Spying Miss Wilde, she said in a voice clear as a bell, and yet so well modulated and sweet that no one who heard her speak ever forgot its sound—“Are you the teacher here?” “Yes.” “And your name?” “Rosamond Wilde,” replied the astonished girl, hastily hanging up the broom, unconsciously leading the way into the stuffy schoolroom and placing the best chair by the side of her desk, as she did when the minister, Dr. Gibbs, from Centre Village, who was president of the school board, came to hold a spelling-match. “Thank you,” said the silvery voice, as its owner took the proffered seat, turning so that she could look out of the window. “I have heard from Dr. Gibbs that you sometimes use part of Friday afternoon for telling the children stories, or reading something that may amuse as well as teach them, and I thought that perhaps, as the board does not object, you might sometimes be willing to have me come in and talk to them. I am very fond of children, and have one little girl of my own, so that I know very well what they enjoy. I’ve travelled for several years, and I have a great many interesting pictures I could show them. Then, too, I have always loved birds and flowers, and with my father I used to tramp about and learned to know all those of this neighbourhood. I well remember that when I was a child and studied at home, rainy Friday afternoons were always pleasant, because mother, my cousins, and I had fancy-work or some other sewing and stories; so I thought to-day perhaps would be a good time for a beginning.” If the sky had opened and an angel come directly to her aid, Miss Wilde could not have been more overcome. She pulled herself together and began to frame a polite answer, when looking at the guest, who had thrown off her light raincoat, she caught the sympathetic glance that shot from a lovely pair of gray eyes with black lashes, and saw that the fluffy gray hair belonged to a really young woman, but a little older than herself. Forgetting that a teacher is supposed never to lose control of herself, before she realized that she had said a word she had told this friend in need about her school, Tommy Todd, her mother’s sickness, and all. In less time than it takes to tell of it, the coachman had been told to go down to the blacksmith’s shop and wait under cover until three o’clock, and Miss Wilde was helped to make her preparation for leaving. When the children came trooping back, they found the door between cloak-room and schoolroom closed, and teacher waiting for them in the outer room with very rosy cheeks and a happier expression than her face usually wore.