“Yes.”
Some other girls came up—some of the older ones, with their hair done up; and even some of the boys, towering lankily on the outskirts. Not one of these scholars in this country district school fifty years ago had ever owned a gold ring. All they had ever seen were their mothers' well-worn wedding-circlets.
“Comfort Pease has got a real gold ring,” went from one to the other.
“Why don't she wear it, then?” demanded one of the big girls. She had very red cheeks, and her black hair was in two glossy braids, crossed and pinned at the back of her head, and surmounted by her mother's shell comb she had let her wear to school that day. She had come out to recess without her hood to show it.
“She's waiting for her hand to grow to it,” explained Matilda, to whom Comfort had shyly whispered the whole story.
“Hold up your hand,” ordered the big girl; and Comfort held up her little hand pink with the cold.
“H'm! looks big enough,” said the big girl, and she adjusted her shell comb.
“I call it a likely story,” said another big girl, in an audible whisper.
“The Peases don't have any more than other folks,” said still another big girl. The little crowd dispersed with scornful giggles. Comfort turned redder and redder. Rosy and Charlotte and Sarah were looking at her curiously; only Matilda stood firm. “You are all just as mean as you can be!” she cried. “She has got a gold ring!”
Matilda Stebbins put her arm around Comfort, who was fairly crying. “Come,” said she, “don't you mind anything about 'em, Comfort. Le'ss go in the school-house. I've got a splendid Baldwin apple in my dinner-pail, and I'll give you half of it. They're mad 'cause they haven't got any gold ring.”