er unaspiring comrades; so that I
judged her to be "weakly generous" as well as "plodding,"--qualities not
of a high order, I esteemed, yet by no means insuperable barriers to
friendship when found to enter more or less largely into the composition
of one's friends.

There was something in my novel relation to the girl as her teacher
peculiarly fascinating to me. At recess she remained in her seat and kept
quietly at her work.

I went down and stood over her. "Can I help you, my dear?" I said.

Whatever might have been the pedantic or obtrusively condescending
quality of those words, Rebecca seemed to find nothing distasteful in
them. She looked up with a "Thank you," and a pleased, trustful face like
a child's. "I can't do this one," said she. "I've finished the rest, but
this wouldn't come right, somehow."

It was a sum in simple addition. I could not help a feeling of deep
surprise and commiseration that one of Rebecca's age should have stumbled
at it at all, but I essayed to examine it very closely and worked it out
for her as slowly as possible. "Do you see your mistake?" I said.

She blushed painfully. The tears almost stood in her eyes.

"Yes, and I knew you'd have to find out how dull I was," she said; "but I
dreaded it. When Miss Waite was here, mother was sick and I didn't go to
school at all, and Miss Waite took me for a friend; and I told mother I'd
most rather not go to school to you, for Miss Waite said you'd be a real
friend, and I knew you wouldn't want me when you found how dull I was."

I looked at the girl, and a bright, hesitating smile woke in her face.

"Do you know, Rebecca," I said, "I don't choose my friends for their
mental qualifications--for what they know; I select them just as people
do horses--by their teeth. Let me see yours."

Rebecca laughed most musically, thus disclosing two brilliant rows of
ivories. I had noticed them before.

"You'll do!" I exclaimed, lightly. "I take you into my heart of hearts.
Now, what is your standard of choice? What charming characteristic do you
First require in a friend, Rebecca?"

"Oh!" said she, gasping a little and speaking very slowly;
"I--don't--know. I--don't--think--I've got any."

"Don't be afraid lest you shall guess something that I have not, my
dear," I said; "You can hardly go astray. Begin with modesty, if you
please, truly the chief of virtues."

Rebecca caught quickly the meaning in my tone, and answered with a low
ripple of la