The Survivor

And then there were two.

Henry Blackstone, Jr. arrived at the site an a September morning in 1936 to discover that one of the "ghosts" had died the previous night -- like many of his comrades, of mysterious causes -- and that there were now just two remaining: Billy Betzendorf and Arnold Furschlugginer.

Pathetic, filthy, pale, shadowy wretches they were, with long, scraggly hair, they scrambled about amidst the ruins like ghouls. Somehow, they had survived twenty-six years in the rubble through the lure of John Bone's tontine fortune.

Mr. Blackstone had long since tired of the matter. The income from the trust no longer covered his fee, but he felt obliged to continue pro bono; he wished he could offer the two surviving heirs a settlement if they agreed to split the fortune, but the trust did not permit such an arrangement.

In reality, of course, there was little chance that Billy and Arnold were actual offspring of John Bone; as a lover, Bone was a legend in his own mind. It suited him to be accused of impregnating barmaids, but most of these allegations were fabricated, as a ruse to cash in on the Beaune fortune. A pillow worn under a maternity dress, and a pathetic story of broken promises was usually sufficient to get Auguste to open his wallet, but the more creative girls had a few rounds with cousin Caleb, followed by a quick trip to the abortion mill in Stapleton post-settlement.

Having survived so many years, the two ghouls of Ticklish Rock seemed determined to carry through to the bitter end. Vultures gathered, waited and watched, until they grew bored and discovered that they, too ran the risk of being caught and eaten by Messrs. Betzendorf and Furschlugginer.

December 7, 1941: a day that shall live in infamy. At Ticklish Rock, one more day of watchful waiting.

The children of Beauneville had long ceased throwing rocks at the ghouls, and now earned spare change by taking strangers to see the horrors of Ticklish Rock. Thrill-seekers were rarely disappointed -- upon seeing visitors, the ghouls would prance around in the piles of rubble in return for spare chicken legs, cupcakes, or whatever the people wished to spare. Guests were warned, though, not to throw vegetables, as they were generally thrown back.

Some of the more astute youth started a dead pool so that visitors could place bets on which ghoul would survive.

Finally, on a bitterly cold day in 1948, almost thirty-eight years to the day after John Bone's passing, Arnold Furschlugginer choked to death on a chicken bone. Billy Betzendorf was the sole remaining claimant and, by the terms of Bone's will, the sole legatee of the Bone fortune.

The Mausoleum

Mr. Blackstone supervised construction of John Bone's mausoleum, a great windowless stone mass of black granite measuring forty feet square and forty feet high. According to Bone's will, over the great bronze doors would read the simply inscription: John Bone, Benefactor to Humanity.

The first construction problem, demolishing the rendering plant, was resolved when a fire of mysterious origin swept the works, leaving nothing behind but charred animal bones and a heap of smelly ashes. Regrettably, the fire also consumed the adjacent mansion, which was in such a state of disrepair that a spark in the breeze immediately set it alight.

The ramshackle workers' quarters, cheaply built years ago, survived the fire, and here the claimants to Bone's will struggled to find shelter. Fights broke out; the strongest among them took the best quarters, such as they were, while the rest manufactured shelter from charred wood and animal bones rescued from the fire.

Behind the ruins of the rendering works was an enormous pit, where for many years workers had dumped spoiled animal fat, offal, animals too weak to walk up the ramp into the plant, human waste and other detritus. Mixed together, these choice ingredients made a foul and fetid stew, that bubbled and belched forth methane and hydrogen sulfide gases. This gelatinous and putrid mass long survived the end of factory operations, bestowing the local atmosphere with a horribly flatulent aroma strong enough to induce tears among the strongest of men. Mr. Blackstone minimized his visits to the area, and generally wore a handkerchief over his nose. Men hired to work on the mausoleum received hazard pay. Others, such as instrumentalists and singers for the memorial service, remained well clear of the site itself.

The need for others to keep some distance from the site of the rendering works turned out to be a blessing for the claimaints, who were known derisively by denizens of neighboring farms and towns as "Bone's Boys". Children from nearby towns gathered to hoot and throw rocks at the ghostly figures who lurked among the ruins, but as the stench required them to stand well back, their projectiles generally fell well short of the intended targets.

In the first few years after Bone's demise the number of claimants thinned considerably. Mr. Blackstone would receive an anonymous letter claiming that so-and-so could not possibly be a son of John Bone, as he was born in another city or by another father. Almost invariably, when Mr. Blackstone investigated he found these charges to be true; armed with copies of the pertinent birth certificates and the ever-present handkerchief, he would go to Ticklish Rock and send the bogus claimant away, cursing.

Others were caught away from the site at an inopportune time. Since there were no provisions for food in the will, claimants had to scavenge what they could from the site. After the ruins and surroundings were picked clean, claimants survived by stealing apples from adjacent orchards or by capturing and slaughtering rabbits, racoons, squirrels, possums or unfortunate housecats wandering in the neighborhood. The general resort to thievery might have become a more serious threat to the well-being of towns in Washington County, but claimants lived under the ever-present threat that Mr. Blackstone might choose to visit at any time to take attendance; this possibility served to limit the extent and duration of scavenging to the immediate neighborhood.

To mitigate suffering, ladies of Beauneville organized food drives, and recruited the children and young people to throw potatoes, apples, grilled pork chops and other foodstuffs instead of rocks and other missles. The children of Beauneville took to this new sport with great pleasure, and found great amusement observing the scrum and fisticuffs that inevitably erupted among the ghostly claimants when a single pork chop landed in their midst.

By 1920, there remained only a dozen or so claimants living amid the ashes and rubble. Now known as "Bone's Ghosts", they found shelter by burrowing holes into the great heaps of ashes, charred timbers and animal bones. The stench abated somewhat, but decent people avoided the place as if it harbored some dreaded plague. Parents warned the children of Beauneville not to go near the place, knowing full well that the children of Beauneville would do so anyway. Even so, it became a matter of faith among the children that those who ventured too near the ruins might be captured and eaten.

Mr. Blackstone's son took over management of the trust in 1923. The investments were in a blind trust managed by a firm in Lake City. Each quarter, the younger Mr. Blackstone received a letter from the investment manager advising how much income could be spent to maintain the mausoleum. At first, the funds were sufficient to pay for fresh flowers and to plant some grass around the tomb, but after the stock market crash of 1929 the income began to dwindle, and the site began to blend into the ruined surroundings.

Meanwhile, the rock which was known as Ticklish continued to teeter on its precarious perch overlooking the valley, as if the smallest push would cause it to tumble.

John Bone's Legacy

John Bone survived his father by a few years. The rendering works in Ticklish Rock shut down during the Panic of 1907, and an eerie silence fell over the place. But the filth and stench remained, even as workers crept away.

In February of 1910, a watchman knocked on the door to inquire of the proprietor's orders for the day, as he was instructed to do. Entering the decrepit mansion, he discovered John Bone's frozen corpse sitting erect in the sole chair in the house, by a window overlooking the now-silent rendering works. The heat had failed; the pipes had burst; John Bone froze to death.

Later that same day, Henry Blackstone, an attorney in Stapleton, opened John Bone's will; he was astonished at what he read.

First, there was to be a grand funeral and memorial service followed by interment in a grand mausoleum to be constructed on the site of the rendering works.

Second, the residual of Bone's estate, consisting of the substantial accumulated profits of the rendering works, was to be invested according to Bone's explicit plan. In an attachment, Bone had spelled out exactly how the estate should be invested in the most prominent companies of 1905. Unfortunately, due to ill health and memory loss, he had neglected to update the list since then, and several of the companies had fared poorly in the Panic of 1907. Nevertheless, the will was clear: no changes to the investments were permitted.

Finally, the estate should be placed into a tontine trust, such that the income would be used exclusively for maintenance on the mausoleum, and the entire principal of the trust should pass to Bone's last surviving heir.

Mr. Blackstone was confused when he read this, because he didn't think that Bone had any heirs. But then he read on:

I have no legitimate sons, but many bastard sons. I have no idea how many. As a practical matter, the trustees will accept the claim of any man over the age of forty-three who has no known father, but whose mother lived in these parts. The residual principal of my estate shall pass to my last surviving bastard son, provided that he maintain residence in Ticklish Rock, and care for my mausoleum.

Upon reading the will, Mr. Blackstone placed an advertisement in the local newspapers. About two hundred men, all over the age of forty-three, appeared at the Stapleton Opera House for a meeting of prospective heirs.

Mr. Blackstone addressed the crowd: "All of you are here because you wish to make a claim on the estate of John Bone. I shall now read the terms."

There was a brief commotion in the crowd, and a call for silence. "You must live in Ticklish Rock". Immediately, several dozen men left, cursing. Ticklish Rock had a reputation as a haunted and smelly place.

"Only the last surviving among you shall inherit". There was another angry commotion in the crowd as each man eyed the others suspiciously. More than half the crowd, the older and weaker half, left the building. There now were about seventy-five men remaining.

"Any man who leaves Ticklish Rock shall forfeit his claim. I shall visit periodically for inspection. Good luck."

The next day there was a grand requiem mass and memorial service at the site of the mausoleum, attended by Mr. Blackstone and the seventy-five claimants.

Some say that the performance of the Verdi Requiem by full orchestra and chorus was one of the finest ever. Few knew, because few attended.

Beaune's Legacy

In the summer of 1893, Auguste Beaune attended the World's Columbian Exposition. A spry ninety-three years old, he was electrified, if you will pardon the expression, by the Westinghouse display of lighting. "I shall electrify my home, and the Pleasure Park", he wrote in his journal.

John Witherspoon, grandson of Rufus Witherspoon, accompanied Auguste to the fair. He, too, was inspired by electricity, and on returning to Beauneville persuaded Auguste to invest in a small company, Witherspoon Electric, to make electrical components. Leveraging the same ingenuity that built Beaune Valve Company into a prominent and profitable company -- bribery and sexual favors delivered by an exclusively young and female sales force -- John Witherspoon developed Witherspoon Electric into Beauneville's second largest employer.

But the most immediate impact of Beaune's visit to the Columbian Exposition could be seen in 1894 by nighttime visitors to Beauneville Park, as all of the exhibits were now lit up by power from Beauneville Municipal Electric Company. "Oooh!" cried the visitors, as they gazed in awe at the lighting that outlined the profile of Pharoah's Palace, Noah's Ark and the Temple of Dagon.

Beaune lived to see the turn of the century, and as long as he lived, he tinkered: new ways to distill apple brandy, new valve designs, and new additions to Beauneville Park.

