hen, without replying,
nudged his companion. It was evidently a preconcerted signal of
rebellion, for the boy nudged stopped, and, turning a more intelligent,
but equally dissatisfied, face upon the schoolmistress, began
determinedly:--

"Wot's our excuse for coming an hour late? Well, we ain't got none. WE
don't call it an hour late--WE don't. We call it the right time. We call
it the right time for OUR lessons, for we don't allow to come here to
sing hymns with babbies. We don't want to know 'where, oh where, are the
Hebrew children?' They ain't nothin' to us Americans. And we don't want
any more Daniels in the Lions' Den played off on us. We have enough of
'em in Sunday-school. We ain't hankerin' much for grammar and dictionary
hogwash, and we don't want no Boston parts o' speech rung in on us the
first thing in the mo'nin'. We ain't Boston--we're Pike County--WE are.
We reckon to do our sums, and our figgerin', and our sale and barter,
and our interest tables and weights and measures when the time comes,
and our geograffy when it's on, and our readin' and writin' and the
American Constitution in reg'lar hours, and then we calkilate to git
up and git afore the po'try and the Boston airs and graces come round.
That's our rights and what our fathers pay school taxes for, and we want
'em."

He stopped, looking less towards the schoolmistress than to his
companions, for whom perhaps, after the schoolboy fashion, this attitude
was taken. Mrs. Martin sat, quite white and self-contained, with her
eyes fixed on the frayed rim of the rebel's straw hat which he still
kept on his head. Then she said quietly:--

"Take off your hat, sir."

The boy did not move.

"He can't," said a voice cheerfully.

It was the new assistant. The whole school faced rapidly towards him.
The rebel leader and his followers, who had not noticed him before,
stared at the interrupter, who did not, however, seem to exhibit any of
the authority of office, but rather the comment and criticism of one of
themselves. "Wot you mean?" asked the boy indignantly.

"I mean you can't take off your hat because you've got some things
stowed away in it you don't want seen," said Twing, with an immovable
face.

"Wot things?" exclaimed the boy angrily. Then suddenly recollecting
himself, he added, "Go along! You can't fool me! Think you'll make me
take off my hat--don't you?"

"Well," said Twing, advancing to the side of the rebel, "look here
then!" With a