She was very absent, too. One day I found her with a big, awkward volume on her knee, heated, excited, and evidently put out.
"Is anything the matter?" I wanted to know.
"O yes," she answered desperately; "I've lost my pen, and I'm writing for the mail."
"Why, where are you looking for it?" I asked.
She glanced at me, and then at the book.
"I—I believe," she faltered, "I was looking for it among the p's in the French dictionary."
