Will stopped and looked back, undecided as to what he ought to do, and very much disturbed to think that he had been the cause of trouble.
"What shall I do, go back and tell Mrs. Stout?" he asked.
"It is all over now, probably."
"That's so," said Will, gloomily, as they resumed their walk. "But I'll go down in the morning and confess everything, and then, some day when there's no school, I'll give those boys a good time to pay for the whipping they've had. The little villains—do you go to see them all when they're sick?"
"Yes, unless some one comes to tell me about them."
That was news to Will. He had thought always that common school teachers' duties consisted of hearing children recite, and the maintaining of discipline in the schoolroom.
"Do you mean to say," he said, in surprise, "that you think something of, or rather like, every one of those dirty little kids?"
"Like them!" replied Barbara, warmly; "I love them. How could I teach if I did not?"
"I—I didn't know, I never thought about it before," he stammered. He had learned something. He had heard her speak the word "love" with feeling, and by it he knew the destiny that he had hoped for, and was humbled. They had reached Mrs. Tweedie's gate and stopped.
"Barbara," said Will, "you don't mind if I walk home with you from the school sometimes, do you?"