determining as far as he could to follow that teacher's example. Maddy
counted every fragment as it fell upon the floor, wishing so much that
he would commence, and fancying that it would not be half so bad to
have him approach her with some one of those terrible dental
instruments lying before her, as it was to sit and wait as she was
waiting. Had Guy Remington reflected a little, he would never have
consented to do the doctor's work; but, unaccustomed to country
usages, especially those pertaining to schools and teachers, he did
not consider that it mattered which examined that young girl, himself
or Dr. Holbrook. Viewing it somewhat in the light of a joke, he rather
enjoyed it; and as the Framingham teacher had first asked her pupils
their names and ages, so he, when the pencil was sharpened
sufficiently, startled Madeline by asking her name.

"Madeline Amelia Clyde," was the meek reply, which Guy quickly
recorded.

Now, Guy Remington intended no irreverence; indeed, he could not tell
what he did intend, or what it was which prompted his next query:

"Who gave you this name?"

Perhaps he fancied himself a boy again in the Sunday school, and
standing before the railing of the altar, where, with others of his
age, he had been asked the question propounded to Madeline Clyde, who
did not hear the doctor's smothered laugh as he retreated into the
adjoining room.

In all her preconceived ideas of this examination, she had never
dreamed of being catechised, and with a feeling of terror as she