e young school-master. The other thought that kept his pluck
alive was the recollection of Bull. He approached a word as Bull
approached the raccoon. He did not take hold until he was sure of his
game. When he took hold, it was with a quiet assurance of success. As
Ralph spelled in this dogged way for half an hour the hardest words the
Squire could find, the excitement steadily rose in all parts of the
house, and Ralph's friends even ventured to whisper that "maybe Jim had
cotched his match, after all!"

But Phillips never doubted of his success.

"Theodolite," said the Squire.

"T-h-e, the o-d, od, theod, o, theodo, l-y-t-e, theodolite," spelled the
champion.

"Next," said the Squire, nearly losing his teeth In his excitement.
Ralph spelled the word slowly and correctly, and the conquered champion
sat down In confusion. The excitement was so great for some minutes that
the spelling was suspended. Everybody In the house had shown sympathy
with one or the other of the combatants, except the silent shadow in the
corner. It had not moved during the contest, and did not show any
interest now in the result.

"Gewhilliky crickets! Thunder and lightning! Licked him all to smash!"
said Bud, rubbing his hands on his knees, "That beats my time all
holler!"

And Betsey Short giggled until her tuck-comb fell out, though she was on
the defeated side.

Shocky got up and danced with pleasure.

But one suffocating look from the aqueous eyes of Mirandy destroyed the
last spark of Ralph's pleasure in his triumph, and sent that awful
below-zero feeling all through him.

"He's powerful smart, is the master," said old Jack to Mr. Pete Jones.
"He'll beat the whole kit and tuck of 'em afore he's through. I know'd
he was smart. That's the reason I tuck him," proceeded Mr. Means.

"Yaas, but he don't lick enough. Not nigh," answered Pete Jones. "No
lickin', no larnin', says I."

It was now not so hard. The other spellers on the opposite side went
down quickly under the hard words which the Squire gave out. The master
had mowed down all but a few, his opponents had given up the battle, and
all had lost their keen interest in a contest to which there could be
but one conclusion, for there were only the poor spellers left. But
Ralph Hartsook ran against a stump where he was least expecting it. It
was the Squire's custom, when one of the smaller scholars or poorer
spellers rose to spell against the master, to give out eight or ten
ea