appointed Oscar a new seat, and told him he hoped he
would study so diligently as to make up for lost time.

The hopes of Oscar's teacher and parents were doomed to disappointment.
It was soon evident that he cared less about his lessons than ever. He
was behind his class, and instead of redoubling his efforts to get up
with them, he became discouraged and indifferent. His recitations were
seldom perfect, and often they were utter failures. His teachers
coaxed, and encouraged, and ridiculed, and frowned, and punished, all
in vain. One day, after Oscar had blundered worse than usual, the
teacher who was hearing the recitation said to him, in a despairing
tone:

"You remind me, Oscar, of what one of the old Roman emperors said to an
archer who shot his arrows a whole day, and never once hit the mark.
He told him he had a most wonderful talent for missing. So I must say
of you--you 've got the greatest talent for missing of any boy I know."

Seeing a smile on the faces of Oscar's classmates, he added:

"But this is too sober a matter to make light of. If you could not get
your lessons, it would be a different matter; but I know, and you know,
that this is not the trouble. You are quick enough to learn and to
understand, when you have a mind to be. If you would only try to get
your lessons as hard as the other boys do, you would n't be at the foot
of the class a great while. If you keep on in this way, you will see
your folly as plainly as I see it now, before you are many years older."

This admonition had little effect upon Oscar. When school was
dismissed, a few minutes after, he rushed out with as light a step as
any of his comrades, and his gay laugh was heard as soon as he reached
the entry. In the general scramble for caps, one had fallen from its
peg, and instead of replacing it, two or three of the boys were making
a football of it. Oscar joined the sport, and gave the cap a kick that
sent it part of the way down stairs. A moment after, he met Willie
Davenport returning with it.

"Halloo, Whistler, that is n't your cap, is it?" inquired Oscar.

"No, but it's _somebody's_," said the good-hearted boy, as he brushed
off the dust, and put the lining back into its place. He was about
hanging it up, when Benny Wright appeared, and claimed it as his
property.

Had Oscar known that the cap was Benny's, he would not have made a
foot-ball of it. He remembered the kind epistle he received, when
sick,