"My sister," he explained. "She gets it to a weddinge."
"Oh, Isidore," cried the flattered Teacher; "it's very pretty, isn't it?"
"Teacher—yiss ma'an," gurgled Isidore. "It's stylish. You could to look on how stands birds on it and flowers. Mine sister she gives it to me und I gives it to you. I don't need it. She gives me all times something the while she's got such a kind feelin' over me. She goes all times on weddinges. Most all her younge lady friends gettin' married; ain't it funny?"
At the fateful word "married," the uneasy cabinet closed in about Teacher. Their three pairs of eyes clung to her face as Isidore repeated:
"All gettin' married. Ain't it funny?"
"Well, no, dear," answered Teacher musingly. "You know nearly all young ladies do it."
Patrick took a pin from Teacher's desk and kneeled to tie his shoe-string. When he rose the point of the pin projected half an inch beyond the frayed toe of his shoe, and he was armed. Morris was most evidently losing courage—he was indeed trying to steal away when Patrick pressed close beside him and held him to his post.
"Teacher," said Isidore suddenly, as a dreadful thought struck him, "be you a lady or be you a girl?"
And Teacher, being of Hibernian ancestry, answered one question with another:
"Which do you think, Isidore?"