n windows with their outlook upon the blue sky and
the green trees and variegated shrubs. He was pleased with his shining
mahogany desk, with neat little compartments for slate, books, pen,
pencils, ink, etc. He was in love with his new book with its gayly
colored maps and pictures and the wonders revealed to him in its
lessons. He soon left off reveling in the sights and sounds of the
cheerful schoolroom to devote himself to his book. To him study was not
a task, it was an all-absorbing rapture. His thirsty intellect drank up
the knowledge in that book as eagerly as ever parched lips quaffed cold
water. He soon mastered the first easy lesson, and would have gone up
immediately for recitation, only that Mr. Green was engaged with a
class. But Ishmael could not stop; he went on to the second lesson and
then to the third, and had committed the three to memory before Mr.
Green was disengaged. Then he went up to recite. At the end of the first
lesson Mr. Green praised his accuracy and began to mark the second.

"If you please, sir, I have got that into my head, and also the third
one," said Ishmael, interrupting him.

"What! do you mean to say that you have committed three of these lessons
to memory?" inquired the surprised tutor.

"Yes, sir, while I was waiting for you to be at leisure."

"Extraordinary! Well, I will see if you can recite them," said Mr.
Green, opening the book.

Ishmael was perfect in his recitation.

All schoolmasters delight in quick and intelligent pupils; but Mr. Green
especially did so; for he had a true vocation for his profession. He
smiled radiantly upon Ishmael as he asked:

"Do you think, now, you can take three of these ordinary lessons for one
every day?"

"Oh, yes, sir; if it would not be too much trouble for you to hear me,"
answered our boy.

"It will be a real pleasure; I shall feel an interest in seeing how fast
a bright and willing lad like yourself can get on. Now, then, put away
your geography, and bring me the Universal History that you will find in
your desk."

In joy, Ishmael went back to his seat, lifted the lid of his desk, and
found in the inside a row of books, a large slate, a copy-book, pens,
ink, and pencils, all neatly arranged.

"Am I to use these?" he inquired of Walter Middleton.

"Oh, yes; they are all yours; my mother put them all in there for you
this morning. You will find your name written on every one of them,"
replied the youth.

What treasures Ish