brass.”

Poor little Comfort did not feel much sustained by the possession of her real gold ring. It was dreadful to stand out there facing the school, which seemed to be a perfect dazzle of blue and black eyes all fastened upon her in her little red gown and gingham tier, in her little stout shoes, which turned in for very meekness, with her little dangling hands, which could not wear the gold ring, and her little strained face and whispering lips, and little vain heart, which was being punished for its little vanity.

They stood on the floor until recess. Comfort felt so weak and stiff that she could scarcely move when Miss Hanks said harshly, “Now you can go.” She cast a piteous glance at Matilda, who immediately put her arms around her waist and pulled her along to the entry, where their hoods and cloaks hung. “Don't you cry,” she whispered. “She's awful strict, but she won't hurt you a mite. She brought me a whole tumbler of currant jelly when I had the measles.”

“I sha'n't whisper again as long as I live,” half sobbed Comfort, putting on her hood.

“I sha'n't, either,” said Matilda. “I never had to stand out on the floor before. I don't know what my mother will say when I tell her.”

The two little girls went out in the snowy yard, and there was Rosy, with Charlotte Hutchins and Sarah Allen, and she was showing them her ring. It was again too much for sensible little Matilda, weary from her long stand on the floor. “Rosy Stebbins, you are a great ninny, acting so stuck up over that old brass ring,” said she. “Comfort Pease has a real solid gold one, and she don't even wear it.”

Rosy and Charlotte Hutchins and Sarah Allen all stared at Comfort. “Have you?” asked Charlotte Hutchins, in an awed tone. She was a doctor's daughter, and had many things that the other little girls had not; but even she had no gold ring—nothing but a chameleon.

“Yes, I have,” replied Comfort, blushing modestly.

“Real gold?” asked Rosy, in a subdued voice.

“Yes.”

Some other girls came up—some of the older ones, with their hair done up; and even some of the boys, towering lankily on the outskirts. Not one of these scholars in this country district school fifty years ago had ever owned a gold ring. All they had ever seen were their mothers' well-worn wedding-circlets.

“Comfort Pease has got a real gold ring,” went from one to the other.

“Why don't she wear it, then?” demanded one of the big girls. She had very red cheeks, and her black hair was in two glossy braids, crossed and pinned at the back of her head, and surmounted by her mother's shell comb she had let her wear to school that day. She had come out to recess without her hood to show it.

“She's waiting for her hand to grow to it,” explained Matilda, to whom Comfort had shyly whispered the whole story.

“Hold up your hand,” ordered the big girl; and Comfort held up her little hand pink with the cold.

“H'm! looks big enough,” said the big girl, and she adjusted her shell comb.

“I call it a likely story,” said another big girl, in an audible whisper.

“The Peases don't have any more than other folks,” said still another big girl. The little crowd dispersed with scornful giggles. Comfort turned redder and redder. Rosy and Charlotte and Sarah were looking at her curiously; only Matilda stood firm. “You are all just as mean as you can be!” she cried. “She has got a gold ring!”

Matilda Stebbins put her arm around Comfort, who was fairly crying. “Come,” said she, “don't you mind anything about 'em, Comfort. Le'ss go in the school-house. I've got a splendid Baldwin apple in my dinner-pail, and I'll give you half of it. They're mad 'cause they haven't got any gold ring.”

“I have got a gold ring,” sobbed Comfort:

      “Honest and true,
Black and blue,
Lay me down and cut me in two.”

That was the awful truth-testing formula of the village children.

“Course you have,” said Matilda, with indignant backward glances at the others. “Le'ss go and get that Baldwin apple.”

Comfort went with Matilda; but it took more than a Baldwin apple to solace her; and her first day at school was a most unhappy one. It was very probable that the other scholars, and especially the elder ones, who had many important matters of their own in mind, thought little more about her and her gold ring after school had begun; but Comfort could not understand that. She had a feeling that the minds of the whole school were fixed upon her, and she was standing upon a sort of spiritual platform of shame, which was much worse than the school-room floor. If she saw one girl whisper to another, she directly thought it was about her. If a girl looked at her, her color rose, and her heart began to beat loudly, for she thought she was saying to herself, “Likely story!”

Comfort was thankful when it was time to go home, and she could trudge off alone down the snowy road. None of the others lived her way. She left them all at the turn of the road just below the school-house.

“Good-night, Comfort,” Matilda Stebbins sang out loyally; but the big girl with red cheeks followed her with, “Wear that gold ring to school to-morrow, an' let us see it.” Then everybody giggled, and poor Comfort fled out of sight. It seemed to her that she must wear that ring to school the next day. She made up her mind that she would ask her mother; but when she got home she found that her Grandmother Atkins had come, and also her Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Susan. They had driven over from Barre, where they lived, and her grandmother was going to stay and make a little visit; but her uncle and aunt were going home soon, and her mother was hurrying to make some hot biscuits for supper.

So when Comfort came in she stopped short at the sight of the company, and had to kiss them all and answer their questions with shy politeness. Comfort was very fond of her grandmother, but this time she did not feel quite so delighted to see her as usual. As soon as she had got a chance she slipped into the pantry after her mother. “Mother,” she whispered, pulling her apron softly, “can't I wear my gold ring to school to-morrow?”

“No, you can't. How many times have I got to tell you?” said her mother, mixing her biscuit dough energetically.

“Please let me, mother. They didn't believe I've got one.”

“Let them believe it or not, just as they have a mind to,” said her mother.

“They think I'm telling stories.”

“What have you been telling about your ring in school for, when you ought to have been studying? Now, Comfort, I can't have you standing there teasing me any longer. I've got to get these biscuits into the oven; they must have some supper before they go home. You go right out and set the table. Get the clean table-cloth out of the drawer, and you may put on the best knives and forks. Not another word. You can't wear that gold ring until your hand grows to it, and that settles it.”

Comfort went out and set the table, but she looked so dejected that the company all noticed it. She could not eat any of the hot biscuits when they sat down to supper, and she did not eat much of the company cake. “You don't feel sick, do you, child?” asked her grandmother, anxiously.

“No, ma'am,” replied Comfort, and she swallowed a big lump in her throat.

“She ain't sick,” said her mother, severely. “She's fretting because she can't wear her gold ring to school.”

“O Comfort, you must wait till your hand grows to it,” said her Aunt Susan.

“Yes, of course she must,” said her Uncle Ebenezer.

“Eat your supper, and your hand will grow to it before long,” said her father, who, left to himself, would have let Comfort wear the ring.

“It wouldn't do for you to wear that ring and lose it. It's real gold,” said her grandmother. “Have another piece of the sweet-cake.”

But