"H'sh!" Phebe said peremptorily.
Isabel giggled again, a little ostentatiously, and covered her mouth
with the palm of her hand.
"H'sh!" Phebe whispered. "She'll hear you, Isabel St. John. Wait till
she is hearing the first geography, and then we'll do it."
It was at that hour of the afternoon when even the most industrious of
grammar-school pupils feels his zeal for learning grow less with every
tick of the clock. Isabel and Phebe, however, were never remarkable for
their zeal. In fact, their teachers had never been able to decide
whether they were more bright or more lazy. Both characteristics were so
well developed that the hours they spent in the schoolroom were chiefly
devoted to exploits of a most unscholastic nature.
The schoolroom of Number Nine, Union School, was much like all other
schoolrooms, save in two essential particulars. The building was old and
was heated with stoves, which necessitated the use of two huge zinc
screens to keep the direct heat from the pupils near by; and the room
boasted, aside from the usual ranks of desks, one extra double desk
placed with its back against the window at the side of the room, and in
close proximity to the stoves and the sheltering screens. Two months
before, when promotion of classes had brought Phebe and Isabel to the
room, their quick eyes had taken in the inherent advantages of this
position.
"Please, Miss Hulburt, may we sit here?" Phebe had asked.
"What makes you choose that place?" Miss Hulburt had inquired.
"Because the light is so good," Isabel had replied ingenuously.