all her curls towards the
boys' side.

Ellen, from having so little acquaintance with boys, had had no very
well-defined sentiments towards them, but now, on being set apart
with her feminine element, and separated so definitely by the middle
aisle of the school-room, she began to experience sensations both of
shyness and exclusiveness. She did not think the boys, in their
coarse clothes, with their cropped heads, half as pretty as the
girls.

The teacher coming down the aisle laid a caressing hand on Ellen's
curls, and the child looked up at her with that confidence which is
exquisite flattery.

After she had passed, Ellen heard a subtle whisper somewhere at her
back; it was half audible, but its meaning was entirely plain. It
signified utmost scorn and satirical contempt. It was fine-pointed
and far-reaching. A number looked around. It was as expressive as a
whole sentence, and, being as concentrated, was fairly explosive
with meaning.

"H'm, ain't you pretty? Ain't you dreadful pretty, little
dolly-pinky-rosy. H'm, teacher's partial. Ain't you pretty? Ain't
you stuck up? H'm."

Ellen, not being used to the school vernacular, did not fairly
apprehend all this, and least of all that it was directed towards
herself. She cast a startled look around, then turned to her book.
She leaned back in her seat and held her book before her face with
both hands, and began to read, spelling out the words noiselessly.
All at once, she felt a fine prick on her head, and threw back one
hand and turned quickly. The little girl behind was engrossed in
study, and all Ellen could see was the parting in her thick black
hair, for her head was supported by her two hands, her elbows were
resting on her desk, and she was whispering the boundaries of the
State of Massachusetts.

Ellen turned back to her reading-book, and recommenced studying with
the painful faithfulness of the new student; then came again that
small, fine, exasperating prick, and she thrust her face around
quickly to see that same faithfully intent little girl.

Ellen rubbed her head doubtfully, and tried to fix her attention
again upon her book, but presently it came again; a prick so small
and fine that it strained consciousness; an infinitesimal point of
torture, and this time Ellen, turning with a swift flirt of her
head, caught the culprit. It was that faithful little girl, who held
a black-headed belt-pin in her hand; she had been carefully
separating one hair