Jessy began to cry.  She had heretofore maintained a sullen silence of depression under taunts, but a kind word was too much for her.

“I ’ain’t got no underclothes, teacher; I ’ain’t, honest,” she sobbed.  “I’d outgrowed all my last year’s ones, and Mamie she’s got ’em; and my mother she ’ain’t got no money to buy any more, and my father he’s away on a drunk.  I can’t help it; I can’t, honest, teacher.”

Maria gazed at the little thing in a sort of horror.  “Do you mean to say that you have actually nothing to put on but your dress, Jessy Ramsey?” said she.

“I can’t help it, honest, teacher,” sobbed Jessy Ramsey.

Maria continued to gaze at her, then she led her into the school-room and rang the bell furiously.  When the scholars were all in their places, she opened her lips to express her mind to them, but a second’s reflection seemed to show her the futility of it.  Instead, she called the geography class.

After school that night, Maria, instead of going home, went straight to Jessy Ramsey’s home, which was about half a mile from the school-house.  She held Jessy, who wore a threadbare little cape over her frock, by the hand.  Franky Ramsey and Mamie Ramsey, Jessy’s younger brother and sister, tagged timidly behind her.  Finally, Maria waited for them to come up with her, which they did with a cringing air.

“I want to know,” said Maria to Mamie, “if you are wearing all your sister’s underclothes this winter?”

Mamie whimpered a little as she replied.  Mamie had a habitual whimper and a mean little face, with a wisp of flaxen hair tied with a dirty blue ribbon.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied.  “Jessy she growed so she couldn’t git into ’em, and mummer—­”

The boy, who was very thin, almost to emaciation, and looked consumptive, but who was impishly pert, cut in.

“I had to wear Jessy’s shirts,” he said.  “Mamie she couldn’t wear them ’ere.”

“So you haven’t any flannel shirts?” Maria asked of Mamie.

“I’m wearin’ mummer’s,” said Mamie.  “Mummer’s they shrunk so she couldn’t wear ’em, and Jessy couldn’t nuther.”

“What is your mother wearing?” asked Maria.

“Mr. John Dorsey he bought her some new ones,” replied Mamie, and a light of evil intelligence came into the mean little face.

“Who is Mr. John Dorsey?” asked Maria.

“Oh, he’s to our house considerable,” replied Mamie, still with that evil light, which grew almost confidential, upon her face.

The boy chuckled a little and dug his toes into the frozen earth, then he whistled.