young woman lightly entered.

In the rounded, untouched, and untroubled freshness of her cheek and
chin, and the forward droop of her slender neck, she appeared a girl
of fifteen; in her developed figure and the maturer drapery of her full
skirts she seemed a woman; in her combination of naive recklessness
and perfect understanding of her person she was both. In spite of a few
school-books that jauntily swung from a strap in her gloved hand, she
bore no resemblance to a pupil; in her pretty gown of dotted muslin with
bows of blue ribbon on the skirt and corsage, and a cluster of roses
in her belt, she was as inconsistent and incongruous to the others as
a fashion-plate would have been in the dry and dog-eared pages before
them. Yet she carried it off with a demure mingling of the naivete of
youth and the aplomb of a woman, and as she swept down the narrow aisle,
burying a few small wondering heads in the overflow of her flounces,
there was no doubt of her reception in the arch smile that dimpled her
cheek. Dropping a half curtsey to the master, the only suggestion of her
equality with the others, she took her place at one of the larger desks,
and resting her elbow on the lid began to quietly remove her gloves. It
was Cressy McKinstry.

Irritated and disturbed at the girl's unceremonious entrance, the master
for the moment recognized her salutation coldly, and affected to ignore
her elaborate appearance. The situation was embarrassing. He could not
decline to receive her as she was no longer accompanied by her lover,
nor could he plead entire ignorance of her broken engagement; while
to point out the glaring inappropriateness of costume would be a fresh
interference he knew Indian Spring would scarcely tolerate. He could
only accept such explanation as she might choose to give. He rang his
bell as much to avert the directed eyes of the children as to bring the