and, after a pause, inquired, "Where's
him wings, Mass' Frank?"

Frank bit his lips to keep from laughing. "I don't mean that this is a
bee that makes honey," he explained, "only it has the same name. Now do
you think you can remember how it is called?" "Bumblebee!" repeated Pomp
triumphantly.

Pomp's error was corrected, and the lesson proceeded.

"What is the next letter?" asked Frank, indicating it with the point of
his knife-blade.

"X," answered the pupil readily.

"No, Pomp," was the dismayed reply. "It is very different from X."

"Dat's him name at school," said Pomp positively.

"No, Pomp, you are mistaken. That is X, away down there."

"Perhaps him change his name," suggested Pomp.

"No. The letters never change their names. I don't think you know your
lesson, Pomp. just listen to me while I tell you the names of some of
the letters, and try to remember them."

When this was done, Pomp was directed to sit down on the cricket, and
study his lesson for twenty Minutes, at the end of which he might again
recite.

Pomp sat down, and for five minutes seemed absorbed in his book. Then,
unfortunately, the cat walked into the room, and soon attracted the
attention of the young student. He sidled from his seat so silently that
Frank did not hear him. He was soon made sensible that Pomp was engaged
in some mischief by hearing a prolonged wail of anguish from the cat.

Looking up, he found that his promising pupil had tied her by the leg to
a chair, and under these circumstances was amusing himself by pinching
her tail.

"What are you doing there, Pomp?" he asked quickly.

Pomp scuttled back to his seat, and appeared to be deeply intent upon
his primer.

"Ain't doin' noffin', Mass' Frank," he answered innocently.

"Then how came the cat tied to that chair?"

"'Spec' she must have tied herself."

"Come, Pomp, you know better than that. You know cats can't tie
themselves. Get up immediately and unfasten her."

Pomp rose with alacrity, and undertook to release puss from the thraldom
of which she had become very impatient. Perhaps she would have been
quite as well off if she had been left to herself. The process of
liberation did not appear to be very agreeable, judging from the angry
mews which proceeded from her. Finally, in her indignation against Pomp
for some aggressive act, she scratched him sharply.

"You wicked old debble!" exclaimed Pomp wrathfully.

He kicked at the cat; but she was lucky