They were late in getting back from the river that day and Miss
Benton had to ring her bell hard in that direction before they came
trooping up and clattered into the schoolroom, where the girls already
sat, their eyes lowered virtuously to their books, with a prim air of
self-righteousness. THEY were never late!
Betsy was reciting her arithmetic. She was getting on famously with
that. Weeks ago, as soon as Miss Benton had seen the confusion of the
little girl's mind, the two had settled down to a serious struggle with
that subject. Miss Benton had had Betsy recite all by herself, so she
wouldn't be flurried by the others; and to begin with had gone back,
back, back to bedrock, to things Betsy absolutely knew, to the 2x2's and
the 3x3's. And then, very cautiously, a step at a time, they had
advanced, stopping short whenever Betsy felt a beginning of that
bewildered "guessing" impulse which made her answer wildly at random.
After a while, in the dark night which arithmetic had always been to
her, Betsy began to make out a few definite outlines, which were always
there, facts which she knew to be so without guessing from the
expression of her teacher's face. From that moment her progress had been
rapid, one sure fact hooking itself on to another, and another one on to
that. She attacked a page of problems now with a zest and self-
confidence which made her arithmetic lessons among the most interesting
hours at school.
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