Miss Porter, who stood by, terribly distressed of course, rightly guessed that the every body, on this occasion, referred merely to Mr. Stuart and Lizzie Upton. Ella was always jealous of any commendation bestowed upon Mary seeming to consider it as so much taken from herself, and consequently, could not bear that Lizzie should even think well of her. The fact, too, that Mr. Stuart had not only visited her school, but also walked home with her, was a sufficient reason why she should he thoroughly angry. Miss Porter knew that the surest method of coaxing her out of her pouting fit, was to flatter her, and accordingly she repeated at least a dozen complimentary speeches, some of which she had really heard, while others were manufactured for the occasion. In this way the cloud was gradually lifted from her face, and erelong she was laughing merrily at the idea, that a girl "so wholly unattractive as Mary, should ever have made her jealous!" CHAPTER XVIII. A NEW PLAN. The summer was drawing to a close, and with it Mary's school. She had succeeded in giving satisfaction to the entire district with the exception of Mrs. Bradley, who "didn't know why Tim should be licked and thrashed round just because his folks wasn't wuth quite so much as some others," this being, in her estimation, the only reason why the notorious Timothy was never much beloved by his teachers. Mr Knight, with whom Mary was a great favorite, offered her the school for the coming winter, but she had decided upon attending school herself, and after modestly declining his offer, told him of her intention. "But where's the money coming from?" said he. Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes he supposed she had stitched during the last two years. "More'n two hundred, I'll bet," said he. "Not quite as many as that," answered Mary; "but still I have managed to earn my clothes, and thirty dollars besides; and this, together with my school wages, will pay for one term, and part of another." "Well, go ahead," returned Mr. Knight. "I'd help you if I could. Go ahead, and who knows but you'll one day be the President's wife." Like the majority of New England farmers, Mr Knight was far from being wealthy. From sunrise until sundown he worked upon the old homestead where his father had dwelt. Spring after spring, he ploughed and planted the sandy soil. Autumn after autumn he gathered in the slender harvest, and still said he would not exchange his home among the hills for all the broad acres of his brother, who at the far West, counted his dollars by the thousands. He would gladly have helped Mary, but around his fireside were six children dependent upon him for food, clothing, and education, and he could only wish his young friend success in whatever she undertook.