mouthing of
words (and you couldn't make Sissy Madigan believe that Mrs. Ramrod
understood half of what she was reading in that guttural, heavy tongue),
there was the impugnment of other people's lack of linguistic
accomplishment.

The critical paper on Daudet that followed was read by Miss Henrietta
Bryne-Stivers. While it was in progress the two Madigans out in the hall
each read an imaginary paper on the same topic, finishing with that
identical courtesy which Henrietta had imported from Miss Jessup's
school in the city. But Split tripped Sissy as she was bowing over low,
and she fell, as softly as she could, to the floor. Miss Madigan looked
out with a "S--sh!" Sissy cast off all blame in virtuous dumb-show, and
in the pause the two heard Dr. Murchison's voice as Henrietta passed him
and the door, on her triumphant way back to her seat.

"Allow me to compliment you, Miss Henrietta," said the old doctor,
pleasantly excited by so youthful a lady's literary discrimination. "You
are really fond of Daudet, then?"

Henrietta blushed. "Oh, no, indeed, doctor!" she said deprecatingly. "At
Miss Jessup's we girls were not permitted to read him, you know."

"Ah, I see," murmured the doctor. "Only to write about him?"

"Miss Jessup thought it was more--fitting, with the French authors,"
observed Henrietta.

"So it is," agreed Murchison, dryly. "So it is. The excellent Miss
Jessups--how well they know!"

"He's guying her," chuckled Sissy, making a mental vow to read Daudet or
die in the attempt. "And she doesn't know it."

"Hush!" came from Split.

In a tenor a bit foggy, but effectively sympathetic, old Westlake was
singing, "Oh, would that we two were maying!"

Sissy put her eye to the crack of the door, and Split, watching her, saw
her round face grow red and indignant.

"What is it?" she whispered, squirming till she too had an eye glued to
the crack.

"Look!" exclaimed Sissy, disgustedly.

Straight in their line of vision sat Kate, and upon her old Westlake's
eyes were ardently fixed as he sang.

"It's--it's not decent," declared Sissy, wrathfully.

"He does look like a calf." Split grinned. Kate looked very pretty in
that white cashmere embroidered in red rosebuds, which had been made
over from the box from Ireland, Split said to Sissy, and so was
deserving of forgiveness, she hinted; for when one had a new frock--

Sissy, the sensible, snorted unbelievingly. What gown had ever affected
her?

"But I