which had
tinted her complexion brightly, though delicately, seemed forever to be
put to shame by the brazen garments which infolded her. They called her
'sp'iled,' when her innocent eyes filled with tears at her father's
oaths or her mother's coarse scolding; and though her tender beauty
touched the rough smith with a kind of awe, he often said, "Such pootty
gals a'n't of much use. I mistrust if Sary Ann will ever 'arn her
livin'."

Anxious as I was to get to my class this evening, I could not neglect my
little friend; so, going hurriedly to her, I said, as I bent over the
head which at every breath of sleep waved like a pale golden flower on
its stalk,--

"Good night, Annie. To-morrow evening I'll be home earlier, and then we
can have our lesson together."

And she, quite satisfied, held up her face for a kiss, and rose to leave
the room.

"Your supper is a-warmin' in the stove, Sandy," said Mrs. Bray; but I
did not wait either to eat it or to chat with her about the stranger
whose horse I had shod, and who interested her because she thought he
might have given "Amos" extra pay. Reminding her of my lesson, I pushed
up the rickety stairs to my attic, and began as quickly as possible to
make those preparations for meeting the teacher which the young men of
the class, impelled by a rude kind of gallantry, never failed to
observe, and which they described by the expressive term of "smartenin'
up."

CHAPTER III.

The class met in the village school-house; and when I entered, Miss
Darry, our teacher, was seated at her desk, talking to about a dozen
rough country youths, of ages ranging from fourteen to twenty-five, and
of occupations as diverse as the trades of the village afforded.

She was of medium height, rather full than slim, with clear,
intelligent, dark eyes, a broad, open forehead, a nose somewhat
delicately cut, a wide mouth, with thin lips, and teeth of dazzling
whiteness. Her whole aspect was that of physical and mental health,--not
only removed from morbid sensitiveness, but as far from sentiment even
as a breezy spring wind, and yet as prompt to fathom it in others as the
wind to search out violets.

One would think that even an ordinary nature might have so revealed
itself through such a face as to give an impression of unusual beauty;
yet such was not the case,--and this, it seemed to me, because she had
no feminine consciousness of personal beauty or attractiveness. I know
that unconsciousnes