Comfort Pease and her Gold Ring | Page 5

have to go to bed early if you're going to school."
"Can't I stay home to-morrow, mother?" pleaded Comfort, with sudden hope.
"No," said her mother; "you've got to go if you're able."
"Mother, can't I wear it just once?"
"Don't you bring that ring up again," said her mother. "Take your candle and go right upstairs."
Comfort gave a pitiful little sob.
"Now don't you go to crying over it," ordered her mother; and Comfort tried to choke back another sob as she went out of the room.
Comfort's father looked up from the Old Farmer's Almanac. He was going to Bolton the next day with a load of wood, and wanted to see what the weather would be, and so was consulting the almanac.
"What was it Comfort wanted?" he inquired.
"She wanted to wear that gold ring her Aunt Comfort gave her to school," replied Mrs. Pease. "And I've told her over and over again I shouldn't let her do it."
"It's a mile too big for her, and she'd be sure to lose it off," said Grandmother Atkins; "and it would be a pity to have anything happen to it, when it's real gold, too."
"She couldn't wind a rag round her finger under it, could she?" asked Comfort's father, hesitatingly.
"Wear a rag round her finger under it!" repeated Mrs. Pease. "I rather guess she can wait till her finger grows to it. You'd let that child do anything."
Mr. Pease did not say anything more, but studied the _Old Farmer's Almanac_ again, and found out it was likely to be fair weather for the season.
It was past midnight, and the hearth fire was raked down, and Comfort's father and mother and grandmother were all in bed and asleep, when a little figure in a white nightgown, holding a lighted candle, padding softly on little cold bare feet, came down the stairs. Comfort paused in the entry and listened. She could hear the clock tick and her father snore. The best parlor door was on the right. She lifted the brass catch cautiously, and pushed the door open. Then she stole into the best parlor. The close, icy air smote her like a breath from the north pole. There was no fire in the best parlor except on Thanksgiving day, and perhaps twice besides, when there was company to tea, from fall to spring. The cold therein seemed condensed and concentrated; the haircloth sofa and chairs and the mahogany table seemed to give out cold as stoves did heat.
There were two coffin-plates and funeral wreaths, which had belonged to the uncles of Comfort who had died before she was born, in frames on the wall, and these always scared Comfort.
She kept her eyes away from them as she went swiftly on her little bare feet, which had no feeling in them as they pressed the icy floor, across to the mahogany card-table, whereon was set the rosewood work-box.
Comfort set her candle on the table, and turned the key of the box with her stiff fingers. Then she raised the lid noiselessly, and there lay the ring in a little square compartment of the tray. Next to it, in the corner square, lay the gold dollar.
Comfort took the ring out, shut the box-lid down, turned the key, and fled. She thought some one called her name as she went upstairs, and she stopped and listened; but all she heard was the clock ticking and her father snoring and her heart beating. Then she kept on to her own chamber, and put out her candle, and crept into her feather-bed under the patchwork quilts. There she lay all night, wide awake, with the gold ring clasped tightly in her little cold fist.
When Comfort came downstairs the next morning there was a bright red spot on each cheek, and she was trembling as if she had a chill.
Her mother noticed it, and asked if she was cold, and Comfort said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Well, draw your stool up close to the fire and get warm," said her mother. "Breakfast is 'tmost ready. You can have some of the pancakes to carry to school for your dinner."
Comfort sat soberly in the chimney-corner until breakfast was ready, as her mother bade her. She was very silent, and did not say anything during breakfast unless some one asked her a question.
When she started for school her mother and grandmother stood in the window and watched her.
It was a very cold morning, and Mrs. Pease had put her green shawl on Comfort over her coat; and the little girl looked very short and stout as she trudged along between the snow-ridges which bordered the path, and yet there was a forlorn air about her.
"I don't know as the child was fit to go to school to-day," Mrs. Pease said, doubtfully.
"She didn't look very well, and she didn't