Betsy at sixteen was a capable, well-grown girl, such as the freedom and vigor of those pioneer days produced--glowing with health, instinct with life, and of saucy independence to her finger-tips. She possessed a fund of native wit which might, perhaps, often have taken the turn of waywardness, had not her scholarly pride held her girlish love of fun and frolic somewhat in check. Kindly-natured, bright-faced Betsy, champion of the poorest and meanest, helper of the dull and backward, idol of the little children, and object of the shy and silent but sincere adoration of all the big, uncouth boys! She was an exceedingly winsome lassie, with a light, graceful figure, and a richly expressive face framed in by a wealth of clustering dark hair. The sparkling light in the great brown eyes, the saucy curve of the scarlet lips, and the dimple in the rounded cheek betokened a laughter-loving nature; while the proud poise of head, the exquisite turn of sensitive nostrils, and the firm moulding of chin indicated dignity, refinement, and force of character. In her stuff dress of dark red, her braided black silk apron with coquettish little pockets, and her trim morocco shoes, she presented a striking contrast to the linsey-clad, coarsely shod girls on each side of her at the rude writing-desk, or even to her especial chum and chosen friend, Susan Rogers, in homespun gown, cotton neckerchief and gingham apron. It was well for the young schoolmaster that his heart was fortified by its growing love for Abby Patterson, else he could not, perhaps, have withstood the charming personality of Betsy Gilcrest, and a deeper regard than would have been in keeping with their character of master and pupil might have mingled with his interest in this warm-hearted, brilliant girl.