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Scarcely had he vanished from view of the boats, when Phemy scrambled out of her big mussell shell.
After that, she went into Miss Munsell's room, and three little girls in there gave Miss Mussell a copy of Tennyson's poems that cost exactly $2.53, which was what Miss Crutchet had collected, and Miss Mussell cried because she was so surprised.
Then she tiptoed down the hall clear to her own room and Mary Ellen Waldo let the pin drop, and Miss Mussell didn't come back to say whether she heard the pin drop or not. The children sat in breathless silence. Selma Morgenroth knocked her slate off and bit her lip with mortification while the others looked at her as much as to say: "Oh, my! ain't you 'shamed?"
Then, on the last day of school, Miss Mussell came in, and, with the three little girls standing on the platform and following every move with their eyes as a dog watches his master, she gave the caster to Miss Crutchet and Miss Crutchet cried, she was so surprised. They were tears of joy, she said.
He told the story at great length to a full audience in the kitchen, and concluded by swearing, that if ever the devil spoke by the mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merrilies that blessed day. Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle, Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whistle, And d-n'd excisemen in a bustle, Seizing a stell; Triumphant crushin't like a mussell, Or lampit shell. Burns.
The next day she came again because there were three that hadn't their money, so there was $2.88 at last. Miss Mussell had three little girls go with her after school to pick out the present. They chose a silver-plated pickle caster, which is exactly what girls of seven will choose, and, do you know, it came exactly to $2.88?
Then Miss Crutchet came back and smiled at the children, and they smiled back at her because they knew something she didn't know and couldn't guess at all. It was a secret. The next morning Miss Crutchet traded rooms again, and the little children gave Miss Mussell their money, and she counted it, and it came to $2.84.
Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am willing to bestow at this tyme. Sis. Take truce a little, servant. Sir Fr. Will you consider, Madam, yet how much A wounded hart may suffer? Lady.
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