“I should dedicate it to Mrs. Grundy,” said she, “just to show her how forgiving I can be, but here is a difficulty.  A person, on seeing the name, ‘Mrs. Polly Grundy,’ would naturally be led to inquire for ‘Mr. Polly Grundy,’ and this inquiry carried out, might cause the lady some little embarrassment, so I’ve concluded to have the dedication read thus:—­’To Willie’s father, who sleeps on the western prairie, this useful work is tremblingly, tearfully, yet joyfully dedicated by his relict, Sarah.’”

Mary warmly approved of this plan, and after a few extra flourishes in the shape of a courtesy, Sally started for home.

A few days afterward, Jenny Lincoln came galloping up to the school-house door, declaring her intention of staying until school was out, and having a good time.  “It’s for ever and ever since I’ve seen you,” said she, as she gathered up the skirt of her blue riding-dress, and followed Mary into the house, “but I’ve been so bothered with those city girls.  Seems as though they had nothing to do but to get up rides in hay carts, or picnics in the woods and since Henry came home they keep sending for us.  This afternoon they have all gone blackberrying in a hay cart, but I’d rather come here.”

At this point, happening to think that the class in Colburn who were toeing the mark so squarely, would perhaps like a chance to recite, Jenny seated herself near the window, and throwing off her hat, made fun for herself and some little boys, by tickling their naked toes with the end of her riding-whip.  When school was out, and the two girls were alone, Jenny entered at once upon the great object of her visit.

“I hear you are going to Wilbraham,” said she, “but I want you to go to Mount Holyoke.  We are going, a whole lot of us, that is, if we can pass examination.  Rose isn’t pleased with the idea, but I am.  I think ’twill be fun to wash potatoes and scour knives.  I don’t believe that mother would ever have sent us there if it were not that Ida Selden is going.  Her father and her aunt Martha used to be schoolmates with Miss Lyon, and they have always intended that Ida should graduate at Mount Holyoke.  Now, why can’t you go, too?”

Instantly Mary thought of Mr. Stuart, and his suggestion.  “I wish I could,” said she, “but I can’t.  I haven’t money enough, and there is no one to give it to me.”

“It wouldn’t hurt Mrs. Campbell to help you a little,” returned Jenny.  “Why, last term Ella spent almost enough for candies, and gutta-percha toys, to pay the expense of half a year’s schooling, at Mount Holyoke.  It’s too bad that she should have every thing, and you nothing.”

Here Jenny’s remarks were interrupted by the loud rattling of wheels, and the halloo of many voices.  Going to the door she and Mary saw coming down the road at a furious rate, the old hay cart, laden with the young people from Chicopee, who had been berrying in Sturbridge, and were now returning home in high glee.  The horses were fantastically trimmed with ferns and evergreens, while several of the girls were ornamented in the same way.  Conspicuous among the noisy group, was Ella Campbell.  Henry Lincoln’s broad-brimmed hat was resting on her long curls, while her white sun-bonnet was tied under Henry’s chin.