But there was something very sweet and
fine about Polly. They were plain clothes she wore, but nobody
save herself and mother gave them any thought. Who, seeing her
big, laughing eyes, her finely modelled face, with cheeks pink and
dimpled, her shapely, white teeth, her mass of dark hair, crowning
a form tall and straight as an arrow, could see anything but the
merry-hearted Polly?
"Miss Vaughn, you will please remain a few moments after school,"
said the teacher one day near four o'clock. Twice she had been
caught whispering that day, with the young girl who sat behind her.
Trove had looked down, stroking his little mustache thoughtfully,
and made no remark. The girl had gone to work, then, her cheeks
red with embarrassment.
"I wish you'd do me a favour, Miss Polly," said the teacher, when
they were alone.
She blushed deeply, and sat looking down as she fussed with her
handkerchief. She was a bit frightened by the serious air of that
big young man.
"It isn't much," he went on. "I'd like you to help me teach a
little. To-morrow morning I shall make a map on the blackboard,
and while I am doing it I'd like you to conduct the school. When
you have finished with the primer class I'll be ready to take hold
again.
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