“Yes, my Geography and Arithmetic,” she answered, taking her fleecy white hood from the seat behind her.

“Now you look like a sunbeam in a cloud,” he said poetically as she tied it over her brown head.  “Oh, ho!” turning to the blackboard, “you do make handsome figures.  Got them all right, did you?”

“I knew how to do them, it was only that—­I forgot.”

“I don’t think you’ll forget again in a hurry.  And that’s a nice looking slate, too,” he added, stepping nearer.  “Mother said it was too much of a strain on your nervous system to write all that.”

“I guess I haven’t much of a nervous system,” returned Marjorie, seriously; “the girls wrote the words they missed fifty times last Friday and he warned us about the one hundred to-day.  I suppose it will be one hundred and fifty next Friday.  I don’t believe I’ll ever miss again,” she said, her lips trembling at the mention of it.

“I think I’ll have a word or two to say to the master if you do.  I wonder how Linnet would have taken it.”

“She wouldn’t have missed.”

“I’ll ask Mr. Holmes to put you over on the boys side if you miss next week,” he cried mischievously, “and make you sit with us all the afternoon.”

“I’d rather write each word five hundred times,” she cried vehemently.

“I believe you would,” he said good humoredly.  “Never mind, Mousie, I know you won’t miss again.”

“I’ll do my examples to-night and father will help me if I can’t do them.  He used to teach in this very schoolhouse; he knows as much as Mr. Holmes.”

“Then he must be a Solomon,” laughed the boy.

The stamp of Hollis’ boots and the sound of his laughter had frightened the mouse back into its hiding-place in the chimney; Marjorie would not have frightened the mouse all day long.

The books were pushed into her satchel, her desk arranged in perfect order, her rubbers and red mittens drawn on, and she stood ready, satchel in hand, for her ride on the sled down the slippery hill where the boys and girls had coasted at noon and then she would ride on over the snowy road half a mile to the old, brown farmhouse.  Her eyes were subdued a little, but the sunshine lingered all over her face.  She knew Hollis would come.

He smiled down at her with his superior fifteen-year-old smile, she was such a wee mousie and always needed taking care of.  If he could have a sister, he would want her to be like Marjorie.  He was very much like Marjorie himself, just as shy, just as sensitive, hardly more fitted to take his own part, and I think Marjorie was the braver of the two.  He was slow-tempered and unforgiving; if a friend failed him once, he never took him into confidence again.  He was proud where Marjorie was humble.  He gave his services; she gave herself.  He seldom quarrelled, but never was the first to yield.  They were both mixtures of reserve and frankness; both speaking as often out of a shut heart as an open heart.  But when Marjorie could open her heart, oh, how she opened it!  As for Hollis, I think he had never opened his; demonstrative sympathy was equally the key to the hearts of both.