“Certainly;—­with pleasure,” Howard said, putting his hand on Eloise’s chair and asking if there was anything he could do for her.

She was watching the brown and white spotted gown, and to Howard’s question she shook her head, while he continued, “Jack says the chocolate is pretty fair.  He ought to know—­he has drank six cups.  I am going to bring you some.”

Before she could protest that she did not care for chocolate, he left her and his place was at once taken by the tall, lank, light-haired boy, whose elbows had done so good execution in forcing a passage for the chair.  Tom had been watching her ever since she came in, and making up his mind.  He had heard she was pretty, but that did not begin to express his opinion of her, as she sat with the ermine over her shoulders, the soft sheen on her hair, the bright color on her cheeks, and a look in her eyes which fascinated him, boy though he was, as it did many an older man, from Mr. Bills to Jack, and Howard Crompton.  If his two chips had not been thrown away he would have thrown them now, and still the feeling in him which people called cussedness was so strong that he could not repress a desire “to see what stuff she was made off.”

Taking Howard’s vacant place he pushed himself forward until he was nearly in front of her, where he could look into her face.  She recognized him as the boy Jack had called Tom, and guessed who he was,—­her eyes drooping under his rather bold gaze, and her color coming and going.  Tom was not sure what he was going to say to her, and could never understand why he said what he did.  He had been told so often by Mr. Bills and others that he needed licking, and so many teachers had licked him, to say nothing of his drunken father, that the idea was in his mind, but as something wholly at variance with this dainty little girl, who at last looked at him fearlessly.  She knew he was going to speak to her, but was not prepared for his question.

“You are the new schoolmarm, ain’t you?  Do you think you could lick me?”

Just for an instant Eloise was too much surprised to answer, while the hot blood surged into her face, then left it spotted here and there, making Tom think of pink rose petals with white flecks in them.  But she didn’t take her eyes from the boy, who was ashamed of himself before she said with a pleasant laugh, “I know I couldn’t; and I don’t believe I shall ever wish to try.  I am the new school-teacher, and you are Mr. Thomas Walker!”

She did not know why she put on the Mr. It came inadvertently, but was the most fortunate thing she could have done.  To be called Thomas was gratifying, but the Mr. was quite overpowering and made Tom her ally at once.

“I’m Thomas Walker,—­yes,” he said.  “Miss Patrick has told you about me, I dare say,—­and Mr. Bills, and Widder Biggs, and Tim.  Oh, I know he’s told you a lot what I was goin’ to do,—­but it’s a lie.  I have plagued Miss Patrick some, I guess, and she whaled me awful once, but I’ve reformed.  I didn’t s’pose you was so little.  I could throw you over the house, but I shan’t.  Say, when are you going to begin?  I’m tired of Miss Patrick’s everlasting same ways of doing things, and want something new,—­something modern, you know.”