e limited space of her punishment, the circles drooping
far over her feet as she stood there, looking like the costumed stick
of a baby's rattle.

Her thinness continued into her face, which, unfortunately, had
nothing in the way of toilet to assist it. Two little black eyes fixed
in the sides of a mere fence of a nose, and a mouth with the shape and
expression of all mouths made to go over sharp-pointed teeth planted
very far apart; the smallest amount possible of fine, dry, black
hair--a perfect rat-tail when it was plaited in one, as almost all
wore their hair. But sometimes Pupasse took it into her head to plait
it in two braids, as none but the thick-haired ventured to wear it.
As the little girls said, it was a petition to Heaven for "eau
Quinquina." When Marcelite, the hair-dresser, came at her regular
periods to visit the hair of the boarders, she would make an effort
with Pupasse, plaiting her hundred hairs in a ten-strand braid. The
effect was a half yard of black worsted galloon; nothing more, or
better. Had Pupasse possessed as many heads as the hydra, she could
have "coiffe'd" them all with fools' caps during one morning's
recitations. She entirely monopolized the "Daily Bee." Madame Joubert
was forced to borrow from "madame" the stale weekly "Courrier des
Etats-Unis" for the rest of the room. From grammar, through sacred
history, arithmetic, geography, mythology, down to dictation, Pupasse
could pile up an accumulation of penitences that would have tasked the
limits of the current day had not recreation been wisely set as a term
which disbarred, by proscription, previous offenses. But even after
recreation, with that day's lessons safely out, punished and expiated,
Pupasse's doom seemed scarcely lightened; there was still a whole
criminal code of conduct to infract. The only difference was that
instead of books, slates, or copy-books, leathern medals, bearing
various legends and mottos, were hung around her neck--a travestied
decoration worse than the books for humiliation.

The "abecedaires," their torment for the day over, thankful for any
distraction from the next day's lessons, and eager for any relief
from the intolerable ennui of goodness, were thankful enough now for
Pupasse. They naturally watched her in preference to Madame Joubert,
holding their books and slates quite cunningly to hide their faces.
Pupasse had not only the genius, but that which sometimes fails
genius, the means for grimacing: