a prize at the end of the term to the member of the class
obtaining the greatest number of head marks, and consequently a good
deal of interest was taken in the lessons.

Rachel had been at the head of the class the evening before; therefore
she now took her station at its foot. Tom, her brother, now was
head, and for some time no change in position was made. But finally
"somebody blundered," and Rachel, who was one of the good spellers,
went up in the long line. Presently another word was missed, and now
Rachel walked to the head. Tom pushed her spitefully.

"Another mark, Rachel," said the teacher, "for that is the end of the
lesson."

The class resumed their seats, and, a few minutes after, school was
dismissed for the day.

"Good-evening," said the teacher, as Rachel and a younger sister,
a pretty, delicate child, passed him at the door. "Now, no worrying
about Christian, Rachel."

"I won't," she laughed. "I guess he'll get out. Didn't he stand up to
old Apollyon?"

"Like a good fellow," was the reply. "Hope I'll come off as well."

She looked at him inquiringly, but he had turned toward his desk, and
the sisters set out on their half-mile walk home.

Let us precede them and see what manner of home it is to which these
children belong.

The farm is a large one, the buildings substantial, and everything has
a prosperous, well-to-do look. Mr. Stillman, the owner of these broad
acres and the father of these three, Tom, Rachel, and Susy, as well
as of three more girls and another stalwart son, is a stout,
comfortable-looking man of forty-five or fifty. A glance at his close,
thin lips and keen gray eyes would convince an observant person that
he would make it very uncomfortable for any one in his power who might
differ from him in opinion or dispute his authority. Just now he is
chatting pleasantly with his hired man, and pays no attention to the
children, who pass him on the way to the house.

Indoors Mrs. Stillman, a slender, fair-haired woman, who looks as if
she felt she owed the world an apology for living in it, is preparing
supper, assisted by her two daughters, Elizabeth, a sad-faced woman
of twenty-four, and Margaret, a girl of eighteen, with her father's
determined mouth and chin and her mother's large blue eyes and fair
hair. The clock struck five as the school-girls entered the kitchen,
a large room which in winter did duty as dining-room as well as
cooking-room.

"Run in the sitting-room, gir