and church-spire
stretching away into the distance. She had never heard of that school
of artists that painted the classic landscapes, but she belonged to
them as surely as any of the old Italian masters. She was now drawing
Mrs. Jarvis in a trained gown standing on the steps of the castle,
while Elizabeth Joan of Arc Jarvis Gordon, blowing a bugle, came riding
down a perpendicular mountain-path on a stiff-legged steed. Rosie had
just housecleaned her desk for the second time that day. She had
rubbed all the ink-spots off the top and put a new paper frill around
the ink-well. She was re-arranging her books once more and had them in
an unsteady pile on the edge of her desk, when Elizabeth leaned over to
her side, to display her finished landscape. Rosie's arm came against
the toppling pile of books, and they went crashing to the floor.

Miss Hillary looked up. The two culprits sat up very straight and made
a frantic show of figuring on their slates. For Jessie had reported no
letter that morning, and who knew what might happen? The teacher arose
frowning, and Rosie made a desperate dive towards the truant books, but
Miss Hillary stopped her. Then, to the amazement and relief of the two
tremblers, she began to rebuke, not Rosie, but Joel Davis! Joel was a
big, sleepy, fat boy who sat opposite the two little girls, and the
books had bounced over towards his seat. No boy was a gentleman, Miss
Hillary stated, who would allow a lady to pick up anything that had
fallen. She was grieved, after all the lessons she had given in
manners and morals, to find that one of her pupils could be so lacking
in refinement. Joel would, therefore, please gather up Rosie Carrick's
books, and put them on her desk, as a gentleman should always do for a
lady.

Joel scratched his shaggy head in perplexity, and gazed sleepily at his
teacher, then at the debris of books and pictures and tissue-paper
squares that littered the floor. He muttered growlingly that a kid
like Rosie Carrick wasn't no lady anyhow; but he good-naturedly scooped
up an armful of the fallen, and without moving himself unduly reached
them out towards their owner. The school giggled, poor Rosie blushed,
and in a spasm of embarrassment strove to take them. Between them the
books once more descended to the floor in an avalanche of gayly-colored
cards and papers. Rosie stooped for them, so did Joel, and their heads
bumped together. The young gentleman, now blush