ok back in time to recite?" asked Bab, prudently.

"Oh, I'll leave it on the window-sill, or put it inside the door as I go
back. I'll be real careful, and just as soon as I earn enough, I'll buy
you a new one and take the old one. Will you?"

"Yes; but I'll tell you a nicer way to do. Don't put the book on the
window, 'cause teacher will see you; or inside the door, 'cause some one
may steal it. You put it in my cubby-house, right at the corner of the
wall nearest the big maple. You'll find a cunning place between the
roots that stick up under the flat stone. That's my closet, and I keep
things there. It's the best cubby of all, and we take turns to have it."

"I'll find it, and that'll be a first-rate place," said Ben, much
gratified.

"I could put my reading-book in sometimes, if you'd like it. There's
lots of pretty stories in it and pictures," proposed Betty, rather
timidly, for she wanted to share the benevolent project, but had little
to offer, not being as good a scholar as bright Bab.

"I'd like a 'rithmetic better. I read tip-top, but I aint much on
'rithmetic; so, if you can spare yours, I might take a look at it. Now
I'm going to earn wages, I ought to know about addin' 'em up, and so
on," said Ben, with the air of a Vanderbilt oppressed with the care of
millions.

"I'll teach you that. Betty doesn't know much about sums. But she spells
splendidly, and is always at the head of her class. Teacher is real
proud of her, 'cause she never misses, and spells hard, fussy words,
like _chi-rog-ra-phy_ and _bron-chi-tis_ as easy as anything."

Bab quite beamed with sisterly pride, and Betty smoothed down her apron
with modest satisfaction, for Bab seldom praised her, and she liked it
very much.

"I never went to school, so that's the reason I aint smart. I can write,
though, better'n some of the boys up at school. I saw lots of names on
the shed door. See here now," and scrambling down, Ben pulled out a
cherished bit of chalk and flourished off ten letters of the alphabet,
one on each of the dark stone slabs that paved the walk.

"Those are beautiful! I can't make such curly ones. Who taught you to do
it?" asked Bab, as she and Betty walked up and down admiring them.

"Horse blankets," answered Ben, soberly.

"What!" cried both girls, stopping to stare.

"Our horses all had their names on their blankets, and I used to copy
'em. The wagons had signs, and I learned to read that way after father
taught me m