did. Of course it floored her, but she could now boast that for once

she had out-spelled Bluebell Garde!

Joe Hall stood up three lines longer, spelling tremendous-sounding words; and when he tripped, there was such a storm coming up that the master said he would dismiss early that afternoon.

Already the thunder could be heard echoing among the hills. The roll was hastily called. Tildy waited outside for Bluebell; under her slat bonnet the hair was clinging to her temples, but the gloom of her eye and firm pucker of her mouth indicated fullness of purpose.

“When she comes out,” said Tildy.

“Yes,” said Bluebell, piteously, from the depths of defeat and injury and physical lassitude.

Perintha’s name came away down among the P’s, and she was ranged accordingly on a bench which never got free as soon as the B’s and G’s on the girls’ side.

“When she comes out,” repeated Tildy, “we won’t scratch her--”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Bluebell. She could not bring her mind to that.

“Because the marks would show,” pursued Tildy; “and we won’t whip her with sticks.”

“The master might whip us!” exclaimed Bluebell in terror. She prided herself on never having been punished at school. And all teachers were not like Mr. Pitzer in those days.

“Yes, he might,” assented Tildy, evidently having foreseen that objection to the sticks; for when Mr. Pitzer had severe cause he could be strict as the strictest.

“But I tell you what we _will_ do,” said Tildy, leaning forward and laying the utmost emphasis on every word. She lifted her forefinger, and her reticule slid down to her elbow:

“WE WILL CHURN HER!”