The teacher's face cleared as she saw and seized her avenue of escape.

"You may all," she directed, "look at Amarilly's work and sew the strips
just as she does. Hers are perfect."

[Illustration: "You may all," she directed, "look at Amarilly's work."] Amarilly's wan little face brightened, and she proceeded to show the
children how to sew, bringing the same ease and effectiveness into her
tutoring that she displayed when instructing her brothers and Cory.

The sewing lesson continued for an hour. Then the children sang songs to
a piano accompaniment, and there followed a lesson in cooking and the
proper setting of a table. All this instruction was succeeded by an
informal chat.

"I want you all to tell me what you are going to do when you grow to be
women," said Miss King.

In most cases the occupations of their parents were chosen, and the
number of washerwomen, scrubbers, and seamstresses in embryo was
appalling.

"And you, Amarilly?" she asked, addressing the new pupil last of all.

Amarilly's mien was lofty, her voice consequential, as she replied in
dramatic denouement: "I'm goin' on the stage!"

The young teacher evinced a most eager interest in this declaration.

"Oh, Amarilly! We all have a stage-longing period. When did you first
think of such a career?"

"I'm in the perfesshun now," replied Amarilly pompously.