knew was the vital point.

"Lovely," said the schoolma'am briefly, but with fervor.

"Different here," asserted Weary. "I drifted, right before supper."

"_Did_ you?" Miss Satterly accented the first word in a way she taught
her pupils indicated surprise. "I don't reckon you noticed it. You
were pretty busy, about then."

Miss Satterly laughed languid assent.

"I never knew before that Bert Rogers was any relation of Myrt
Forsyth," observed Weary, edging still nearer the vital point. "They
sure aren't much alike."

"You used to know her?" asked Miss Satterly, politely.

"Well, I should say yes. I used to go to school with Myrt. How do you
like her?"

"Lovely," said Miss Satterly, this time without fervor.

Weary began digging a trench with his spurs. He wished the schoolma'am
would not limit herself so rigidly to that one adjective. It became
unmeaning with much use, so that it left a fellow completely in the
dark.

"Just about everybody says that about her--at first," he remarked.