On January 1, 1901, there was a great celebration of the new millenium at Beauneville Park. There were fireworks, barbecue and dancing, and spirits were only slightly dampened by the realization that the rest of the world had celebrated the millenium a year earlier.

In 1903, Beaune began to sketch what he hoped to be the final addition to Beauneville Park, a life-size replica of the Temple of David in Jerusalem. Unfortunately, before he could complete the design he died in his sleep. He was one hundred and three years old. He had outlived his governess, his wife, his mistress, his eldest son and his three daughters. Beaune's son Robert had no children when he died, and the three daughters remained spinsters. The only child that survived Auguste Beaune was the disowned John Bone, who now lived in miserly squalor in the fetid cesspool of Ticklish Rock.

Lacking heirs, Beaune willed his entire estate in trust for the benefit of Beauneville. Part of this trust endows the Beauneville schools, so local children may attend for free. The rest endows the Beaune Estate as a community center for citizens of the town, so they may have free use of the library and other resources.

Beauneville Park fared less well. To save costs, Pharoah's Palace was built of wood, with a cheap papier-mache surfacing on the front to simulate stone. Not surprisingly, the papier-mache did not weather well, and in a few years an exhibit that had once seemed daring was now incredibly lame. Young children laughed and hooted at the actors dressed as Pharoah and his concubines, and threw apples at Adam and Eve.

The martial spirit evoked by the Spanish-American War exhibits, which featured the simulated slaughter of evil Spaniards, temporarily arrested the decline. But the wiring provided by Witherspoon Electric turned out to be somewhat less than safe; a defective lighting fixture in Pharoah's Palace set off an inferno that left the building a heap of ashes. Beaune had already passed away; and the town elders responsible for the administration of the Beaune Trust could not decide whether or not to replace the building. For several years, the park continued to operate with a garden on the former site of the Palace.

As attendance declined further, the managers of the trust decided to close the park. They sold the Grand Carousel to an amusement park in Lake City, and placed the religious exhibits into storage, where they remained for some years.

In 1917, the replica of Noah's Ark and other religious objects were sold to an adventurer in Brazil who wished to build a religious city in the Amazon. Hundreds of crates were shipped to New York, where they were placed aboard the S.S. Mirabel for shipment to Brazil. Regrettably, the Mirabel was torpedoed by a U-boat off Hatteras and went to the bottom with all hands.

Beauneville Park would feature in a later event in the history of Beauneville, an event well within Roderick's memory. But that is another chapter.

Beauneville Park

The first Sunday in Autumn is an excellent moment to relate the history of Beauneville Park, the venue of the annual Apple Harvest Festival.

"I shall build a Pleasure Park, with a Biblical theme." August Beaune wrote that in his journal in September of his eighty-fourth year, which happened to coincide with the eighty-fourth year of the century. One might conclude from this statement that Beaune was a public-spirited man, of a pious nature. You would be encouraged to do so by the numerous flyers and brochures by which the Pleasure Park was announced to the public, all of which proclaimed the beneficent and generous nature of the act and the righteousness of the man behind it.

In fact, the Biblical nature of the park was a means to maximize its commercial potential. Beaune figured that denizens of Beauneville and nearby Stapleton would gladly part with nickels to see a reproduction of Noah's Ark, The Garden of Eden, Pharoah's Palace, and so forth. He was a free-thinker who had never had much use for religion. After leaving France, he stepped into a church exactly once, on the day the new First Unitarian Church opened its doors, out of respect for the founders.

Beaune engaged builders and craftsmen from across the country to build the park. There were no plans. All of the work was directly supervised by Beaune, and largely inspired at the spur of the moment. A stonemason crafted a replica of the Ten Commandments. Nobody had a picture of Pharoah's Palace, so Beaune copied a neo-Gothic design with Moorish elements from a recent work of Frank Furness in Philadelphia.

Under the original plan, Noah's Ark would be occupied by pairs of real animals, who would graze and frolic in the park during the day. This proved difficult to accomplish in practice, as the carnivores tended to eat the smaller animals and craftsmen. Eventually, the original plan was abandoned, and Beaune commissioned woodworkers to create pairs of wooden animals. In a concession to the original plan, some rabbits in cages were retained.

The centerpiece of the park was the Grand Carousel, which stood in the plaza by Pharoah's Palace. Built by the Philadelphia Toboggan Company to a custom design, the carousel featured chariots, prancing horses and a grand Wurlitzer circus organ that played "Onward Christian Soliders", "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and other snappy tunes. Due to the dizzying speed and remarkable effects, ladies and other persons of delicate sensibility were not permitted on the ride.

The park opened in May 1887. On Opening Day, wagons and carriages carrying aspiring guests jammed the Cidertown Road from Stapleton. The park was extraordinarily successful, and soon after it opened Beaune built a railway for horsecars to help carry the crowds from Stapleton.

The Garden of Eden attraction competed closely with the Grand Carousel as the biggest attraction in the park. The success of this exhibit is mainly attributable to the desire of crowds to see Adam and Eve in the nude demonstrating the fruits of the Tree of Knowledge. Adam and Eve were played by a local actor and actress, respectively, selected personally by Auguste Beaune. Persons of a sensitive disposition were advised to avoid this exhibit, due to the graphic nature of the live sex show illustrating Adam and Eve's Fall into a life of Sin. On the midway adjacent to the exhibit, vendors in serpent costume did a brisk business selling apples.

Another highly popular exhibition was the Samson and Delilah show, which also featured live sex. Beaune avoided controversy over such displays through active collaboration with local clergy. Persuasive discussions about the merits of showing citizens the fruits of Sin combined with substantial grants and donations to local congregations insured a cooperative ministry.

In 1890, Beaune replaced the horsecars with electric trolley cars, and renamed the line Beauneville Electric Railway. Citizens of Beauneville turned out in a great crowd on the first day of operations, as Car Number One arrived from Stapleton with a full load of passengers headed for Beauneville Park. Car Number One, built by J.G. Brill and Company, was painted dark red, with gold numerals and black striping. The remains of the car now serve to house the Red Trolley Diner on Railroad Avenue.

Beaune continued to add attractions to the Park, and attendance climbed through the next decade (even during the Panic of 1893). For the most part, he maintained the Biblical theme, though a tribute to the U.S.S. Maine was the most popular attraction of 1898. Attractions leveraging the popularity of the Spanish-American War were readily justified by pointing out that the conquest of Cuba and the Philippines were part of God's Plan.

Roderick's Busy Saturday

Roderick awoke on Saturday morning and found that Molly was next to him in the bed, which wasn't too surprising since she was there when he fell asleep last night. He slipped out of bed, dressed, and padded downstairs, where Mrs. Smith was making breakfast.

"Good morning, Roderick!" said Mrs. Smith.

"Good morning, Mom!", said Roderick. "What's for breakfast?", he asked in jest, as if the menu was uncertain.

"Scrapple and applesauce!", said Mrs. Smith, wryly. "Just like every other day!"

"I knew that", said Roderick, smiling. He sat down at the table next to Mr. Smith, who was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.

Mr. Smith set aside the newspaper. "Good morning, Roderick."

"Good morning, Dad".

"How was the bowling party last night?" Although every parent in Beauneville knows that the Friday night "bowling party" is simply a pretext for teens to go to Stapleton and do teen things, Mr. Smith feels he is expected to maintain the fiction.

"Oh, it was fine. Molly and I went for a walk and smooched a little". Where social fictions are concerned, Roderick doesn't always get the memo.

Molly padded into the kitchen in bare feet, hair disheveled; she wore the same shirt and shorts she wore last night. She exchanged her customary smiling non-verbal greet with Roderick -- if you didn't know the two of them, you wouldn't see it -- and waved to Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

"Good morning, Molly!" said Mrs. Smith, piling a double portion of scrapple and applesauce on Molly's plate. "You must be hungry."

Molly nodded and dug in to the plate of scrapple. Molly is always hungry.

In contrast to Mr. Bloom, Mr. Smith does not pry into the intimate affairs of others. Thus, while he noticed Molly's dishevelment and the special closeness between Roderick and Molly, he did not ask them about their sexual relationship, the presence or absence thereof.

He wondered to himself, but did not ask.

The reader may also wonder. The answer is: not yet. The reader will be the first to know.

Meanwhile, Mr. Swift sat gingerly at his breakfast table, sipping coffee. His buttocks hurt where Miss Agassiz -- Mistress Rene -- had flogged him.

Molly had to go home to get dressed for karate. Roderick puttered around a little, did some homework and read more Thucidides.

Around eleven in the morning, the doorbell rang. Roderick answered; it was Mary Bloom, dressed in her customary "schoolgirl" outfit.

"Um..hi, Roderick...I was wondering...can you help me with my homework?"

Roderick tends to be a pushover for such requests, especially from attractive sexually active girls in "schoolgirl" outfits who look at him with big helpless pleading eyes and ask nicely.

"Um...sure".

They sat down at the dining room table and spread out Mary's books. They worked on Science homework first, and when that was done they turned to History. Mr. Clio assigned the class to write a research paper on some aspect of ancient civilization.

"Have you decided what to write about?", asked Roderick.

"Um...no, I haven't", said Mary, fidgeting.

"Is there something about ancient civilization that interests you?"

"Yes, prostitution", said Mary, brightening. "Did you know it's the world's oldest profession? It says so in Wikipedia"

"Well, if it says so in Wikipedia, it must be true", said Roderick.

They spent some time researching the history of prostitution. Roderick did the research, and Mary sat very close to him, eyeing him adoringly and trying to attract his attention.

They finished for the day, and Mary prepared to go. She stopped by the door and stood very close to Roderick. "Sometimes people have sex for free, you know", she said.

"Yes, I've heard that".

Mary gazed up at him. "You wouldn't have to give me money or anything".

Roderick coughed. "That's very kind of you".

"And I won't tell Molly".

Roderick coughed again. "Um...". He waved goodbye as Mary departed. What a nice girl, he thought. So generous. Not like some of the sluts in school.

After lunch, Roderick worked some more on his own homework. Just after two, the doorbell rang. Roderick answered; it was Juliette Goodheart.

"Hi", said Roderick. "C'mon inside." He was pleased to see Juliette -- she seems nice and is quite good looking.

Juliette stepped in to the front hallway. "Um...I was wondering if you did the Science homework yet?", she asked.

"No, I was just about to do it".

"Do you mind if we do it together? Science is really hard for me".

"Um..no, not at all. Let's go into the dining room." Roderick is a pushover for such requests, especially from attractive girls with shoulder-length light brown hair and a nice figure. He wondered if Juliette was sexually active.

