"Smell of it."

Rosy crooked her arm around her face and began to cry. However, she
cried quite easily, and everybody was accustomed to seeing her fair
head bent over the hollow of her arm several times a day, so she
created no excitement at all. Even the school-teacher simply glanced
at her and said nothing. The school-teacher was an elderly woman who
had taught school ever since she was sixteen. She was called very
strict, and the little girls were all afraid of her. She could ferule
a boy just as well as a man could. Her name was Miss Tabitha Hanks.
She did not like Rosy Stebbins very well, although she tried to be
impartial. Once at recess she pushed Charlotte Hutchins and Sarah
Allen, who were twisting Rosy's curls, away, and gathered them all up
herself in one hard hand. "I'd cut them all off if I were your
mother," said she, with a sharp little tug; but when Rosy rolled her
scared blue eyes up at her, she only laughed grimly and let go.

Now Miss Hanks just looked absently at Rosy weeping in the hollow of
her blue gingham arm, then went over to the blackboard and began
writing, in fair, large characters, "A rolling stone gathers no
moss," for the scholars to copy in their copy-books. The temptation
and the opportunity were too much for Comfort Pease. She nudged
Matilda Stebbins and whispered in her ear, although she knew that
whispering in school was wrong. "I've got a real gold ring,"
whispered Comfort.

Matilda turned astonished eyes upon her. "You ain't."

"Yes, I have."