pped.

It needs neither blackboard nor chalk to demonstrate the problem that
follows:

A, B, and C, are divisions of a column of troops on the march. Portion
A forms the advance guard; B the centre; C the rear. If A marched one
mile per hour, B two miles per hour, and C three miles per hour, what
would be the result?

Setting aside miles per hour. Hazel Thorne's column behaved as above;
and in two minutes, to Feelier Potts' great delight of which, however,
she did not display an inkling in her stolid face, the little column was
all in confusion, while the young lady called out loudly:

"Please, teacher, they're a-scrouging of us behind."

There was nothing for it but for Hazel Thorne to lead the van, leaving
little Miss Burge in charge of the rear, seeing which state of affairs,
Mr William Forth Burge was about to leave his sister and go up to the
front and continue his egotistical discourse; but here he was checked by
Miss Burge.

"No, no, Bill; you mus'n't," she whispered.

"Mus'n't what?"

"Mustn't go after her and walk like that."

"Why not?"

"Well, because--because she's--well, because she's so nice, and young,
and pretty," whispered Miss Burge, who was at a loss for a reason.

"But that's why I like to go and talk to her, Betsey," exclaimed the man
of fortune heartily. "She's about the nicest young lady I think I ever
did see."

"But you mus'n't, Bill," said his sister in alarm, "people would talk."

"Let 'em," said the ex-butcher proudly. "I can afford it. Let 'em
talk."

"But it might be unpleasant for Miss Thorne, dear."

"Oh! Hah! I didn't think of that," said the gentleman slowly; and,
taking off his hat he drew his orange silk handkerchief from his pocket,
and blew such a sonorous blast that little Jenny Straggalls, who was
last in the rank, started in alarm.

After this Mr William Forth Burge held his hat in one hand, his orange
handkerchief in the other, and looked at both in turn, scenting the
morning air the while with "mill flowers," and the essential oil in the
pomade he used.

Custom caused this hesitation. For years past he had been in the habit
of placing his handkerchief in his hat--the proper place for it, he
said--but Miss Burge said that gentlemen did not carry their
handkerchiefs in their 'ats. "And you are a gentleman, you know, now,
Bill."

So, with a sigh, Mr William Forth Burge refrained from burying the
flaming orange silk in the hollow of his hat, thrus