In the dining room, they worked on the Science homework. It wasn't that difficult. Roderick concluded that there were two possibilities: either (a) the request for help was a pretext to visit, or (b) Juliette isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

They went into the kitchen for drinks.

"So, are you sexually active?" asked Roderick.

"What, do you mean today?" countered Juliette, and they both burst out laughing.

After dinner, Roderick went over to Megan Cupcake's house. She had invited him over to work on Latin. Per usual, when he arrived he discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake were nowhere in sight, and Megan wanted to "study" in her bedroom, on her large bed.

"Where are your parents?", he asked, as he sat down on the bed.

"Oh, they went to Lake City for the weekend", said Megan, snuggling up to him, "and I'm feeling very lonely, if you know what I mean, in case you want to sleep over."

"Aren't you and Bibi a number?" asked Roderick. It was an open secret around school that Megan and Bibi were, well, doing it. Actually, their relationship wasn't much of a a secret at all, since Megan's "What I Did Last Summer" essay was mysteriously posted to the internet. Roderick wasn't exactly sure exactly what it was they were doing, but Megan's recent YouTube upload, Lip Service with Bibi offered a few clues.

Megan laughed. "Oh, no", she said. "We just like to have hot lesbian sex when we're bored." Megan then launched into a graphic and detailed description of everything that she and Bibi had done, including a number of things that Roderick had never heard of, and at least one that he hadn't realized was physically possible.

"That's nice", said Roderick. Secretly, he was glad that Megan was merely a situational lesbian.

Roderick and Megan studied Latin for awhile, then Roderick slept over. He kept his boxers on.

Chastisement

The reader may well wonder what happened when Justine went to visit Mr. Swift. Had Mr. Swift adopted an approach to education similar to that employed by Miss Agassiz?

He had not. Justine knocked on the door to his office, and entered when Mr. Swift responded. The owlish Mr. Swift reviewed the paper with her and kindly explained each error.

He did take the opportunity to gaze secretly at Justine's fully exposed legs -- she wore shorts; and when she bent over to pick up her books, well, let's just say he was transfixed.

The outcome for Miss Blythe, however was less fortuitous. In the evening, Mr. Swift logged in to his blog, Tales of Wragby Hall, and continued to write.

Lord Butterworth was pleased to hear Mr. Cameron's report that Miss Pilkingham's progress in her studies was excellent, and that her behavior and comportment was modest and ladylike at all times. He was less pleased to hear that Miss Blythe's work was less than commendable, and her behavior at times slatternly, in the manner of Wessex country girls who lack manners and breeding.

"You may convey to Miss Blythe my displeasure", he said, "and inform the maid that should she persevere in her current course I shall be forced to chastise her in a manner most severe."

Cameron found Miss Blythe seated on a bench in the gazebo. She rose nervously as Mr. Cameron approached.

"Miss Blythe, I wish to convey to you a message of a personal nature from His Lordship. May I ask you to attend with me now in my chamber?"

Miss Blythe seemed nervous. "Sir, may I ask what sort of message?"

"Miss Blythe, the nature of the message will be revealed to you in private, but kindly make haste to my quarters."

They walked quickly through the gardens to the conservatory, and then to Mr. Cameron's room. They entered, and he shut the door quickly. He turned to address Miss Blythe, who stood twisting her handkerchief.

"His Lordship wishes me to convey to you his displeasure at the dilatory nature of your studies, and to inform you that should your studies and comportment continue in the current manner, His Lordship shall be forced to chastise you."

"T-t-to chastise me?"

"Yes. Severely."

Miss Blythe burst into tears. "Oh, sir, what am I to do? I'm just a poor innocent country girl from Wessex, with no understanding of the manners and customs of Wragby Hall."

Mr. Swift thought the 'poor innocent girl' line was starting to get old.

"Oh, shut up and stop whining" snapped Cameron.

No, thought Mr. Swift. Out of character and anachronistic. Rewrite.

"Miss Blythe, I charge you to end this display of emotion and comport yourself in the required manner, or I, too shall be forced to chastise you."

Miss Blythe cast herself to her knees and pleaded. "Oh, sir, I beg you! Please, have mercy! I'm just a poor innocent girl..."

"Miss Blythe!", said Cameron, in such a manner that the lass immediately stood up, wiped her face with her handkerchief and stood quietly, wide-eyed and fearful.

Now, thought Mr.Swift, the crucial moment.

Cameron approached Miss Blythe and looked her up and down in a manner most ungentlemanly. "There is a way, you know...", he murmured.

Miss Blythe stared at him, uncomprehendingly. "A w-w-way?"

Cameron now stood so close to Miss Blythe that his intent was clear even to a poor country girl from Wessex with no understanding of the manners and customs of Wragby Hall. "In return for certain...favors...I might be persuaded to...make certain alterations to my report to Lord Butterworth."

"F-f-favors?", said Miss Blythe, blinking furiously.

"Indeed", said Cameron. "Perhaps you would like to remove your bonnet?"

"B-b-but Lady Butterworth says that a lady must never remove her bonnet in a gentleman's presence unless she is escorted".

"Lady Butterworth is correct", said Cameron. "But you are no lady, Miss Blythe, you are merely a slatternly country girl from Wessex, who has committed solecisms and must be corrected." His tone grew darker. "Now be as so kind as to remove your bonnet, or I shall be obliged to chastise you."

"S-s-sir, I beg you, I know not the meaning of the word 'slatternly'"

"In that case, Miss Blythe, I shall demonstrate the implications to you."

At this moment, there was a loud knock on the door. Mr. Swift logged off, walked to the front door and opened it, to discover Miss Agassiz in a tight black minidress with black leather boots.

"Hello, dear", said Mr. Swift, reaching out to embrace her.

"Shut up, slave!", said Miss Agassiz, pushing past him into the house. "Get me a drink!"

Mr. Swift obediently did so.

"Now", said Miss Agassiz, shaking her long hair free, and placing her hands on her hips, "let's get more comfortable."

Meanwhile, at the Red Trolley, the Blooms and Smiths gathered for their weekly repast. As usual, Roderick sat between Molly and Mary on the big semi-circular bench.

Roderick noticed that Mary was sitting comfortably. "No spanking today?". he inquired.

Mary seemed puzzled. "No, and I don't know why. Miss Agassiz asked me to see her after school, but she wasn't there. So tonight.." she wiggled her bottom to demonstrate, "...my bottom's OK". She smiled at him slyly.

"You have a nice bottom", said Roderick. Molly noodged him, hard.

Wragby Hall

The reader should rest assured that no dire fate befell Justine and Juliette.

Mr. Swift greeted Justine at the door and invited her inside. They sat at his dining room table and worked on the elements of writing style. At eight o'clock, Justine thanked Mr. Swift and went home.

Bibi invited Juliette into her house and invited her downstairs to the sauna. However, when Juliette discovered that Bibi proposed they disrobe, she suddenly "remembered" something she needed to do at home, and beat a hasty retreat.

At eight fifteen, Justine and Juliette sang duets for Grandma and Grandpa until they fell asleep, then they tucked themselves in.

Meanwhile, Catherine curled up in bed with Mr. Fuzzums; Margaret lay awake in bed, thinking about matrix algebra; Mary lay on her side and fingered her "V" necklace; and Molly played a little Beethoven on the Bosendorfer. Roderick read a translation of Thucydides; Bibi and Jock sprawled in the hot tub; Megan wrote in her secret detailed journal; Amanda Dennis updated her blog, Cries and Whispers; and Betsy Flapper forwarded an iPhone picture of some guy's butt.

The moon rose. A cat wandered along the alley behind the Smith's home, seeking mice. She found none, but had a most pleasant prowl nevertheless.

At home, Mr. Swift logged in to his story blog, Tales of Wragby Hall, and wrote:

Miss Pilkingham had seduced him, there could be no doubt about that. The "accidental" meeting in the garden, at the gazebo; the soulful and pathetic pleading for assistance with her studies; the prearranged meeting in his room above the conservatory, under the pretext of understanding "Mr. Darwin's latest tract".

Cameron had not discouraged these overtures, though he understood the risk. His master, Lord Butterworth, esteemed the maidenly virtue of his wards above all else, a virtue which he apparently did not value so much among the young maidens of the village, as his deflowerings therein were legendary and numerous.

In truth, the outcome was inevitable when Miss Pilkingham stepped into his room, an extraordinarily daring venture for such a vulnerable and attractive young girl. There were, of course, the necessary formalities: the exchange of pleasantries; the offer and acceptance of tea and biscuits; the brief discussion of Mr. Darwin; and the review, at the table, of her school journal. But when Miss Pilkingham's blouse fell slightly open, revealing her delicate neck, the raging forces of nature overwhelmed modesty, and he was compelled to tender an expression of endearment from his lips to her lips, in a manner that would be considered most indelicate by a woman of manners.

But Miss Pilkingham was no woman of manners. "Oh, ravish me, sir, ravish me!" she cried, grasping at his shirt and ripping the buttons therefrom. And ravish her he did, with the relish and athleticism he ordinarily reserved for the badminton court.

Mr. Swift paused. That last line sounded rather fey. What sort of sport might appeal to a man like Cameron? He made a note to himself to research manly activities in Wikipedia.

He continued:

There was, of course, an implied bargain: Miss Pilkingham would make herself available to Cameron for the satisfaction of his lustful manly urges, and he, in return, would admire her pathetic scribblings and render a positive report about her schooling to Lord Butterworth. He did not stop to weigh the proposition but, like a trader on the Corn Exchange, waded in.

The entry of Miss Blythe, however, complicated the matter. Miss Blythe, a recent arrival at Wragby Hall from Wessex, was a lovely and modest young maiden, much given to her studies. Cameron, the seduced, now wished to become Cameron, the seducer; toward this end, he plotted.

A chance encounter in the library. Perhaps Miss Blythe wishes to review the latest writings of Bishop Wilburforce? Indeed. The invitation was extended, the bait tendered. The wolf retreated to his lair and waited for his stray lamb.

Cameron was not disappointed; Miss Blythe's country upbringing ill-prepared her for life at Wragby Hall, where no respectable woman would enter a gentleman's chamber without a chaperone. She knocked; he opened; there were the necessary formalities; they sat at his table and reviewed Bishop Wilburforce's turgid prose. But despite the compromising position in which the lass had placed herself, nothing happened; they read to the end of the chapter, at which time she took her leave unmolested.

What had happened? Cameron pondered. She was within his grasp, and yet he held back. What had restrained him? Was it virtue? Love? Respect for her maidenly innocence? No, he thought. Mostly it was out of concern she would scream, and expose him as a cad and a mountebank, an identification certain to result in his expulsion from Wragby Hall.

