ng and what she expects of them. A Substitute
makes the occupants of the desks feel flattered and conscious and
important.

The Substitute's name was Miss Jenny. The class speedily adored her.
Soon her desk might have been a shrine to Pomona. It was joy to forego
one's apple to swell the fruitage of adoration piled on Miss Jenny's
desk. The class could scarcely be driven to recess, since going tore
them from her. They found their happiness in Miss Jenny's presence.

So, apparently, did Mr. Bryan. Mr. Bryan was the Principal. He wore his
black hair somewhat long and thrown off his forehead, only Mr. Bryan
would have called it brow.

Mr. Bryan came often to the Third Reader room. He said it was very
necessary that the Third Reader should be well grounded in the rudiments
of number. He said he was astonished, he was appalled, he was chagrined.

He paused at "chagrined," and repeated it impressively, so that the
guttural grimness of its second syllable sounded most unpleasant.
Appalled and astonished must be bad, but to be chagrined, as Mr. Bryan
said it, must be terrible.

He was chagrined, so it proved, that a class could show such deplorable
ignorance concerning the very rudiments of number.

It was Emmy Lou who displayed it, when she was called to the blackboard
by Mr. Bryan. He called a different little girl each day, with
discriminating impartiality. When doing so, Mr. Bryan would often
express a hope that his teachers would have no favourites.

Emmy Lou went to the board.

"If a man born in eighteen hundred and nine, lives--" began Mr. Bryan.
Then he turned to speak to Miss Jenny.

Emmy Lou took the chalk and stood on her toes to reach the board.

[Illustration: "While the children drew, Mr. Bryan would lean on Miss
Jenny's desk, rearrange his white necktie, and talk to Miss Jenny."]

"Set it down," said Mr. Bryan, turning--"the date."

Emmy Lou paused, uncertain. Had he said one thousand, eight hundred and
nine, she would have known; that was the way one knew it in the Second
Reader, but eighteen hundred was confusing.

Again Mr. Bryan looked around, to see the chubby little girl standing on
her toes, chalk in hand, still uncertain. Mr. Bryan's voice expressed
tried but laudable patience.

"Put it down--the date," said Mr. Bryan, "eighteen hundred and nine."

Emmy Lou put it down. She put it down in this way:

18
100
9

Then it was he was astonished, appalled, chagrined; then it