People did not talk of "pluck" and "grit" and "sand" then. But our heroine had an abundance of what the slang words imply.
The school settled down to the business of the session in a surprisingly short time. With all his faults, Mr. Tayloe had the knack of imparting knowledge. He was strict to severity, never letting an imperfect lesson or a breach of discipline pass unpunished, and his pupils quickly learned that they must work and obey rules or get into serious trouble. Flea studied as she had never studied before, partly from sheer love of learning, partly because she had determined to prove her fitness to enter the higher classes in the face of the teacher's unwillingness to promote her. Courage and spirits arose with every new obstacle.
On the last day of the month the severest test of will and courage was laid upon her. At the close of the afternoon arithmetic lessons Mr. Tayloe asked for her slate, worked at it for a while, and returned it to her. The curve of his smile was like a horseshoe as he saw her eyes dilate with alarm at what she read there:
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He had written the same upon Annie Douthat's slate, and also upon Fanny Tabb's.
"If you three girls can do it by to-morrow morning, you can go into the next higher class. If not, you stay where you are. And look here, all of you, nobody must help you. If I find that you have been helped to so much as a single figure, you will be publicly disgraced."
On the same afternoon the first monthly reports were given out. It was a new measure to all the scholars, and when they learned that the papers were to be taken home, signed by the parents, and brought back next day, the most careless were impressed with a sense of the dignity of the transaction. The roll was called, each boy and girl in turn marched up to the desk, received a folded paper, and marched out of the school-house. Flea Grigsby got with hers a glance that went to her heart like the stab of ice-cold steel. It was unexpected, for her recitations had been perfect throughout the month, and she had striven hard to carry herself modestly and respectfully towards the despot of the little domain. Warned by the peculiar gleam of the light-blue eyes, she tucked the report between the leaves of her geography, instead of opening it, as every one else did, on the way to the door or as soon as he or she gained the outer air. Bea had walked on with another girl, but Dee was waiting for Flea at the bottom of the steps. She wished that he had not hung back to go with her. Even his honest, affectionate gaze would add to the humiliation which she felt was in store for her when that fatal bit of paper should be opened. She longed, yet dreaded, to know exactly what form the new shame would take. No one seemed to think of asking her what was in her report. The other scholars were too busy discussing their own, and rejoicing or lamenting over the contents. Dee was naturally incurious. He showed his report. It said, "Lessons indifferent. Conduct good."
"It mought 'a' been worse," observed Dee, philosophically. "I don' see what good the doggoned things do, anyhow."
Flea changed the subject, chatting of any thing and everything except the report she fancied she could hear rustling between the leaves of Olney's Geography, her nerves more tense every minute. By the time they reached the haunted house—they had taken the short-cut across the fields—she could bear the suspense no longer.
She sat down upon the flat stone that did duty for a door-step, took off her hat, and stretched her arms out, yawningly. "Don't wait for me, Dee. It is so nice and quiet here that I think I'll begin to work at that horrid sum. I can think better than at home with the children around. Tell mother I'll be in before supper-time."