cold, and from the sharp end of the long thin nose of the elder Miss
Pocket there always depended, much fascinating Rosalie, a shining
bead of moisture.

Rosalie's chief recollection of the Miss Pockets was of being
constantly met by them as she approached the age of eight, and of
them always, on these occasions, fondling icy hands about her neck
and saying to her father or her mother, "And when will our new
little pupil be coming to us?"

But no direct reply was ever given to this question, either by
Rosalie's mother, who was always made to look uncomfortable when
it was asked by the Miss Pockets, or by Rosalie's father who always
seemed to jut out his nose at it and make the Miss Pockets look
thinner and colder than ever.

On the morning of her eighth birthday, Rosalie received from the
Miss Pockets by post an illuminated text provided with a piece of
red cord for hanging on the wall and inquiring, rather abruptly,

"Who Hath Believed Our Report?"

Rosalie thought at first this was a plaintive question directly
from the Miss Pockets in their capacity as school-teachers and
therefore as licensed makers of reports; but immediately afterwards
saw "Isaiah" printed under it in discreet characters--

"Who Hath Believed our Report?

--Isaiah."