"Yes, indeed; I mean to. I believe I won't take it out to the play-ground, but leave it here in my desk, behind these books. My pocket is worn so thin, it is not very secure. Come, let us go and see what the girls are all about. Oh, by the way, will you go out with me at noon recess? I have some errands for Miss Druett, and I ought to have done one as I came along, but the shop was shut. It was about her trunk that was sent in this morning. The rest can wait till afternoon." "Oh, Calista," said Mary Burns, meeting her at the school-room door, "may I go to your desk and take out Miss McPherson's 'Deserted Village?' She said you had it, and I want to learn a piece out of it." "Of course," answered Calista. "Why didn't you take it at once?" "I didn't want to open your desk without asking you," answered Mary Burns. "What a terrible thing if you had done so!" said Calista, merrily. "Who knows what dark and dreadful mysteries you might have discovered? However, I will say, Mary, I wish all the girls in school were as particular about such things as you are. It would save lots of trouble." "Allow me to remind you, Miss Stanfield, that 'lots of trouble' is not a very genteel expression," said Miss Meeks, who was standing near. "I know it, Miss Meeks, and I stand corrected," answered Calista. "You must allow that the sentiment was correct, though the expression was awkward, as you say." Miss Meeks glanced sharply at the speaker, as if suspecting ridicule, which she always was suspecting, poor lady. But Calista's smile and glance disarmed her, and she said pleasantly: "I quite agree with you there. I hope your desk is in order, Calista. You know I must mark you if it is not." "Indeed it is, Miss Meeks; I have just put it all to rights." "Then perhaps I had better look at it before you go back to it," said Miss Meeks, smiling, as she turned away. "Just think! Miss Meeks made a joke," said Calista. "What is going to happen? It is as great a wonder as Aunt Priscilla's making a present. What is the matter, Mary?" "Nothing," answered Mary Settson, resolutely bruising the head of a little serpent of envy and annoyance which had popped up and hissed in her heart at hearing another praised. "How does your work get on?" "Nicely. I should have finished the middle last night but for taking a lesson in cribbage from Aunt Priscilla. I think I will knit the border in rosebuds." "Do you think they wash well? You know you want to do up a bureau cover pretty often." "Oh, yes; just as well as any other." Two or three other girls now came up, and the conversation diverged to patterns, stitches, and other similar mysteries. Then Mary Burns brought "The Deserted Village," * and asked Calista's opinion as to what part she should learn. * If, as I much fear, some of my readers have not read this exquisite poem of Goldsmith's, I advise them to do so without delay. "Take the character of the pastor," said Mary Settson.