CHAPTER V.





MONDAY morning came again. The great bell in the cupola of Madam
Truxton's seminary had sounded, and all the pupils, large and small,
were gathered to join in the opening exercises. First, the
bright-eyed little girls, in tidy aprons, with hair smoothed back in
modest braids, or safely gathered under the faithful comb; then, the
more advanced scholars, each bearing the impress of healthful vigor
and hopeful heart; and last, the big girls, or "finishing class," as
Madam Truxton significantly styled them--all were assembled once more
on this bright Monday morning, to begin the duties of another week,
and share again the joys and sorrows of school life. It was a lovely
sight, this assembled school; for where is the heart that does not
see with unspeakable pleasure the dawning beauty of innocent,
careless maidenhood?

"Bertha, do you know the French lesson?" said Lizzie Heartwell, as
the class of young ladies was passing from the assembly hall to
Madam Cond‚'s room.

"Oh, just well enough, Lizzie, to keep me from a scolding, I guess.
Here, won't you please hold the book open at aimer, so I can get
that muss a little straight, in case madam calls upon me to
conjugate?"