"No," she said, the words clicking against one another like lumps of ice in a tumbler, "no, I will not go and call upon Miss Harriet Caw, from London. But there is nothing to prevent your going, Mr. Joseph Yarrow!"
And she in her turn swept out and slammed the door.
I sat there in Nance Edgar's winking firelight looking at my fingers one by one, and not sure of the count.
If any one will please tell me what a girl will say or do in any given circumstances—well, I'll be obliged to him, that's all. I don't believe any fellow was ever so abused and browbeat in one day by girls before. And all for nothing. That is the funny part of it. For what had I done? Answer me that, if you please. Nothing—just nothing!
CHAPTER XVI
MR. MUSTARD'S FIRST ASSISTANT
Yes, I was surprised. But there were several other and greater surprises waiting me. I got one the very next day.
I met Dan McConchie on his way home from school, at the dinner hour. He was kicking his bag before him in the way that was popular at our school, where all self-respecting boys brought their books in a strap. Girls had green baize bags and always swung them like pendulums as they talked. But boys, if they had to have bags, used them as footballs. This was what Dan was doing now.
He said, "Halloo, Joe Yarrow, your girl's gone and been made a teacher. You had better come back. Old Mustard is as sweet to her as sugar candy. She is teaching the babies in the little classroom—'A b—ab! B a—baa!'"