h
fascinated eyes as the Honorable Timothy reclaimed the note and wrote
across it's damning face: "Miss Greene may come to. She is not
fired.--T. O'S."

"Here, boy," he called; "take this to your teacher." The puzzled
messenger turned to obey, and the Associate Superintendent saw that
though his dignity had suffered his power had increased. To the list of
those whom he might, if so disposed, devour, he had now added the name
of the Principal, who was quick to understand that an unpleasant
investigation lay before him. If Miss Bailey could not be held
responsible for this system of inter-classroom communication, it was
clear that the Principal could.

Every trace of interest had left Mr. O'Shea's voice as he asked:

"Can they read?"

"Oh, yes, they read," responded Teacher, but her spirit was crushed and
the children reflected her depression. Still, they were marvelously good
and that blundering note had said, "Discipline is his lay." Well, here
he had it.

There was one spectator of this drama, who, understanding no word nor
incident therein, yet dismissed no shade of the many emotions which had
stirred the light face of his lady. Toward the front of the room sat
Morris Mogilewsky, with every nerve tuned to Teacher's, and with an
appreciation of the situation in which the other children had no share.
On the afternoon of one of those dreary days of waiting for the evil
which had now come, Teacher had endeavored to explain the nature and
possible result of this ordeal to her favorite. It was clear to him now
that she was troubled, and he held the large and unaccustomed presence
of the "comp'ny mit whiskers" responsible. Countless generations of
ancestors had followed and fostered the instinct which now led Morris to
propitiate an angry power. Luckily, he was prepared with an offering of
a suitable nature. He had meant to enjoy it for yet a few days, and then
to give it to Teacher. She was such a sensible person about presents.
One might give her one's most cherished possession with a brave and
cordial heart, for on each Friday afternoon she returned the gifts she
had received during the week. And this with no abatement of gratitude.

Morris rose stealthily, crept forward, and placed a bright blue
bromo-seltzer bottle in the fat hand which hung over the back of the
chair of state. The hand closed instinctively as, with dawning
curiosity, the Honorable Timothy studied the small figure at his side.
It began in a weal