his duty! No bell-ringer in Philadelphia could have been more
enthusiastic, and no cow astray seeking after home ever wagged her bell so
continuously. It was afterward found out that every boy behind the curtain
had a chance to swing that bell, a fact accounting for the popularity of
the piece and for the tumultuous applause following it. The applause came
from brother-performers, but was none the less gratifying to the speaker.

The final piece was by Wort, "The Last Rose of Summer." If given, no one
can say how successful it might have been, but while the subject implied a
compliment to Wort and those preceding him, the adjective "last" was
ominous. There were several boys struggling to look through the curtain,
one through the old rent Wort had used, and the others through new rents
that they had ingeniously made with their fingers. But what curtain could
hold up against the continued pressure of three stout boys? There was
nothing that such a curtain could do but come down; and this it did, the
three boys sprawling at the base of the stem of the Last Rose of
Summer--in other words, at Wort's feet! Wort, in turn, was ignominiously
night-capped by the sheet, for it completely covered him. The butter-tubs
now gave way to their sense of the ludicrous, and clapped and laughed
merrily. This did not please the four boys in or on the floor, who angrily
rubbed their shins. Sid declared that it was too bad to act as
disgracefully. All this was poor preparation for the serious duties of
school-keeping, to which the president now directed his attention. With
how much pomp and dignity he took up the duties of school-teacher,
confronting a row of uneasy boys occupying seats on a green blind, each
one wearing his cap!

"Hats off!" shouted Sid.

"Where are my books?" asked Charlie.