Tempest and Sunshine

She at first put out her hand as if to prevent him from taking it, but at

last she suffered him to do so, but tried to look interestingly confused.

Mr. Wilmot read what was written and then smiling passed it to his friend,

who looked at it and saw that it was a piece of tolerably good blank

verse.

"Is this your composition, Julia?" said Mr. Miller.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"And have your 'notes' always been of this nature?" asked Mr. Wilmot.

"That, or something similar," said Julia. "I find no difficulty in

learning my lesson by once reading, and as I am very fond of poetry, I

like to employ the rest of my time in trying my powers at it!"

Mr. Wilmot looked at Mr. Miller, as much as to say, "I hope you are

satisfied," and then proceeded to hear Julia's lesson, which was

well-learned and well-recited. Julia's recitation being over, Fanny's

class was called. Fanny came hesitatingly, for she knew her lesson was but

poorly learned. That morning she had found under her desk a love letter

from Bill Jeffrey, and she and some of the other girls had spent so much

time in laughing over it, and preparing an answer, that she had scarcely

thought of her lesson. She got through with it, however, as well as she

could, and was returning to her seat when Mr. Miller called her to him and

said reprovingly, "Fanny, why did you not have a better lesson?"

"Oh, Mr. Miller," she said, almost crying, "I did intend to, but I forgot

all about your being here"; and then, as a new thought struck her, she

said mischievously, "and besides I have spent all the morning writing an

answer to Bill Jeffrey's love letter!"

At this unlooked-for speech, all the scholars burst into a laugh and

directed their eyes toward the crestfallen Bill, who seemed so painfully

embarrassed that Fanny regretted what she had said, and as soon as school

was out for the morning she went to him and told him she was sorry for so

thoughtlessly exposing him to ridicule; "but," added she, "Billy, I'll

tell you what, you mustn't write me any more love letters, for 'tis not

right to do such things at school; neither need you bring me any more

candy or raisins. I don't object to your giving me a nice big apple

occasionally, but candy and raisins you had better give to the little

children. And now to prove that I am really your friend, if you will get

that old dogeared arithmetic of yours, I will show you how to do some of

those hard sums which trouble you so."