It was the old clumsy, hesitating mode of speech.

"You like the pinafores better?" she said quickly. She wore a dress of a
simple cotton fabric, but very fashionably made, and on her head was a
broad white hat. To Waldo she seemed superbly attired. She saw it. "My
dress has changed a little," she said, "and I also; but not to you. Hang
the bag over your other shoulder, that I may see your face. You say so
little that if one does not look at you you are an uncomprehended cipher.
Waldo changed the bag, and they walked on side by side. "You have
improved," she said. "Do you know that I have sometimes wished to see you
while I was away; not often, but still sometimes."

They were at the gate of the first camp now. Waldo threw over a bag of
mealies, and they walked on over the dewy ground.

"Have you learnt much?" he asked her simply, remembering how she had once
said, "When I come back again I shall know everything that a human being
can."

She laughed.

"Are you thinking of my old boast? Yes; I have learnt something, though
hardly what I expected, and not quite so much. In the first place, I have
learnt that one of my ancestors must have been a very great fool; for they
say nothing comes out in a man but one of his forefathers possessed it
before him. In the second place, I have discovered that of all cursed
places under the sun, where the hungriest soul can hardly pick up a few
grains of knowledge, a girls' boarding-school is the worst. They are
called finishing schools, and the name tells accurately what they are.
They finish everything but imbecility and weakness, and that they