The Morgesons. Elizabeth Stoddard

pelisse, and silver buckles, too."

      After father went out, and my bonnet was disposed of, Mrs. Tabor gave me a huge piece of delicious sponge-cake, which softened me somewhat.

      "What is your name, dear?"

      "Morgeson."

      "It is easy to see that."

      "Well, Cassandra."

      "Oh, what a lovely name," and she drew from her workbasket a paper-covered book; "there is no name in this novel half so pretty; I wish the heroine's name had been Cassandra instead of Aldebrante."

      "Let me see it," I begged.

      "There is a horrid monk in it"; but she gave it to me, and was presently called out. I devoured its pages, and for the only time in that year of Barmouth life, I forgot my own wants and woes. She saw my interest in the book when she came back, and coaxed it from me, offering me more cake, which I accepted. She told me that she had known father for years, and that he kept his horse at the inn stables, and dined with her. "But I never knew that he had a daughter," she continued. "Are you the only child?"

      "I have a sister," and after a moment remembered that I had a brother, too; but did not think it a fact necessary to mention.

      "I have no children."

      "But you have novels to read."

      She laughed, and by the time father returned we were quite chatty. After dinner I asked him to go to some shops with me. He took me to a jeweler's, and without consulting me bought an immense mosaic brooch, with a ruined castle on it, and a pretty ring with a gold stone.

      "Is there anything more?" he asked, "you would like?"

      "Yes, I want a pink calico dress."

      "Why?"

      "Because the girls at Miss Black's wear pink calico."

      "Why not get a pink silk?"

      "I must have a pink French calico, with a three-cornered white cloud on it; it is the fashion."

      "The fashion!" he echoed with contempt. But the dress was bought, and we went back to Barmouth.

      When I appeared in school with my new brooch and ring the girls crowded round me.

      "What does that pin represent, whose estate?" inquired one, with envy in her voice.

      "Don't the ring make the blood rush into your hand?" asked another; "it looks so."

      "Does it?" I answered; "I'll hold up my hand in the air, as you do, to make it white."

      "What is your father's business?" asked Elmira Sawyer, "is he a tailor?"

      Her insolence made my head swim; but I did not reply. When recess was over a few minutes afterward, I cried under the lid of my desk. These girls overpowered me, for I could not conciliate them, and had no idea of revenge, believing that their ridicule was deserved. But I thought I should like to prove myself respectable. How could I? Grand'ther was a tailor, and I could not demean myself by assuring them that my father was a gentleman.

      In the course of a month Aunt Mercy had my pink calico made up by the best dressmaker in Barmouth. When I put it on I thought I looked better than I ever had before, and went into school triumphantly with it. The girls surveyed me in silence; but criticised me. At last Charlotte Alden asked me in a whisper if old Mr. Warren made my dress. She wrote on a piece of paper, in large letters—"Girls, don't let's wear our pink calicoes again," and pushing it over to Elmira Sawyer, made signs that the paper should be passed to all the girls. They read it, and turning to Charlotte Alden nodded. I watched the paper as it made its round, and saw Mary Bennett drop it on the floor with a giggle.

      It was a rainy day, and we passed the recess indoors. I remained quiet, looking over my lesson. "The first period ends with the carboniferous system; the second includes the saliferous and magnesian systems; the third comprises the oolitic and chalk systems; the fourth—" "How attentive some people are to their lessons," I heard Charlotte Alden say. Looking up, I saw her near me with Elmira Sawyer.

      "What is that you say?" I asked sharply.

      "I am not speaking to you."

      "I am angry," I said in a low tone, and rising, "and have borne enough."

      "Who are you that you should be angry? We have heard about your mother, when she was in love, poor thing."

      I struck her so violent a blow in the face that she staggered backward. "You are a liar," I said, "and you must let me alone." Elmira Sawyer turned white, and moved away. I threw my book at her; it hit her head, and her comb was broken by my geological systems. There was a stir; Miss Black hurried from her desk, saying, "Young ladies, what does this mean? Miss C. Morgeson, your temper equals your vulgarity, I find. Take your seat in my desk."

      I obeyed her, and as we passed Mary Bennett's desk, where I saw the paper fall, I picked it up. "See the good manners of your favorite, Miss Black; read it." She bit her lips as she glanced over it, turned back as if to speak to Charlotte Alden, looked at me again, and went on: "Sit down, Miss C. Morgeson, and reflect on the blow you have given. Will you ask pardon?"

      "I will not; you know that."

      "I have never resorted to severe punishment yet; but I fear I shall be obliged to in your case."

      "Let me go from here." I clenched my hands, and tried to get up. She held me down on the seat, and we looked close in each other's eyes. "You are a bad girl." "And you are a bad woman," I replied; "mean and cruel." She made a motion to strike me, but her hand dropped; I felt my nostrils quiver strangely. "For shame," she said, in a tremulous voice, and turned away. I sat on the bench at the back of the desk, heartily tired, till school was dismissed; as Charlotte Alden passed out, courtesying, Miss Black said she hoped she would extend a Christian forgiveness to Miss C. Morgeson, for her unladylike behavior. "Miss C. Morgeson is a peculiar case."

      She gave her a meaning look, which was not lost upon me. Charlotte answered, "Certainly," and bowed to me gracefully, whereat I felt a fresh sense of my demerits, and concluded that I was worsted in the fray.

      Miss Black asked no explanation of the affair; it was dropped, and

       none of the girls alluded to it by hint or look afterward. When I told

       Aunt Mercy of it, she turned pale, and said she knew what Charlotte

       Alden meant, and that perhaps mother would tell me in good time.

      "We had a good many troubles in our young days, Cassy."