naugurated a
delightfully vigorous exercise for which, architecturally, she was not
designed.

There was yet room for hope that some one else would see the breach and
brave the danger. But no. The visitor sat stolidly in the chair of
state, the Principal sat serenely beside him, the children sat each in
his own little place, behind his own little desk, keeping his own little
eyes on his own little book. No. Morris's soul cried with Hamlet's:

"The time is out of joint;--O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!"

Up into the quiet air went his timid hand. Teacher, knowing him in his
more garrulous moods, ignored the threatened interruption of Bertha's
spirited resume, but the windmill action of the little arm attracted the
Honorable Tim's attention.

"The best of boys wants you," he suggested, and Teacher perforce asked:

"Well, Morris, what is it?"

Not until he was on his feet did the Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl
appreciate the enormity of the mission he had undertaken. The other
children began to understand, and watched his struggle for words and
breath with sympathy or derision, as their natures prompted. But there
are no words in which one may politely mention ineffective safety-pins
to one's glass of fashion. Morris's knees trembled queerly, his
breathing grew difficult, and Teacher seemed a very great way off as she
asked again:

"Well, what is it, dear?"

Morris panted a little, smiled weakly, and then sat down. Teacher was
evidently puzzled, the "comp'ny" alert, the Principal uneasy.

"Now, Morris," Teacher remonstrated, "you must tell me what you want."

But Morris had deserted his etiquette and his veracity, and murmured
only:

"Nothings."

"Just wanted to be noticed," said the Honorable Tim. "It is easy to
spoil them." And he watched the best of boys rather closely, for a habit
of interrupting reading lessons, wantonly and without reason, was a
trait in the young of which he disapproved.

When this disapprobation manifested itself in Mr. O'Shea's countenance,
the loyal heart of Morris interpreted it as a new menace to his
sovereign. No later than yesterday she had warned them of the vital
importance of coherence. "Every one knows," she had said, "that only
common little boys and girls come apart. No one ever likes them," and
the big stranger was even now misjudging her.

Again his short arm agitated the quiet air. Again his trembling legs
upheld a trembling boy. Again