Mary had been a member of the Yellett household for something over a week, and the intellectual conquest of her Brobdingnag pupils seemed as hopeless as on that first day.  School seemed to be regarded by them as a sort of neutral territory, admirably adapted for the settlement of long-standing grudges, the pleasant exchange of practical jokes, peace and war conferences; also as a mart of trade, where fire-arms, knives, bear and elk teeth might be swapped with a greater expenditure of time and conversation than under the maternal eye.  “Teacher,” as she was understood and accepted by the house of Yellett, undoubtedly filled a long-felt want.  Presiding over a school of six-imp power for a week, however, had humbled Mary to the point of seriously considering a letter to the home government, meekly asking for return transportation.  But this was before feminine wile had struggled with feminine vanity, and feminine wile won the day.  School still continued to open at six, from which early and unusual hour it continued, without recess or interruption, till noon, when dinner pleasantly invaded the scholastic monotony, to the infinite relief of all parties concerned.

Mary had dismissed her pupils a few minutes before the usual hour, on a particularly bad day, that she might rally her scattered faculties and present something of a countenance to the watchful eye of Mrs. Yellett.  Every element of humor had vanished from the situation.  The inverted tub was no longer a theme for merriment in her diary; home-life without a house was no longer a diverting epigram; she had closed her eyes that she might not see the mountains in all their grandeur.  In her present mood of abject homesickness the white-capped peaks were part and parcel of the affront.  With head sunk in the palms of her hands, and elbows resting on the inverted tub, Mary presented a picture of woe, in which the wicked element of comedy was not wholly lacking.  Looking up suddenly, she saw Judith Rodney advancing.  The first glimpse of her put Mary in a more rational mood.

“I’m so glad to see you!  Behold my class-room appointments!  They may seem a trifle novel, but, for that matter, so are my pupils,” began Mary, determining to present the same front to Judith that she had to Mrs. Yellett.  But Judith was not to be put off.  She looked into Mary’s eyes and did not relax her gaze until she was rewarded with an answering twinkle.  Then Mary laughed long and merrily, the first good, hearty laugh since the beginning of her teaching.

“Tell me,” Mary broke out, suddenly, “or the suspense will kill me, who wrote that lovely letter—­on such good quality Irish linen, too?  Snob that I was, it was the letter that did it.”

“So you have your suspicions that it was not a home product?”

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Oh no; though I was asked, and so was Miss Wetmore, I believe.  Of course poor Mrs. Yellett had no other recourse, as I suppose you know.  I chose to be disobliging that time, and was sorry for it afterwards—­sorry when I heard about the letter that really went!  Do you find the sheep-wagon so very dreadful?”