“I should like to know what you are thinking about,” she said rather pettishly, as she took his offered hand to say good-bye.

With a roguish look in his eye, George replied, “I’ve been thinking of a young lady.  Shall I tell you her name?”

Rose blushed, and looking interestingly embarrassed answered, that of course ’twas no one whom she knew.

“Yes, ’tis,” returned George, still holding her hand and as Aunt Martha, who was jealously watching his movements from the window, just then called out to him “to jump in, or he’d be left,” he put his face under Rose’s bonnet, and whispered, “Mary Howard!”

“Kissed her, upon my word!” said Aunt Martha with a groan, which was rendered inaudible to Ida by the louder noise of the engine.

CHAPTER XXI.

VACATION.

In Mrs. Mason’s pleasant little dining parlor, the tea-table was neatly spread for two, while old Judith, in starched gingham dress, white muslin apron, bustled in and out, occasionally changing the position of a curtain or chair, and then stepping backward to witness the effect.  The stuffed rocking chair, with two extra cushions, and a pillow, was drawn up to the table, indicating that an invalid was expected to occupy that seat, while near one of the plates was a handsome bouquet, which Lydia Knight had carefully arranged, and brought over as a present for her young teacher.  A dozen times had Lydia been told to “clip down to the gate and see if they were comin’;” and at last, seating herself resignedly upon the hall stairs, Judith began to wonder “what under the sun and moon had happened.”

She had not sat there long, ere the sound of wheels again drew her to the door, and in a moment old Charlotte and the yellow wagon entered the yard.  Mary, who was now nearly well, sprang out, and bounding up the steps, seized Judith’s hand with a grasp which told how glad she was to see her.

“Why, you ain’t dreadful sick, is you?” said Judith peering under her bonnet.

“Oh, no, not sick at all,” returned Mary; and then, as she saw the chair, with its cushions and pillows, she burst into a loud laugh, which finally ended in a hearty cry, when she thought how kind was every one to her.

She had been at home but a few days when she was solicited to take charge of a small select school.  But Mrs Mason thought it best for her to return to Mount Holyoke, and accordingly she declined Mr. Knight’s offer, greatly to his disappointment, and that of many others.  Mrs. Bradley, who never on any occasion paid her school bill, was the loudest in her complaints, saying that, “for all Tim never larnt a speck, and stood at the foot all summer long when Mary kept before, he’d got so sassy there was no living with him, and she wanted him out of the way.”

Widow Perkins, instead of being sorry was glad, for if Mary didn’t teach, there was no reason why Sally Ann shouldn’t.  “You’ll never have a better chance,” said she to her daughter, “there’s no stifficut needed for a private school, and I’ll clap on my things and run over to Mr Knight’s before he gets off to his work.”