ve better lessons is 'cause she
scares it out of 'em. Oh, dear, school is such a funny thing!"

"Would you like to have me come to visit you tomorrow?" suggested
Elizabeth, who dreaded the ordeal almost as much as did Peace.

"No, you needn't mind. S'posing I should make a _frizzle_ of everything,
you'd feel just terribly, I know, and I should, too. I guess it will be
bad enough with all the other mothers there. But I wish there wasn't
_going_ to be any exercises. I'm sick of 'em already. And what do you
think now! She told us only this afternoon that we must all have an
_antidote_ for some of the Presidents to tell tomorrow for General
Lesson."

"A what!"

"An _antidote_. A short story about some of the Presidents of the United
States."

"You mean anecdote, child. I didn't suppose you were old enough to be
studying history in your room."

"Oh, this ain't hist'ry! We have a calendar each month telling what big
men or women were born and why. Then teacher tells us something about
their lives. Lots of 'em are very int'resting, but I can't remember
which were Presidents and which were only _manner-fracturers_. That's my
trouble."

"Well, it just happens that I can help you out there, my girlie," smiled
Elizabeth, smoothing the damp curls back from the flushed cheeks. "John
has a book in his library of just such things as that. We'll get it and
hunt up some nice, new stories that aren't hoary with age."

The volume was quickly found, and several quaint anecdotes were selected
for the next day's program, so if by chance other pupils had come
prepared with some of them, there would be still others for Peace to
choose from. And when school-time came the next day, she departed almost
happily, with the Presidential book tucked under one arm and the
well-fingered Longfellow under the other; for she meant to make sure
that the words were fresh in her mind before her turn came to recite.

The session began very auspiciously with some happy songs, and Peace's
spirits rose. Then came the drawing lesson. Peace was no more of an
artist than she was an elocutionist, but she tried hard, and was working
away industriously trying to paint the group of grape leaves Miss Peyton
had arranged on her desk, when one of the little visitors slipped from
his seat in his mother's lap and wandered across the room to his
sister's desk, which chanced to be directly in front of Peace; so he
could easily see what she was doing. He watched her