regular lesson hours--nine to twelve and four to five. A neat piece
of white paper was fastened to the wall with "Monday: Geography 9-
10, Arithmetic 10-11," and so on. A careful graduation of
punishments was instituted, copies to he written so many times,
standing on a chair, three strokes on the hand with a ruler, and,
worst of all, standing in the corner wearing a paper Dunce's cap.
(This last she had read of in books.) At first Jeremy had every
intention of behaving well, in spite of that unfortunate embrace. He
was proud of his advance in life; he was no longer a baby; the
nursery was now a schoolroom; he stayed up an hour later at night;
he was to be allowed twopence a week pocket-money; his whole social
status had risen. He began to read for pleasure, and discovered that
it was easier than he had expected, so that he passed quite quickly
through "Lottie's Visit to Grandmama" into "Stumps" and out again in
"Jackanapes." He heard some elder say that the road to a large
fortune lay through "Sums," and, although this seemed to him an
extremely mysterious statement, he determined to give the theory a
chance. In fact, he sat down the first day at the schoolroom table,
Mary and Helen on each side of him, and Miss Jones facing them, with
fine resolves and high ambitions. Before him lay a pure white page,
and at the head of this the noble words in a running hand: "Slow and
steady wins the race." He grasped his pencil, and Miss Jones, eager
to lose no time in asserting her authority, cried: "But that's not
the way to hold your pencil, Jeremy, your thumb so, your finger so."
He scowled and found that lifting his thumb over the pencil was as
difficult as lifting Hamlet over a gate. He made a bold attempt, but
the pencil refused to move.

"Can't hold it that way," he said.