It happened in this way.

"Boys," said the president one day, "let's play school. I'll be teacher.
No; let's have a public declamation--pieces, you know, and so on. Then we
can charge something and perhaps get a little money--nails, I mean."

The real cash was scarce, and nails became a necessity.

"And not play school?" asked the literary governor. "A school is real
interestin', you know."

"Yes, we might play that afterward as a sort of rest."

"Agreed," was the general sentiment. The old sheet that had done service
so many times was once more brought out and strung across one corner of
the barn chamber. An audience of three was secured, the governor's
youngest brother, Pip's little sister, and Sid Waters's young cousin from
the country. The members of the club gathered behind the sheet for action,
but the auditors, all of them plump children, were ranged in a row upon a
window-blind supported by blocks of wood. The first piece was a song by
Sid. He strutted out pompously and began, "How beau--" He stopped. He had
forgotten his bow. Executing this, he started once more, "How beautiful
the cow--"

He was halting again.

"How beautiful the cow--"

He hesitated once more.