Bridget, dropping suddenly down from the heights of heroic deeds to
dreary commonplace, felt that this was hard indeed.

She had said it all without a mistake, and the only thing that seemed to
matter was how her chin, or her shoulders, or her arms looked. It was
unkind. It was unfair. It was too bad. She could not help being
awkward, and as they worried her so about it, she should not try to be
any different.

From this time forward she would be just herself--plain, awkward
Bridget. So she resolved as she took the book back from Miss Tasker,
and sat down sullenly in her place, and so she continued to resolve as
several days went on. You know how, when one has once begun to be a
little naughty, everything that happens seems to increase the feeling,
and so it was with Bridget; everything Miss Tasker said, or did, or even
looked after this, made her feel more and more ill-used and injured,
till one unfortunate day brought matters to a climax.

If there was one day in the week that Bridget disliked more than another
at this time it was Thursday, for Thursday was "dancing-day." It would
be hard to give you an idea of how much misery that meant to her, or how
fervently she used to pray for something to happen to prevent her going
to the class, which was held at a friend's house some miles away. A
sprained ankle, or a slight earthquake, not bad enough to hurt anyone,
were among her usual aspirations, but nothing of the kind ever occurred,
and she was borne away with her brothers and sisters by the relentless
Miss Tasker to the scene of torture; the suffering of martyrs, whom she
had read about, were, in Bridget's opinion, not worthy of mention beside
those to be endured at a dancing-class.

Everything seemed to go wrong on this particular day, perhaps because
she did not try to make them go right, and at last, after the whole
class had been practising a step together, the dancing-mistress said
rather severely:

"I wish Miss Bridget Watson to do the minuet steps alone: all the others
may sit down."

With downcast eyes, and one shoulder pushed nervously up, Bridget stood
alone in the middle of the room. She felt that thousands of eyes, like
the little sharp pricks of so many needles, were transfixing her
luckless figure, for there were a good many lady visitors present
besides the children.

"Now, if you please, Miss Watson. Straighten the shoulders. Take the
dress gracefully between fingers and thumb. Raise