“Both of us,” added May earnestly.
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the boy, his good nature restored. “I guess I contradicted you, too. Besides, I didn’t mean that your river isn’t a very nice river, because it is. I—I guess you might call it beautiful,” he added magnanimously.
“And of course you do have perfectly wonderful rivers in the west,” replied Matty. “We’ve read about some of them and seen pictures of them, haven’t we, May?”
“Yes, indeed. They are very fine.”
Rodney in the heat of the discussion had forgotten his announced intention to finish his journey to Mrs. Westcott’s, and had reseated himself on the horseblock. After all, there was lots of time yet. And the twins were amusing, and, as girls went, quite pretty. He had three sisters of his own and pretended to be something of an authority on girls, their ways and idiosyncrasies.
“I suppose,” said Matty, after a moment, “you are going into the First Form.”
“Yes, but I don’t know why they call it a form. Isn’t class good enough for them? Form sounds so silly. I suppose it’s terribly English. And then they call the Principal the Head Master!”
Matty giggled. “The boys call him ‘the Doc.’ And they have such lovely names for the submasters, too. Mr. Howe is ‘Gussie,’ and Mr. Stanhope is ‘P. N.’——”
“‘P. N.’?” questioned Rodney. “Why do they call him that?”