names,” the result of which was that the assailed one suddenly snatched up her slate, and, in an uncontrollable fit of passion, struck her tormentor a blow with it upon the forehead.
“What did she call Ida’s mother?” inquired Miss Rutherford, all at once changing her look curiously.
“She called her a bad woman.”
“Was that all?”
“No, please, Miss Rutherford,” put in Maud eagerly. “She said she got her living in the streets. And it isn’t true. Ida’s mother’s a lady, and doesn’t sell things in the streets!”
The teacher looked down and was silent.
“I don’t think I need ask any more questions,” she said presently. “Run away home all of you. What is it, my dear?”
Maud, she was about eleven, and small for her age, had remained behind, and was looking anxiously up into Miss Rutherford’s face.
“May I wait for Ida, please,” she asked, “and—and walk home with her? We go the same way.”
“Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night. Ida
