“Is this your composition, Julia?” said Mr. Miller.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“And have your ‘notes’ always been of this nature?” asked Mr. Wilmot.

“That, or something similar,” said Julia.  “I find no difficulty in learning my lesson by once reading, and as I am very fond of poetry, I like to employ the rest of my time in trying my powers at it!”

Mr. Wilmot looked at Mr. Miller, as much as to say, “I hope you are satisfied,” and then proceeded to hear Julia’s lesson, which was well-learned and well-recited.  Julia’s recitation being over, Fanny’s class was called.  Fanny came hesitatingly, for she knew her lesson was but poorly learned.  That morning she had found under her desk a love letter from Bill Jeffrey, and she and some of the other girls had spent so much time in laughing over it, and preparing an answer, that she had scarcely thought of her lesson.  She got through with it, however, as well as she could, and was returning to her seat when Mr. Miller called her to him and said reprovingly, “Fanny, why did you not have a better lesson?”

“Oh, Mr. Miller,” she said, almost crying, “I did intend to, but I forgot all about your being here”; and then, as a new thought struck her, she said mischievously, “and besides I have spent all the morning writing an answer to Bill Jeffrey’s love letter!”

At this unlooked-for speech, all the scholars burst into a laugh and directed their eyes toward the crestfallen Bill, who seemed so painfully embarrassed that Fanny regretted what she had said, and as soon as school was out for the morning she went to him and told him she was sorry for so thoughtlessly exposing him to ridicule; “but,” added she, “Billy, I’ll tell you what, you mustn’t write me any more love letters, for ’tis not right to do such things at school; neither need you bring me any more candy or raisins.  I don’t object to your giving me a nice big apple occasionally, but candy and raisins you had better give to the little children.  And now to prove that I am really your friend, if you will get that old dogeared arithmetic of yours, I will show you how to do some of those hard sums which trouble you so.”

Billy was surprised.  The butt of the school, he was accustomed to the jeers of his companions, but such kindness, and from Fanny, too, was unexpected.  He, however, drew from his desk his old slate and arithmetic and he and Fanny were soon deep in the mysteries of compound fractions.  A half hour passed away and at the end of that time Billy’s sums were done.

“Now, Billy,” said Fanny, “see that you do not send me any more letters, and mind, too, and not wink at me so often; you will remember?” Bill gave the required promise and Fanny bounded away in quest of her schoolmates, who laughed at her for taking so much pains with such a dolt as Bill Jeffrey.  That afternoon Fanny resolved to retrieve her character as a scholar; so she applied herself closely to her task, and before recitation hour arrived she had learned every word of her lesson.  But alas for poor Fanny.  She was always stumbling into some new difficulty, and fate, this afternoon, seemed resolved to play a sorry trick upon her.