“What do you intend to be?” she asked presently of Nance, who had her whole future mapped out in blocks: four years at college, two years studying languages in Europe, four years as teacher in a good school, then as principal, perhaps, and next as owner of a school of her own.
“Why, I expect to teach languages,” said Nance without a moment’s hesitation.
“Of course, a teacher. I might have known!” cried Judy. “You’ve commenced already on me—your earliest pupil!
“‘Teacher, teacher, why am I so happy, happy, happy,
In my Sunday school?’”
She broke off with her song suddenly and seized Nance’s hand.
“Please don’t scold me, Nance, dear. I know life isn’t all play, and that college is a serious business if one expects to take the whole four years’ course. I’ve already had a warning. It came this morning. It’s because I’ve been cutting classes. And I have been entirely miserable. That’s the reason I’ve been so immersed in ‘The Broad Highway.’ I’ve been trying to drown my sorrows in romance. I know I’m not clever——”
“Nonsense,” interrupted the other impatiently. “You are too clever, you silly child. That’s what is the matter with you, but you don’t know how to work. You have no system. What you really need is a good tutor. You must learn to concentrate——”
“Concentrate,” laughed Judy. “That’s something I never could do. As soon as I try my thoughts go skylarking.”
“How do you do it?”