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“I must remind you,” she said, with a slight nervous asperity, “that this outrageous conduct of Tom Hardee was evidently deliberated and prepared by the others, and cannot end in this way.”

He looked at her with a face so exasperatingly expressionless that she could have slapped it as if it had belonged to one of the older scholars, and said,–“But it HAS ended. It’s a dead frost.”

“I don’t know what you mean; and I must remind you also that in this school we neither teach nor learn slang.”

His immobile face changed for an instant to a look of such decided admiration that she felt her color rise; but he wiped his expression away with his hand as if it had been some artificial make-up, and said awkwardly, but earnestly:–

“Excuse me–won’t you? But, look here, Mrs. Martin, I found out early this morning, when I was squaring myself with the other children, that there was this row hangin’ on–in fact, that there was a sort of idea that Pike County wasn’t having a fair show–excuse me–in the running of the school, and that Peaseley and Barstow were a little too much on in every scene. In fact, you see, it was just what Tom said.”

“This is insufferable,” said Mrs. Martin, her eyes growing darker as her cheeks grew red. “They shall go home to their parents, and tell them from me”–

“That they’re all mistaken–excuse me–but that’s just what THEY’RE GOIN’ TO DO. I tell you, Mrs. Martin, their little game’s busted–I beg pardon–but it’s all over. You’ll have no more trouble with them.”

“And you think that just because you found Tom had something in his hat, and exposed him?” said Mrs. Martin scornfully.

“Tom HADN’T anything in his hat,” said Twing, wiping his mouth slowly.

“Nothing?” repeated Mrs. Martin.

“No.”

“But I SAW you take the things out.”

“That was only a TRICK! He had nothing except what I had up my sleeve, and forced on him. He knew it, and that frightened him, and made him look like a fool, and so bursted up his conspiracy. There’s nothin’ boys are more afraid of than ridicule, or the man or boy that make ’em ridiculous.”

“I won’t ask you if you call this FAIR to the boy, Mr. Twing?” said Mrs. Martin hotly; “but is this your idea of discipline?”

“I call it fair, because Tom knew it was some kind of a trick, and wasn’t deceived. I call it discipline if it made him do what was right afterwards, and makes him afraid or unwilling to do anything to offend me or you again. He likes me none the worse for giving him a chance of being laughed out of a thing instead of being DRIVEN out of it. And,” he added, with awkward earnestness, “if you’ll just leave all this to ME, and only consider me here to take this sort of work which ain’t a lady’s–off your hands, we’ll just strike our own line between the Peaseleys and Pike County–and run this school in spite of both.”

A little mollified, a good deal puzzled, and perhaps more influenced by the man’s manner than she had imagined, Mrs. Martin said nothing, but let the day pass without dismissing the offenders. And on returning home that evening she was considerably surprised to receive her landlady’s extravagant congratulations on the advent of her new assistant. “And they do say, Mrs. Martin,” continued that lady enthusiastically, “that your just setting your foot down square on that Peaseley and that Barstow, BOTH OF ‘EM–and choosing your own assistant yourself–a plain young fellow with no frills and fancies, but one that you could set about making all the changes you like, was just the biggest thing you ever did for Pine Clearing.”

“And–they–consider him quite–competent?” said Mrs. Martin, with timid color and hesitating audacity.

“Competent! You ask my Johnny.”

Nevertheless, Mrs. Martin was somewhat formally early at the schoolhouse the next morning. “Perhaps,” she said, with an odd mixture of dignity and timidity, “we’d better, before school commences, go over the lessons for the day.”