sons, but boys and girls will
have their fun, even if it must sometimes be at the expense of other
people.

Certainly Miss Leece was the most unpopular teacher ever employed in the
High School as far back as memory could reach. She was cruel, strict and
sharp-tongued. Often her violent, unrestrained temper got the better of
her in the class room; then she gave an exhibition that was not good for
young girls to see. Anne, especially, was the victim of her rages--poor
little Anne who never missed a lesson and studied twice as hard as the
other girls. Miss Leece had but one weakness, apparently, and that was
Miriam Nesbit.

Twice had the faculty convened in secret session to consider Miss
Leece's case, but it had been decided to keep her through the year at
least, since she was engaged by contract and was moreover an excellent
instructor in mathematics.

So, it was no wonder that even this early in the school year, she was
the object of dislike to the High School girls. But could our girls have
foreseen what the evening's fun would bring forth, they would never have
been so reckless in carrying the effigy about town.

"Suppose we take her across the square," cried Reddy; "then over the
bridge to the old graveyard and hang her on the limb of the apple tree
just outside the wall?"

Off they started, singing at the tops of their voices:

Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree,
Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree.

When they reached the center of the public square, where a big electric
light shed its rays, who should spring out of the shadows, from nowhere
apparently, but Miss Leece herself? Nothing escaped her sharp ears and
her cold blue eyes; neither words of the song nor the figure in detail,
green veil and all; nor Anne Pierson, who happened to be standing quite
near the effigy at the moment.

And what was worse, and still more incriminating to the guilty
merrymakers, the moment they caught sight of her they stopped singing.
The eyes in the pumpkin suddenly lost their glare, and a silent
procession wound its way hurriedly from the square.

"Good heavens!" cried Grace. "Why did we stop the song? If we had only
gone right ahead, it wouldn't have looked half as bad."

"It was a mistake," admitted David, gravely, "especially as she seemed
to have seen Anne first of all. Anne, if she walks into you to-morrow
morning, you can just lay the blame on me, do you hear? I got up the
whole party and I'm wil