s would be chasing
each other up and down aisles and leaping the whittled desks of
pine; little girls, in checked flannel, or homespun, would be
circling in a song play; big boys would be trying feats of strength
that ended in loud laughter. So it was, the first morning of that
winter term in 1850. A tall youth stood by the window. Suddenly
he gave a loud "sh--h--h!" Running feet fell silently and halted;
words begun with a shout ended in a whisper. A boy making
caricatures at the blackboard dropped his chalk, that now fell
noisily. A whisper, heavy with awe and expectation, flew hissing
from lip to lip--"The teacher!" There came a tramping in the
vestibule, the door-latch jumped with a loud rattle, and in came
Sidney Trove. All eyes were turned upon him. A look of rectitude,
dovelike and too good to be true, came over many faces.

"Good morning!" said the young man, removing his cap, coat, and
overshoes. Some nodded, dumb with timidity. Only a few little
ones had the bravery to speak up, as they gave back the words in a
tone that would have fitted a golden text. He came to the roaring
stove and stood a moment, warming his hands. A group of the big
boys were in a corner whispering. Two were sturdy and quite six
feet tall,--the Beach boys.

"Big as a bull moose," one whispered,

"An' stouter," said another.

The teacher took a pencil from his pocket and tapped the desk.

"Please take your seats," said he.

All obeyed. Then he went around with the roll and took their
names, of which there were thirty-four.

"I believe I know your name," said Trove, smiling, as he came to
Polly Vaughn.

"I believe you do," said she, glancing up at him, with half a smile
and a little move in her lips that seemed to ask, "How could you
forget me?"

Then the teacher, knowing the peril of her eyes, became very
dignified as he glanced over the books she had brought to school.
He knew it was going to be a hard day. For a little, he wondered
if he had not been foolish, after all, in trying a job so difficult
and so perilous. If he should be thrown out of school, he felt
sure it would ruin him--he could never look Polly in the face
again. As he turned to begin the work of teaching, it seemed to
him a case of do or die, and he felt the strength of an ox in his
heavy muscles.

The big boys had settled themselves in a back corner side by
side--a situation too favourable for mischief. He asked them to
take other seats