Mama tells me I ought to be a carpenter."
"But you don't look like one," Bernice smiled, critically; and then
continued: "We began physical geography this term. It is so interesting.
And Miss Somers makes language beautiful; I can't help liking grammar!"
"I never understood it--it was always so blind!"
But Bernice was laughing again. The tall girl turned toward her
inquiringly.
"I was thinking of what Johnny Weeks said down in the primary room the
other day," Bernice began in explanation. "The teacher asked him what 'cat'
was. I guess he was not paying attention. He looked all around, and finally
said he did not know. She told him it was a noun. 'Then,' he said, after
some deliberation, 'kitten must be a pronoun.'"
An hour afterward, all the lights but one in the house were out. Elizabeth
sat with her cousin talking over the events of the evening.
"And how do you like Bernice Dahl?" she asked, and lent an eager ear; for
Helen's word could make or mar things irretrievably.
"Like her? I have never liked any one better. Perhaps I would not have
noticed, had you not spoken particularly about her.
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