Dicky turned his head far enough over his shoulder to prevent Mistress Dyke from observing the protrusion of his tongue, and was so unlucky as to be hit fairly in the eye with a paper pellet, amply moistened, propelled with all the force the vigorous lungs of the prettiest girl in school, aided by a tube of paper torn from the back of her geography, could impart to it.
"Teacher, Milly O'Connor hit me in the eye wid a spit ball," snivelled Dicky, who, being of tender years, did not share in the general masculine scholastic worship of the youthful belle, who was admired and fought over by the larger boys, on whom she bestowed her favors quite impartially.
"Oh dear!" sighed Bessie. "Was there ever such a lot of children? Milly, rise."
Milly stood up without any visible sign of contrition or embarrassment. She was a pretty, dark-curled lassie of ten, dressed neatly and becomingly, which made her doubly prominent in her present surroundings, for most of the children were of such poverty-stricken parentage that the virtue possessed by their wearing apparel consisted almost entirely in sheltering and hiding rather than ornamenting their small persons.
"What shall I do to punish you?" asked Bessie, wearily.
"You might ferule her, teacher," suggested Dicky, good-humoredly coming to the rescue.
"Dicky, mind your own business," said Bessie severely, "or I 'll ferule you. Now I shall punish you both. Milly, kiss Dicky immediately."
"I don't want to kiss a tattle-tale," said Milly, who placed fully the proper valuation on her caresses.
"Exactly," said Bessie. "This is a punishment, not a reward of merit."
"Not for Dicky," corrected Milly. "He will like it, teacher."