nk I am," agreed Bobby. "I haven't missed one so far. Every
answer I've worked out has been right."

He repeated this assertion at the supper table that night, and Father
Blossom shook his head.

"Don't be too sure of that nine," he said warningly. "The work is
going to get harder the further you go, you know. Trying for a nine is
all right, but I don't like to hear you speak as though you didn't
have to make any effort to reach it."

The next morning in school Miss Mason had something interesting to
show her first grade pupils. It was a very beautifully illustrated
book of verses for children. The poems were written by famous poets,
and each poet had signed his name to his own verse. The pictures were
in colors and had been painted by well-known artists, who had signed
their work with a pen after the pictures had been printed. So it was
really a picture book, a poem book, and an autograph album all in
one.

"There are only three like it in the world," explained Miss Mason.
"They were raffled off at a fair for a children's hospital, and a
friend of mine, one of the artists, won a copy. She sent it to me."

Miss Mason said the second grade might examine the book at recess or
at noon, because they had been busy with their writing lesson while
she was showing it to the younger children. Then, while the first
grade was set to work to make a page of "S's," Miss Mason called the
second grade to order for their arithmetic lesson.

"You will not need pencils and paper this morning," she announced. "We
are going to have a little mental arithmetic."

Charlie Black groaned.

"That will do," said the teacher sharply. "Tim Roon, are you chewing
gum again? Come and put it in the waste basket."

Tim gulped hastily.

"I've swallowed it," he declared.

Miss Mason frowned.

"I hope that some day you will do as I tell you," she said impatiently.
"Now ready. Robert Blossom, if I go down to Mr. Dryburg's shop and
buy two yards of percale at sixteen cents a yard, how much must I pay?"

Bobby hastily counted on his fingers.

"Thirty-two cents," he answered.

"Stand up straight," commanded Miss Mason. "And if I buy three yards
of braid at ten cents a yard, how much will that be?"

Meg looked up from her writing lesson to watch Bobby's hands, though
she knew that if Miss Mason saw her she would be scolded severely. He
held them behind him and his fingers fairly galloped as he used them
for an adding machine.

"Thirty cent