"Yes, Metters, it means that this is the Sunday or week whereabouts the yaller jessamine—or in Latin, gessima—do begin to bloom."
"Thank you, sir—and Septuagesima?"
"That," answered the captain with great promptitude, "that is when the white 'un flowers."
"But, sir, there's another Sunday collick, Sexagesima. There's no red or blue jessamine, be there?"
"Red, or blue!" The teacher looked hopelessly at Arminell, who with compressed lips observed him and shook her head.
"Sex—sex—sex," repeated Mr. Tubb, with his mouth full of beard, "always means females. That means the female jessamine."
"Be there any, sir? There's a petticoat narcissus, and a lady's smock, and a marygold, but I never heard of a she-jessamine."
"There are none here," answered Tubb, "but in the Holy Land—lots."
"Really, Arminell," said Lady Lamerton, "your class is doing nothing but play and disturb mine."
"I am on the stool of the learner," sneered the girl.
At that moment, through the ceiling, or rather boards above, dropped a black-handled kitchen fork within a hair's breadth of Arminell's head. She drew back, startled.
"What is it? What is the matter?" exclaimed Lady Lamerton. "Run up, Polly Woodley!—no, not you this time; you, Fanny White, and see what they are about upstairs."
"Please, my lady," said Polly, peering into the higher regions through the hole, "Bessie have given the baby the knives and forks to play with, 'cause you wont let her rock the cradle and to keep 'un from crying. He's a shoving 'em through the floor."
Then, down through the knot-hole descended a shower
