“You were not here yesterday,” said the gentle teacher of the little village school, as she placed her hand kindly on the curly head of one of her pupils.  It was recess time, but the little girl had not gone to frolic away the ten minutes, she had not even left her seat, but sat absorbed in a seemingly vain attempt to make herself mistress of an example in long division.

Her face and neck crimsoned at the remark of her teacher, but looking up, she seemed somewhat reassured by the kind glance that met her, and answered:—­

“No, ma’am, I was not, but sister Nelly was.”

“I remember there was a little girl who called herself Nelly Gray, who came in yesterday, but I did not know she was your sister.  But why did you not come?  You seem to love to study very much.”

“It was not because I didn’t want to,” was the earnest answer, and then she paused and the deep flush again tinged her fair brow; “but,” she continued after a moment of painful embarrassment, “mother can not spare both of us conveniently, and so we are going to take turns.  I’m going to school one day, and sister the next, and to-night I’m to teach Nelly all I have learned to-day, and to-morrow night she will teach me all that she learns while here.  It’s the only way we can think of getting along, and we want to study very much, so that sometime we will be able to teach school ourselves, and take care of mother, because she has to work very hard to take care of us.”

“The teacher asked no more questions, but sat down beside her, and in a moment explained the rule over which she was puzzling her young brain, so that the hard example was easily finished.

“You would better go out and take the air a few moments; you have studied very hard to-day,” said the teacher, as the little girl put aside the slate.

[Illustration:  "The teacher sat down beside her and explained the rule."]

“I would rather not,—­I might tear my dress,—­I will stand by the window and watch the rest.”  The dress was nothing but a cheap calico, but it was neatly made and had never been washed.  While looking at it, she remembered that during the whole previous fortnight, she had never seen her wear but that one dress.  “She is a thoughtful little girl,” said she to herself, “and does not want to made her mother any trouble.  I wish I had more such scholars.”

The next morning Mary was absent, but her sister occupied her seat, There was something so interesting in the two little sisters, the one eleven, and the other eighteen months younger, agreeing to attend school by turns, that the teacher noticed them very closely.

They were pretty faced children, of delicate forms, the elder with dark eyes and chestnut curls, the other with eyes like the sky of June, her white neck covered by a wealth of golden ringlets.  The teacher noticed in both, the same close attention to their studies, and as Mary stayed indoors during recess, so did Nelly; and upon speaking to her as she had to her sister, she received the same answer, “I might tear my dress.”