les of farm papers piled about, and racks
of agricultural bulletins. In one corner of the room was a typewriting
machine, and in another a sewing machine. Parts of an old telephone were
scattered about on the teacher's desk. A model of a piggery stood on a
shelf, done in cardboard. Instead of the usual collection of text-books in
the desk, there were hectograph copies of exercises, reading lessons,
arithmetical tables and essays on various matters relating to agriculture,
all of which were accounted for by two or three hand-made hectographs--a
very fair sort of printing plant--lying on a table. The members of the
school board were there, looking on these evidences of innovation with
wonder and more or less disfavor. Things were disorderly. The text-books
recently adopted by the board against some popular protest had evidently
been pitched, neck and crop, out of the school by the man whom Bonner had
termed a dub. It was a sort of contempt for the powers that be.

Colonel Woodruff was in the chair. After the speechifying was over, and
the stereotyped, though rather illogical, appeal had been made for voters
of the one party to cast the straight ticket, and for those of the other
faction to scratch, the colonel rose to adjourn the meeting.

Newton Bronson, safely concealed behind taller people, called out, "Jim
Irwin! speech!"

There was a giggle, a slight sensation, and many voices joined in the call
for the new schoolmaster.

Colonel Woodruff felt the unwisdom of ignoring the demand. Probably he
relied upon Jim's discretion and expected a declination.

Jim arose, seedy and lank, and the voices ceased, save for another
suppressed titter.

"I don't know," said Jim, "whether this call upon me is a joke or not. If
it is, it isn't a practical one, for I can't talk. I don't care much about
parties or politics. I don't know whether I'm a Democrat, a Republican or
a Populist."

This caused a real sensation. The nerve of the fellow! Really, it must in
justice be said, Jim was losing himself in a desire to tell his true
feelings. He forgot all about Jennie and her candidacy--about everything
except his real, true feelings. This proves that he was no politician.

"I don't see much in this county campaign that interests me," he went
on--and Jennie Woodruff reddened, while her seasoned father covered his
mouth with his hand to conceal a smile. "The politicians come out into the
farming districts every campaign and get us hays