Now the school of Breckonside--Mr. Mustard's, that is--lies right up against the woods on a sloping piece of land, from which the grass has long been worn off by generations of children playing. There is another little yard with some grass at the back. That is where the girls play, and across it with its gable to the big schoolhouse is the little class-room where Elsie was teaching.
It was right bang in the woods. So I knew very well I could lie hidden along the branch of a tree and look in at the window.
Mean, you say! Not a scrap. Elsie and I had always been such friends, like brother and sister, that surely I had a right to look after her a bit. Of course, if she had known she would have let out at me--scolded I mean. But all the same she would have found it quite natural.
So I went
