“Yes, you,” she said. “If you do that once more, I’ll--I’ll-- You’re just horrid, and I wish you wouldn’t ever speak to me again. So there.” Master Peter laughed, and this made her angrier still. But she couldn’t help thinking what a jolly laugh it was. “Order!” said the teacher. “The class in algebra will come to order. Answer to your names as I call the roll.” Chalk, blackboard, _a + b_, _x - y_, teacher handing out papers, boys playing tricks, girls passing notes,--all this dragged on forever and forever, and there didn’t seem to be any hope of ever getting out; but a bell rang at last, and school was over. The glass coach was waiting outside. Merrimeg noticed that it was broken in several places. Myrma took her hand, and they sat down inside the coach. Old Porringer touched up his ponies, and away they ran, faster than before. “What’s the matter with your hair?” said Myrma. Merrimeg looked at the end of her pigtail, and it was all green. “Oh, it’s that horrid boy,” she said. “He’s dipped it in his ink-well. I’ll never never speak to him again.” The ponies trotted much faster down the valley now. The blossoms had dropped from the trees, and the air was warmer and the light brighter. Merrimeg yawned and closed her eyes. “I think I’ll take a little nap,” she said. When she woke up, the mirror was before her again, and she looked at herself in it. She was a grown woman. Her hair was coiled at the back of her head. She was tall and slender, and her head nearly touched the roof of the coach. She looked as if she might have been about thirty-five years old. Myrma looked very tiny beside her. The coach was badly broken, in many places. “Now we’re going to get out,” said Myrma, and the coach stopped before a pretty little cottage covered with vines. Over the door was the number, “35.” “I’ll wait for you here,” said Myrma, and Merrimeg gathered up her skirts and ran to the cottage door. “Peter!” she cried; and the door opened, and a jolly-looking young man, of about her own age, opened the door and took her into his arms. He had very nice laughing eyes. “Dearest!” he said. “Oh, Peter!” she said. “Is he better now?” “Yes, darling, it’s only measles. Nothing to worry about.” “Mother! Mother!” came two voices from inside, and a boy of ten and a girl of seven ran out and threw their arms about her. She kissed them both, and they all went in together. A little boy of three or four was lying in his crib, in a darkened room, and she leaned over him and squeezed his hot little hand. “Mother,” he said, “I want a drink of water.” “You shall have it, darling,” she said; but Peter, her husband, had already gone for it, and when he brought it, she said to him: “Now, Peter, you and the children must stay out of this room. Has Maggie brought the clean sheets yet?” “She never does,” said Peter, “not unless you go after them first.” “Then I’ll just go and get them; and remember to keep the children out of here while I’m gone.”