The two or three of these girls, the ones that Lena always sat with, always worked together to confuse her.  Still it was pleasant, all this life for Lena.

The little girl fell down sometimes and cried, and then Lena had to soothe her.  When the little girl would drop her hat, Lena had to pick it up and hold it.  When the little girl was bad and threw away her playthings, Lena told her she could not have them and took them from her to hold until the little girl should need them.

It was all a peaceful life for Lena, almost as peaceful as a pleasant leisure.  The other girls, of course, did tease her, but then that only made a gentle stir within her.

Lena was a brown and pleasant creature, brown as blonde races often have them brown, brown, not with the yellow or the red or the chocolate brown of sun burned countries, but brown with the clear color laid flat on the light toned skin beneath, the plain, spare brown that makes it right to have been made with hazel eyes, and not too abundant straight, brown hair, hair that only later deepens itself into brown from the straw yellow of a german childhood.

Lena had the flat chest, straight back and forward falling shoulders of the patient and enduring working woman, though her body was now still in its milder girlhood and work had not yet made these lines too clear.

The rarer feeling that there was with Lena, showed in all the even quiet of her body movements, but in all it was the strongest in the patient, old-world ignorance, and earth made pureness of her brown, flat, soft featured face.  Lena had eyebrows that were a wondrous thickness.  They were black, and spread, and very cool, with their dark color and their beauty, and beneath them were her hazel eyes, simple and human, with the earth patience of the working, gentle, german woman.

Yes it was all a peaceful life for Lena.  The other girls, of course, did tease her, but then that only made a gentle stir within her.

“What you got on your finger Lena,” Mary, one of the girls she always sat with, one day asked her.  Mary was good natured, quick, intelligent and Irish.

Lena had just picked up the fancy paper made accordion that the little girl had dropped beside her, and was making it squeak sadly as she pulled it with her brown, strong, awkward finger.

“Why, what is it, Mary, paint?” said Lena, putting her finger to her mouth to taste the dirt spot.

“That’s awful poison Lena, don’t you know?” said Mary, “that green paint that you just tasted.”

Lena had sucked a good deal of the green paint from her finger.  She stopped and looked hard at the finger.  She did not know just how much Mary meant by what she said.

“Ain’t it poison, Nellie, that green paint, that Lena sucked just now,” said Mary.  “Sure it is Lena, its real poison, I ain’t foolin’ this time anyhow.”

Lena was a little troubled.  She looked hard at her finger where the paint was, and she wondered if she had really sucked it.