ench; and that was the highest in the school.
You see, I wore the best coat, and Mr. Mustard got all his provisions,
his stationery, his coals, his bacon from my father's shop; and he was
supposed to settle his account once a year. He gave my father a little
honey in exchange, when it was the time to draw the sections off from
the hives, but he never paid very much money.

So I could stay away from school when I liked, and so long as my father
did not find out, no harm ever came. Mr. Mustard never asked a
question. He took it for granted that I had been sent somewhere to
look after some of my father's little businesses. The boys knew this,
and used to get me to take them into school if they were late or had
been "kipping"--girls, too, sometimes; though they did not play truant
regularly, as we did. It was a good thing in Breckonside to be my
father's son.

Just after Scripture reading and catechism, if the vicar did not come
to examine us--which was not often--we had half an hour's play, while
the "Dissenters" had multiplication table and Troy weight, to keep them
aware of themselves. So, while Mr. Mustard was rubbing his spectacles
and telling us not to be longer away than half an hour, I took out my
quill gun and cut a smart pellet with the end of it out of a slice of
potato. Then I cut another with the opposite muzzle, and with my
pretty, tiny ramrod I shot it under the desk. It took the end of Mr.
Mustard's nose neatly, making a red bull's-eye, for which Freddy Allen
was promptly whipped, because his mother was a widow and had no
influence with the School Committee.

Now I had promised _my_ mother to go to school that day, and not make
my father angry again. Well, I had been to school, and had been _dux_
of the catechism, which was surely enough glory and honour for one day.
So soon, therefore, as we got out I made a rush down the street towards
the bridge where was Elsie's house--a little cottage by the bridge end,
all covered over with Virginia creeper and roses, though Nancy Edgar,
the "outworker" with whom she lived, was quite poor, and the neighbours
said it was a disgrace that she should make such a flaunting show, for
all the world as if she was rich and could afford to buy plants from a
nursery-man. But everything that Nancy had given her, or found thrown
out as of no use, seemed to do with her, and grew to a marvel.

"I expect it is because I love them!" she said. But privately I
thought it w