The pupils, astonished at this daring act, all looked at the
teacher--their natural enemy, appointed to supply them with
undesired information derived from hated books. They saw one of
Mother Nature's favorite daughters; designed to be the darling of
her family, and the conqueror of hearts among men of all tastes
and ages. But Sydney Westerfield had lived for six weary years in
the place of earthly torment, kept by Miss Wigger under the name
of a school. Every budding beauty, except the unassailable beauty
of her eyes and her hair, had been nipped under the frosty
superintendence of her maternal aunt. Her cheeks were hollow, her
delicate lips were pale; her shabby dress lay flat over her
bosom. Observant people, meeting her when she was out walking
with the girls, were struck by her darkly gentle eyes, and by the
patient sadness of her expression. "What a pity!" they said to
each other. "She would be a pretty girl, if she didn't look so
wretched and so thin."

At a loss to understand the audacity of her teacher in rising
before the class was dismissed, Miss Wigger began by asserting
her authority. She did in two words: "Sit down!"

"I wish to explain, ma'am."

"Sit down."

"I beg, Miss Wigger, that you will allow me to explain."

"Sydney Westerfield, you are setting the worst possible example
to your class. I shall see this man myself. _Will_ you sit down?"