He resolved to persevere in his pursuit, for having dined at Miss Pilkington's table, he was determined to gorge at Miss Blythe's.

Perhaps, he thought, the maid requires some motivation.

In school the next day, Mr. Swift returned the homework papers from the night before. Mary Bloom looked at her paper and smiled. An 'A-plus'. Though too young to prostitute herself for cash, she was learning that there are other types of currency.

Justine looked at her paper and turned slightly pale. It was covered with red marks, and at the bottom of the page a note: see me after school.

The Faculty Are Shocked

The English faculty of Beauneville Latin -- Mr. Swift and Mr. Cooper -- are shocked to learn that some of their students are KulturPunks.

Mr. Swift picked up one of the essays, by Justine Goodheart, a ninth grader, and began to read:

This summer I moved to Beauneville. My parents died in a car accident in the town where we used to live, so my older sister Juliette and I are orphans.

"Trite beginning", muttered Mr. Swift to himself. He wrote this on the paper with his red pen.

The judge in Probate Court said we should live with my mother's parents, who live on Fairview Avenue. They are very nice people and their house is huge, but they are quite elderly and hardly able to manage.

Juliette and I spent the summer mostly with each other because we are shy and don't know anyone else in town. Every morning, I scrubbed the ground floor and made breakfast for everyone while Juliette made the beds. In the afternoon, Juliette dusted the living room and made dinner while I cleaned the bathrooms. In the evening, we sang duets for my grandmother and grandfather until they fell asleep. Then we tucked ourselves in bed.

Wielding his red pen, Mr. Swift wrote silly sentimental pap.

I'm glad that we moved to a small town, because we used to live in a small town, so I'm just a poor innocent girl who doesn't know much about life.

At the bottom of the page, Mr. Swift wrote:

Justine,
We should discuss your writing skills. I believe that you will benefit from special tutoring to help you get up to the same level as the other students. Come and see me at my home this evening at seven.

Justine read this in class and smiled. What a nice teacher, she thought. I hope Grandma and Grandpa don't mind if Juliette sings solo tonight.

Meanwhile, Mary Bloom, who sat behind Justine, read the following note on her paper:

A+. Outstanding essay. I hope you don't mind, though, if we don't publish yours. There are just so many good ones.

Mary didn't mind at all. She smiled, too.

After class, as Mary and Justine prepared to go to Mr. Clio's History class, Mary introduced herself.

"Um...hi...my name is Mary".

"Um...hi."

"What's your name?"

"Um...oh, I'm Justine".

"Are you new here?"

"Yes."

Mary and Justine bonded instantly. Mary, pretty, shy and earnest but not very bright, sensed a common bond with Justine, who is pretty, shy and innocent, a little smarter than Mary, but not by much. The common bond, of course, was shyness, which made for uninteresting dialogue, but they also shared prettiness and an absence of brightness, which made for intriguing possibilities.

Meanwhile, in Mr. Gibbon's American History class, Roderick noticed Juliette for the first time. She had been in class since the first day of school, but she was so quiet that Roderick simply hadn't noticed. After class, he introduced himself.

"Hello, my name is Roderick. You're new in school, aren't you?"

Juliette instinctively made a gesture to cover her breasts with her arms. "Um...hi...I'm Juliette".

"Let me introduce you to a few people. This is Molly..." He gestured toward Molly, who was kind of distracted at the moment, and is kind of shy anyway, so she just sort of waved.

"...and this is BiBi..." He ushered Bibi forward, who eagerly accosted the newcomer.

"You like ze massage, yes? Come over to my house after school, ve do ze sauna, ve do ze hot tub, I give you ze massage, yes?"

"Um..OK, said Juliette. She hoped Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't mind if Justine sings solo tonight.

"...and this is Megan." Megan smiled thinly and eyed the new girl, wryly.

After lunch, Mary and Justine sat together in Miss Agassiz's class. Miss Agassiz returned the homework from the weekend. Justine's paper had some red marks, plus a yellow sticky with a nice note: please try harder. On Mary's paper, Miss Agassiz had circled problem three in red, placed a big red X over the problem, and attached a terse note: see me.

Later that day, after Latin class, Justine asked Mary if they could walk home together.

"Um..no, I have to go see Miss Agassiz", said Mary, shyly. She walked across the hall and knocked tentatively on the door to Miss Agassiz's office.

We shall spare the reader the details of what took place in Miss Agassiz's office. Suffice to say that Miss Agassiz demonstrated an important scientific principle: that the punishment is not always proportional to the crime.

That evening, after dinner, Justine and Juliette set out for their respective destinations. Juliette went to Bibi's house on Elm Street, while Justine walked to Mr. Swift's house on Quince Street.

Shyly, Justine knocked on Mr. Swift's door.

What I Did Last Summer

There is a long-standing tradition at Beauneville Latin: on the last day of summer each student writes an essay about their activities since June. The English faculty read all of the essays and publish the best. They mock and make fun of the worst examples.

In Mr. Cooper's class, Roderick began his essay:

This summer, I worked for Mr. Armstrong at the boathouse. It was a lot of fun, and I made some money. Lots of my friends went canoeing, and it was nice to see them.

Molly and I slept together a lot. Sometimes we slept in my bed and sometimes we slept in her bed and once we went to Lake City where we slept together in a big hotel.

Megan Cupcake and I fooled around a lot, too.

Bibi Ericson gave me a massage. Also, we spent time in the sauna and hot tub. Bibi likes to spent a lot of time nude. She has nicely shaped breasts. People in Sweden like to eat smelly rotten fish and they use funny toilets that don't flush.

Molly, sitting next to Roderick, wrote:

Beethoven wrote the Diabelli Variations between 1819 and 1823 in response to a challenge from the publisher Anton Diabelli. Diabelli wrote a simple waltz tune and sent it to the best-known composers of his day and asked each to write one variation. As a joke, Beethoven responded with a set of thirty-two variations and a fugue.

Though written in jest, the great music historian Donald Francis Tovey called the Diabelli Variations 'the greatest set of variations ever written'. Pianist Alfred Brendel describes the work as "the greatest of all piano works'.

My piano teacher, Mrs. Gabrielli, suggested I start working on the piece a year ago, but this summer as soon as school was out I stopped working on other pieces and spent all my time on the Diabelli. Then, in July, Maestro Adolph Chickarina invited me to play for him at his apartment in Lake City.

Roderick and I went there to see him and I played. He yelled at me, but then let me play the piece all the way through. His coaching was really helpful, but he put his hand up my dress, which was a little distracting. Fortunately, I was wearing underwear, which I don't ordinarily do.

Megan Cupcake wrote:

Your obedient servant, the authoress Megan Cupcake, who aspires to be the next Jane Austen, spent her summer observing relationships and interactions amongst the denizens of this town, and recording such events in her detailed journal together with wry commentary.

The very solicitous Miss Cupcake also devoted considerable time and attention to the pursuit of Master Roderick Smith, a most refined young citizen of the town. Though he is pledged to Miss Molly Bloom, Miss Cupcake is not deterred, for her dowry and her bosom are ample.

Relations at the Cupcake Manor, however, were strained when the elder Mr. Cupcake discovered the Misses Cupcake and Ericson in a rather compromising position, which is to say naked and passionately engaged in a Sapphic embrace. Suffice to say that Mr. Cupcake does not fully appreciate the pleasures of Bilitis, at least in regards to his daughter. Gunshots were avoided through the intervention of Mrs. Cupcake, who pointed out that however unnatural the practice it posed no threat to Miss Cupcake's maidenly virtue. Under the circumstances, and in the presence of Mr. Cupcake's .38 Police Special, Miss Cupcake deemed it unwise to remind Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake that her maidenly virtue left town some time ago.

Natasha, ever pensive, wrote:

This summer, my parents took their annual cruise of the Mediterranean and Adriatic, then spent August on their island near Corfu. I stayed home and got pregnant with Henry Witherspoon. Don't tell my parents, because I want to tell them myself when they get home.

Thanks to the loving support of Henry, I came out of the closet as a KulturPunk, and am now proud to say that I worship Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy and his sister, Fanny. If our baby is a boy, we will name him Felix; and if it is a girl, we will name her Fanny.

In Mr. Swift's class, Mary Bloom shivered slightly as she thought about her summer, then wrote:

In June, I signed up for the National Virgin Society's Virgin Pledge, because sex before marriage is sinful unless the person is punished, in which case it is still sinful but everyone is happy because the sinful person is punished, except the sinful person is not happy because they were hoping to get away with it.

About a week after I signed the Pledge I met an older boy at the Stapleton Bowl-A-Drome who told me that the Pledge doesn't say anything about oral sex. I didn't know what he meant so he told me to look it up in Wikipedia, so I went home and looked it up and then I read the Pledge and sure enough he was right, it doesn't say anything about that. So the next night we did oral sex in the back of his car. At least, I did it to him, because he said the other kind -- you know, where he does it to me -- isn't safe and I might lose my cherry. I wasn't sure what he meant by "lose my cherry", so I looked it up in Wikipedia when I got home and it was just about fruit, but I asked my sister Margaret -- she's really smart -- and she explained that it was a nice way to say "lose my virginity", which I certainly didn't want to lose because I just found it.

Anyway, the boy introduced me to another boy who he said wanted me to be his girlfriend, so I met him down by the Mill Pond and he just comes out and says he wants to have oral sex. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather! I mean, this boy I hardly met seems to know all about me!

So, we did that, and it was fun, but the we sort of accidentally did the other thing, too and it was 'good-bye cherry'. But the boy says that since I didn't do it on purpose it doesn't count, and he knows some other boys who might help me find my cherry, and would I like to meet them? Well, I wasn't too sure about that -- I didn't want him to think I was one of those 'easy' girls -- so I asked him if I was his girlfriend now and he said no way, that I was just a whore. I didn't know what that meant so I looked it up in Wikipedia, and it says that prostitution is the world's oldest profession. That made me feel proud because my Dad says he wants his daughters to be professional women.

This is our little secret, okay? Because my next essay might be about a poor innocent underage girl who goes to see her English teacher for help and he molests her totally against her will, and when she goes back again the following Sunday he does it again, and the next week too, and the week after that...

Mary handed in her essay at the end of class, and smiled shyly to Mr. Swift, who did not respond.

After lunch, Mary had Science class with Miss Agassiz. She checked her homework from the weekend and considered whether or not to correct problem three, the one Roderick showed her was incorrect. Fingering her "V" necklace nervously, she placed the paper in the bin uncorrected.

