"Mebby you 're right, Retire. I never would have believed it".

"I always said, Deacon, there was more flies ketched with 'lasses' 'n vinegar. That little Bos-tin woman just tamed those 'Tater Hill boys in no time. It's the best school in this deestrict now".

"Curus, the way she set 'am all to raising' nosies and then again o' seeds and ; wheeled dirt up a garden there, in' now ?"

"To the L

"You don't Why, the Lo home ain't n fit for high-gr cows, let alo human critti Mebby 'tis, tho for I see Sam' Lovewell actual paintin' the fro door last time druv by".

The deacon and the school committeeman were getting new light. The school m a rm from Boston had been a revelation to Black Ridge. Her looks, her clothes, her ways and manners had been the theme for every tongue in the place. Chief among her traits was the love of flowers - something they could not understand.

"Posies are thicker 'n flys in August in all the fields," said Thankful Sloan, "and here I've been makin' out money orders to send to Bostin for seeds and things." She repeated this to every one who came to the post office. "And as for the 'Tater Hill school'us, it is a sight to behold".

There was no hotel in the entire township, and only one boarding house, and that was six miles from Black Ridge. So it happened that the people took the burden of providing a home for the school teacher upon themselves in turn. She " boarded 'round." She began at Deacon Silloway's, and then went to Retire Hopkins' house, staying two weeks at each place. Then she went on from house to house in turn, staying two Sundays in each place. There was a certain beautiful justice in this boarding 'round idea. The different families all picked up a few dollars in turn, and into each home came the gracious presence of a sweet and pretty girl. She entered twice a month into a new home, and left it better than she found it.

She had come Love well's, vewell place a cheerful The most har-imer boarder v e avoided even at four eek. Theun-e had been by wind and y slate color, or would not >at a window , unless as-tick. It was the school-was August. The little attic, where they bestowed her, in winter would have been colder than the north side of a January tombstone. Just now it was quite comfortable, for the breeze simply walked right through it, leaving the sweet smell of the woods behind it by way of a card.

To Sam'l the arrival of the schoolmarm had been the first great event of his life. When she stepped down from the stage that afternoon, he dropped the wretched onion he held in his hand. It seemed to him as if he had dropped something out of his life. For the first time he felt ashamed - mighty good thing for him, by the way ; for the first time he seemed to look up, and not down. She seemed a superior being, and yet in some vague way he felt he was like her. The survival of some instinct from some gentle mother's mother led him to pull off his straw hat in her presence. He put it right on again when one of the boys laughed, and yet he wanted to thrash the boy on the spot.

"The Worthies were Seated Around the Stove in the Store".

Sam'l had no thought of attending school. He might go the first day - to see the fun. He intended to lead the sport in making the "school" us too hot for the teacher." And now he was the teacher's willing slave ! He had attended school the very first day, and by his mere big fighting presence kept order for the first hour. After that the school kept the most beautiful good order of its own sweet boy and girl will. It was captured - by a young woman - and enjoyed its captivity.

Sam'l never missed a day at school. He arose before light to do his chores, and sat up late over new and wonderful books and papers the teacher had loaned to him. He counted the weeks that she boarded 'round at the neighbors. Now, at last, she was to be under the same roof with him, to meet at the same table.

In a sheltered corner of the little border, next the house and close under one of the windows, he had planted a thorny bush. She had given him the plant the first day of school.

"Plant it for me somewhere near your home. If you cultivate it and bring me a flower, I will, in turn, give you anything you ask".

He had taken the plant in its pot with awkward tenderness. It must be something new and strange if she brought it from the city. He mumbled some kind of thanks (never having thanked any one before) and sheepishly bore it out of the school among all the boys and girls. One boy laughed and got a whacking kick on the shins that he remembered with tears and arnica for a week. If the teacher had given anyone else a plant that first day, it would have been different. To be selected for such an honor almost overwhelmed the big boy. The fact that the next day she gave others more of the treasures did not seem to lesson his glory. He had received the first gift and a promise of reward.

Those few weeks of "summer school" were full of discoveries for Sam'l. He discovered how little he knew. He had once been just a little proud of his want of "book knowledge.' Now it seemed as if he was scarcely six years old - and nearly six feet tall at that. He could not go to school again. It was his last chance, and the thought seemed to give him a kind of terror, as if his own ignorance some how kept him far away from her. He discovered, moreover, that he was not a big boy. He discovered something else, but he couldn't talk about it, at least not now.

This last led to some remarkable results. He bought a pocket knife with a blade for the finger nails. He bothered his mother dreadfully about his clothes. He even begged his father for a paint brush and actually painted the front door a fine tone of green. He tended that plant with infinite care, and the thing grew and grew, but showed no signs of bud or flower.

The two weeks she had been at the Lovewell farm "I Meant to Have Given it to You".

"Boarding round" to some other house, and his father had insisted that Sam'l leave school at once, and attend to the fall plowing. Queer man, that father. He wanted his fields plowed that they might remain fallow all winter, and was quite willing Sam'l should remain fallow, too ! She came out once more to inspect the plant under the living-room window.

"I 've tended her up 's well 's I could - new soil and liquid manure same as in the book you lent me. What 'd you call the plant ?"

"Why, Samuel, it's a rose - a white rose. I 'm sorry it has not bloomed".

"So'mI. I wanted to give you the flower 'fore school stopped. Don't look now as if it would bloom 'fore Christmas".

" It will hardly bloom then. It is a tender rose, and will not stand freezing weather - that is, unless it is protected".

"Protected ! what 's that ?"

"Why, glass. If it had glass over it - like a little greenhouse - it is possible it might bloom.'*

He had never seen a greenhouse. In one of the papers she had loaned him there were pictures of greenhouses, but they had seemed impossible structures, and he did not quite believe they really existed.

"She 's got to bloom if I have to make one of the glass things. Don't see how I can do it, tho' Greenhouses are so awful big!"

"Why, Samuel, you are in earnest! I didn't know you had it in you to be so earnest".

"Oh ! I can do things - ef I see the good o' doin' 'em. Don't suppose you 've got any book to tell how to make a little glass thing big enough to cover the rose ?"

"Perhaps a cold-frame would do it".

"1 'm powerful anxious to make her bloom".

He wanted to say why, but dared not. She wouldn't understand. He stood there in awkward silence before this woman - his inspiration and his hope. If the rose would only bloom it might speak for him. He looked forlornly off upon the mountains 'round about. Already they were brilliant in October flames. He looked at his bare and dreary home - poverty stricken and desolate. She stood there in wonderful raiment, and with a faint blush upon her bright face.

"I guess I '11 have to bust my tin savings bank. She 's got to bloom - before Christmas".