Mr. Barclay spent a part of Saturday in packing his trunk, preparatory to leaving Portville on Monday. Walter, having no schoolbooks of his own at hand, purchased those of his predecessor at a fair valuation, and arranged to move into his room and receive board on the same terms. Saturday, as in some of the Eastern States, was a half-holiday. As it would be his last day in school, Mr. Barclay, after the school had come to order, took occasion to make the following remarks:

“My friends and scholars: It may be a surprise to some of you when I say that this day terminates my connection with you as teacher. I found some time since that the climate of Wisconsin was unfavorable to my health. Still I didn’t like to leave you until some one should be secured who could take my place at once, so that you need not lose by the change. I am happy to say that my successor has been found. Mr. Howard, who is now present, will take my place on Monday. He is thoroughly qualified for the position, and if you co-operate with him in his efforts for your advantage, I am sure that you will have no reason to regret the change of teachers. For myself, I cannot leave you without great sorrow, since I may never meet any of you again. I thank you for your unvarying good conduct during the terms thus far, and hope that things may continue as pleasantly after I leave you.”

While Mr. Barclay was speaking, many curious glances were cast in the direction of the new teacher. Walter felt a little embarrassed, and flushed as he met the united gaze. He felt that he had undertaken a “big job,” but his courage rose with the occasion, and he determined to spare no effort to succeed.

“Won’t you say a few words to the scholars, Mr. Howard?” said Barclay, in a low voice.

“Is it necessary?” returned Walter, who had not prepared himself for a speech.

“I think it will be expected.”

Whereupon Walter rose, and, after the first slight embarrassment, spoke as follows: “As Mr. Barclay has told you, I have agreed to take his place as your teacher on Monday. I did not come to Portville with the intention of teaching, but, finding that your teacher wished to be relieved, I have consented to try to fill his place. I shall do my best to advance you in your studies, and hope to treat you all fairly and justly. It is so short a time since I was a student myself that I think I know what you expect in a teacher. I hope we shall be mutually pleased with each other.”

This speech produced a favorable impression upon the scholars--that is, upon most of them. There were a few who were disposed to regard Walter with contempt, as a boy who would be quite incompetent to manage them. Among these was John Wall, who surveyed the new teacher with a supercilious air. Walter noticed this, but it did not trouble him much. If no one chose to trouble him except John, he knew he could get along.

When school was over, Mr. Barclay said: “If the scholars will remain a few minutes, I shall be glad to introduce them individually to Mr. Howard.”

Walter rose, and one by one the scholars came up. John Wall did not come up; but then he had already made acquaintance with Walter, so that it did not seem necessary. Still, had he been friendly, he would have advanced with the rest instead of standing aloof, eyeing the scene askance.

The greeting between Walter and the scholars was generally formal enough. He had to say very much the same thing to each, and it would have become monotonous if he had not closely scrutinized each face, partly that he might associate it with the name, partly to form some little idea of the character of the boy or girl, and judge whether he or she was likely to prove agreeable and friendly or otherwise. There were two faces which he particularly noticed. One attracted him. It was a boy with dark hair, and a thoughtful, intelligent expression, whom Mr. Barclay had already spoken of to him as the best scholar in school. His name was Alfred Clinton. He was apparently fourteen. He was a beginner in Latin, but, as far as he had gone, was a far more thorough scholar than John Wall. As Walter’s hand touched his, each felt instinctively that he had found a friend, though only the usual formal words passed between them.

The other scholar whom Walter noticed was of very different personal appearance. His hair was red, his face freckled, and his expression stolid; but there was something that indicated an unusual degree of stubbornness. He was sixteen, and, though about Walter’s height, was more heavily molded, and looked stronger. There was a peculiar smile on his face as he took Walter’s offered hand, and muttered something in return to the young teacher’s greeting. Walter felt that the smile boded mischief, and inwardly determined to look out for Peter Groot, for this was his name.

Walter was right in distrusting Peter. His idea of a teacher was, that he must be big enough to “lick” any of the boys; otherwise he had no right to expect obedience. Now, on examining Walter, he decided that he, Peter, could “lick him easy,” as he expressed it in conversation with the other boys. As to obeying a little chap like the master, he made up his mind that he would do it only so far as it suited him.