The Churches of Beauneville

On this last Sunday in September, the reader may appreciate a brief review of the churches of Beauneville, of which there are three.

The first church in town was the Unitarian Church of Beauneville. Inspired by a massive increase in national wealth and income after the Civil War, the church was built as a great stone edifice reflecting the wealth, power, status, good taste and piety of the congregants, but mostly their wealth, power, status and good taste.

Influenced by new developments in modern theology and also a desire for more fun, members of the Unitarian Church became increasingly restless with Unitarianism, which they regarded as dogmatic and a buzzkill. Having reduced the Christian deities from three to one, they agreed to take the next logical step and subtract one more. After great controversy and debate, the congregation withdrew from the American Unitarian Association and formed the Church of Nothing.

Soon thereafter, the congregation discovered a vexing theological puzzle: is Nothing the absence of something, or is it more than the absence of something? -- in which case it is not really Nothing but something. This problem was a real poser, and it soon led to a split between the Substantive Nothingists, who believed in the existence of an actual Nothing, versus the Anythingists, who believed that the absence of belief in one thing meant they could believe in Anything.

Inspired by the English philosopher who wrote that "A man who believes in nothing will believe in anything", a group of congregants split from the Church of Nothing and founded the Church of Anything. The two faiths were quite similar in liturgy and practice, though the Church of Nothing served doughnuts and coffee after church, while the Church of Anything preferred pancake breakfasts before church. Conveniently, the two churches scheduled their services at different times on Sunday morning, so townspeople could have pancakes for breakfast, attend two services, then savor the doughnuts and coffee. The two churches catered to this trade by making services mercifully short.

Still, the theological schism remained, and attempts to establish ecumenical and interdenominational understanding in the town inevitably ended in fisticuffs. Thoroughly disgusted with the squabbling, a third congregation formed and named itself the Church of Whatever You Like, the foundation of which is the understanding that congregants should be held to no beliefs of any kind. In a further departure from established church practices, the Church of Whatever You Like eschewed pancakes, coffee and doughnuts, and instead offered covered dish suppers consisting of whatever the congregants wished to bring, with the proviso that at least one such dish must be a Jell-O salad.

The new church did not help the cause of interdenominational ecumenicalism: Nothingists and Anythingists were still at one another's throats, while Whateverists stood by and yawned. It was a boon to the foodies in town, who were now able to have pancakes in the morning followed by coffee and doughnuts and then a delicious covered dish supper, all for a minimal investment in church-sitting time.

The Blooms attend the Church of Nothing. They neither know nor care about the theological issues described above, they just live nearby.

It's Hard To Be A Teen

Mary Bloom, the good sister, rose early on Saturday morning and made a big breakfast for the Bloom family and for Roderick, who had slept over. She made great stacks of pancakes, bacon, scrapple and sausage, and served everyone at the big table in the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Bloom sat at each end; Roderick and Molly on one side; Mary, Margaret and Catherine on the other. Mr. Fuzzums sat on Catherine's lap.

Mr. Bloom lifted his fork to eat, but Mary stopped him. "Let's say Grace", she said, and held out her hands. Everyone paused and grasped the hands of those sitting on either side. "For this bountiful table, we have nobody to thank except ourselves, especially me, since I did the cooking. Amen."

"Amen!" said everyone except Margaret, who rarely speaks, and Mr. Fuzzums, who speaks only to Catherine.

"What a lovely Grace", said Mrs. Bloom, as she passed the scrapple. "Did you learn that in Sunday School?"

Mary nodded and offered the platter of pancakes to Mr. Bloom, who piled several on his plate and passed the platter on to Roderick. "Pass the maple syrup, please?" he asked.

Roderick took three pancakes and passed the platter to Molly, who took six. As he served himself, he spoke across the table to Mary. "How's your bottom today?"

"Much better, thank you", said Mary, and she wiggled slightly in her chair to demonstrate the point.

Mr. Bloom had lifted a bite of sausage to his lips, but paused. "Was something wrong with your..?" He wasn't sure if it was polite to say "bottom" at the breakfast table, so he left the sentence unfinished.

"Miss Agassiz spanks me when I make mistakes in Science class", said Mary, a little ruefully.

Mrs. Bloom looked thoughtful. "What an interesting teaching method!"

"Yes", said Mary. "It keeps my mind focused".

Everyone agreed that it is a good thing to have a focused mind, and that the possibility of a spanking would tend to accomplish this.

Mr. Bloom wanted to change the subject from the state of Mary's bottom. He looked at Roderick. "So...have you and Molly finally...?"

Roderick didn't quite understand the question. Actually, he understood exactly what Mr. Bloom was asking, but wasn't sure how to respond, and stalled for time.

Mr. Bloom asked more explicitly: "Did you two have sex last night?"

Roderick looked at Molly. "Did we?"

Molly shook her head. "I don't think so", she said, in a manner that seemed to say that even if they had done so it wouldn't have been all that important.

Roderick looked back at Mr. Bloom. "I guess not."

"Damn!" said Mr. Bloom, slapping the table. He wasn't mad, just surprised. "When I was your age, I couldn't keep my hands off June. We used to sneak off from Sunday School and..."

"Henry! " Mrs. Bloom interrupted. "We didn't meet until just after college. Remember? Paris? Right after graduation?"

Mr. Bloom looked a little nonplussed. An advertising man, he is a great communicator and loves the "big idea", but tends to be factually challenged at times.

Mary sniffed. "Sex before marriage is sinful", she said, fingering her "V" necklace. Mary really believes this, she simply makes an exception if the sex is for money, or if it's sort of accidental. Roderick isn't sure whether he agrees with Mary, but he admires the way she stands for something.

Molly got up and left the table to get ready for karate. Roderick helped Mary clear the table and load the dishwasher, then offered to help her with her homework. They sat down at the kitchen table with Mary's History and Science books and started to work.

Roderick noticed that Mary was sitting very, very close to him, and that she was wearing her "schoolgirl" outfit, which he thought odd because it was a Saturday.

They worked on World History first, a worksheet about the Paleolithic Agricultural Revolution. Mary is hopeless at History, primarily because she declines to read the text. "History is sinful", she likes to say. "I don't like to read about unpunished sex before marriage".

Roderick thought it would be easier if he just did the History homework himself, so he set Mary to work on her Science problems. Mary is much better at Science, primarily due to the influence of Miss Agassiz's uniquely motivating teaching method.

They both finished in about twenty minutes. Roderick offered to go through the History with Mary, but she declined, wrinkling her nose the way she does when she thinks about unpunished sex before marriage. He checked her Science homework, and found that she had done a pretty good job, except that she had the wrong answer for problem three.

"Are you going to spank me?", asked Mary when Roderick showed her the mistake.

"Um...no". Roderick likes Mary's sense of discipline, but prefers not to be the disciplinarian.

"But I made a mistake and need to be spanked!"

"Well.." Roderick stalled for time. "Maybe when you're sixteen. I have to go now."

Mary pouted, but did not press the matter. She thanked Roderick for helping with her homework, walked him to the front door and lingered on the porch. He looked back and waved. She waved back shyly, mouthing the word "Goodbye".

She ran next door and made breakfast for Mrs. Peacock, then helped her to the sun room. They were about to read Elsie Dinsmore, when Mrs. Peacock interjected.

"Is something the matter dear?"

"Well..." Mary wasn't sure how to begin.

"You can tell me anything, dear".

Suddenly, Mary burst into tears. "I had a horrible week! It's not fair! I asked my Dad to pimp for me, but my Mom won't let him because she says I'm too young, and my Science teacher is really mean, she spanks me when I make mistakes, and there's this boy I really like who sleeps with my older sister, but he says he won't spank me until I'm older. It's so hard to be a teen."

Mrs. Peacock hugged her and consoled her. "There, there, my child", she consoled, stroking her hair. "I understand. I was a teen once, too."

Mary looked at her in surprise. "Really? You were?" It made her feel better knowing that Mrs. Peacock was once a teen.

They chatted awhile longer, then Mary read from Elsie Dinsmore. When Mrs. Peacock fell asleep, Mary returned home and retrieved her schoolwork from the kitchen. She added some spelling and grammar mistakes to the History homework to make it look authentic. Then she picked up her Science homework and thought about correcting problem three.

Leaving it uncorrected, she slipped the paper into her notebook.

September Friday

Molly, Mary, Margaret, Catherine and Mr. Fuzzums arrived at the Smith house a little after eight in the morning on Friday. Roderick met them on the front porch.

Roderick and Molly smiled to one another. Mary waved shyly to Roderick, who smiled and waved back. What a nice girl, he thought. She dresses so nicely, in her blouse, kilt, woolen knee socks and penny loafers. Like a schoolgirl. Not like some of the other girls in school, who dress like sluts.

Catherine and Mr. Fuzzums skipped ahead. Margaret strolled behind at some distance, solving matrix algebra problems in her head. Mary, Roderick and Molly walked together three abreast on the sidewalk.

It was a lovely September day, a bit cooler than the previous morning.

Mary brought a copy of the National Virginity Society's monthly newsletter, and read aloud from the advice column, Ask Rebekah:

Dear Rebekah,

Last year I took the pledge. I live in a trailer park with my Mom and my four little sisters. Mom went to the pork store on Sunday and left me alone with her boyfriend. He made me drink something that made me feel dizzy and the next thing I knew he was on top of me and made me have sex with him. Then he said if I told anyone he would kill my sisters. Am I still a virgin?

Worried in Arkansas

Dear Worried,

No. Your membership is cancelled.

"That seems a little cold", said Molly.

Mary tossed her head. "I'm just glad that somebody in this world has standards", she said.

Roderick had to admit that she had a point about standards, and admired her stand on principle. He also agreed with Molly, that it was cold. Perhaps there was another way? Could the Society create a "Virgin Emeritus" or "Virgin Alumnae" category for "Worried in Arkansas" and other deflowerees? He would have brought this up, but they had arrived at Beauneville Latin, and Mary was taking her leave.

"Goodbye, Roderick", she said, shyly, waving. "Are you coming to the Red Trolley tonight?"

"Sure!", said Roderick. "See you there". He waved back, and watched as Mary walked away. What a nice girl, he thought.

The day flew by, as it often does on Fridays, and at five o'clock the Smiths and Blooms met at the Red Trolley Diner. They all sat at the big table with the semi-circular bench in the back of the trolley dining room. Mr. Smith and Mr. Bloom sat on the two ends, with Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Bloom seated next to their husbands; Catherine sat next to Mrs. Bloom (with Mr. Fuzzums on her lap); then sat Margaret, Mary, Roderick and Molly, who sat next to Mrs. Smith.

