One was Mirandy.

Her weak and watery eyes stole loving glances over the top of her spelling-book, which she would not study.

Her looks made Ralph's spirits sink to forty below zero, and congeal.
But on one of the backless little benches that sat in the middle of the school-room was little Shocky, who also cast many love glances at the young master; glances as grateful to his heart as Mirandy's ogling--he was tempted to call it ogring--was hateful.
"Look at Shocky," giggled Betsey Short, behind her slate.

"He looks as if he was a-goin' to eat the master up, body and soul." And so the forenoon wore on as usual, and those who laid the trap had forgotten it, themselves.

The morning session was drawing to a close.
The fire in the great old fire-place had burnt low.