"Oh, Mr. Miller," she said, almost crying, "I did intend to, but I forgot
all about your being here"; and then, as a new thought struck her, she
said mischievously, "and besides I have spent all the morning writing an
answer to Bill Jeffrey’s love letter!"

At this unlooked-for speech, all the scholars burst into a laugh and
directed their eyes toward the crestfallen Bill, who seemed so painfully
embarrassed that Fanny regretted what she had said, and as soon as school
was out for the morning she went to him and told him she was sorry for so
thoughtlessly exposing him to ridicule; "but," added she, "Billy, I’ll
tell you what, you mustn’t write me any more love letters, for ’tis not
right to do such things at school; neither need you bring me any more
candy or raisins. I don’t object to your giving me a nice big apple
occasionally, but candy and raisins you had better give to the little
children. And now to prove that I am really your friend, if you will get
that old dogeared arithmetic of yours, I will show you how to do some of
those hard sums which trouble you so."

Billy was surprised. The butt of the school, he was accustomed to the
jeers of his companions, but such kindness, and from Fanny, too, was
unexpected. He, however, drew from his desk his old slate and arithmetic
and he and Fanny were soon deep in the mysteries of compound fractions. A
half hour passed away and at the end of that time Billy’s sums were done.

"Now, Billy," said Fanny, "see that you do not send me any more letters,
and mind, too, and not wink at me so often; you will remember?" Bill gave
the required promise and Fanny bounded away in quest of her schoolmates,
who laughed at her for taking so much pains with such a dolt as Bill
Jeffrey. That afternoon Fanny resolved to retrieve her character as a