"I'll do my best," she answered brightly. "I picked up a few words from the other girls last night that I didn't know before. There was 'ripping' for one, and—what was the other, now, that caught on to me? Oh, I know!—'rotten'. I won't forget it again."
Miss Poppleton's face was a study.
"Of course I don't mean slang words like those. The girls had no business to be using them. You must copy the best, and not the worst."
"I guess it will take me a while to learn the difference."
"You'll have to expunge 'guess' and 'reckon' from your vocabulary."
Gipsy heaved an eloquent sigh.
"I'll make a mental note of what I've got to avoid, but I expect they'll slip out sometimes. But about that pan, please! Might the janitor go out and buy it for me? I can't make any Fudge till I get it, and I reck—that is to say, I mean to teach those girls to make Fudge. They've not tasted it."
Miss Poppleton glared at her irrepressible pupil with a glance that would have quelled Hetty Hancock or Lennie Chapman, but Gipsy did not flinch.
"They've actually never tasted Fudge!" she repeated, with a smile of pity for their ignorance.
But Miss Poppleton's patience was at an end.
"Gipsy Latimer, understand once for all that these things are not allowed at Briarcroft. While you are here you will be expected to keep the rules of the school, or, if you break them, you will be punished. Leave my study at once, and don't report yourself here again until you are sent for."
