The remainder of the day passed without incident. Peter was no less determined to make trouble, but had not decided in what manner to do it. He was content to bide his time. He sat idle, but watchful, apparently “taking stock” of the young teacher, and making up his mind about him.

Soon after eight the next morning Peter called at the house of his new associate. John observed with surprise that he carried in his hand a covered basket, from which proceeded some signs of dissatisfaction of an unmistakable character.

“What have you got there, Peter?” asked John, curiously.

“Can’t you tell?”

“A hen, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“It’s a present for the teacher.”

“What!” exclaimed John, in surprise.

“Are you surprised that I am going to give him a present?” said Peter.

“Yes. I thought you didn’t like him.”

“No more I do.”

“Then why----”

“I’ll tell you. I’m going to fasten the hen in his chair, so that when he comes he will find his seat occupied.

“Good!” said John. “He’ll be mad.”

“Of course he will.”

“He may find out who put the hen there.”

“That’s what I want him to do.”

“He may punish you.”

“I’d like to see him do it,” said Peter, wagging his head. “He’d find out he’d got a hard job on hand. Come, are you ready to go to school?”

“I don’t generally go so soon.”

“I want to be there early, so as to tie the hen.”

“All right; I’ll get my hat.”

The two boys started for school, and arrived nearly half an hour early. They entered the house, and, by means of a stout cord, soon secured the hen to the “master’s” chair. The poor bird did not appreciate or enjoy the high dignity which had been forced upon her. She probably thought that her personal wishes ought to have been consulted in the choice of a profession. She began to give vent to her dissatisfaction in the manner characteristic of her kind.

Soon some of the other scholars arrived. Most of them laughed, but Alfred Clinton ventured to remonstrate.

“You ought not to do that, Peter,” he said.

“What makes you think I did it?”

“I know well enough.”

“Well, have you got anything to say about it?” asked Peter, defiantly. “Do you want to fight? If you do, come on.”

“I am not anxious to fight,” said Alfred, quietly. “I think that’s a poor way to settle a dispute.”

“I thought you wouldn’t care about it,” said Peter, significantly.

“I am not afraid of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’d better shut up your mouth.”

“I admire your elegant style of conversation.”

“It suits me.”

“Yes, it does suit you. It wouldn’t suit anybody else.”

“What do you mean?” said Peter, suspiciously.

“It is too much trouble to explain all I say. You are not very quick at understanding.”

“You look out, Alfred Clinton, or I may hurt you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I shall have to fight that boy some time,” said Peter to John. “He’s getting impudent.”

“He ain’t much,” said John, contemptuously. “He and his mother are as poor as poverty. He’s a proud beggar.”

“So he is,” said Peter, whose worldly circumstances were scarcely any better than Alfred’s, his father being a mechanic, whose drunken habits rendered his income very precarious and fluctuating. He did not realize that John looked down upon him quite as much as he did on Alfred, but thought fit to conceal this feeling at present, on account of his hatred to Walter.

As may naturally be supposed, the arrival of the young teacher was looked forward to with eager anticipation on the part of the scholars. They wanted to see how he would regard the occupation of his seat. Most thought he would be “mad.”

At last Walter was seen ascending the hill on which the schoolhouse was situated. The scholars who were grouped in front immediately entered, and took their seats.

Walter was a little surprised at their unusual promptness, but when he was still in the entry he heard the hen, and guessed the trick that had been attempted. One glance at the teacher’s chair, on entering the schoolroom, showed him what had made the scholars take their seats so promptly.

He was too much of a boy still not to be amused. He turned to the scholars with a smile.

“I see you have got a new teacher,” he said.

The scholars laughed, and the hen, by way of asserting her position, flapped her wings and uttered a cry.

“I dare say,” continued Walter, “the hen is competent to teach the one who put her there, but I am afraid she wouldn’t prove generally satisfactory.”

There was another laugh, but this time it was at Peter’s expense. Peter did not join in the mirth. It always made him angry to feel that he was the subject of mirth, or ridicule, and his face showed his anger.

“Besides,” said Walter, “in this free country I don’t approve of compulsion, and the hen is evidently unwilling to assume the duties of teacher; therefore I shall release her. If her owner is present and would like to take charge of her, he can come forward.”

Walter took out his knife and was about to sever the string which secured the hen to the chair, when Peter, with a defiant air, rose from his seat, and advancing to the front, said: “That is my hen.”

“Is it?” said Walter, not appearing surprised. “Didn’t it give you considerable trouble to bring her here?”

“No,” said Peter, regarding the teacher attentively, to see whether he was making game of him. But there was nothing in the young teacher’s manner to indicate this.

“How did you bring her--in your hand?”

“No, in a basket.”

“That was better. Well, Peter, we are indebted to you for a good joke, and if you would like to carry the hen back now, I will excuse you for half an hour.”

He rose from his seat, and came forward.

Peter was astonished at being thanked for a practical joke, which he thought would make the teacher “mad.” Walter had turned the tables upon him, and he began to ask himself whether the success of his joke was sufficient to pay him for the trouble he had incurred. There wasn’t much fun in transporting the hen back again alone. Still he felt that it would be rather hard to keep it secure until school was over.

“May John Wall go with me?” he asked.

“Yes, if he desires it,” said Walter.

Peter looked toward John. The latter, after a little hesitation, decided to go. He was not particularly afraid of losing half an hour of school, and it would give him a chance for consultation with Peter.

Peter brought in the basket, and the hen, after a little trouble, was put in. Then the two boys, Peter and John, started away with her. Walter commenced the duties of the forenoon. By the coolness and good nature with which he had met the trick attempted to be played upon him, he had disarmed his adversaries, strengthened his hold upon the other pupils, and now remained master of the situation. If he had only flown into a passion Peter would have felt repaid for his trouble. Now, as he trudged along the road, he was not quite sure whether he was not sorry for having attempted it.

“I thought he’d be mad,” he said at length.

“So did I,” said John.

“He’s a queer fellow; I don’t know what to make of him.”

“He didn’t seem surprised when you came forward, and said the hen was yours.”

“Do you think he thought it was me?”

“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Perhaps,” said Peter, brightening up, “he was afraid of making a fuss about it.”

“Very likely,” said John.

“I think he is afraid of me,” said Peter, complacently. “He must know that I am stronger than he.”

“I guess you are right.”

“That’s the reason he turned it off as a joke. I guess he wants to keep on good terms with me.”

“Only, you know he said that the hen was qualified to teach the one who put her there.”

“Do you think he meant me then?” asked Peter, scowling.

“I guess he did.”

“Then he insulted me.”

“It does look like it,” said John, who wanted to make mischief.

“I’ll get even with him--you see if I don’t,” said Peter, angrily.