A RAINY DAY 15 
to Foxes Corners, but as surely passed them by without 
notice on the return trip. 
Miss Wilde had barely swept away the scattered lunch 
through the open door when again she heard wheels, 
and looking up saw that which made her stand stock-still 
in surprise, broom in hand, —a trim, glass-windowed depot 
wagon, such as she had seldom seen out of Bridgeton, 
drawn by a handsome pair of gray horses, whose long, 
flowing tails were neatly braided and fastened up from 
the mud with leather bands, instead of being cruelly 
docked short as sometimes happens. The driver, a 
pleasant-looking, rosy-cheeked man, was well protected 
by coat and boot of rubber; but before Miss Wilde 
could more than glance at the outfit the door opened and 
a lady stepped lightly out, reaching the school porch 
so quickly that she had no need of an umbrella. 
Spying Miss Wilde, she said in a voice clear as a bell, 
and yet so well modulated and sweet that no one who 
heard her speak ever forgot its sound — “Are you the 
teacher here?” 
6c Yes.”’ 
“And your name?” 
“Rosamond Wilde,” replied the astonished girl, hastily 
hanging up the broom, unconsciously leading the way 
into the stuffy schoolroom and placing the best chair by 
the side of her desk, as she did when the minister, Dr. 
Gibbs, from Centre Village, who was president of the 
school board, came to hold a spelling-match. 
“Thank you,” said the silvery voice, as its owner took 
the proffered seat, turning so that she could look out of 
the window. 
