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Yes sir, she prays for 'em, and she
coaxes 'em, an' she never knows when she's beat; but they'll be too
much for her. She's losin' her appetite, an' she don't sleep good. We
won't be boardin' her much longer."
But that night, as usual, when I asked Alethea-Belle how she did, she
replied, in her prim, formal accents: "I'm doing real well, I thank
you; much, much better than I expected."
Two days later I detected a bruise upon her forehead. With great
difficulty I extracted the truth. Tom Eubanks had thrown an apple at
the schoolmarm.
"And what did you do?"
Her grey eyes were unruffled, her delicately cut lips never smiled, as
she replied austerely: "I told Thomas that I was sure he meant well,
but that if a boy wished to give an apple to a lady he'd ought to hand
it politely, and not throw it. Then I ate the apple. It was a Newtown
pippin, and real good. After recess Thomas apologised."
"What did the brute say?"
"He is not a brute. He said he was sorry he'd thrown the pippin so
hard."
Next day I happened to meet Tom Eubanks. He had a basket of Newtown
pippins for the schoolmarm.


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