Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. "And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. " "But you can imagine it. ” Michelle nodded in solemn agreement. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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