'Breaking a Butterfly.' Which do you like best?" asked a pale girl of
Polly, in one of the momentary lulls which occurred.

"I have n't read either."

"You must, then. I adore Guy Livingston's books, and Yates's.
'Ouida's' are my delight, only they are so long, I get worn out
before I 'm through."

"I have n't read anything but one of the Muhlbach novels since I
came. I like those, because there is history in them," said Polly,
glad to have a word to say for herself.

"Those are well enough for improving reading; but I like real
exciting novels; don't you?"

Polly was spared the mortification of owning that she had never
read any, by the appearance of Mousieur, a gray-headed old
Frenchman, who went through his task with the resigned air of one
who was used to being the victim of giggling school-girls. The
young ladies gabbled over the lesson, wrote an exercise, and read a
little French history. But it did not seem to make much impression
upon them, though Monsieur was very ready to explain; and Polly
quite blushed for her friend, when, on being asked what famous
Frenchman fought in our Revolution, she answered Lamartine,
instead of Lafayette.

The hour was soon over; and when Fan had taken a music lesson in
another room, while Polly looked on, it was time for recess. The
younger girls walked up and down the court, arm in arm, eating