"You may put up your books," said the teacher. There was a rustle and
clatter, then a solemn hush. They all sat with their arms folded,
looking expectantly at Squire Bean. The teacher turned to him. Her
cheeks were very red, and she was very dignified, but her voice shook
a little.

"Won't you make some remarks to the pupils?" said she.

Then the Squire rose and cleared his throat. The scholars did not pay
much attention to what he said, although they sat still, with their
eyes riveted on his face. But when, toward the close of his remarks,
he put his hand in his pocket, and a faint jingling was heard, a
thrill ran over the school.

The Squire pulled out two silver sixpences, and held them up
impressively before the children. Through a hole in each of them
dangled a palm-leaf strand; and the Squire's own initial was stamped
on both.

"Thomas Arnold may step this way," said the Squire.

Thomas Arnold had acquitted himself well in geography, and to him the
Squire duly presented one of the sixpences.

Thomas bobbed, and pattered back to his seat with all his mates
staring and grinning at him.

Then Patience Mather's heart jumped--Squire Bean was bidding her step
that way, on account of her going to the head of the arithmetic class.