them in earnest, but he spent
half his time in inventing fly-traps, making whirligigs, or drawing
pictures on his slate. He could draw admirably, for he had a quick eye
and natural ability. Philip could get his lessons also if he chose to
apply himself, but it was a great deal easier to get some one to work
out the problems in arithmetic than to do them himself.

"Here, Paul, just do this question for me; that is a good fellow."

It was at recess.

"No; Cipher has forbid it. Each one has got to do his own," said Paul.

"If you will do it, I will give you a handful of raisins," said Philip,
who usually had his pockets full of raisins, candy, or nuts.

"It wouldn't be right."

"Come, just do that one; Cipher never will know it."

"No!" Paul said it resolutely.

"You are a mean, sneaking fellow," said Philip with a sneer, turning up
his nose.

Philip was a year older than Paul. He had sandy hair, white eyelashes,
and a freckled face. He carried a watch, and always had money in his
pocket. Paul, on the other hand, hardly ever had a cent which he could
call his own. His clothes were worn till they were almost past mending.

"Rag-tag has got a hole in his trousers," said Philip to the other boys.

Paul's face flushed. He wanted to knock Philip's teeth down his throat.
He knew that his mother had hard work to clothe him, and felt the
insult. He went into the school-house, choked his anger down, and tried
to forget all about it by drawing a picture of the master. It was an
excellent likeness,--his spindle legs, great feet, short pants, loose
coat, sunken eyes, hooked nose, thin face, and long bony fingers.

Philip sat behind Paul. Instead of studying his lesson, he was planning
how to get Paul into trouble. He saw the picture. Now was his time. He
giggled aloud. Mr. Cipher looked up in astonishment.

"What are you laughing at, Master Funk?"

"At what Paul is doing."

Paul hustled his slate into his desk.

"Let me see what you have here," said Cipher, walking up to Paul, who
spat in his fingers, and ran his hand into the desk, to rub out the
drawing; but he felt that it would be better to meet his punishment
boldly than to have the school think that he was a sneak. He laid the
slate before the master without a line effaced.

"Giving your attention to drawing, are you, Master Paul?" His eyes
flashed. He knit his brows. The blood rushed to his cheeks. There was a
popping up of heads all over the school-room to