she'll be disappointed at your leaving, but of course she can't expect
to keep you for ever. I heard a rumor that she means to give up her
school altogether, and go and live with her uncle. I hope it's true, and
then I can take the little ones away with an easy conscience. I don't
want to treat her badly, poor thing, but I'm sure teaching's not her
vocation."

Winona really made a heroic effort to prepare herself for the coming
ordeal. She retired to a secluded part of the garden and read over her
latest school books. The process landed her in the depths of
despondency.

"I'll never remember anything--never!" she mourned to her family. "To
try and get all this into my head at once is like bolting a week's meals
at a single go! I know a date here and there, and I've a hazy notion of
French and Latin verbs, and a general impression of other subjects, but
if they ask me for anything definite, such as the battles of the Wars of
the Roses, or a list of the products of India, I'm done for!"

"Go in for Post-Impressionism, then," suggested Percy. "Write from a
romantic standpoint, and don't condescend to mere facts. Stick in a
quotation or two, and a drawing if possible, and make your paper sound
eloquent and dramatic and poetical, and all the rest of it. They'll mark
you low for accuracy, but put you on ten per cent. for style, you bet! I
know a chap who tries it on at the Coll., and it always pays."

"It's worth thinking about, certainly," said Winona, shutting her books
with a weary yawn.