in silence a moment,
and then demanded in a stage whisper, "What you d'awing?"

"Grape leaves," Peace stopped chewing her tongue long enough to answer.

"No, they ain't neither. They's piggies."

The brown head was quickly raised from her task, and the would-be artist
studied her work critically. The boy was right. They did look somewhat
like a litter of curly-tailed pigs. All they needed were eyes and
pointed ears. Mechanically Peace added these little touches, made the
snouts a little sharper, drew in two or three legs to make them
complete, and sat back in her seat to admire the result of her work.

"Ah," simpered Miss Peyton, who had chanced to look up just that
minute, "Peace has finished her sketch. Bring it to the desk, please, so
we may all criticize it."

Peace had just dipped her brush into the hollow of her cake of red
paint, intending to make the piggies' noses pink, but at this startling
command from the teacher, she seemed suddenly turned to an icicle. What
could she do? She glanced around her in an agony of despair, saw no
loophole of escape, and gathering up the unlucky sketch, she stumbled up
the aisle to the desk, still holding her scarlet-tipped paint brush in
her hand.

Usually Miss Peyton examined the drawings herself before calling upon
the scholars to criticise; but this was the last day of school, and the
program was long; so she smiled her prettiest, and said sweetly, "Hold
it up for inspection, Peace."

Miserably Peace faced the roomful of scholars and parents, and extended
the drawing with a trembling hand. There was an ominous hush, and then
the whole audience broke into a yell of laughter. Miss Peyton's face
flushed scarlet, and holding out her hand she said sharply, "Give it to
me."

Peace wheeled about and dropped the sheet of pigs upon the desk, but at
that unfortunate moment, the paint-brush slipped from her grasp and
spilled a great, scarlet blot on the teacher's fresh white waist.
Dismayed, Peace could only stare at the ruin she had wrought, having
forgotten all about her drawing in wondering what punishment would
follow this second calamity; and Miss Peyton had to speak twice before
she came to her senses enough to know that she was being ordered to her
seat.

"Oh," she gasped in mingled surprise and relief, "lemon juice and salt
will take that stain out, if it won't fade away with just washing."

Again an audible titter ran around the room, and the teacher, furiously
red