“Not a bit.  I’d ask you to come in, but it’s dreadful hot here, and not much room,” answered Becky, crimping round the pastry before she poured in the custard.  “I’m going to make a nice little pudding for you; your mother said you liked ’em; or would you rather have whipped cream with a mite of jelly in it?” asked Becky, anxious to suit her new boarder.

“Whichever is easiest to make.  I don’t care what I eat.  Do tell me what you were saying.  It sounded like poetry,” said Emily, leaning both elbows on the wide ledge with a pale pink morning-glory kissing her cheek, and a savory odor reaching her nose.

“Oh, I was mumbling some verses.  I often do when I work, it sort of helps me along; but it must sound dreadfully silly,” and Becky blushed as if caught in some serious fault.

“I do it, and it’s a great comfort when I lie awake.  I should think you would want something to help you along, you work so hard.  Do you like it, Becky?”

The familiar name, the kind tone, made the plain face brighten with pleasure as its owner said, while she carefully filled a pretty bowl with a golden mixture rich with fresh eggs and country milk—­

“No, I don’t, but I ought to.  Mother isn’t as strong as she used to be, and there’s a sight to do, and the children to be brought up, and the mortgage to be paid off; so if I don’t fly round, who will?  We are doing real well now, for Mr. Walker manages the farm and gives us our share, so our living is all right; then boarders in summer and my school in winter helps a deal, and every year the boys can do more, so I’d be a real sinner to complain if I do have to step lively all day.”

Becky smiled as she spoke, and straightened her bent shoulders as if settling her burden for another trudge along the path of duty.

“Do you keep school?  Why, how old are you, Becky?” asked Emily, much impressed by this new discovery.

“I’m eighteen.  I took the place of a teacher who got sick last fall, and I kept school all winter.  Folks seemed to like me, and I’m going to have the same place this year.  I’m so glad, for I needn’t go away and the pay is pretty good, as the school is large and the children do well.  You can see the school-house down the valley, that red brick one where the roads meet;” and Becky pointed a floury finger, with an air of pride that was pleasant to see.

Emily glanced at the little red house where the sun shone hotly in summer, and all the winds of heaven must rage wildly in winter time, for it stood, as country schools usually do, in the barest, most uninviting spot for miles around.

“Isn’t it awful down there in winter?” she asked, with a shiver at the idea of spending days shut up in that forlorn place, with a crowd of rough country children.

“Pretty cold, but we have plenty of wood, and we are used to snow and gales up here.  We often coast down, the whole lot of us, and that is great fun.  We take our dinners and have games noon-spells, and so we get on first rate; some of my boys are big fellows, older than I am; they clear the roads and make the fire and look after us, and we are real happy together.”