To sound the humor of Warble.

She hated school. Books, restraint, routine, scratching slate pencils, gum
under desks, smells--all the set up palette of the schoolroom was not to
her a happy vehicle of self-expression.

Often, in hope of being sent home, she had let a rosy tongue-tip protrude
from screwed up red lips at teacher, but it had gone unpunished.

And now--

Now, rocking in triumphant, glorious mirth, her plump shoulders hunched in
very ecstasy, the child was on the peak!

Expelled! Oh, gee!

And all because she had put a caterpillar down Pearl Jane Tuttle's back.
One little, measly caterpillar.

Pearl Jane had sat right in front of her.

A loose neckband round a scrawny neck.

And when Pearl Jane wiggled, a space of neck between two thin, tight black
pigtails--a consequent safe-deposit that was fairly crying out to have
something dropped down it.

A caterpillar mooching along the schoolroom aisle--clearly sent by
Providence.