can't go before three, or half-past, though; on account of having to recite to Mr. Lord."
"Never mind; I daresay it's just as well; for you'll get quite enough of both the work and the company."
Following out the instructions received, Mildred attired herself for the occasion with the utmost simplicity; but could not lay aside her delicate prettiness or a certain air of culture and refinement that made her more the real lady in her calico, than almost any of her companions of the afternoon would have been in the richest silk or velvet.
Just as she was ready to go, Ada came in from school, crying heartily.
"What's the matter?" asked Mildred, meeting her on the threshold and turning back full of sympathy.
"I—I've lost my place in the spelling-class," sobbed the child, "and I didn't miss a word either. You know I got up head the first day, and I've kept there ever since—'way above all those big, big girls, some of 'em as big as you, Milly."
"But how did you get down if you didn't miss? was it for bad behavior?"
"No; but she upset the class and made us all draw lots for our places, and the one I drew made my place next to the foot."
"Mother, do you hear that?" asked Mildred, hotly; for anything like abuse or unjust treatment of her little brothers or sisters was sure to rouse her ire.
"Yes," Mrs. Keith said, "but Ada, you like the fun of getting up in your class, and you could never have that if you were always at the head."
This seemed a new idea to the child, and she smiled faintly through her tears.
But the wound was so deep it must bleed awhile, and the briny drops fell fast again.
She was an uncommonly good speller for a child of her age, and had taken great pride in keeping her place, working very hard to be able to do so; and this sudden, unexpected downfall, due to no failure on her part, almost overwhelmed her with a sense of loss, humiliation and injustice.
Mildred waited; she couldn't bear to go and leave Ada in such distress.
"Don't cry," she said, stroking her hair caressingly while the mother wiped away the fast flowing tears with her own soft white handkerchief, and kissed the flushed cheek, "don't cry, you'll soon get up again."
"And I shall write a note to Miss Drybread, telling her that I cannot approve of drawing lots to decide so trivial a matter;" said Mrs. Keith. "It seems to me very wrong; because it is an appeal to God. 'The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord!' It might be well enough to turn the class round occasionally, or in some other way to give the poor scholars a chance to rise; but this proceeding I so highly disapprove of that I shall not allow you to take part in it again."
"I wish you'd take me away out of her school, mother, oh do," pleaded the little girl.
"You shall not be kept there long," Mrs. Keith said. "But Mildred, child," she added gayly, "you must hurry away or I fear you'll not earn your supper."
A dozen maidens, mostly under twenty years of age, were collected in "the front room" at Mr. Lightcap's. A large clothes basket filled with many colored rags, torn or cut into strips of various lengths, occupied a conspicuous place upon the floor.
A number of girls were grouped about it and armed with needles and thread, scissors and thimbles, were busily engaged picking out the strips, sewing the ends together and winding the long strings thus formed, into balls; others had filled their laps and seated themselves here and there about the room.
They seemed a very merry company, laughing and chatting as they worked.
"Oh, how d'ye do?" said Rhoda Jane, catching sight of Mildred as she drew near the door, which was standing open; "thought you wasn't comin' at all. Walk right in. Let me take your sunbonnet. Here's a seat for you 'long side of Miss Chetwood. Guess you're better acquainted with her than any body else, without it's Viny Apple.
"Ladies, this is Miss Keith."
"I don't need no hintroduction," laughed Miss Apple. "'Ope you're well, Miss Milly."
The others looked up with a nod and a murmured word or two, as Rhoda Jane named each in turn; then they seemed to take up the thread of their discourse where it had been dropped, while Mildred tied on her apron, took the chair assigned her, threaded a needle, and helping herself, by invitation, from Claudina's lap, began her first ball, at the same time explaining that her lessons had detained her.
"You must be goin' to be dreadful learned," commented Rhoda Jane, filling Mildred's lap from the basket, "I wouldn't be you for something. I hate books and always did."
"Are we all here now?" asked some one.
"All but Damaris Drybread. She's oldish for the rest of us, but she's the schoolma'am, you know, and likes to be invited. And though she's late comin'—yonder she is now—she works dreadful fast when she does get at it."
Mildred overheard a whisper not complimentary to the coming woman,
"Pshaw! I wish she hadn't been asked. She spoils everything; for she's as solemn as a funeral and 'pears to think it's a sin to laugh."
"Yes," assented another voice, "that's so! and she never forgets that she's a schoolma'am; but takes it upon herself to tell you your duty without waiting to be invited to."
But now Miss Drybread was upon the threshold.
"Good evening," she said, in solemn tone and with a stiff little bow, addressing her salutation to the company in general; then giving her sunbonnet to Rhoda Jane, she seated herself in her usual bolt upright manner and fell to work.
Her presence acted as a damper upon the spirits of the younger portion of the party. A dead silence succeeded the merry chatter and laughter of a moment before.
Mildred had cared little for that while it went on, but it vexed her now that this woman, for whom, principally on Ada's account, she began to feel a decided dislike, should have it in her power thus to spoil the enjoyment of others; and she determined that it should not be.
Raising her voice that all might hear, she told an amusing anecdote that set everybody to laughing except the "schoolma'am," whose increasing solemnity of aspect seemed to reprove their levity.
"Oh, that was first-rate! do tell us another," cried Rhoda Jane, holding her sides. "I had no idea you could be so funny."
Mildred went on with anecdotes, jests, conundrums, Claudina and one or two others contributing their quota also, till with the ruder ones the mirth became somewhat boisterous.
As it died down again, Miss Drybread spoke.
"Life, permit me to observe to you all, is too serious and solemn to be spent in laughing and joking. Allow me to say, Miss Keith, that I am astonished that you, a church member, should indulge in such frivolity."
"Do you think a Christian should always wear a long face, ma'am?" asked Mildred, saucily, her tell-tale countenance showing all too plainly the contempt and aversion she felt for her self-constituted censor.
"Yes; I think that folks that profess that they've got religion ought to be grave and sober, and let the world see that they don't belong to it."
