When he had taken the names of all the scholars Walter said: “We shall not be able to enter upon our studies regularly till to-morrow. We will occupy the rest of the forenoon by such tasks as do not require preparation. First of all I will hear you read. Mr. Morton, will you commence?”

Phineas Morton rose, and, opening his book, began to read. He read respectably till he came to the word “misled,” which he pronounced as if it were mizzled. Instantly there was a shout of laughter from the other scholars, Peter’s being louder than the rest, though but for the general laughter he would not have known that a mistake had been made.

Phineas looked abashed and mortified.

“Have I made a mistake?” he said, inquiringly.

“Yes,” said Walter, who preserved his own gravity. “The word should be pronounced mis-led. It is the participle of the verb mislead.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“The mistake you made is not an uncommon one,” said Walter; “I remember making it once myself.”

The mortification of Phineas Morton was removed by this frank confession of his teacher. Peter tried to get up a laugh at Walter’s expense, but failed ignominiously.

“I take it for granted,” continued our hero, “that those who have laughed just now will not object to be laughed at when they come to make mistakes.”

Phineas went on, and finished his reading without further mistakes. At length it came to the turn of Peter Groot. As we have already said, he was by no means remarkable in scholarship, and particularly read in a stumbling, hesitating manner, which made it very improbable that he would ever win reputation as a public reader. It so happened that in the passage he was reading occurred the geographical name, Straits of the Dardanelles. Now, this was a common term, and Peter ought not to have made any mistake in reading it. But he read it “Straits of the Darning Needles,” which was so ludicrous that Walter had hard work not to join in the general chorus of laughter.

Peter looked up, scowling, for, though he was ready enough to laugh at others, he did not enjoy being laughed at.

“You should say Straits of the Dardanelles, Peter,” said Walter.

“That’s what I said,” growled Peter, with a cloudy brow, looking around him with displeasure.

“We all understood you ‘darning needles.’ You may go on.”

Peter continued sullenly, and sat down at the end. He saw that he had made a blunder quite as bad as Phineas, and it took away the satisfaction he expected to have in reminding his fellow pupil of his. He didn’t like Phineas Morton, mainly because, on account of his superior size, he was unable to bully him. Besides, Phineas had more than once interfered to protect younger boys from the despotism of Peter, and the latter had been compelled to respect the remonstrances of the oldest pupil.

When the reading was concluded, Walter rang the bell for recess. Nearly all the scholars went out. Phineas Morton came up to the teacher’s desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” he said, “for your kindness about my mistake. Some teachers would have laughed at me.”

“I suppose it is natural to laugh at our mistakes,” returned Walter. “I was laughed at when I made the same one. But I know, from my own feelings, that it is not agreeable, and I don’t laugh unless I can’t help it. Peter’s mistake was more amusing than yours. Though he was ready to laugh at you, I observed that he didn’t enjoy being laughed at himself.”

“Peter is a bad boy. I am afraid you will have trouble with him, Mr. Howard.”

“So Mr. Barclay told me. I expect it, but I do not fear it. If Peter behaves well, I shall treat him well. If he undertakes to make trouble, I shall be ready for him.”

There was a firmness in Walter’s tone, and a determination in his manner, which tended to reassure Phineas; still, as he looked at Walter’s youthful form and thought of Peter’s strength, he was not entirely without apprehension.

“I am ready to stand by you, Mr. Howard,” he said, in a low tone. “If you need any help, I will be on hand.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morton,” said Walter, gratefully, for he knew how to value such assistance as the stalwart oldest pupil could render. “If there is need of it, I will certainly accept your offer. But if there should be any difficulty between Peter and myself, I think I can hold my own without assistance.”

“Peter is strong,” suggested Phineas, doubtfully.

“I should judge so, from his appearance, but strength is not all. Can he box?”

“No; he knows nothing of it.”

“I do,” said Walter, significantly. “If there shall be need of it, I mean to let him feel what I know about boxing.”

