ve her production longer than Miss
Blossom's, read at the last meet, and to secure this was no small task.
She had been to the "up-stairs room" during recess and brought down the
cyclopedia, and, happily, had found a page and a half regarding Giunta
Pisano therein, which she was copying verbatim. To be sure, there was
no word in it about Cimabue, or the relation of the one to the other,
but this was not taken into account. There were plenty of words in the
article, and that was the chief end just then.

So Miss Stone was soon busy with her pen, the index finger of her left
hand noting the line in the cyclopedia which should be next
transcribed. The children whispered and played a good deal, but she
paid little heed. There was little danger of visitors, for no one
visited schools in Circleville (how like all other towns it is in this
respect!) and Miss Stone knew how to hustle classes through recitations
and make time on a down grade just before dinner, and so took her time
at her task of writing up poor old Giunta.

She was presently conscious, however, that something unusual was going
on, and on looking up, found the eyes of the pupils fastened on "Dodd."
She ran down to his desk, hoping to find the beans in order. But alas
for human expectations! We are all so often doomed to disappointment!
Not a bean was to be seen, and "Dodd" hung his head.

Miss Stone reached for his hands, thinking he was hiding them there;
but his hands were empty. She tried his pockets. They yielded ample
returns of such things as boys' pockets are wont to contain, but no
beans appeared.

Miss Stone was alarmed, and she almost trembled as she asked:

"'Dodd,' where are the beans?"

The boy did not look up, but with a kind of suppressed chuckle, he
muttered, "I've eat 'em all up!"

CHAPTER IV.

For some cause or other Miss Stone and "Dodd" did not get on well
together as their acquaintance progressed. The boy was impulsive,
saucy, rude, and generally outrageous, in more ways than can be told or
even dreamed of by any one but a primary teacher who has become
familiar with the species.

Miss Stone had no natural tact as a teacher, no gift of God in this
direction, no intuition, which is worth more than all precepts and
maxims combined. She knew how to work by rule, as so many teachers do,
but beyond this she had little ability. This to her credit, however:
she did, ultimately, labor hard with the boy, and tried her best