"Eight times seven are fifty-six," said she convulsively.

[Illustration: "SIX"--SHE BEGAN FEEBLY.]

"Right," said the teacher with a relieved look. The hands went down.
Patience stood with her neat little shoes toeing out on the crack. It
was over. She had not failed before Squire Bean. For a few minutes,
she could think of nothing but that.

The rest of the class had their weak points, moreover their strong
points, overlooked in the presence of the company. The first thing
Patience knew, ever so many had missed in the nine-table, and she had
gone up to the head.

Standing there, all at once a terrible misgiving seized her. "I
wouldn't have gone to the head if I hadn't been told," she thought
to herself. Martha was next below her; she knew that question in the
nines, her hand had been up, so had John Allen's and Phoebe Adams'.

This was the last class before recess. Patience went soberly out in
the yard with the other girls. There was a little restraint over all
the scholars. They looked with awe at the Squire's horse and chaise.
The horse was tied after a novel fashion, an invention of the Squire's
own. He had driven a gimlet into the schoolhouse wall, and tied his
horse to it with a stout rope. Whenever the Squire drove he carried
with him his gimlet, in case there should be no hitching-post.
Occasionally house-owners rebelled, but it made no difference; the
next time the Squire had occasion to stop at their premises there was
another gimlet-hole in the wall. Few people could make their way good
against Squire Bean's.