It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher to imagine that "Clytie" was
a consolation and model for Mliss. Following this fallacy, Mrs. Morpher
threw Clytie at the head of Mliss when she was "bad," and set her up
before the child for adoration in her penitential moments. It was not,
therefore, surprising to the master to hear that Clytie was coming to
school, obviously as a favor to the master and as an example for Mliss
and others. For "Clytie" was quite a young lady. Inheriting her mother's
physical peculiarities, and in obedience to the climatic laws of the Red
Mountain region, she was an early bloomer. The youth of Smith's Pocket,
to whom this kind of flower was rare, sighed for her in April and
languished in May. Enamored swains haunted the schoolhouse at the hour
of dismissal. A few were jealous of the master.

Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that opened the master's eyes
to another. He could not help noticing that Clytie was romantic; that
in school she required a great deal of attention; that her pens were
uniformly bad and wanted fixing; that she usually accompanied the
request with a certain expectation in her eye that was somewhat
disproportionate to the quality of service she verbally required; that
she sometimes allowed the curves of a round, plump white arm to rest on
his when he was writing her copies; that she always blushed and flung
back her blond curls when she did so. I don't remember whether I have
stated that the master was a young man--it's of little consequence,
however; he had been severely educated in the school in which Clytie
was taking her first lesson, and, on the whole, withstood the flexible
curves and factitious glance like the fine young Spartan that he
was. Perhaps an insufficient quality of food may have tended to this
asceticism. He generally avoided Clytie; but one evening, when she
returned to the schoolhouse after something she had forgotten, and
did not find it until the master walked home with her, I hear that he