teacher stood by the door until they were all out of the room, and then Mabelle and she fell into line, and they went down the three flights of stairs and out of doors behind the others.
Mabelle worked hard at her music, out of school hours, though she was not very fond of it; but she felt the honor that the teacher had shown her in giving her the work, and though she guessed as to the reason, she kept it to herself, and tried to learn as many pretty marches as she could.
One morning she went to the piano with a pink little flush on her face, and in a moment the stirring strains of "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching," were ringing through the room.
Instantly there came a great hand-clapping from the girls' side, and some stamping and two or three shrill whistles from the boys' side, and Mabelle's cheeks flushed pinker than ever. This was worth the long hours of practice that she had put in.
The teacher smiled, but held up her hand in