Phineas smiled. “I am glad to hear that, Mr. Howard,” he said. “Peter will be troublesome till you best him in a fair fight. After that, all will go right.”

Meanwhile Peter and John were standing together at one end of the playground.

“What do you think of the new teacher, Peter?” asked John.

“He’s nothing but a boy,” returned Peter, contemptuously.

“Do you think he’ll stay long?” asked John, insinuatingly.

“Not more’n a week.”

“Perhaps he will,” said John, intent upon drawing Peter on.

“He can’t keep order,” said Peter. “I can lick him myself.”

“Perhaps he is stronger than you think for,” suggested John.

“Look here, John Wall, do you mean ter say you think he can lick me?” said Peter, facing about.

“No, I don’t believe he can.”

“Of course he can’t. Do you see that muscle?” and Peter stiffened his arm in a way that my boy readers will understand.

“You have got a good deal of muscle, Peter, that’s a fact.”

“Of course I have. Just feel it. Do you see that fist?”

“Yes.”

“If the master should feel it, he wouldn’t know what had happened to him. I could knock him higher’n a kite.”

“Very likely you could.”

“There ain’t any likely about it. It’s a sure thing.”

“I guess he’s afraid of you, Peter. He didn’t laugh at you when you made that mistake.”

“I’d like to see him laugh at me,” said Peter, his vanity and conceit getting worse under the flattery of John. “But I saw you laugh,” he added, in a tone of displeasure.

“Did I?” said John.

“Yes, you did.”

“Then it was because the other boys laughed. You know a fellow can’t help laughing when he sees others.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Peter, only half satisfied.

“You didn’t make half as bad a mistake as Phineas Morton.”

“Phineas is an old fool.”

Probably Peter would not have said this, if he had known that the person of whom he was speaking was within hearing distance. He realized it, however, when he was suddenly tripped up, and found himself lying on his back, looking up in the face of Phineas.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded, angrily.

“To teach you better manners,” said Phineas, coolly. “When you feel like calling me names, you had better look round first to make sure that I am not near by.”

Peter was very angry. He would gladly have retaliated, but one look at the broad shoulders and stalwart form of Phineas was enough to discourage any such attempt.

“Why don’t you take one of your size?” he said, sulkily, as he gathered himself slowly up from the ground.

“One reason is, because there isn’t any one of my size in school.”

“It’s cowardly to attack a smaller fellow.”

“Not when the smaller fellow sees fit to be impudent and insulting. But how long have you acted on that rule, Peter? Didn’t I see you fighting yesterday with Alfred Johnson, who is a head shorter than you are?”

“He wouldn’t lend me his ball.”

“He wasn’t obliged to, was he?”

“I hate a fellow that’s so careful of his things.”

“All right; I may want to borrow something of you some time. If you don’t lend it, I am to knock you down, am I?”

Peter did not find it convenient to answer this question. Circumstances altered cases, and it didn’t seem quite the same when he took the case to himself.

“Come along, John,” he said.

John Wall followed him to a different part of the yard.

“I hate that Phineas Morton,” said Peter. “He’s a brute.”

“I don’t like him myself,” said John.

“Just because he’s so big, he wants to boss it over the rest of us,” said Peter.

Now, if there was anybody in school of whom it could be said that he wanted to “boss it” over his schoolfellows, it was Peter himself. John knew this, but it was his interest at present to flatter Peter, since both cherished a common dislike for the new teacher, and John depended upon his companion, who was bolder than himself, to make trouble.

At this point the schoolbell rang, indicating that the recess was over.

“There goes the bell,” said John. “Shall we go in?”

“I’m in no hurry,” said Peter. “I’d just as lief go home. He couldn’t do anything to me.”

“Are you going home?”

“No, I want to see how he gets along. When I get ready, you’ll see fun.”

The two boys entered a little later than the rest. Walter observed their companionship, and drew his own conclusions, knowing the enmity of both toward him. But he said nothing.