and value of historical study, had suddenly looked about the class to find some one to read a paragraph from the text-book illustrating what he was saying. Sarah's face, bent eagerly forward, attracted him, and he asked her her name and told her to read. The color flamed into her cheeks, and with trembling hands she found her place in the book, and then rose. Instead of standing still, she walked to the front of the room, and, in a fashion learned before Laura had come to teach the Spring Grove School, "toed" carefully a crack in the floor, lifted her book to a level with her chin, and began.

"Page three, chapter one, paragraph four. 'The Study of History.'"

Wild laughter interrupted her, at which Professor Minturn frowned and sternly commanded silence. He was a nervous, easily irritated man, who never felt that his students worked hard enough.

"Go on, Miss Wenner."

Sarah read through the paragraph with a voice which she strenuously endeavored to make steady. It seemed to her that she had never seen so many th's and v's, which she was just learning to pronounce. But she got safely to the end, and then fled to her seat.

"I have never heard a paragraph read more intelligently," commented Professor Minturn grimly, thereby adding to her confusion.

Of all her lessons, Latin promised to be the most terrible.

"I will not talk to the twins again about learning them Latin," she said to herself, with a sigh. "But the teacher, he seems like a kind man. Perhaps he will help me sometimes a little."

In her room that afternoon, she handled the books as though they were loved dolls. Sarah had never really owned a book. The school-books from which she had studied had belonged to William, and now were used by the twins. If anything remained of them after the twins were through with them, they would go to Albert. But these were hers, they were new, she might write her own name in them, she might keep them all her life.

The confusion in her room worried her, but she turned her back upon it, and set resolutely to work. By the time that Ellen and Mabel came in to prepare for gymnasium she had learned her History lesson and discovered that she need not study her Spelling.

The period of gymnasium proved to be another surprise. To a girl who climbed to the upper rung of the barn ladder and the top of a tall hickory tree, and who could churn butter and drive a fractious horse, the simple exercises with wands and dumb-bells were child's play. She wished to get back to her work, she wished to touch again the clean, white books.

Ellen and Mabel laughed at her unmercifully. They had been in the Normal School for a year, and had learned and invented many ways of shirking. After supper they announced that they were going to straighten up the room, and for five minutes, during which they had scarcely made a beginning, they worked diligently. Then Ellen threw herself down on the bed, and declared that she was tired. For a few minutes there was a welcome silence, then Ellen began to giggle and got up and left the room. By the time she returned, Mabel had taken her place on the bed.

"Sarah," Ellen began pleasantly; and Sarah, marking the place in her book, looked up despairingly.

"What is it?"

"I met the bell-boy in the hall, and he said that your brother is here."

Ellen was frightened by the sudden terror on Sarah's face.

"My brother!"

"Yes. Oh, nothing is wrong. I think he is just here in town and wishes to see you. And there are people in the reception room, so Eugene will bring him up here in a few minutes. Mabel and I will go out."

Mabel got up quickly from the bed.

"Yes, of course."

Sarah rose to her feet.

"Ach, you needn't go! And"—she looked round the disorderly room—"couldn't we fix here a little up once?"

Ellen and Mabel shouted with laughter.

"There isn't time to fix here a little up once."

When the door was closed, Sarah looked about once more. She was frightened by William's coming, she was distressed that he should see such a room. Ellen and Mabel had not even made their beds. Those, at least, she would spread up. If he would only delay for a few minutes, she might make the room look presentable. She drew the curtain across the alcove where the washstands stood, and hung her room-mates' dresses in the closets. For an instant she was tempted to toss them in on the floor and shut the door on them. But Sarah had had too few nice dresses in her life to treat them roughly. The shoes were swept into the closets, the bureau drawers were filled and closed; then, as she heard a step in the hall, she smoothed her hair and went to the door.

"Wil—" she began, and then gasped. It was a man who stood without, but it was not William. No; it was not even a man. There was a fluffy tie above the collar of his rain-coat, his derby hat was pinned on with a hat-pin, the hand which he held out was decked with rings.

"What do you mean?" demanded Sarah, trembling.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" giggled Ellen.

"Where is my brother William?"

"I am your brother William. I—Why, look at this room! She has put it all in order! Mabel!"

There was a burst of wild laughter, then the two girls ran down the hall to return the clothes to the girl to whose brother they belonged. "I never knew such a joke."

Sarah went inside and shut the door. Then she locked it and stood with clenched hands. It was cruel to play such a trick. They had frightened her, and now she was desperately disappointed. And she had lost at least a half-hour, and it was only two hours until the lights were put out. She would not let the girls come in again; they would not study, they might visit their friends. With shaking hands she opened her books.

But she could not study. She heard another burst of laughter. Probably they were telling the other girls about it, and they were laughing at her.

Presently her heart ceased to beat so rapidly and she settled down to work once more. Perhaps they would not come back. She knew that it was against the rules to go from room to room during study-hours, but they did not keep rules.

"'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect,'" she began aloud. "'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect. The human skeleton—'"

The knob was softly turned; then there was a knock at the door. Sarah did not answer.

"Let us in, Sarah."

Still Sarah made no response.

"Open the door, Sarah."

"No, I am not going to open the door," cried Sarah shrilly. "You can just stay out."

A long silence succeeded. She settled again to her work.

"'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect. The human skeleton—'"

When there was another knock at the door, Sarah started up furiously.

"You can knock all night and I won't let you in," she shrieked. "You are all the time after me, you—"

Again the knob was turned. She did not realize that the voice which bade her unlock the door was lower and softer than those to which she had been listening. She was too angry to distinguish one voice from another. The girl who had withstood the persecutions of an Uncle Daniel would not endure forever the teasing of two girls of her own age. She seized her pitcher from the stand. Not without much spilling of water on floor and bed, she climbed to the footboard.

"Will you go 'way, then!"

"Sarah, open the door."

"I won't." And Sarah turned the pitcher