“Yes, Hexam, yes. I’ll think of it. I’ll think maturely of it. I’ll think well of it.”

Their walk was almost a silent one afterwards, until it ended at the schoolhouse. There, one of neat Miss Peecher’s little windows, like the eyes in needles, was illuminated, and in a corner near it sat Mary Anne watching, while Miss Peecher at the table stitched at the neat little body she was making up by brown paper pattern for her own wearing. N.B. Miss Peecher and Miss Peecher’s pupils were not much encouraged in the unscholastic art of needlework, by Government.

Mary Anne with her face to the window, held her arm up.

“Well, Mary Anne?”

“ Mr. Headstone coming home, ma’am.”

In about a minute, Mary Anne again hailed.