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Just then Glory showed unmistakable and malicious intentions of sneezing, and Weary, catching a glimpse of something in Miss Satterly's hand, hastened to make his presence known. "I hope yuh aren't limbering up that weapon of destruction on my account, Schoolma'am," he observed mildly. The schoolma'am jumped and slid something out of sight under her ruffled, white apron.
No one had as yet come to lift Miss Satterly's brown eyes from the deep places of his heart, because he again shied at women; but he was able to draw a veil before them so that they did not haunt him so much. He began to whistle once more, as he went about his work; but he never whistled "Good Old Summertime." There were other foolish songs become popular; he rather fancied "Navajo" these days.
When Cal Emmett, probably thinking of Miss Satterly's little book, pensively warbled in his ear: Is your name written there, On the page white and fair? Happy Jack made no reply, though he suddenly felt chilly along the spinal column. It was. "Schoolma'am wants us all to go over to the schoolhouse tonight seven-thirty, sharp to help make medicine over this Santa Claus round-up.
Over at the school-house that night, when Miss Satterly's little, gold watch told her it was seven-thirty, she came out of the corner where she had been whispering with the Little Doctor and faced a select, anxious-eyed audience. Even Weary was not as much at ease as he would have one believe, and for the others they were limp and miserable. She went straight at her subject.
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