ard kittens that had n't their eyes open make a
fiercer noise.

Mother must have put all the blessed blankets in the house on the
school-teacher's bed. I don't know what she had on her own, but we
only had the old bag-quilt and a stack of old skirts, and other
remnants of the family wardrobe, on ours. In the middle of the night,
the whole confounded pile of them rolled off, and we nearly froze. Do
what we boys would--tie ourselves in knots and coil into each other
like ropes--we could n't get warm. We sat up in the bed in turns, and
glared into the darkness towards the schoolmistress's room, which was
n't more than three yards away; then we would lie back again and
shiver. We were having a time. But at last we heard a noise from the
young lady's room. We listened--all we knew. Miss Ribbone was up and
dressing. We could hear her teeth chattering and her knees knocking
together. Then we heard her sneak back to bed again and felt
disappointed and colder than ever, for we had hoped she was getting up
early, and would n't want the bed any longer that night. Then we too
crawled out and dressed and tried it that way.

In answer to Mother at breakfast, next morning, Miss Ribbone said she
had "slept very well indeed."

We did n't say anything.

She was n't much of an eater. School-teachers are n't as a rule.
They pick, and paw, and fiddle round a meal in a way that gives a
healthy-appetited person the jim-jams. She did n't touch the fried
pumpkin. And the way she sat there at the table in her watch-chain and
ribbons made poor old Dave, who sat opposite her in a ragged shirt
without a shirt-button, feel quite miserable and awkward.

For a whole week she did n't take anything but bread and tea--though
there was always plenty good pumpkin and all that. Mother used to
speak to Dad about it, and wonder if she ate the little pumpkin-tarts
she put up for her lunch. Dad could n't understand anyone not eating
pumpkin, and said HE'D tackle GRASS before he'd starve.

"And did ever y' see such a object?" Mother went on. "The hands an'
arms on her! Dear me! Why, I do believe if our Sal was to give her
one squeeze she'd kill her. Oh, but the finery and clothes! Y' never
see the like! Just look at her!" And Dad, the great oaf, with Joe at
his heels, followed her into the young lady's bedroom.

"Look at that!" said Mother, pointing to a couple of dresses hanging on
a nail--"she wears THEM on week-days, no less; an