The bench is a little small for nine people and a small bear, but everyone likes to squish together. Squeezed between Mary and Molly, Roderick could feel the warmth from their bodies. He noticed that Mary seemed a little uncomfortable, and inquired.

Mary looked a little petulant. "Miss Agassiz spanked me today".

Roderick wasn't quite sure about the proper etiquette when one's dinner partner discloses a spanking. He nodded sympathetically. "Were you bad?"

Mary's petulance changed to something closer to contriteness. "Yes", she said, sipping from her glass of ice water, "very bad".

Admirable, thought Roderick. The girl certainly can take a spanking. Suddenly, he felt that he wanted to get to know Mary a little better.

Meanwhile, Bella the waitress had arrived and demanded orders from everyone. If you ever eat at the Red Trolley, here's a piece of advice: don't mess with Bella. The impression she conveys is that she'd sooner flatten you than take any lip from you, and when Bella announces that it's time for you to order you'd best order right then and there, and be snappy about it, or you will not be served that day or any other day.

Mr. and Mrs. Bloom ordered the blue plate special; Catherine, an order of macaroni and cheese to share with Mr. Fuzzums; Margaret ordered a hot dog and thought about how to compute the mass of the hot dog from its length and circumference. Mr. and Mrs. Smith ordered the blue plate and Molly ordered a triple cheeseburger (eliciting the usual comments about her ferocious appetite). Roderick ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and, after a slight hesitation, Mary ordered the same. "I'll just have what he's having", she said shyly, nodding towards Roderick.

After dinner, Molly and Roderick left the group to ride the bus to Stapleton for the Friday night "bowling party". Not surprisingly, Molly didn't want to bowl, so they lurked in the shadows around back near the dumpsters and chatted intimately.

Meanwhile, Mary went home with her family, helped clean up the living room, then went next door to check on Mrs. Peacock. She read several chapters from Elsie's Girlhood, stopping now and then to sigh about how much she is inspired by the Elsie stories. When Mrs. Peacock fell asleep, Mary marked her place in the book, turned out the light and headed for the Mill Pond, where she had a date with one of the boys from Latin class.

Molly was feeling "smoochy" on the way home, and Roderick was inclined to reciprocate; she invited Roderick to sleep over, an invitation he gladly accepted. They slept together that night in customary fashion, with the exception that Roderick's boxers spent the night on the floor beside the bed.

As they cuddled quietly in bed, they could hear Mary walk up the stairs and past Molly's bedroom on the way to her room. Molly whispered: "You seem interested in Mary".

"She's a nice girl", whispered Roderick.

There was a long silence, broken only by a slight breeze in the trees outside and the sound of a wind chime somewhere in the distance.

"She's a whore, you know", whispered Molly.

"I know", whispered Roderick.

Roderick Explains

Roderick awoke on Thursday at six-thirty, showered and ran downstairs to the breakfast table where, per usual, a plate of hot scrapple and warm applesauce awaited.

The Smiths like to chat over breakfast, about things that matter: scrapple, the apple harvest, news about the Bloom girls or Roderick's friends, gossipy stuff and so forth.

Mrs. Smith sipped her coffee. "You've been seeing a lot of Megan Cupcake", she said to Roderick, who sensed an implied follow-up question.

"Yes, she likes me to come over to her house when her parents are out and read erotic literature in Latin".

"That sounds like fun. Is she interested in sex?"

Roderick took a bite of scrapple, and nodded. "Yes, very much so."

Mr. Smith shifted in his chair. "Megan Cupcake...she's the buxom and bubbly girl who lives up the street, right?"

"That's right", said Roderick. "Also, she carries a Glock".

"How does Molly feel about you getting involved with her?" Mr. Smith is a bit more conservative than Mrs. Smith. His code is that you don't do stuff that might make others feel bad, or at least don't get caught doing it. Also, he generally disapproves of people having sex with multiple partners, although if you really press him it's clear that he only really cares about this point as it applies to Mrs. Smith.

"It's complicated", explained Roderick. "Molly and I are kind of a couple, and we're secretly pledged to one another, but Molly doesn't really think about that sort of thing because mostly she thinks about playing Beethoven, and since there are lots of times when she's busy practicing she doesn't at all mind if I spend time with Megan or Bibi or someone else. And everyone else assumes that Molly and I are a couple even though our pledge to one another is secret and unspoken, so when the girls hit on me they know it's not 'serious' because if they wanted a 'serious' relationship they would not hit on someone they think is coupled up with Molly. And its fun to fool around with the other girls, who are really hot, but Molly and I have sworn to one another that we will be each others' 'first', and we haven't done that yet, and we don't know when that will happen, it may not happen for a long time or we might do it tomorrow during lunch break."

"Would you like some more scrapple, dear?" inquired Mrs. Smith.

"I sure would, Mom!" Roderick loves scrapple, especially this time of year, when it's made from Beauneville's Best, and the applesauce is made from Beauneville Beauties. He did not ask for more applesauce. He did not need to ask; the rule in Beauneville is that when scrapple is served, it is served with applesauce.

Mary's Academic Plan

Mary Bloom feels confident that with regular visits to Mr. Swift for "extra assistance", a good grade in English is assured.

History, too, seems well in hand. Roderick is a whiz in History; since he took the same class with Mr. Clio two years ago, he needs very little time to do the assignments while Mary gazes at him adoringly. Mary simply adds some spelling and grammatical errors to Roderick's work to make it appear to be authentically hers.

Mr. Liebnitz, her Math teacher, is a problem, as he is immune to seduction, at least by a pretty fourteen-year old blonde wearing a "schoolgirl" outfit. There are rumors concerning his "alternative" tastes, but Mary pays these no heed except when she's bored and wants to whisper and giggle about something with her girlfriends.

Mary discovered a partial solution to her Math problem by accident after dinner on Monday, when she found Margaret sitting on the living room floor reading the ninth-grade Math book. It turns out that Margaret has already read completely through her seventh-grade Math book and hungers for greater challenge. Wishing to be supportive to her younger sister, Mary negotiated a deal: Margaret gives Mary all of her allowance, and in return Mary lets Margaret do the Math homework.

There remains the question of Math quizzes and tests. Mary figures that if she claims "special needs" status, she can claim the right to work on these at home. A quick private visit with Dr. Baudelaire leading to diagnosis of "severe test anxiety", and she will be good to go. Calling Dr. Margaret! There's a Math quiz for you on the dining room table!

Mr. Horace, her Latin teacher, is an easy mark, no seduction required. Since students in the class learn in small groups, and Mary is assigned to work with three rather geeky classicist boys, she feels assured that a quid pro quo can be worked out, the only question being the exact nature of the quid to be offered for the quo.

Which leaves Miss Agassiz's Freshman Science class. This is a real puzzler. From all appearances, Miss Agassiz seems to be angling for the Most Popular Teacher award. The girls love her fashonista style, her Hermes scarves and blouses, designer glasses and easygoing classroom persona. The boys -- well, they just melt in her presence, and pray she will lean over to expose her ample cleavage, or turn her back to the classroom and vigorously erase the blackboard.

Her philosophy is to make learning fun and interactive, so the Freshman Science classroom is lively and boisterous. Students are encouraged to interrupt, to shout out, to get up and walk around, because education shouldn't stifle the youthful passion to learn. Science is creative! Students make and throw paper airplanes, make balls from crumpled paper and try to hit the wastebasket, and produce all manner of funny and disruptive pranks!

Except for Mary, of course, who sits quietly by herself, reads her Science book and works on the problem sheets.

Mary has Study Hall with Miss Agassiz at eleven each morning, and Freshman Science at one. Yesterday, after the little matter of the sneeze, Mary sat gingerly in a corner of the Science room, reading the text and working on the daily problem sheet. She tried her hardest, reading and re-reading the text, and checking her work to make sure it was right. At the end of the class, with some trepidation, she placed it in the bin on Miss Agassiz's desk.

Today, at the beginning of class, Miss Agassiz returned the worksheets from yesterday. She gushed over the work of some students. "Wonderful job, Jackie!"; "Nice work, Maddy!"; "Carol, really nice job!!". She worked her way through the room, handing out papers, and as she handed them out, her praise became less warm. Suddenly, Mary realized that Miss Agassiz had sorted the papers in descending order and, well, her paper was not at the top of the pile.

With each paper, Miss Agassiz's comments grew crisper. "Spend a little more time on your work, Jason"; "Timothy, you need to check your work more carefully"; "Betty Sue, you can do better than this".

Mary wanted to crawl under her desk. Miss Agassiz's demeanor darkened until, at last, she held a single paper in her hand. In a slow, ominous gait, she walked over to Mary and delivered the paper as if it were some horribly odoriferous turd.

"See me after school", Miss Agassiz snapped, and flounced to the front of the classroom.

Mary looked at her paper and saw a sea of red ink.

At four that afternoon, after Mr. Horace's Latin class, Mary knocked softly on Miss Agassiz's door.

"Come in!" came the response.

Mary stepped nervously inside. Miss Agassiz stood next to her desk, talking to an older boy she recognized from a recent encounter in a back seat by the Mill Pond. She couldn't remember his name; actually she never knew his name. Miss Agassiz and the boy seemed to be flirting with one another; they were standing very close, and she was stroking his biceps, and said something about needing a big strong fellow like him to come over to her house some time and help her with some things.

The boy whispered something in her ear -- Mary couldn't quite hear what he said, but it sounded like something he wanted to do to Miss Agassiz, who laughed and smiled and gave him a cutesy flirty look. The two of them went on like that for what seemed like ages while Mary stood in the doorway, watching, until finally the boy said he had to go home for supper, and Miss Agassiz gave him a very friendly hug and breathlessly said "Ciao!"

The boy left. Silently, Miss Agassiz followed him to the door, which she closed and latched, then turned and looked Mary up and down, like a tiger stalking a wounded gazelle.

We shall, once again, spare the sensitive reader from details of the punishment that followed. Suffice to say that the punishment was measured out precisely, in an amount that equalled the number of red marks on Mary's paper, and that once again Mary found sitting at the dinner table to be a bit uncomfortable.

And yet she smiled, not from some sort of masochistic pleasure in punishment, but in what she saw while bent over Miss Agassiz's desk: it was an open grading book, with students' names listed down the left hand side, in crisp block letters. Next to her name, she could clearly see the letter "A".

