Jeannette Huntington Duval found school decidedly trying at first. The pupils _would_ pry into her past. Their questions were most embarrassing. Even the teachers, puzzled by many contradictory facts, asked questions that Jeanne could not answer without mentioning poverty or fish.
Yes, she had lived in the country (_is_ on a dock "in the country"? wondered truthful Jeanne). No, she _truly_ didn't know what a theater was; and she had never had a birthday party nor been to one. What did _keeping_ one's birthday mean? Jeanne had asked. How _could_ one give her birthday away! Of _course_ she knew all the capitals of South America. Mountains and rivers, too. She could draw maps showing them all--she _loved_ to draw maps. But asparagus--what was that? And velvet? And vanilla? And plumber?
"Really," said Miss Wardell, one day, after a lesson in definitions, "you _can't_ be as ignorant as you seem. You _must_ know the meaning of such words as jardinière, tapestry, doily, mattress, counterpane, banister, newel-post, brocade. Didn't you live in a house?"
"Yes'm--yes, Miss Wardell," stammered Jeanne, coloring as a vision of the Duval shack presented itself.
Jeanne hung her head. She had guessed that that thick thing on her bed was a mattress, but how was she to confess that hay in a wooden bunk had been her bed! Fortunately, Jeanne did not _look_ like a child who had slept on hay. She was small and daintily built. Her hands and feet were beautifully shaped. Her dark eyes were soft and very lovely, her little face decidedly bright and attractive. She suffered now for affection, for companionship, for the freedom of outdoor life; but never for food or for suitable garments. It is to be feared that Mrs. Huntington, during all the time that she looked after Jeannette, put _clothes_ before any other consideration. The child was always properly clad.
Unfortunately, in spite of all Jeanne's precautions, her cousins succeeded in dragging from her all the details of her former poverty. They never got her alone that they didn't trap her into telling things that she had meant _not_ to tell. At those times, even Harold seemed almost kind to her.
Mean children, they were pumping her, of course, but for a long time honest Jeanne did not suspect them of any such meanness. After they had learned all that there was to know, Jeanne's eyes were opened, and things were different. Sometimes Harold, in order to embarrass her, told his boy friends a weird tale about her.