en she finally
departed, with admonitions and sidewise wags of the head, he shuffled
defiantly to a desk.

He occupied his first hour in slyly flipping wet-paper wads at a picture
of Shakspere pinned above him on the wall. The little girl, who was well
versed in all school tricks from her years of sitting in a rear seat,
knew what he was doing, but hesitated to speak to him. At last, seeing
that he was attracting the attention of all the other children, she sent
him to the blackboard to copy his spelling ten times.

By ingenious counting he soon completed his work, and then began to draw
pipe-stem men for the Dutchman's youngest to giggle at. He was sent back
to his desk, where he spent the time in wriggling his ears.

The little girl saw that trouble was before her,--saw, too, that her
position would be imperiled if she failed in her discipline. That night,
when the biggest brother helped her to get supper and make the beds, she
shared her fears with him.

"It's one thing to get a school," she said sorrowfully, as he tried to
comfort her; "it's another to keep it."

But next day she called the pupils to order cheerfully.

It was evident that the young Pole had been well discussed by the
children. They watched him constantly to see what new prank he was
preparing for their entertainment. He swaggered under their astonished
gaze, and insolently made requests aloud without raising his hand for
permission to speak. Just before recess, upon chancing to glance his
way, the little girl caught him tossing a note over to the other side of
the room.

She suddenly came to a halt beside his desk, and anger, strange and
almost unreasonable, possessed her. It flashed into her mind that before
her, ignorant, slouchy, indifferent, was one who, by his mischief,
threatened to deprive her of what her mother and the biggest brother had
long desired, what she herself yearned after with all the earnestness of
her soul. She could scarcely refrain from attempting to send him off
then and there! She trembled with indignation. Meeting her eyes for a
moment, he saw a dangerous glint in them, and for the rest of the
morning was more circumspect.

But at noon, a full dinner, a lazy hour, and the ill-concealed
admiration of the other children put him again into a mean mood. He got
out of line in marching, and pulled the hair of one of the little
fellows from the West Fork. The little girl passed the afternoon with
her eyes upon him. When