to be, and some people's less,"
replied the Squire.

"Well,--does _he_ set up for to be classical in school? What does he
teach 'em?"

"I reckon he sets up for 'most everything he ever heard spoke of, Mr.
Simlins. Teach 'em? why he teaches 'em out of all sorts o' superflus
books!"

"Does!" said Mr. Simlins with a surprised look. "Our boys don't want
none o' your superficies. They've got their bread to make. Give us an
invoice o' them books, Squire."

"Just you look at 'em for yourself, Mr. Simlins--then you'll know. Step
down there some day in school time and look over the boys. Now I can
understand figurs with any man, but _what's_ the use o' crosses and
straight lines and Vs turned wrong side up?"

Mr. Simlins pushed back his chair and rubbed his chin.

"Well Squire--you and me are trustees--what in your judgment and
opinion had we ought to do, in these precedents?"

"Get rid on him--_I_ say," replied the Squire promptly. "Then here he
is, leadin' all the girls round town, and for all any one of 'em knows
he's a married man."

"Humph I think so?--What do the folks say of him?" said Mr. Simlins.
"There's Mrs. Derrick--what does _she_ say of him--he's in her house,
she ought to have an idee. And Faith--now I'd take that gal's judgment
on a most anything--What do _they_ think about him, Squire?"

"Never asked 'em a word," said the Squire stoutly--"nor heard 'em say
one, neither. But he gets fur'n letters all the time, Widow Stamp
says--and female writin' too. Who knows but he's got a wife in some
fur'n country?--or two"--added the Squire, without specifying where the
plural belonged. "I'm a justice of peace, Mr. Simlins, and this
shouldn't be let go on."

Mr. Simlins looked up from under his brows with a queer look at his
host.

"If he has _two_, he must want the school--bad!"--said he. "Well
Squire, I'll go along and see what can be done. If I was you, mean
time, I'd not say much to no one. There's Judge Harrison, you know;--we
can't act without him. Good night t'ye! Squire, I guess he haint
_two?_--Anyhow, I wouldn't let fly no warrants till I saw my bird
sitting somewhere. It's bad to have 'em hit in a wrong place."

And it was well it was darkish and nobody to look at him; for Mr.
Simlins went grinning pretty much all the way between Squire Deacon's
house and the house of Mrs. Derrick, where Mr. Linden was entertaining
his shadow in the moonlit porch.

"Good even to you!" growled Mr. Simlins as he