were detaining the children too long. Instantly her attention was
arrested by the rumbling of the tri-weekly stage-coach, toiling up
the hill before her. For a moment she stood watching its slow
approach, apparently unmindful of the class that was already "in
line" upon the floor, eagerly awaiting the last recitation, which
would set them free. And yet the school-mistress gazed at the
stage-coach, which had at last reached the top of the hill, and the
horses, as if under new inspiration, were jogging along in a brisk
trot, and were rapidly approaching the school-house. Suddenly the
face of the young school-mistress grew pale, and then crimson, as
she caught a glimpse of a face that leaned wearily beside the
coach-door and looked out-a face not unfamiliar, and yet not well-
remembered; a handsome, manly face, overshadowed by a military
cap-and like a sudden flash came the thought that she had seen that
face before. Regaining her self-possession, Lizzie turned from the
door, examined the spelling-class as calmly as ever, commended all
for their perfection in recitation, and with a blessing dismissed
the eager little band for the day.

"Who was it?" she muttered, as she slowly donned the jaunty hat and
her mantle, and mechanically drew on her kid gauntlets, preparatory
to starting homeward. "I have seen that face before, I think, and
yet I am not sure. Can it possibly be George Marshall?" she said
slowly. "If so, time has changed him, yet only to improve, I think.
How the thought of ever seeing George Marshall again startles me!
But I am foolish, very foolish, to imagine such an absurd thing. Oh,
no, he will never come to Melrose. I wish he would," and she began
singing a low love-ditty half-unconsciously, half-fearfully, as she
trudged homeward.