The Sneeze

On Tuesday morning, Mary Bloom rose early, dressed in her customary "schoolgirl" outfit, made breakfast for the entire family, then ran next door to check on Mrs. Peacock. She made breakfast for Mrs. Peacock, then returned home to double-check her Science homework, because she did not want to be punished by Miss Agassiz.

At least not very much.

Molly Bloom rose, dressed in her customary two pieces of clothing -- she is not exactly a fashionista -- and inhaled a large stack of Mary's excellent pancakes, with a side order of scrapple and applesauce.

Roderick, at home, also had scrapple and applesauce, as he does on most mornings. He thought about last night, how he helped Mary with her homework, then walked her home. Had she lingered slightly on the porch, when he wished her goodnight?

Mr. Smith joined Roderick at the breakfast table. "I see that you helped Mary with her homework last night."

"Mmmpf." Roderick had a mouthful of scrapple and applesauce. He swallowed. "Yes, I did, and walked her home."

"That's a nice thing to do. She needs a little help in school now and then, but she is a nice girl."

Roderick agreed.

"Are you interested in Mary?"

It was an interesting question. Roderick thought for a moment. "She's a very nice girl, and I think she likes me, but she's only fourteen. Also, I hear that she wants to be a prostitute."

Mr. Smith agreed that Mary's aspirations might be a bit of an impediment to a serious relationship, or even a one-nighter if one were short of cash. "Well", he said, "give it some time."

As usual, Roderick met Molly, Mary, Margaret, Catherine and Mr. Fuzzums at the corner, and they all walked to school. When they arrived at campus, Mary, Molly and Roderick peeled off to go to Beauneville Latin, where they signed in and mingled.

A little before nine, everyone climbed the stairs and went to their assigned classrooms. Roderick, Molly and all of the other juniors went to Mr. Cooper's American Literature class; Mary and the freshmen went to Mr. Swift's English class.

The English curriculum at Beauneville Latin focuses on developing basic writing skills in the freshman and sophomore years; juniors study American literature (and its English roots), and seniors study modern English literature.

The assignment in Mr. Swift's class was to write an essay about the weekend. Mary opened her notebook and began to write:

On Sunday, I went to see one of my teachers for special help. When I arrived he invited me inside, and I discovered that he lives by himself. I sat next to him at the kitchen table. After we worked for awhile, he offered me a drink. I don't know what wine tastes like because I'm just fourteen years old but I think it was wine. It tasted funny. We worked some more and then he refilled my drink. Then I started to feel kind of happy. I showed him my virgin pin. He told me he had a special magic thing that would make me feel real good inside and I would still be a virgin. Then he put his hand on my leg and

Mary figured this was good for an A-plus.

In Mr. Cooper's American Literature class, the topic of the day was Puritan poetry, which even Mr. Cooper had to admit was a real yawner after smutty plays. Molly secretly wished she could take her clothes off. Roderick secretly fantasized about Molly with her clothes off.

At ten, the freshman class moved to Mr. Clio's World History class, where Mary handed in the assignment on the Paleolithic period that Roderick wrote for her. Roderick, Molly and the junior class moved to Mr. Gibbon's American History class. Mr. Gibbon lectured on the Pennsylvania colony and killing Native Americans. Also something about muffins. Roderick noticed that Megan Cupcake had shielded her mouth with her hand and was blowing him kisses.

When the clock struck ten fifty-five, Molly ran downstairs as quick as she could, shed her clothing and assumed a graceful pose, so that the standing-room only class of serious art students, mostly boys, could carefully observe and appreciate her body as a purely aesthetic object. Roderick went to Mr. Horace's Latin class, and sat next to Megan, who put her hand on his leg.

Mary had study hall with Miss Agassiz where she tried hard to be quiet as a mouse. However, at about eleven-thirty, she sneezed. At noon, as Mary was leaving, Miss Agassiz stopped her. "A moment, please, Miss Bloom". Mary paused nervously.

When the last of the other students left the room, Miss Agassiz approached her and stood ominously with a yardstick in her right hand. She wore a red and white floral blouse, black skirt and black boots. The red in her blouse made her look even hotter than she did the previous day. Mary looked up at her teacher, slightly afraid.

"Are you deliberately breaking my rules?", Miss Agassiz growled.

"I'm sorry Miss Agassiz, I couldn't help it..."

"Shut up!" said Miss Agassiz. "I warned you."

The reader will understand that, to avoid appealing to feelings of a prurient nature, the scene that followed will be omitted from this text. Suffice to say that in her afternoon classes, and at dinner that night, Mary found sitting to be a bit uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant.

Miss Agassiz

Monday morning: Molly, Mary, Margaret, Catherine and Mr. Fuzzums left the Bloom house at eight o'clock. A few minutes later, they met Roderick at the corner of Elm and Fourteenth.

Molly greeted Roderick wordlessly, with her eyes, as she always does. Roderick and Molly know each other so well that they seldom greet each other in ways visible to others; but if you watch closely you can see that they instinctively mesh or unmesh, as the situation warrants.

"Hi, Roderick", said Mary, waving shyly. Roderick waved back. He was pleased to see Mary; she's a nice girl.

Mary, Roderick and Molly walked three abreast. Now that Mary is in Beauneville Latin, Roderick and Molly let her walk beside them. Mary wore her "schoolgirl" outfit: white blouse, plaid kilt, woolen knee stockings and penny loafers. Roderick wore his customary white button-down shirt, khaki pants and Dockers. Molly wore a t-shirt and cutoffs, with nothing underneath. Molly is small-breasted, svelte, and doesn't jiggle.

Margaret and Catherine walked together several paces behind the others (Mr. Fuzzums rode secretly in Catherine's backpack). Catherine spoke in great detail and with considerable animation about her day so far. Margaret pretended to listen.

It was a lovely September day.

As they approached the campus, the five scholars and one stowaway split up; Catherine and Mr. Fuzzums headed to Beauneville Grammar; Margaret to Beauneville Academy; Mary, Molly and Roderick to Beauneville Latin, where they signed in and mingled with friends.

Beauneville Latin is not a large building. To enter, you go up a flight of stairs to the main entry. Over the doorway, inscribed in the stone arch, you can read the Latin expression Quisquam Est Licitus, Quoad Est Sapor (Anything is Permitted As Long As It's Tasteful). Inside, there is a main hallway with a wide staircase leading to the second floor. The first floor holds a small auditorium, the library and headmaster's office. On the second floor, there are five large classrooms (one each for Latin, English, History, Math and Science and a teacher's room. On the ground floor, there is an art studio, music room and a few small seminar rooms.

A few minutes before nine, Mary, Molly, Roderick and their schoolmates walk up the stairs to the second floor. Molly and Roderick have American Literature with Mr. Cooper; Mary has English with Mr. Swift.

As Mary enters her classroom, Mr. Swift is writing on the chalkboard. She waves shyly: "Good morning Mr. Swift".

Mr. Swift pauses to return the greeting. "Uh, good morning Miss Bloom".

Mary digests his greeting. Cold, distant and professional. Good. Needs to be that way. He has to protect his position.

Molly and Roderick sit together in Mr. Cooper's American Literature and listen to him lecture about smutty plays in the Colonies. Molly thinks about the fugue in the Hammerklavier. Roderick thinks about smutty plays and bond interest, but mostly about smutty plays.

At ten, Roderick and Molly move to Mr. Gibbon's American History class, and Mary to Mr. Clio's World History class. Mr. Gibbon lectures about killing Native Americans. Mr. Clio lectures about some ancient civilization; Mary thinks he is deadly dull.

To some, the hour from eleven to twelve is the longest hour of the day. Roderick is inclined to agree with this; he likes Latin, but Mr. Horace's class is very hard. The best part: sitting next to Megan Cupcake, who is buxom and bubbly. The topic of today's class is Ovid's Ars Amatoria, the first two books of which they read over the weekend. At one point during class, Megan whispers in Roderick's ear. Something about how she might understand better if Roderick could come over after dinner and so they could try some of the techniques in the book. Roderick thinks that sounds grand, although he was planning to read some more about investing in preferred stock this evening.

Noontime at last, and none too soon, because Molly's stomach was growling so loud during art class it was distracting to the students, who were attempting to draw her sleek, svelte, curvaceous, gorgeous and completely nude figure. Molly quickly threw on her shirt and cutoffs, and ran outside to meet Roderick under the Eating Tree, a great spreading Chestnut tree so named by Beauneville students because it provides a great canopy over the picnic tables.

Mary, Molly and Roderick all sit together with Megan Cupcake and a few other students. Molly has three sandwiches; Roderick has tiffin from the Red Trolley; Mary has a little container of cottage cheese and fruit, which she eats quickly. She puts the empty container in her backpack and tells Molly she has to go see Miss Agassiz. "Goodbye, Roderick", she says, shyly, as she leaves the picnic table. Roderick waves, and feels a little buzz. What a nice girl.

Rene Agassiz, twenty-four years old, recently completed her graduate work at the University of Lake City; she is new to the faculty of Beauneville Latin, hired to replace Mr. Darwin, who retired.

Miss Agassiz is a knockout. Today, she wears a brightly colored floral Hermes blouse, a short black skirt, and black boots; her long black hair is tied back with a clip.

Miss Agassiz agreed to meet Mary Bloom at quarter past twelve; it is now sixteen minutes past. Miss Agassiz expects her students to be on time.

At seventeen minutes past, Mary knocks shyly on the door. "Enter!" calls Miss Agassiz crisply.

Mary meekly opens the door and steps just inside the office, clutching her notebook in front of her. "Um, hi Miss Agassiz, it's Mary..."

"You're late".

Mary blushes slightly. "I'm sorry, Miss Agassiz, I was eating lunch, and.."

"Sit down."

Miss Agassiz points to a chair in front of the desk. Mary sits gingerly on the edge of the chair, still clutching her three-ring binder in front of her chest, as if for protection.

"What do you want?"

"Well, um, Miss Agassiz, um, I was wondering if you could help me with the assignments because I try real hard and...."

As Mary spoke, Miss Agassiz stood and walked around the desk. With her left hand, she grasped Mary's right arm in an iron grip, pulled her to her feet and glared directly into Mary's eyes.

"Shut up!"

Mary looked as if she were going to wet herself. "What?"

"You want special treatment, so I'm going to give it to you. From now on, in my classroom, there will be special rules for Mary Bloom. You will be silent at all times. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will turn in your assignments on time, and you will do them perfectly. If you make any mistakes, I will punish you. Do you understand my rules?"

Terrified, Mary nodded that she understood. "Good. Now get out of my office." Miss Agassiz released Mary's arm and returned to her seat.

