“O Anna, with all the long week, counting Sunday, and with a long forenoon on Saturday, it seems as if you might spare me Saturday afternoon,” protested the invalid. “I can usually, Mrs. Langley, but you see I am going away Monday morning early and there’s my packing and ever so many things to attend to besides going over home, as I always do on Saturday, to see if ma’s clothes and pa’s ties and shirts and the boys’ are in Sunday-go-to-meeting shape,” Anna explained. She waited for Mrs. Langley to ask where she was going or to evince some interest in her journey. Not that she was the sort of person to crave such attention. But the more she saw of Mrs. Langley, the more she realized how self-centered her life had made her. In a certain sense, it wasn’t her fault. But for the sake of Mr. Langley, his wife must somehow be induced to think of other folk or other concerns than herself, her dead baby, and the baby’s tombstone. And in that the only person she really had anything to do with was Anna it would have been encouraging to have her show some faint interest in her comings and goings when they did not lead to the parsonage, or the cemetery on yonder hillside. But Mrs. Langley’s only concern was for her precious Saturday. “But you will surely be back before the end of the week, Anna?” she asked. “I suppose I shall,” said Anna soberly. “But I may not be able to come here for a fortnight. I shall have a lot of studying to do to make up my work at school.” “Isn’t Mr. Langley on the school committee?” demanded his wife. Wondering at her acquaintance with even so little of current history, Anna told her that he was chairman. “Very well. Then he can arrange so that you needn’t make up the time and you can come here just the same.” “O Mrs. Langley, I don’t think he could or would do that, and anyhow I wouldn’t have him,” Anna protested. “For after all, I’m really crazy about school. I believe I like it all the better for knowing the world a bit. As a matter of fact, you know, I could give Mr. Phillips points. And I couldn’t _not_ make up certain things. For example, there’s the Peloponnesian War. The plague began yesterday and,--O dear, like as not when I get back I shall find the whole bunch stark dead. And then there are those poor Helvetians all packed up and ready to hike with their babies and cattle and pups and duds and all,--and those blooming Roman soldiers ready to drive ’em straight back. I’ve simply _got_ to see what happened to them. They had pluck--and yet, I can’t for the life of me understand how they had the heart to burn down their houses and their fields of grain. I dare say it showed their faith in God, but they might have wanted to show their grandchildren years afterwards where they had lived.” “I don’t remember ever hearing about them. Are they in the Bible, Anna?” Mrs. Langley asked, and before Anna could answer, bade her tell their tale.