ld show
Amelia Ramsey anything she didn't want to see. I never had any
patience with her. I believe in being proud if you've got anything to
be proud of, but I don't see any sense in it otherwise. Anyhow, I
guess George is doing pretty well. A distant relation of his mother,
an Allen, not a Ramsey, got a place in a bank for him, they say, and
he gets good pay. I heard it was three thousand a year, but I don't
believe it. He ain't much over twenty, and it ain't likely. I don't
know jest how old he is. He's some older than you."

"He's a good deal older than I," said Maria, remembering sundry
confidences with the tall, lanky boy over the garden fence.

"Well, I don't know but he is," said Aunt Maria, "but I don't believe
he gets three thousand a year, anyhow."

The next morning Maria, on her way to school in the rain, passing
under the unconquerable golden glow of the maples, cast a
surreptitious glance at the old Ramsey house as she passed. It had
been wonderfully changed for the better. Even the garden at the side
next her aunt's house was no longer a weedy enclosure, but displayed
an array of hardy flowers which the frost had not yet affected.
Marigolds tossed their golden and russet balls through the misty wind
of the rain, princess-feathers waved bravely, and chrysanthemums
showed in gorgeous clumps of rose and yellow and white. As she
passed, a tidy maid emerged from the front door and began sweeping
out the rain which had lodged in the old hollows of the stone stoop,
worn by the steps of generations. The rain flew before her plying
broom in a white foam. The maid wore a cap and a wide, white apron.
Maria reflected that the Ramseys had indeed come into palmier days,
since they kept a maid so attired. She thought of George Ramsey with
his patched trousers, and again the old feeling of repulsion and
wonder at herself that she could have had romantic dreams about him
came over her. Maria felt unutterably old that morning, and yet she
had a little, childish dread of her new duties. She was in reality
afraid of the school-children, although she did not show it. She got
through the day very creditably, although that night she was tired as
she had never been in her life, and, curiously enough, her sense of
smell seemed to be the most affected. Many of her pupils came from
poor families, the families of operatives in the paper-mills, and
their garments were shabby and unclean. Soaked with rain, they gave
out pungent odo