said Absalom's father should mind to his
own business!" It was growing serious. There had never been before a
teacher at William Penn school-house who had not judiciously "showed
partiality" to Absalom.

"And he used to be dummer yet [stupider even] than what he is now,"
thought Tillie, remembering vividly a school entertainment that had
been given during her own first year at school, when Absalom, nine
years old, had spoken his first piece. His pious Methodist grandmother
had endeavored to teach him a little hymn to speak on the great
occasion, while his frivolous aunt from the city of Lancaster had tried
at the same time to teach him "Bobby Shafto." New Canaan audiences were
neither discriminating nor critical, but the assembly before which
little Absalom had risen to "speak his piece off," had found themselves
confused when he told them that

"On Jordan's bank the Baptist stands,
Silver buckles on his knee."

Tillie would never forget her own infantine agony of suspense as she
sat, a tiny girl of five, in the audience, listening to Absalom's
mistakes. But Eli Darmstetter, the teacher, had not scolded him.

Then there was the time that Absalom had forced a fight at recess and
had made little Adam Oberholzer's nose bleed--it was little Adam (whose
father was not at that time a school director) that had to stay after
school; and though every one knew it wasn't fair, it had been accepted
without criticism, because even the young rising generation of New
Canaan understood the impossibility and folly of quarreling with one's
means of earning money.

But Miss Margaret appeared to be perfectly blind to the perils of her
position. Tillie was deeply troubled about it.

At half-past three, when, at a nod from Miss Margaret the little girl
left her desk to go home, a wonderful thing happened--Miss Margaret
gave her a story-book.

"You are so fond of reading, Tillie, I brought you this. You may take
it home, and when you have read it, bring it back to me, and I'll give
you something else to read."

Delighted as Tillie was to have the book for its own sake, it was yet
greater happiness to handle something belonging to Miss Margaret and to
realize that Miss Margaret had thought so much about her as to bring it
to her.

"It's a novel, Tillie. Have you ever read a novel?"

"No'm. Only li-bries."

"What?"

"Sunday-school li-bries. Us we're Evangelicals, and us children we go
to the Sunday-school, and I still bri