"I must say I like to see a person dressed according to the season," remarked another; "that is, if people can afford it," she added, in a manner plainly enough indicating that her father could.
Such was recess talk. None of us went to take the stranger by the hand and welcome her as the companion of our studies and our play. We stood aloof, and stared at her with cold and unfeeling curiosity. The teacher called her Abby. When she first came to her place for recitation, she took a seat beside the rich plaid. The plaid drew haughtily away, as if the sixpenny calico might dim the beauty of its colours. A slight colour flushed Abby's cheek, but her quiet remained the same. It was some time before she ventured on the play-ground, and then it was only to stand aside, and look on, for we were slow in asking her to join us.
On one occasion we had a harder arithmetic lesson than usual, completely baffling our small brains. Upon comparing notes at recess, none of us had mastered it.
"I'll ask Abby of her success," said one of my intimate associates.
"It is quite unlikely she has," I replied; "do stay here; besides, what if she has?"
"I will go," she answered.
Away she went, and as it appeared, Abby and she were the only members of the class ready for recitation. Abby had been more successful than the rest of us, and kindly helped my friend to scale the difficulties of the lesson.
"Shall we ask Abby to join the sleigh-ride?" asked one of the girls, who was getting a subscription for a famous New Year's ride.
"Judging from her dress," I said, "if she goes, we must give her the ride."
"But how will it do to leave her out?" they asked.