An hour later I was busy at my work. Now and then a bee
blundered in and took me for an enemy; but there was a useful stick
upon the teacher's desk, and I rapped to call the bees to order as
if they were unruly scholars, or waved them away from their riots
over the ink, which I had bought at the Landing store, and
discovered to be scented with bergamot, as if to refresh the labors
of anxious scribes. One anxious scribe felt very dull that day; a
sheep-bell tinkled near by, and called her wandering wits after it.
The sentences failed to catch these lovely summer cadences. For
the first time I began to wish for a companion and for news from
the outer world, which had been, half unconsciously, forgotten.
Watching the funeral gave one a sort of pain. I began to wonder if
I ought not to have walked with the rest, instead of hurrying away
at the end of the services. Perhaps the Sunday gown I had put on
for the occasion was making this disastrous change of feeling, but
I had now made myself and my friends remember that I did not really
belong to Dunnet Landing.
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