Transcriber's Notes:
Blank pages have been eliminated.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in theoriginal.
A few typographical errors have been corrected.
The cover page was created by the transcriber and can be considered public domain.
BY
JULIA SCHAYER
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1883
Copyright, 1883, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
Trow's
Printing and Bookbinding Company
201-213 East Twelfth Street
NEW YORK
| PAGE | |
| Tiger Lily, | 1 |
| Thirza, | 89 |
| Molly, | 127 |
| A Summer's Diversion, | 159 |
| My Friend Mrs. Angel, | 195 |
The shrill treble of a girl's voice, raised to itshighest pitch in anger and remonstrance, broke inupon the scholarly meditations of the teacher of theRidgemont grammar school. He raised his headfrom his book to listen. It came again, mingledwith boyish cries and jeers, and the sound of blowsand scuffling. The teacher, a small, fagged-lookingman of middle age, rose hastily, and went outof the school-house.
Both grammar and high school had just beendismissed, and the bare-trodden play-ground wasfilled with the departing scholars. In the centreof the ground a group of boys had collected, andfrom this group the discordant sounds still proceeded.
"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" themaster asked, coming near.
At the sound of his voice the group fell apart,disclosing, as a central point, the figure of a girlof thirteen or fourteen years. She was thin andstraight, and her face, now ablaze with anger andexcitement, was a singular one, full of contradic[4]tions,yet not inharmonious as a whole. It wasfair, but not as blondes are fair, and its creamysurface was flecked upon the cheeks with dark, velvetyfreckles. Her features were symmetrical, yeta trifle heavy, particularly the lips, and certaindusky tints were noticeable about the large grayeyes and delicate temples, as well as a peculiarcrisp ripple in the mass of vivid red hair which fellfrom under her torn straw hat.
Clinging to her scant skirts was a small hunch-backedboy, crying dismally, and making the mostof his tears by rubbing them into his sickly facewith a pair of grimy fists.
The teacher looked about him with disapprovalin his glance. The group contained, no doubt, itsfair proportion of future legislators and presidents,but the raw material was neither encouraging norpleasant to look upon. The culprits returned hiswavering gaze, some looking a little conscience-smitten,others boldly impertinent, others still (andthose the worst in the lot) with a charming ai