Saturday night came at last, and very joyfully I started home on foot, feeling not at all burdened with the compliments of my patrons or the esteem of my pupils. Oh, what a shout was raised at the shortness of my three weeks, as I entered our sitting-room! All laughed at me, except my mother. She was not disappointed, and when I drew Carrie’s little rocking-chair to her side, and told her how hard my head was aching, she laid her soft hand caressingly upon my brow, and gently smoothing my short curls, bathed my forehead in camphor until the pain was gone. Had there been no one present but our own family, I should probably have cried; but owing to some untoward circumstance, Aunt Sally Wright was there visiting that afternoon, and as a teacher I felt obliged to maintain my dignity before her prying eyes. Almost her first salutation to me was, “Wall, Rosa, so you’ve grown old since you left home?” “I do not understand what you mean,” I answered. “Why, I mean,” said she, “that somebody told me that Mrs. Green told them, that Major Pond’s wife told her, that Mary Downes said, that Nancy Rice heard Miss Cap’n Thompson say that you told Dr. Clayton you was _sixteen_!” I knew that the subject of my age had not come up between me and the doctor, but it was useless to deny a story so well authenticated, so I said nothing, and Aunt Sally continued; “They do say you thrash ’em round about right,” while mother asked “who Dr. Clayton was?” “Why, he’s a young pill-peddler, who’s taken a shine to Rosa, and staid with her alone in the schoolhouse until _pitch dark_,” said Aunt Sally, her little green eyes twinkling with the immense satisfaction she felt.