When recess-time came, Mahla had no heart for play, but kept her seat, still vexing herself over a question in analysis, which was buried in a fog.
Grace watched her with real pity. It was almost unaccountable, she thought, how any one who had ever studied "Colburn's Mental" could be puzzled by anything in analysis. But Grace was a natural mathematician, and Mahla was not.
When school was over at noon, the pale young German girl still sat biting her slate pencil, and pressing one colorless hand upon her throbbing temples.
"Now, what is it, Mahla?" said the sweet voice of Grace Clifford, as she came and leaned over her friend's shoulder, her face covered with smiles. "I do believe you're puzzling over the same thing that vexes everybody so to-day. Want me to show you just a speck? For you'll catch the headache, Mahla, if you think so hard."
Mahla gave a sigh of relief.
"I don't know, Gracie; things seem to spin round and round; I can't get a start."
[Illustration: Grace helping Mahla.]
"Let's look at it, Mahla. Do piece work—three men—how many days? It's that same old firm of A, B, and C. How long suppose they've been in company? I just believe they set up a shop in the ark?"
Mahla laughed a little, the first time for that day; and it did her good. "Well, now, if those old patriarchs A, B, and C—" But we will not follow Grace in her explanation. She never wearied till Mahla's eyes brightened, and she cried out, "O, how stupid! Why couldn't I see that before? You make things so clear! You do beat everything in arithmetic, Gracie!"
Then Mahla laid aside her slate and book with a smile of heartfelt satisfaction, and made ready to eat her dinner of plain bread and butter and Dutch cheese. Grace dropped an orange into her basket.