next moment
the class were amazed to learn from Cordelia's lips that Caesar sent the
army--not "under the yoke" as was expected--but "under the jug."

Cordelia knew, before the titters of the class told her, what she had
said; and with hot blushes she made a hasty correction. But to Cordelia,
usually so conscientiously accurate and circumspect, the thing was a
tragedy, and, as such, would not soon be forgotten by her. She knew,
too, that the class would not let her forget it even could she herself
do so. If she had doubted this, she did not doubt it longer, after
school was dismissed, for she was assailed on all sides by a merry
bombardment of gibes and questions as to just what sort of jug it was,
anyhow, under which Caesar sent his army.

Genevieve, only, had nothing to say. She did not, indeed, even glance
toward Cordelia. With averted face she hurried through the corridor and
out the street door alone. In the yard a quick step behind her overtook
her, and she found herself looking into the flushed, agitated face of
the new boy.

O. B. J. Holmes would not, at first sight, be called a good-looking
youth. His face was freckled, and his nose was rather large. But his
mouth was well-shaped, and his eyes were large and expressive. They
looked into Genevieve's now with a gaze that was clear and honest and
manly.

"Miss Genevieve, may I walk with you a little way, please?" he asked
with disarming directness. "I want to speak to you."

"Why, of--of course," stammered Genevieve. Then she colored painfully:
behind her she heard Tilly's laughing voice, followed by Alma's lower
one, and Harold's.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did this morning," began O. B. J.
Holmes, falling into step with her.

"Oh, that wasn't--wasn't anything," stammered Genevieve, nervously,
still acutely conscious of the eyes that she knew were behind her.

The boy smiled a little wistfully.

"Perhaps not, to you," he answered; "but if you'd been named 'O Be
Joyful' and had had to suffer for it as I have, you'd think it was
something."

"You don't mean to say your name _is_ 'O Be Joyful'!" gasped Genevieve.

He nodded, his face showing a deeper red.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to tell you. I didn't feel square not to have
you know it, after you stood up so bravely for 'Oliver'. Of course, if
you like, you may tell the rest. I suppose I was foolish to try to keep
it to myself, anyway," he sighed moodily.

"Tell it! Of course I sha'n't