endeavored to make himself particularly agreeable--partly from the
fact, I imagine, that his conduct was adding gall and bitterness to the
already overcharged hearts of Clytemnestra's admirers.

The morning after this affecting episode Mliss did not come to school.
Noon came, but not Mliss. Questioning Clytie on the subject, it appeared
that they had left the school together, but the willful Mliss had taken
another road. The afternoon brought her not. In the evening he called on
Mrs. Morpher, whose motherly heart was really alarmed. Mr. Morpher had
spent all day in search of her, without discovering a trace that might
lead to her discovery. Aristides was summoned as a probable accomplice,
but that equitable infant succeeded in impressing the household with his
innocence. Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid impression that the child
would yet be found drowned in a ditch, or, what was almost as terrible,
muddied and soiled beyond the redemption of soap and water. Sick at
heart, the master returned to the schoolhouse. As he lit his lamp and
seated himself at his desk, he found a note lying before him addressed
to himself, in Mliss's handwriting. It seemed to be written on a
leaf torn from some old memorandum book, and, to prevent sacrilegious
trifling, had been sealed with six broken wafers. Opening it almost
tenderly, the master read as follows:


RESPECTED SIR--When you read this, I am run away. Never to come back.
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my
Amerika's Pride [a highly colored lithograph from a tobacco-box] to
Sally Flanders. But don't you give anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't
you dare to. Do you know what my opinion is of her, it is this, she is
perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at present from