Classmates

The short brown curls had fallen Shielding the face from view, And nobody knew that angry tears Were filling those eyes of blue.

A teasing word, a sharp retort, Which cut like a whip-lash keen, And now her friend of a whole long year Was “cruel, and horrid and mean”.

The open book before her Was damp with the limpid flow For tears come easily in youth With every new-born woe.

The chattering girls grow silent; The Master is coming in; She must raise her head and wipe her eyes, For lessons will soon begin.

Can she make the class believe she is ill? Can she hide the trace of tears? Is she only a blubbering baby, In spite of her sixteen years?

'Tis a long, long day but it ends at last, The class comes trooping through the door, Margaret paused, “Let Louise go by, I shall never walk with her more”.

“How could she have spoken those hateful words? I can never forgive her, never.” Two hours later with arms intwined, They were vowing friendship forever.