ee this after?"

"If you go home till half-past three, you need not come back, honey--it
wouldn't be worth while, when school closes at four."

"But I don't mean," said Tillie, in puzzled surprise, "that I want to
go home and come back. I sayed whether I have the darst to go home till
half-past three. Pop he's went to Lancaster, and he'll be back till
half-past three a'ready, and he says then I got to be home to help him
in the celery-beds."

Miss Margaret held her pretty head on one side, considering, as she
looked down into the little girl's upturned face. "Is this a conundrum,
Tillie? How your father be in Lancaster now and yet be home until
half-past three? It's uncanny. Unless," she added, a ray of light
coming to her,--"unless 'till' means BY. Your father will be home BY
half-past three and wants you then?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can't talk just so right," said Tillie apologetically,
"like what you can. Yes, sometimes I say my we's like my w's, yet!"

Miss Margaret laughed. "Bless your little heart!" she said, running her
fingers through Tillie's hair. "But you would rather stay in school
until four, wouldn't you, than go home to help your father in the
celery-beds?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," said Tillie wistfully, "but pop he has to get them
beds through till Saturday market a'ready, and so we got to get 'em
done behind Thursday or Friday yet."

"If I say you can't go home?"

Tillie colored all over her sensitive little face as, instead of
answering, she nervously worked her toe into a crack in the platform.

"But your father can't blame YOU, honey, if I won't let you go home."

"He wouldn't stop to ast me was it my fault, Miss Margaret. If I wasn't
there on time, he'd just--"

"All right, dear, you may go at half-past three, then," Miss Margaret
gently said, patting the child's shoulder. "As soon as you have written
your composition."

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Margaret."

It was hard for Tillie, as she sat at her desk that afternoon, to fix
her wandering attention upon the writing of her composition, so
fascinating was it just to revel idly in the sense of the touch of that
loved hand that had stroked her hair, and the tone of that caressing
voice that had called her "honey."

Miss Margaret always said to the composition classes, "Just try to
write simply of what you see or feel, and then you will be sure to
write a good 'composition.'"

Tillie was moved this afternoon to pour out on paper all that she
"felt" abo