tic way. Mr. Baxter approved of her; he "liked her style," as he
would have said.

The summer term had just opened in the Maitland district. Esther
Maxwell was a stranger, but she was a capable girl, and had no doubt
of her own ability to get and keep the school in good working order.
She smiled brightly at Mr. Baxter.

"Very well for a beginning. The children seem bright and teachable and
not hard to control."

Mr. Baxter nodded. "There are no bad children in the school except the
Cropper boys--and they can be good enough if they like. Reckon they
weren't there today?"

"No."

"Well, Miss Maxwell, I think it only fair to tell you that you may
have trouble with those boys when they do come. Forewarned is
forearmed, you know. Mr. Cropper was opposed to our hiring you. Not,
of course, that he had any personal objection to you, but he is set
against female teachers, and when a Cropper is set there is nothing on
earth can change him. He says female teachers can't keep order. He's
started in with a spite at you on general principles, and the boys
know it. They know he'll back them up in secret, no matter what they
do, just to prove his opinions. Cropper is sly and slippery, and it is
hard to corner him."

"Are the boys big?" queried Esther anxiously.

"Yes. Thirteen and fourteen and big for their age. You can't whip
'em--that is the trouble. A man might, but they'd twist you around
their fingers. You'll have your hands full, I'm afraid. But maybe
they'll behave all right after all."

Mr. Baxter privately had no hope that they would, but Esther hoped
for the best. She could not believe that Mr. Cropper would carry his
prejudices into a personal application. This conviction was
strengthened when he overtook her walking from school the next day and
drove her home. He was a big, handsome man with a very suave, polite
manner. He asked interestedly about her school and her work, hoped she
was getting on well, and said he had two young rascals of his own to
send soon. Esther felt relieved. She thought that Mr. Baxter had
exaggerated matters a little.

"That plum tree of Mrs. Charley's is loaded with fruit again this
year," remarked Mr. Baxter at the tea table that evening. "I came past
it today on my way 'cross lots home from the woods. There will be
bushels of plums on it."

"I don't suppose poor Mrs. Charley will get one of them any more than
she ever has," said Mrs. Baxter indignantly. "It's a burning shame,
that'