The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making disturbance, finally gave up the strife, contenting herself with quizzing the older girls, and asking them if Mary could do all the hard sums in Arithmetic, or whether she took them home for Mrs. Mason to solve!  Old leathern-bound Daboll, too, was brought to light, and its most difficult problems selected and sent to Mary, who, being an excellent mathematician, worked them all out to the widow’s astonishment.  But when it was known that quill pens had been discarded, and steel ones substituted in their place, Mrs. Perkins again looked askance, declaring that Mary couldn’t make a quill pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Ann was sent across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which “Miss Howard” was politely requested “to fix, as ma wanted to write some letters.”

Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had never made a pen in her life; and the next Sabbath the widow’s leghorn was missed from its accustomed pew in the Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it was ascertained that “she couldn’t in conscience hear a man preach who would give a ‘stifficut’ to a girl that didn’t know how to make a pen!”

In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary was contented and happy.  She knew that her pupils loved her and that the greater part of the district were satisfied, so she greeted the widow with her pleasantest smile, and by always being particularly polite to Sally Ann, finally overcame their prejudices to a considerable extent.

One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Perkins was seated by her front window engaged in “stitching shoes,” a very common employment in some parts of New England, her attention was suddenly diverted by a tall, stylish-looking young man, who, driving his handsome horse and buggy under the shadow of the apple-trees, alighted and entered into conversation with a group of little girls who were taking their usual recess.  Mrs. Perkins’s curiosity was roused, and Sally Ann was called to see who the stranger was.  But for a wonder, Sally Ann didn’t know, though she “guessed the hoss was one of the East Chicopee livery.”

“He’s talkin’ to Liddy Knight,” said she, at the same time holding back the curtain, and stepping aside so as not to be visible herself.

“Try if you can hear what he’s sayin,” whispered Mrs. Perkins; but a class of boys in the school-house just then struck into the multiplication table, thus effectually drowning any thing which Sally Ann might otherwise have heard.

“I know them children will split their throats.  Can’t they hold up a minute,” exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly annoyed at being thus prevented from overhearing a conversation, the nature of which she could not even guess.

But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story we will for her benefit repeat what the young man was saying to Lydia Knight, who being nearest to him was the first one addressed.