“Do you like spruce gum?” asked Ralph.

“Oh, I love gum!” said Betsy.

“Well, I’ll bring you down a chunk tomorrow, if I don’t forget it,” said Ralph, turning off at the cross-roads.

They had not mentioned ’Lias at all.

The next day they were to have school only in the morning.  In the afternoon they were to go in a big hay-wagon down to the village to the “exercises.”  ’Lias came to school in his new blue-serge trousers and his white blouse.  The little girls gloated over his appearance, and hung around him, for who was to “visit school” that morning but Mr. Pond himself!  Cousin Ann had arranged it somehow.  It took Cousin Ann to fix things!  During recess, as they were playing still-pond-no-more-moving on the playground, Mr. Pond and Uncle Henry drew up to the edge of the playground, stopped their horse, and, talking and laughing together, watched the children at play.  Betsy looked hard at the big, burly, kind-faced man with the smiling eyes and the hearty laugh, and decided that he would “do” perfectly for ’Lias.  But what she decided was to have little importance, apparently, for after all he would not get out of the wagon, but said he’d have to drive right on to the village.  Just like that, with no excuse other than a careless glance at his watch.  No, he guessed he wouldn’t have time, this morning, he said.  Betsy cast an imploring look up into Uncle Henry’s face, but evidently he felt himself quite helpless, too.  Oh, if only Cousin Ann had come!  She would have marched him into the schoolhouse double-quick.  But Uncle Henry was not Cousin Ann, and though Betsy saw him, as they drove away, conscientiously point out little ’Lias, resplendent and shining, Mr. Pond only nodded absently, as though, he were thinking of something else.

Betsy could have cried with disappointment; but she and the other girls, putting their heads together for comfort, told each other that there was time enough yet.  Mr. Pond would not leave town till tomorrow.  Perhaps ... there was still some hope.

But that afternoon even this last hope was dashed.  As they gathered at the schoolhouse, the girls fresh and crisp in their newly starched dresses, with red or blue hair-ribbons, the boys very self-conscious in their dark suits, clean collars, new caps (all but Ralph), and blacked shoes, there was no little ’Lias.  They waited and waited, but there was no sign of him.  Finally Uncle Henry, who was to drive the straw-ride down to town, looked at his watch, gathered up the reins, and said they would be late if they didn’t start right away.  Maybe ’Lias had had a chance to ride in with somebody else.

They all piled in, the horses stepped off, the wheels grated on the stones.  And just at that moment a dismal sound of sobbing wails reached them from the woodshed back of the schoolhouse.  The children tumbled out as fast as they had tumbled in, and ran back, Betsy and Ralph at their head.  There in the woodshed was little ’Lias, huddled in the corner behind some wood, crying and crying and crying, digging his fists into his eyes, his face all smeared with tears and dirt.  And he was dressed again in his filthy, torn old overalls and ragged shirt.  His poor little bare feet shone with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place.