walls and in the seats of the big boys and girls. On the platform were
such of the trustees as could muster up the necessary courage--old Peter
MacRae, who had been a dominie in the Old Country, the young minister
and his wife, and the schoolteacher from the "Sixteenth."

First came the wee tots, who, in wide-eyed, serious innocence, went
through their letters and their "ox" and "cat" combinations and
permutations with great gusto and distinction. Then they were dismissed
to their seats by a series of mental arithmetic questions, sums
of varying difficulty being propounded, until little white-haired,
blue-eyed Johnnie Aird, with the single big curl on the top of his head,
was left alone.

"One and one, Johnnie?" said the master, smiling down at the rosy face.

"Three," promptly replied Johnnie, and retired to his seat amid the
delighted applause of visitors and pupils, and followed by the proud,
fond, albeit almost tearful, gaze of his mother. He was her baby, born
long after her other babies had grown up into sturdy youth, and all the
dearer for that.

Then up through the Readers, till the Fifth was reached, the examination
progressed, each class being handed over to the charge of a visitor, who
forthwith went upon examination as truly as did the class.

"Fifth class!" In due order the class marched up to the chalk line on
the floor in front of the master's desk, and stood waiting.

The reading lesson was Fitz-Greene Halleck's "Marco Bozzaris," a
selection of considerable dramatic power, and calling for a somewhat