d in a still firmer voice.

"Stand by the pail, Rebecca!--Samuel Simpson how many times have you
asked for water already?"

"This is the f-f-fourth."

"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drink
all day; it has had no time whatever to study. What is the matter with
you, Samuel?"

"It is a v-very thirsty m-morning," remarked Samuel, looking at Rebecca
while the school tittered.

"I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail, with Rebecca."
Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath. Life looked too black a
thing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupled
in correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human endurance.

Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smellie
chose "Shall we Gather at the River?" It was a curious choice and
seemed to hold some secret association with the situation and general
progress of events; or at any rate there was apparently some obscure
reason for the energy and vim with which the scholars looked at the
empty water pail as they shouted the choral invitation again and
again:--

"Shall we gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river?"

Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent head, and was frightened.
The child's face was pale save for two red spots glowing on her checks.
Tears hung on her lashes; her breath came and went quickly, and the
hand that held her pocket handkerchief trembled like a leaf.

"You may go to your seat, Rebecca," said Miss Dearborn at the end of
the first song. "Samuel, stay where you are till the close of school.
And let me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca to stand by the
pail only to break up this habit of incessant drinking, which is
nothing but empty-mindedness and desire to walk to and fro over the
floor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink to-day the whole school
has gone to the pail like a regiment. She is really thirsty, and I dare
say I ought to have punished you for following her example, not her for
setting it. What shall we sing now, Alice?"

"'The Old Oaken Bucket,' please."

"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, 'The Star
Spangled Banner' if you like, or anything else." Rebecca sank into her
seat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's public
explanation had shifted some of the weight from her heart, and she felt
a trifle raised in her self-esteem.

Under cover of the general relaxation of singing,