fragrance of her clothes and see the heave and fall of her bosom.
Once Tillie's head had rested against that motherly bosom. She had
fainted in school one morning after a day and evening of hard,
hard work in her father's celery-beds, followed by a chastisement
for being caught with a "story-book"; and she had come out of her
faint to find herself in the heaven of sitting on Miss Margaret's
lap, her head against her breast and Miss Margaret's soft hand
smoothing her cheek and hair. And it was in that blissful moment
that Tillie had discovered, for the first time in her young
existence, that life could be worth while. Not within her memory
had any one ever caressed her before, or spoken to her tenderly,
and in that fascinating tone of anxious concern.

Afterward, Tillie often tried to faint again in school; but, such
is Nature's perversity, she never could succeed.

School had just been called after the noon recess, and Miss
Margaret was standing before her desk with a watchful eye on the
troops of children crowding in from the playground to their seats,
when the little girl stepped to her side on the platform.

This country school-house was a dingy little building in the heart
of Lancaster County, the home of the Pennsylvania Dutch. Miss
Margaret had been the teacher only a few months, and having come
from Kentucky and not being "a Millersville Normal," she differed
quite radically from any teacher they had ever had in New Canaan.
Indeed, she was so wholly different from any one Tillie had ever
seen in her life, that to the child's adoring heart she was
nothing less than a miracle. Surely no one but Cinderella had ever
been so beautiful! And how different, too, were her clothes from