ot even glanced at it.

"I think," Miss Spence said, "I will ask several of you to read your
letters aloud before you hand them in. Clara Raypole, you may read
yours."

Penrod was bored but otherwise comfortable; he had no apprehension
that he might be included in the "several," especially as Miss Spence's
beginning with Clara Raypole, a star performer, indicated that her
selection of readers would be made from the conscientious and proficient
division at the head of the class. He listened stoically to the
beginning of the first letter, though he was conscious of a dull
resentment, inspired mainly by the perfect complacency of Miss Raypole's
voice.

"'Dear Cousin Sadie,'" she began smoothly, "'I thought I would write
you to-day on some subject of general interest, and so I thought I
would tell you about the subject of our court-house. It is a very fine
building situated in the centre of the city, and a visit to the building
after school hours well repays for the visit. Upon entrance we find upon
our left the office of the county clerk and upon our right a number of
windows affording a view of the street. And so we proceed, finding on
both sides much of general interest. The building was begun in 1886
A.D. and it was through in 1887 A.D. It is four stories high and made
of stone, pressed brick, wood, and tiles, with a tower, or cupola, one
hundred and twenty-seven feet seven inches from the ground. Among other
subjects of general interest told by the janitor, we learn that the
architect of the building was a man named Flanner, and the foundations
extend fifteen feet five inches under the ground.'"

Penrod was unable to fix his attention upon these statistics; he began
moodily to twist a button of his jacket and to concentrate a new-born
and obscure but lasting hatred upon the court-house. Miss Raypole's glib
voice continued to press upon his ears; but, by keeping his eyes fixed
upon the twisting button he had accomplished a kind of self-hypnosis, or
mental anaesthesia, and was but dimly aware of what went on about him.

The court-house was finally exhausted by its visitor, who resumed her
seat and submitted with beamish grace to praise. Then Miss Spence said,
in a favourable manner:

"Georgie Bassett, you may read your letter next."

The neat Georgie rose, nothing loath, and began: "'Dear Teacher--'"

There was a slight titter, which Miss Spence suppressed. Georgie was not
at all discomfited.

"'My mother says