"You must be goin' to be dreadful learned," commented Rhoda Jane, filling Mildred's lap from the basket, "I wouldn't be you for something. I hate books and always did."
"Are we all here now?" asked some one.
"All but Damaris Drybread. She's oldish for the rest of us, but she's the schoolma'am, you know, and likes to be invited. And though she's late comin'—yonder she is now—she works dreadful fast when she does get at it."
Mildred overheard a whisper not complimentary to the coming woman,
"Pshaw! I wish she hadn't been asked. She spoils everything; for she's as solemn as a funeral and 'pears to think it's a sin to laugh."
"Yes," assented another voice, "that's so! and she never forgets that she's a schoolma'am; but takes it upon herself to tell you your duty without waiting to be invited to."
But now Miss Drybread was upon the threshold.
"Good evening," she said, in solemn tone and with a stiff little bow, addressing her salutation to the company in general; then giving her sunbonnet to Rhoda Jane, she seated herself in her usual bolt upright manner and fell to work.
Her presence acted as a damper upon the spirits of the younger portion of the party. A dead silence succeeded the merry chatter and laughter of a moment before.