he end of the term. I have picked out the boy, who, in my opinion,
deserves it--Ephraim Higgins, you needn't move round in your seat. You
are not the one."

There was a general laugh here, for Ephraim was distinguished chiefly
for his laziness.

The teacher proceeded:

"I do not mean to tell you to-day who it is. To-morrow I shall call out
his name before the school committee, and present him the prize. I want
you to do as well as you can to-morrow. I want you to do yourselves
credit, and to do me credit, for I do not want to be ashamed of you.
Peter Shelby, put back that knife into your pocket, and keep it there
till I call up the class in whittling."

There was another laugh here at the teacher's joke, and Peter himself
displayed a broad grin on his large, good-humored face.

"We will now proceed to the regular lessons," said Mr. Burbank, in
conclusion. "First class in arithmetic will take their places."

The first class ranked as the highest class, and in it was Harry Walton.

"What was your lesson to-day?" asked the teacher.

"Square root," answered Harry.

"I will give you out a very simple sum to begin with. Now, attention
all! Find the square root of 625. Whoever gets the answer first may hold
up his hand."

The first to hold up his hand was Ephraim Higgins.

"Have you got the answer?" asked Mr. Burbank in some surprise. "Yes,
sir."

"State it."

"Forty-five."

"How did you get it?"

Ephraim scratched his head, and looked confused. The fact was, he was
entirely ignorant of the method of extracting the square root, but had
slyly looked at the slate of his neighbor, Harry Walton, and mistaken
the 25 for 45, and hurriedly announced the answer, in the hope of
obtaining credit for the same.

"How did you get it?" asked the teacher again.

Ephraim looked foolish.

"Bring me your slate."

Ephraim reluctantly left his place, and went up to Mr. Burbank.

"What have we here?" said the teacher. "Why, you have got down the 625,
and nothing else, except 45. Where did you get that answer?"

"I guessed at it," answered Ephraim, hard pressed for an answer, and
not liking to confess the truth--namely, that he had copied from Harry
Walton.

"So I supposed. The next time you'd better guess a little nearer right,
or else give up guessing altogether. Harry Walton, I see your hand up.
What is your answer?"

"Twenty-five, sir."

"That is right."

Ephraim looked up suddenly. He now saw the explanation