“But I do not want rest; I have no burden,” I said.

“Cassandra,” thundered grand’ther, “have you no respect for God nor man?”

“Have you read,” went on the minister, “the memoir of Nathan Dickerman?  A mere child, he realized his burden of sin in time, and died sanctified.”

I thought it best to say no more.  Aunt Mercy looked disturbed, and left the table as soon as she could with decency.

“Cassandra,” she said, when we were alone, “what will become of you?”

“What will, indeed?  You have always said that I was possessed.  Why did you not explain this fact to Mr. Boold?”

She kissed me,—­her usual treatment when she was perplexed.

The revival culminated and declined.  Sixty new members were admitted into the church, and things settled into the old state.  School was resumed; I found that not one of my schoolmates had met with a change, but Miss Black did not touch on the topic.  My year was nearly out; March had come and gone, and it was now April.  One mild day, in the latter part of the month, the girls went to the yard at recess.  Charlotte Alden said pleasantly that the weather was fair enough for out-of-doors play, and asked if I would try the tilt.  I gave a cordial assent.  We balanced the board so that each could seat herself, and began to tilt slowly.  As she was heavy, I was obliged to exert my strength to keep my place, and move her.  She asked if I dared to go higher.  “Oh yes, if you wish it.”  Happening to look round, I caught her winking at the girls near us, and felt that she was brewing mischief, but I had no time to dwell on it.  She bore the end she was on to the ground with a sudden jerk, and I fell from the other, some eight feet, struck a stone, and fainted.

The next thing that I recollect was Aunt Mercy’s carrying me across the street in her arms.  She had seen my fall from the window.  Reaching the house, she let me slide on the floor in a heap, and began to wring her hands and stamp her feet.

“I am not hurt, Aunt Mercy.”

“You are nearly killed, you know you are.  This is your last day at that miserable school.  I am going for the doctor, as soon as you say you wont faint again.”

Thus my education at Miss Black’s was finished with a blow.

When Aunt Mercy represented to Miss Black that I was not to return to school, and that she feared I had not made the improvement that was expected, Miss Black asked, with hauteur, what had been expected—­what my friends could expect.  Aunt Mercy was intimidated, and retired as soon as she had paid her the last quarter’s bills.

A week after my tournament with Charlotte Alden I went back to Surrey.  There was little preparation to make—­few friends to bid farewell.  Ruth and Sally had emerged from their farm, and were sewing again at grand’ther’s.  Sally bade me remember that riches took to themselves wings and flew away; she hoped they had not been a snare to my mother; but she wasn’t what she was, it was a fact.