ughter. When I urged her, she grew gravely embarrassed.

"Well," said she; "I don't think I should want anybody that I thought I
couldn't ever help them any, you know. That wouldn't ever need me, I
mean, and I know," she went on more hastily; "it seems funny to say that
to you, because it seems as though there wasn't anything that I could
ever do for you--because you--you seem--not to need anybody--but I didn't
know but some time--there might be something--I thought--maybe--some
time."

Rebecca paused and looked up at me with that pitifully beseeching
expression in her eyes.

"Oh, yes," I answered, still carelessly; "no doubt I shall be a great
burden to you in time. But you do help me now, dear, by your conduct in
school. You helped me this morning when you boxed Lemuel Biddy's ears.
I shall have to take boxing lessons of you."

"You be the scholar," Rebecca answered quickly, her lips parting again
with a merry outburst of laughter.

"Wretch!" said I, well pleased but affecting a tone of deep severity;
"you must not be saucy to your teacher! I shall keep you in the rest of
your recess for that.

"Do you like to study, Rebecca?" I added presently.

"No-o," said she, much abashed at the admission, and yet evidently
incapable of speaking otherwise than according to the simple dictates of
her conscience. "I don't think I should care anything about it if it
didn't make you so dull not to. I mean," she continued; "perhaps I might
'a' liked it if I'd been to school right along, but we never did. And I
was to the mills up to Taunton. I didn't stay long there. Then mother was
sick. They don't any of the scholars be let to go very regular. Sometimes
they're wanted to work out. So they forget. So they don't care much, I
think. They get to dreading it. I wanted to tell you so you wouldn't
think it so much blame--our bein' so backward."

"It is the faithful improvement of what opportunities we have, Rebecca,"
I began and then paused, somewhat confused by the throng of lively
reminiscences which suddenly crowded my mental horoscope. "You are
young yet, my dear," I concluded gravely, with a resigned sigh for my own
departed youth; "you can make up for lost time. It is pleasant to give,
but there may be circumstances in which it is our duty imperatively to
receive. You must let me do all I can for you this winter. I do want you
for a friend, but I would rather it should be on these plainly implied
conditions."

Rebecca had