wn boys, and prefer them."

Then up came the schoolmaster.

"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, sir. I've put out
the books; if you want anything else, sir, p'raps you'll mention it.
When they have done reading, perhaps, sir, you will kindly draft them
off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you don't
object, sir."

Mr. Lindsay did not object.

"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their letters?
All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've no doubt we
shall get on together."

"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his friend's
ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to school,
and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. Some of
them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of them
confound _b_ and _d_ when they meet with them. They are at one point of
general information; namely, they all know what you have just told them,
and will none of them know it by next time. _I_ call it the rag-tag and
bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. They won't
blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one standard of
reading."

Mr. Lindsay laughed and said,--

"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction.
Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the
Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening commenced.

Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the new
teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did "get on
together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone that night,
and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson.

"It was so clear" and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one
great secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer
that he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves
when there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting.
Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master
Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one too.

The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, standing
(without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict and yet so
entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly kind, that
Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent children)
appreciated good teaching, had had no