"Yes, three evenin's a week. She's a boss—I mean a good teacher. I learned some at the 'sylum,—no, the asylum, when I warn't—no, when I werent'—no, when I wasn't in the kitchen. And grampa talks to me some. He's a fine scholar."
"That's good—get all you can; but three evenings a week ain't enough. As soon as I can compass it, I'll have some one to take care of father daytimes, and let you go to school."
"To school!" said the little girl, "to learn more—to know how to speak proper! Oh, oh, I'm mos' too happy to live! Hank Dillson, I think you're the mos' beautiful man that was ever made!" and, dropping her sugar-bowl on the shelf, she seized a hand of the ex-creamery shark, and warmly pressed it between her little lean palms.
Hank, in some embarrassment, murmured, "Oh, fudge, I'm not as good as the next one."
"You're a million times better!" exclaimed 'Tilda Jane. "Oh, what a glad man Mr. Waysmith will be to have you in his mill! Come now, let's have supper. Dear ole grampa mus' get to bed. You wouldn't like to kill him with joy the first night you're home."
A few minutes later 'Tilda Jane was beaming behind the big coffee-pot. At last she had become a member of a really happy family. Her dogs were stretched luxuriously on their rag mat by the stove, Grampa, calm and quiet, was sipping his coffee, and listening to some of Hank's travelling adventures.
She could not contain her delight. Her heart was too full, and presently she burst into low, irrepressible laughter.
Her companions stopped talking and stared at her.
"Oh, I can't help it!" she exclaimed, wildly, "I feel as if I'd come through a big sea of troubles to reach the promised land! I'm crazy—I'm crazy!" and too excited to keep still she pushed her chair aside, and rocked back and forth on her feet.
She saw stretching before her a long vista of happy years—the sight was almost too much for her, yet even in her ecstasy she thought of other children less fortunate.