Mary beat a hasty retreat from the office. She stood in the hallway for a few minutes to catch her breath. Her blouse was crumpled and her right arm hurt where Miss Agassiz had held it. She rubbed it slightly.

Secretly, she felt a little thrilled.

That evening, after dinner, Roderick weighed whether to read about investing in convertible preferred stock or to go and "study" with Megan Cupcake when the doorbell rang. He answered; it was Mary Bloom.

"Hi Mary", said Roderick. "Would you like to come in?"

Mary stepped inside, wordlessly, and looked at Roderick kind of shyly, as if she wasn't sure what to say.

"Um..I was wondering..can you help me with my History homework? I tried to do it, but it's really hard..."

Of course, said Roderick, and he led her into the kitchen to work at the table. What a pleasant surprise, he thought to himself. Mary is such a nice girl.

Virgin Pride

On Sunday morning, the Blooms woke early, ate breakfast and dressed for church. Mary made the beds, cooked breakfast for everyone, cleaned the dishes, then dressed in a pure white dress. She braided little flowers into her hair, then ran next door to check on Mrs. Peacock.

Mrs. Peacock was dressed and waiting for church. She hugged Mary. "You look so fresh and pure!" Mary beamed.

Today, the Church of Nothing will celebrate Virgin Pride. Girls who take the virginity pledge will be honored before the congregation. Boys will be ignored.

Because it is such a special day, Mr. Bloom has arranged for a white limousine to take the family to church. The Smiths meet them there; the Smiths don't ordinarily attend, but this is a special day for Mary and they want to share her joy. Everyone pauses on the front steps of the church for a picture with the minister, and the Church's National Virginity Campaign coordinator, Miss Jungfrau.

The readings in church today celebrate virginity. One is from the Hindu Purana, the other is from Dr. Phil.

In his sermon, the Reverend Kierkegaard celebrates Virginity. Something about how all girls start out as virgins, but most don't stay that way, and whatever. We're not judging anyone, but Virginity is nice. Also, there is this Christian thing about the Virgin Birth, which we Church of Nothing adherents don't really get, and suspect is just a misunderstanding.

Before the offering, girls taking the Virginity Pledge are called to the front of the church. Mary and five other girls rise nervously, walk forward and stand in a row before the alter facing the congregation. Miss Jungfrau reads a proclamation, reads their names aloud, and walks along the row greeting each girl in turn and presenting a "V" necklace. Mary, who is truly glowing, bows her head to accept her necklace.

The choir and congregation sing a hymn: "Hooray for Virginity! Kumbayah!"

After church, the limo takes the Blooms, Smiths and Mrs. Peacock to the Red Trolley for a celebration brunch. Everyone has a little gift for Mary. Roderick gives her a picture of the goddess Durga, who some believe is in a perpetual state of virginity; she also has ten arms, which is handy when cleaning. Molly gives Mary a little reproduction of the stone lingam and yoni from the Cat Tien sanctuary in Vietnam. Mary passes her gifts around; everyone has fun removing the lingam from the yoni and putting it back in, with appropriate exclamations and sound effects.

Mary decided to broach a certain subject. "Daddy, can you be my pimp?"

Mr. Bloom wrinkled his brow and weighed a response. On the one hand, he does have many contacts from his advertising business, and they like to have a good time. On the other hand, it's not a great idea to mix business and family matters.

Before he could respond, Mrs. Bloom interjected. "You're not quite old enough for that just yet."

Mary protested. "But I'll be fifteen in January!".

Mrs. Bloom held her ground. "You need to be sixteen in this state to get a work permit. And you really do need to get those grades up first, young lady", she admonished.

Mary flushed a little and looked down. She knew Mrs. Bloom was right about the grades. Mary tries to do all of her assignments, but it's hard because she really isn't very smart. Also, she daydreams in class about romance, about travel to far-off places, but mostly about sex.

Mr. Smith tried to be helpful. "Talk to your teachers and try to get some extra help. Also, perhaps Roderick can help you with some of your classes. Right, Roderick?"

"Sure!", said Roderick, who didn't need to have his arm twisted. He wouldn't at all mind tutoring Mary. She's such a nice girl.

Mary smiled.

Later that day, Mary went to the Cafe Venice, where she "accidentally" found her English teacher, Mr. Swift, sipping espresso and working on his blog, Tales of Wragby Hall. The encounter was "accidental" in the sense that Mary wished it to appear so, though she knew for certain where she could find Mr. Swift at that day and time.

"Um, hi Mr. Swift, it's me, Mary Bloom", she said, with all the faux shyness she could muster. "I'm in your ninth grade English class..."

"Oh, uh, yes Mary, hi" said Mr. Swift, standing and shaking her hand. He motioned for her to sit down at the table. She did so, gingerly, at the edge of her seat. She had changed out of her white dress and now wore a white blouse and plaid kilt, with wool stockings, in "schoolgirl" style. It's not clear why this is called the "schoolgirl" look, since actual schoolgirls wear skimpy halter tops and low cut jeans that display their tramp stamps.

"Um, I was wondering...my Mom and Dad said I should talk to you..it's like, I try to do my assignments, but it's really hard, and, well, I was wondering, um, if I could come and see you for some extra help".

Mr. Swift looked serious and professional. "Yes, of course, Mary", he said. "Come to my office after school on Monday".

"Um, I was wondering...I have to go see Miss Agassiz on Monday... could I possibly come to see you later this afternoon? Around four?"

Mr. Swift hesitated, then relaxed. "Sure", he said. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it over to her. "Here's my address. Quince Street, near Sixteenth, three blocks from school".

Mary clutched the paper and pretended she did not already know Mr. Swift's address. "Thank you, Mr. Swift. I'm going to try real hard to do well in school this year."

"Mmm-mm", said Mr.Swift. He had already returned to his blog.

September Saturday

The boathouse is open until the end of September. With school in session, Roderick cut back his hours, but he still works on Saturday mornings. At six, he rolls out of Molly's bed, dresses, runs home, showers, dresses, inhales a plate of scrapple and applesauce and walks briskly to the boathouse.

Roderick has a busy day today: boathouse until noon, then meet up with Molly to study Literature, and later over to Megan Cupcake's for Latin.

Molly stretches as Roderick leaves, gets up, throws on a shirt, pads downstairs and rummages in the refrigerator. Finding some leftover tofu surprise, she nukes it, woofs it down, runs back upstairs, dresses in her gi and heads to the dojo for karate.

After karate and Literature study with Roderick, Molly wants to spend some serious time banging on the Bosendorfer.

At seven, Mary Bloom gets up, makes all of the beds, then goes to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. After breakfast, she helps Mrs. Bloom clean the house, then walks next door to see Mrs. Peacock.

Mrs. Peacock is already up and in fine sprits. Mary makes breakfast for her, then helps her to the comfy chair in the sun room. From the bookcase, Mary chooses Elsie Dinsmore, by Martha Finley, and begins to read the first chapter.

The school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment; the ceiling, it is true, was somewhat lower than in the more modern portion of the building, for the wing in which it was situated dated back to the old-fashioned days prior to the Revolution, while the larger part of the mansion had not stood more than twenty or thirty years; but the effect was relieved by windows reaching from floor to ceiling, and opening on a veranda which overlooked a lovely flower-garden, beyond which were fields and woods and hills. The view from the veranda was very beautiful, and the room itself looked most inviting, with its neat matting, its windows draped with snow-white muslin, its comfortable chairs, and pretty rosewood desks.

Mary paused, and sighed. "How many times have we read this book? It's still my favorite 'Elsie'".

Mrs. Peacock nodded. "Mine too".

"Mrs. Peacock, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, dear".

"If I want to be a prostitute, how do I go about it?"

"A prostitute, dear? Well, first, you need a pimp, or a madam."

"What's a pimp?"

"You need someone who will help you find customers, make sure that you get paid, and so forth. Someone to take care of the business end, so to speak".

"Should I ask my dad?"

"Well, dear, I suppose it can't hurt to ask, can it?"

Mary smiled. "You seem to know something about it".

Mrs. Peacock gave Mary a wink. "It's how I made it through Wellesley. My parents weren't well off, and they weren't so generous with student loans and such back in the day. Lester, bless his heart..." -- Mrs. Peacock was speaking of her deceased husband -- "Lester never knew about it. Of course, he had his monthly visits to Mrs. Lupa's house on Fernwood, which he thought I didn't know about."

Mary hugged Mrs. Peacock, then continued to read from Elsie Dinsmore.

At noon, Roderick finished work and headed to Molly's house. She met him at the porch; they went inside and made smoothies for lunch, then sat on the living room floor to study. For the weekend, Mr. Cooper had assigned the class to read John Wilmot's Restoration closet drama Sodom, or the Quintessence of Debauchery. They read the play aloud, Roderick taking the major male roles: Bolloxinion, the King of Sodom; Pricket, the Young Prince; and Buggeranthos, General of the Army. Molly read the major female roles: Cuntigratia, the Queen of Sodom; Princess Swivia; and the four Maids of Honour (Officina, Fuckadilla, Cunticulla and Clytoris).

Roderick explained to Molly that the play is a satire of the court of Charles II. Molly couldn't remember who Charles II was, or why this was relevant to American Literature. She also didn't understand the use of the word "buggery". Roderick explained. Molly thought it sounded gross.

Just as they finished reading the play, Mary returned home. She waved shyly to Roderick. "Hi, Roderick", she said, seeming to linger slightly.

"Hi Mary", said Roderick, smiling pleasantly. He waved back. Roderick likes Mary. She's a nice girl. Not like so many of the slutty girls in school.

Molly had already seated herself at the Bosendorfer and was working on scales. Roderick waved to her as he left -- she did not look up -- and ran home for a quick supper with Mom and Dad. After dinner, he walked over to Megan Cupcake's house for a Latin study session.

Megan, bubbly and buxom, greeted him at the side door. She wore her red hair long, with a green plaid shirt and blue cutoffs. Per usual, there was no sign of Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake. Megan invited Roderick upstairs so they could study on the bed, which is way more comfortable than studying on the living room floor.

Latin is a required subject for all students in Beauneville Academy, and for the first two years at Beauneville Latin. Starting in the Junior year, Latin is an elective covering various works of literature. The Latin assignment for the weekend is to read the first two chapters of Ovid's Ars Amatoria.

Roderick and Megan got through the first chapter okay, but as they start the second chapter Megan says she is really struggling, and would it be possible for them to share the same book so she can follow along better?

Roderick is happy to oblige. Megan says she really needs to get a pair of glasses, but until she does she'll just have to snuggle real close.