She seated Lydia near her in the Assembly room, then looked her over curiously. The child's face was remarkably intelligent, a high bred little face under a finely domed head. The back of her ears and the back of her neck were dirty, and her thin hands were rough as if with housework. The galatea sailor suit was cheap and coarse. "A sick mother or no mother," was the teacher's mental note. "I must inquire about her. Almost too bashful to breathe. Precocious mentally, a child physically. I'll look out for her to-day." Miss Towne had the reputation of an unfeeling disciplinarian among the pupils, but Lydia did not know this. She only knew that by some miracle of kindness she came to understand the classroom system of recitations, that she was introduced to different teachers, that she learned how to decipher the hours of her recitations from the complicated chart on the Assembly room blackboard, and that at noon she started for home with a list of textbooks to be purchased, and a perfectly clear idea of what to do when she returned on the morrow. The streets were full of children of all ages flocking toward the book stores. Lydia walked along slowly, thinking deeply. She knew that her list of books came to something over five dollars. She knew that this sum of money would floor her father and she knew that she would rather beg on the streets than start Amos on one of his tirades on his poverty. She pegged along homeward, half elated over the excitement of the day, half depressed over her book problem. When she turned into the dirt road. Billy Norton overtook her. He was wearing a very high starched collar and a new suit of clothes. Billy was a senior and felt his superiority. Nevertheless, he wanted to tell his troubles--even to a first year pupil. "Gee, don't I have the luck!" he groaned. "I could get on the School football team, I know it, if I didn't have to come home right after school to deliver milk. Hang it!" Lydia looked at him quickly. "How much milk do you have to deliver?" "Aw, just a snag. Two quarts up the road to Essers' and two to Stones'. They both got babies and have to have it. Think of putting me off the school team for four quarts of baby milk!" "Oh, Billy," gasped Lydia, "I'll do it for you--if--Billy, have you got your freshman textbooks still?" "Sure," answered the boy. "They're awful banged up, but I guess all the pages are there." Lydia was breathless with excitement. "Billy, if you'll let me have your books, I'll carry the milk for you, all winter." The big boy looked at the little girl, curiously. "They're a ratty lot of old books, Lydia. Half the fun of having school books is getting new ones." "I know that," she answered, flushing. "Hanged if I'll do it. Let your dad get you new ones." "He'd like to as well as any one, but he can't right now and I'm going to look out for my own. Oh, Billy, let me do it!"