“Would you like to help Clarabel, Josephine?” she asked. “You may if you wish to.”
“If she’ll let me,” answered Josephine, her eyes fixed on Clarabel’s face.
“I would love to have her,” said Clarabel, her eyes on Josephine. And instantly the one narrow seat became large enough for two.
For ten minutes more there was great scratching of slate-pencils and much whispering and some giggling. Then with cheerful clatter the slate was borne to the platform. The teacher looked at the little girls more than at the examples. “I’m sure they’re right,” she said. “Now, off to your homes—both of you!”
“Good night,” said Clarabel.
“Good night,” said Josephine.
“Good night, dear little girls,” said the teacher.
There was a soft swish of dresses and the children had reached the dressing-room. Within its familiar narrowness, Josephine hesitated and fingered her cloak-buttons.
“I think your Aunt Bessie”—it was very slow speech for Josephine—“is ever so nice and knows a lot.”
“Oh!” bubbled Clarabel, joyously, “I do love the color of your mittens! Don’t you—don’t you”—she finished with a rush—“want to let me wear them home and you wear my gloves?”