venture to bring them near the limits of the
play-ground. It struck the master with some surprise that Indian Spring
did not seem to trouble itself in regard to his own privileged relations
with its rustic enchantress; the young men clearly were not jealous of
him; no matron had suggested any indecorum in a young girl of Cressy's
years and antecedents being intrusted to the teachings of a young man
scarcely her senior. Notwithstanding the attitude which Mr. Ford had
been pleased to assume towards her, this implied compliment to his
supposed monastic vocations affected him almost as uncomfortably as the
"Star's" extravagant eulogium. He was obliged to recall certain
foolish experiences of his own to enable him to rise superior to this
presumption of his asceticism.

In pursuance of his promise to McKinstry, he had procured a few
elementary books of study suitable to Cressy's new position, without,
however, taking her out of the smaller classes or the discipline of the
school. In a few weeks he was enabled to further improve her attitude by
making her a "monitor" over the smaller girls, thereby dividing certain
functions with Rupert Filgee, whose ministrations to the deceitful and
"silly" sex had been characterized by perhaps more vigilant scorn and
disparagement than was necessary. Cressy had accepted it as she had
accepted her new studies, with an indolent good-humor, and at times a
frankly supreme ignorance of their abstract or moral purpose that was
discouraging. "What's the good of that?" she would ask, lifting her
eyes abruptly to the master. Mr. Ford, somewhat embarrassed by her look,
which always, sooner or later, frankly confessed itself an excuse for a
perfectly irrelevant examination of his features in detail, would end in
giving her some severely practical answer. Yet, if the subject appealed
to any particular idiosyncrasy of her own, she would speedily master
the study. A passing predilection for botany was provoked by a single
incident. The master deeming this study a harmless young-lady-like
occupation, had one day introduced the topic at recess, and was met by
the usual answer. "But suppose," he continued artfully, "somebody sent
you anonymously some flowers."

"Her ho!" suggested Johnny Filgee hoarsely, with bold bad recklessness.
Ignoring the remark and the kick with which Rupert had resented it on
the person of his brother, the master continued:

"And if you couldn't find out who sent them, you would