“I guess he won’t dare to tackle me,” he said, stretching out a stout arm with an air of satisfaction. Of course this was said outside of the school and not within hearing of either of the teachers.

“I hope, Peter, you are not going to make trouble,” said Alfred Clinton, to whom, with others, this was addressed.

“What makes you wish that?” demanded Peter. “The master ain’t nothin’ to you.”

“He is going to teach me,” said Alfred, “and I want to profit by his instructions.”

“He ain’t fit to teach,” said Peter Groot, contemptuously.

“Why isn’t he?”

“I could lick him with one hand.”

“I don’t know about that. But even if you could, that doesn’t prove that he can’t teach, does it?”

“He isn’t big enough to keep order.”

“Are you going to be disorderly?”

“I guess I won’t trouble him, if he don’t trouble me,” said Peter.

“What do you mean?”

“If he don’t interfere with me, I won’t interfere with him. I ain’t goin’ to be ordered round by a feller I can lick.”

“He won’t ask anything unreasonable of you,” said Alfred.

“He’d better not,” said Peter Groot, significantly.

“Of course, he will expect us to obey him as the teacher.”

“You kin obey him if you want to; I’m goin’ to do as I please.”

“Why haven’t you done that with Mr. Barclay, Peter?”

“Because he’s stronger than I am.”

It will be seen from this conversation that Peter’s ideas as to the relation between teacher and scholar were very rudimentary. The “master,” to him, was the embodiment of sufficient physical force to keep in due subjection the unruly elements under him, and it was perfectly legitimate for a scholar to refuse obedience unless the one who required it was able to enforce the demand.

There was still another scholar who attracted the notice of Walter. This was a young man of twenty, who stood six feet in his stockings. He towered above Walter by several inches, and our hero was tempted to laugh when he reflected that he was about to assume the position of teacher to one so far his superior in age and size. However, he felt reassured by the expression of Phineas Morton, which, though heavy, was friendly and good-natured. He might not be a very active friend, but it did not seem likely that he would do anything to annoy the teacher.

“Well, Mr. Howard,” said Barclay, as they were walking home, “what are your first impressions of the scholars?”

“Rather confused,” said Walter, laughing. “I have got the names and faces of all mixed up together, and can hardly tell one from the other.”

“That was my first experience; but I soon learned to distinguish them.”

“There was one I particularly liked.”

“I can guess who you mean--Alfred Clinton.”

“Yes; he seemed to me very intelligent and attractive.”

“You will find him both. He has more talent than any other scholar.”

“How old is he?”

“Fourteen. His mother is a widow, and I suspect she has a hard time to get along. You noticed that Alfred was poorly dressed?”

“No, I did not notice that. I only looked at his face.”

“He does errands out of school and whatever work he can find, in order to assist his mother. I wish he might have a college education. It was at my suggestion that he commenced Latin, and he does better in it than any of his class. I am sure you will enjoy teaching him.”

“Do you think I shall enjoy Peter Groot?” asked Walter, with a smile.

“I don’t think you will. He is neither a model scholar nor a model boy. To tell the truth, I am more afraid he will give you trouble than any other boy.”

“Did he trouble you?”

“He was impudent to me the second day, and I knocked him over. After that, he gave me much less trouble.”

“So he needs to be conquered into good behavior?” said Walter.

“It’s about so.” And Barclay looked at our hero with a natural doubt whether he would be able to cope with the troublesome scholar.

“Does Peter know anything about boxing?” asked Walter, who understood what was brewing in the mind of his companion.

“Nothing at all. Do you?”

“I have a fair knowledge of it. Peter may be a little stronger, but if worst comes to worst, I think I am a match for him.”

“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Howard, for I suspect he will give you a chance to display your science upon him.”

“I wouldn’t undertake to encounter the big fellow--what is his name?”

“Phineas Morton. He won’t require it. If he finds you are a good teacher, he will stand by you.”

“Then I am not afraid. John Wall probably isn’t very friendly, but I am not afraid of him.”

“You needn’t fear open violence from him. If he works against you, it will be in an underhand way.”

“At any rate, the die is cast; I have agreed to take the school, and I shall do what I can to succeed.

Barclay laughed.

“If you undertake it in that spirit,” he said, “I think you will succeed. At any rate you have my best wishes.”