“Is that what you judge by, Debby?” said Esther, disappointed.  “The other girls are so stupid and take no thought for anything but their hats and their frocks.  They would rather play gobs or shuttlecock or hopscotch than read about the ‘Forty Thieves.’  They don’t mind being kept a whole year in one class but I—­oh, I feel so mad at getting on so slow.  I could easily learn the standard work in three months.  I want to know everything—­so that I can grow up to be a teacher at our school.”

“And does your teacher know everything?”

“Oh yes!  She knows the meaning of every word and all about foreign countries.”

“And would you like to be a teacher?”

“If I could only be clever enough!” sighed Esther.  “But then you see the teachers at our school are real ladies and they dress, oh, so beautifully!  With fur tippets and six-button gloves.  I could never afford it, for even when I was earning five shillings a week I should have to give most of it to father and the children.”

“But if you’re very good—­I dare say some of the great ladies like the Rothschilds will buy you nice clothes.  I have heard they are very good to clever children.”

“No, then the other teachers would know I was getting charity!  And they would mock at me.  I heard Miss Hyams make fun of a teacher because she wore the same dress as last winter.  I don’t think I should like to be a teacher after all, though it is nice to be able to stand with your back to the fire in the winter.  The girls would know—­’” Esther stopped and blushed.

“Would know what, dear?”

“Well, they would know father,” said Esther in low tones.  “They would see him selling things in the Lane and they wouldn’t do what I told them.”

“Nonsense, Esther.  I believe most of the teachers’ fathers are just as bad—­I mean as poor.  Look at Miss Hyams’s own father.”

“Oh Debby!  I do hope that’s true.  Besides when I was earning five shillings a week, I could buy father a new coat, couldn’t I?  And then there would be no need for him to stand in the Lane with lemons or ‘four-corner fringes,’ would there?”

“No, dear.  You shall be a teacher, I prophesy, and who knows?  Some day you may be Head Mistress!”

Esther laughed a startled little laugh of delight, with a suspicion of a sob in it.  “What!  Me!  Me go round and make all the teachers do their work.  Oh, wouldn’t I catch them gossiping!  I know their tricks!”

“You seem to look after your teacher well.  Do you ever call her over the coals for gossiping?” inquired Dutch Debby, amused.

“No, no,” protested Esther quite seriously.  “I like to hear them gossiping.  When my teacher and Miss Davis, who’s in the next room, and a few other teachers get together, I learn—­Oh such a lot!—­from their conversation.”

“Then they do teach you after all,” laughed Debby.

“Yes, but it’s not on the Time Table,” said Esther, shaking her little head sapiently.  “It’s mostly about young men.  Did you ever have a young man, Debby?”