he one
immediately preceding the present story.

Tess was seldom vindictive; but after she had puzzled her poor brain for
this half hour, trying to pick out and to get straight the Williams and
Stephens and Henrys and Johns and Edwards and Richards, to say nothing
of the Georges, who had reigned over England, she was quite flushed and
excited.

"I know I'm just going to de-_test_ that Miss Pepperpot!" she exclaimed.
"I--I could throw this old history at her--I just could!"

"But you couldn't hit her, Tess," Dot observed placidly. "You know you
couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't throw anything straight--no straighter than Sammy
Pinkney's ma. I heard her scolding Sammy the other day for throwing
stones. She says, 'Sammy, don't you let me catch you throwing any more
stones.'"

"And did he mind her?" asked Tess.

"I don't know," Dot replied reflectively. "But he says to her: 'What'll
I do if the other fellers throw 'em at me?' 'Just you come and tell me,
Sammy, if they do,' says Mrs. Pinkney."

"Well?" queried Tess, as her sister seemed inclined to stop.

"I didn't see what good that would do, myself," confessed Dot. "Telling
Mrs. Pinkney, I mean. And Sammy says to her: 'What's the use of telling
you, Ma? You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!' _I_ don't think
_you_ could fling that hist'ry straight at Miss Pepperpot, Tess."

"Huh!" said Tess, not altogether pleased. "I _feel_ I could hit her,
anyway."

"Maybe Aggie could learn you the names of those sov-runs----"

"'Sovereigns'!" exclaimed Tess. "For pity's sake, get the word right,
child!"

Dot pouted and Tess, being in a somewhat nagging mood--which was
entirely strange for her--continued:

"And don't say 'learn' for 'teach.' How many times has Ruthie told you
that?"

"I don't care," retorted Dorothy Kenway. "I don't think so much of the
English language--or the English sov-er-reigns--so now! If folks can
talk, and make themselves understood, isn't that enough?"

"It doesn't seem so," sighed Tess, despondent again as she glanced at
the open history.

"Oh, I tell you what!" cried Dot, suddenly eager. "You ask Neale O'Neil.
I'm sure _he_ can help you. He teached me how to play jack-stones."

Tess ignored this flagrant lapse from school English, and said, rather
haughtily:

"I wouldn't ask a boy."

"Oh, my! _I_ would," Dot replied, her eyes big and round. "I'd ask
anybody if I wanted to know anything very bad. And Neale O'Neil's quite