"I wouldn't venture a great many remarks about my younger days, if I
were you, _Mrs._ Grundy," said Sal, who had adhered to her resolution
of always addressing her old enemy as _Mrs._, though she whispered it
to Mary as her opinion that the woman didn't fancy her new title.

Much as Mary had learned to prize Sally's friendship, before winter
was over she had cause to value it still more highly. Wretched and
destitute as the poor crazed creature now was, she showed plainly that
at some period or other of her life, she had had rare advantages for
education, which she now brought into use for Mary's benefit. When
Mary first commenced attending school, Miss Grundy insisted that she
should knit every evening, and thus she found no opportunity for
studying at home. One evening when, as usual, a part of the family
were assembled around a blazing fire in the kitchen, Sal Furbush
suddenly exclaimed, "Mary, why don't you bring your books home at
night, just as Mr. Bender does."

She had conceived a great respect for Billy, and always called him
_Mr._ Mary cast a rueful glance at the coarse sock, which certainly
was not growing fast, and replied, "I should like to, but I have to
knit all the time."

"Fudge on your everlasting knitting," said Sal, snatching the sock
from Mary's hands and making the needles fly nimbly. "I'm going to be
very magnanimous, and every time you'll bring your books home I'll
knit for you--I beg Mrs. Grundy, that you'll not throw the fire all
over the floor," she added, as that lady gave the forestick a violent
kick.

"The Lord save us!" was Miss Grundy's exclamation when after supper