“H’m, if that’s all, let’s go,” cried Jimmy.  “We can leave off any time we get tired of it.”

Kyzie heard this as she was crossing the hall.

“Why, boys,” she said, “you don’t live in Castle Cliff!  It’s the Castle Cliff children I’m going to teach—­the little ones, you know.”

“But papa said if you’d show me about my arithmetic—­” began Nate.

“Perhaps I don’t know so much as you do, Nate.  But if you go you’ll be good, won’t you—­you and Jimmy both?”

She spoke with some concern.  “For if you’re naughty, the other boys will think they can be naughty too; and I shan’t know what in the world to do with them.”

“Oh, we’ll sit up as straight as ninepins; we’ll show ’em how city boys behave,” said Nate, making a bow to Kyzie.

He could be a perfect little gentleman when he chose.  He liked to tease Jimmy, younger than himself, but had always been polite to Kyzie.  Still Kyzie did not altogether like the thought of having a boy of twelve for a pupil.  What if he should laugh at her behind his slate?

Here Barbara and Lucy appeared upon the veranda, holding Edith’s new kitty between them.

“We’re going.  We’ll sit together and cut out paper dolls and eat figs under the seat,” declared Lucy, never doubting that this would be pleasing news to the young teacher.

Before Kyzie had time to say, “Why, Lucy!” little Eddo ran up the steps to ask in haste:—­

“Where’s Lucy going?  I fink I’ll go too.”

Kyzie could bear no more.  She ran and hid in the hammock and cried.  They all thought she was to have a sort of play-school; did they?  They were going just for fun.  She must talk to mamma.  Mamma thought the school was foolish business; but mamma always knew what ought to be done, and how to help do it.  Or if mamma ever felt puzzled, there was papa to go to,—­papa, who could not possibly make a mistake.  Between them they would see that their eldest daughter was treated fairly.

Monday morning came.  Kyzie’s courage had revived.  Eddo would be kept at home; Lucy and Bab had been informed that they were not to cut paper dolls, though they might write on their slates.  All that they thought of just now, the dear “little two,” was of dressing to “look exactly alike.”  As Bab had learned once for all that her hair would not curl, she spent half an hour that morning braiding her auntie’s ringlets down her back, and tying the cue with a pink ribbon like her own.  But for all the little barber could do the flaxen cue would not lie flat.  It was an old story, but very provoking.

“Oh dear,” wailed Lucy, “’most school-time and my hair is all over my head!”

It did look wild.  You could almost fancy it was angry because it had not been allowed to curl after its own graceful fashion.

The “little two” started off in good season, hoping not to be seen by Eddo; but he espied them from the window, and they heard him calling till his baby voice was lost in the distance:—­