could ferule a boy just as well as a man could.  Her name was Miss Tabitha Hanks.  She did not like Rosy Stebbins very well, although she tried to be impartial.  Once at recess she pushed Charlotte Hutchins and Sarah Allen, who were twisting Rosy’s curls, away, and gathered them all up herself in one hard hand.  “I’d cut them all off if I were your mother,” said she, with a sharp little tug; but when Rosy rolled her scared blue eyes up at her, she only laughed grimly and let go.

Now Miss Hanks just looked absently at Rosy weeping in the hollow of her blue gingham arm, then went over to the blackboard and began writing, in fair, large characters, “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” for the scholars to copy in their copy-books.  The temptation and the opportunity were too much for Comfort Pease.  She nudged Matilda Stebbins and whispered in her ear, although she knew that whispering in school was wrong.  “I’ve got a real gold ring,” whispered Comfort.

Matilda turned astonished eyes upon her.  “You ain’t.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“My Aunt Comfort, for my name.”

“Were you named for her?”

“Yes, and she gave me a real gold ring for it.”

“Matilda Stebbins and Comfort Pease, stand out on the floor,” said Miss Tabitha Hanks, sharply.  Comfort gave a great jump—­the teacher had been standing at the blackboard with her back toward them, and how had she seen?  Never after that did Comfort feel quite safe from Miss Tabitha’s eyes; even if they were on the other side of the wall she could not quite trust it.

“Step right out on the floor, Matilda and Comfort,” repeated Miss Tabitha, and out the two little girls stepped.  Comfort’s knees shook, and she was quite pale.  Matilda looked very sober, but her black eyes gave a defiant flash when she was out on the floor and saw that her sister Rosy had lowered her arm and was looking at her with gentle triumph.  “You see what you’ve got because you called my ring brass,” Rosy seemed to say; and Matilda gave a stern little nod at her, as if she replied, “It is brass.”

Poor little Comfort did not feel much sustained by the possession of her real gold ring.  It was dreadful to stand out there facing the school, which seemed to be a perfect dazzle of blue and black eyes all fastened upon her in her little red gown and gingham tier, in her little stout shoes, which turned in for very meekness, with her little dangling hands, which could not wear the gold ring, and her little strained face and whispering lips, and little vain heart, which was being punished for its little vanity.

They stood on the floor until recess.  Comfort felt so weak and stiff that she could scarcely move when Miss Hanks said harshly, “Now you can go.”  She cast a piteous glance at Matilda, who immediately put her arms around her waist and pulled her along to the entry, where their hoods and cloaks hung.  “Don’t you cry,” she whispered.  “She’s awful strict, but she won’t hurt you a mite.  She brought me a whole tumbler of currant jelly when I had the measles.”