Miss Sharpe, disdaining an altercation with the elf, who was already bristling up in anticipation of a controversy, turned and walked away majestically, or, at least, as majestically as her four feet eight inches would allow.
Pet looked after her with a boding eye that told wonderful tales, if she could only have read it; but she contented herself with mentally exclaiming:
“Oh, I’ll dose you! Maybe you won’t see a ghost tonight, old Miss Vinegar.”
“There, now, go on with the story,” chorused half a dozen voices, when Miss Sharpe was gone.
“See here,” said Pet, without heeding the request, “where does she—Miss Sharpe I mean—sleep at night?”
“With us,” said one of the small girls, “in the children’s dormitory. The large girls have rooms to themselves, every two of them; but we sleep in a long room all full of beds, and Miss Sharpe sleeps there, too.”
“Hum-m-m! Do you know where I am to sleep?”
“Yes; all Miss Sharpe’s division sleep in the children’s dormitory. You’ll be there.”
“Um-m-m! I should like to see the place. Would we be let?”
“Oh, yes. If you can get one of the girls in the First Division to go with you, she can take you all over the house.”