Unlike this was the closing of Mary’s school days.  Patiently and perseveringly, through the year she had studied, storing her mind with useful knowledge; and when at last the annual examination came, not one in the senior class stood higher, or was graduated with more honor than herself.  Mrs. Mason, who was there, listened with all a parent’s pride and fondness to her adopted child, as she promptly responded to every question.  But it was not Mrs. Mason’s presence alone which incited Mary to do so well.  Among the crowd of spectators she caught a glimpse of a face which twice before she had seen, once in the school-room at Rice Corner, and once in the graveyard at Chicopee.  Turn which way she would, she felt, rather than saw, how intently Mr. Stuart watched her, and when at last the exercises were over, and she with others arose to receive her Diploma, she involuntarily glanced in the direction where she knew he sat.  For an instant their eyes met, and in the expression of his, she read an approval warmer than words could have expressed.

That night Mary sat alone in her room, listening almost nervously to the sound of every footstep, and half starting up if it came near her door.  But for certain reasons Mr. Stuart did not think proper to call, and while Mary was confidently expecting him, he was several miles on his way home.

In a day or two Mary returned to Chicopee, but did not, like Ella, lay her books aside and consider her education finished.  Two or three hours each morning were devoted to study, or reading of some kind.  For several weeks nothing was allowed to interfere with this arrangement, but at the end of that time, the quiet of Mrs. Mason’s house was disturbed by the unexpected arrival of Aunt Martha and Ida, who came up to Chicopee for the purpose of inducing Mrs. Mason and Mary to spend the coming winter in Boston.  At first Mrs. Mason hesitated, but every objection which either she or Mary raised was so easily put aside, that she finally consented, saying she would be ready to go about the middle of November.  Aunt Martha, who was a bustling, active little woman, and fancied that her brother’s household always went wrong without her, soon brought her visit to a close, and within the week went back to Boston, together with Ida.

The day following their departure, Mrs. Perkins came over to inquire who “them stuck up folks was, and if the youngest wasn’t some kin to the man that visited Mary’s school two years before;” saying “they favored each other enough to be brother and sister.”

“Why, so they do,” returned Mary.  “I have often tried to think who it was that Ida resembled; but they are not at all related, I presume.”

Mrs. Mason said nothing, and soon changing the conversation, told Mrs. Perkins of her projected visit.

“Wall, if it don’t beat all what curis’ things turn up!” said the widow.  “You are going to Boston, and mercy knows what’ll become of me,—­but laws, I ain’t a goin’ to worry; I shall be provided for some way.”