with us in the exciting exercise known as cat’s cradle. But I’m sure no one ever peached, and I don’t think she would have cared if any one had.”