trying and trying, until few boys in the school could give a fairer
copy.

"Have you heard the news?" said a neighbor to Mr. Croft, the poor
bedridden man. It was five years from the day he gave the poor
cripple, Tom Hicks, his first lesson.

"What news?" the sick man asked, in a feeble voice, not even turning
his head towards the speaker. Life's pulses were running very low.
The long struggle with disease was nearly over.

"Tom Hicks has received the appointment of teacher to our public
school."

"Are you in earnest?" There was a mingling of surprise and doubt in
the low tones that crept out upon the air.

"Yes. It is true what I say. You know that after Mr. Wilson died the
directors got Tom, who was a favorite with all the scholars, to keep
the school together for a few weeks until a successor could be
appointed. He managed so well, kept such good order, and showed
himself so capable as an instructor, that, when the election took
place to-day, he received a large majority of votes over a number of
highly-recommended teachers, and this without his having made
application for the situation, or even dreaming of such a thing."

At this moment the cripple's well-known shuffling tread and the
rattle of crutches was heard on the stairs. He came up with more
than his usual hurry. Croft turned with an effort, so as to get a
sight of him as he entered the room.