Three weeks from that time the winter school commenced; and Billy took up his abode at the poor-house, greatly to the satisfaction of Sally and Mary, and greatly to the annoyance of Miss Grundy, who, since Patsy’s death, was crosser and more fault-finding than ever.

“Smart idea!” said she, “to have that great lummux around to be waited on!” and when she saw how happy his presence seemed to make Mary, she vented her displeasure upon her in various ways, conjuring up all sorts of reasons why she should stay out of school as often as possible, and wondering “what the world was a coming to, when young ones hardly out of the cradle begun to court!  It wasn’t so in her younger days, goodness knew!”

“I wouldn’t venture a great many remarks about my younger days, if I were you, Mrs. Grundy,” said Sal, who had adhered to her resolution of always addressing her old enemy as Mrs., though she whispered it to Mary as her opinion that the woman didn’t fancy her new title.

Much as Mary had learned to prize Sally’s friendship, before winter was over she had cause to value it still more highly.  Wretched and destitute as the poor crazed creature now was, she showed plainly that at some period or other of her life, she had had rare advantages for education, which she now brought into use for Mary’s benefit.  When Mary first commenced attending school, Miss Grundy insisted that she should knit every evening, and thus she found no opportunity for studying at home.  One evening when, as usual, a part of the family were assembled around a blazing fire in the kitchen, Sal Furbush suddenly exclaimed, “Mary, why don’t you bring your books home at night, just as Mr. Bender does.”

She had conceived a great respect for Billy, and always called him Mr. Mary cast a rueful glance at the coarse sock, which certainly was not growing fast, and replied, “I should like to, but I have to knit all the time.”

“Fudge on your everlasting knitting,” said Sal, snatching the sock from Mary’s hands and making the needles fly nimbly.  “I’m going to be very magnanimous, and every time you’ll bring your books home I’ll knit for you—­I beg Mrs. Grundy, that you’ll not throw the fire all over the floor,” she added, as that lady gave the forestick a violent kick.

“The Lord save us!” was Miss Grundy’s exclamation when after supper the next evening she saw the three-legged stand loaded down with Billy’s and Mary’s school books.

But as no one made her any reply, she quietly resumed her work, appropriating to her own use the only tallow candle there was burning, and leaving Billy and Mary to see as best they could by the firelight.  For some time Mary pored over her lesson in Colburn, but coming to the question, “24 is 3/5 of how many times 10?” she stopped, unable to proceed farther.  Again and again she read it over, without gathering a single idea, and was on the point of asking Billy to assist her, when Sal, who had been watching her, said, “Let me take your book, child.”