Peter hardly knew what to think of the new teacher. He would have liked to believe Walter afraid of him, but he was reluctantly forced to admit that there was no satisfactory evidence of this feeling as yet. The young teacher’s manner was by no means aggressive, but there was a firmness and self-possession about him that indicated anything but timidity. At length he came to a satisfactory conclusion.

“He doesn’t know how strong I am. He thinks he can lick me,” he suggested to John.

“Very likely,” acquiesced his companion.

“But don’t you think I can lick him?”

“Of course you can.”

“I am heavier than he.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“A hundred and thirty pounds.”

“That’s good weight. I only weigh a hundred and twelve.”

“How much do you think he weighs?”

“About a hundred and twenty.”

This was a good guess, Walter weighing really but four pounds more. He was not quite so “chunky” as Peter, but he was quicker and more agile. Besides, as we know, he knew something of boxing; but of this Peter was absolutely ignorant. Peter’s plan in fighting was to pitch in heavily, and as he generally tackled those who knew no more than himself of the “noble art of self-defence,” and was careful to fight only with those whom he knew to be smaller and weaker than himself, he had achieved a long list of victories. The natural result was to make him confident in his prowess, and a bully. He had convinced himself that Walter was his inferior in physical strength, and was sure he could master him in a conflict.

“I’d just as lief get into a fight with the master to-day,” said Peter; “but there’s one thing I’m afraid of.”

“What’s that?”

“I am afraid that old fool Phineas Morton would come to his help. I couldn’t fight with such a big fellow as that. It would be mean in Phineas.”

“Of course it would,” said John. “What makes you think he would interfere?”

“He don’t like me. You saw what he did to-day--the brute!”

“Yes.”

“Besides, the master’s been tryin’ to get him on his side.”

“Because he’s afraid of you?”

“It’s likely.”

“You might try it some day when Phineas is absent.”

“He ain’t absent very often.”

“He gets a headache sometimes, and gets dismissed.”

“So he does. I wish he’d have a headache to-day.”

While this conversation was proceeding the boys had been walking in the direction of Peter’s house. They had nearly reached there when General Wall rode by in his chaise. Recognizing the boys and wondering why they were out during school hours, he stopped his horse and called out:

“John, where are you going?”

“With Peter.”

“Hasn’t school commenced?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you not there?”

“We were in school, but the master let us go for half an hour.”

“What for?”

“To carry home this hen.”

Then for the first time General Wall’s attention was attracted to the covered basket, the occupant of which took the opportunity of indicating her presence.

“Whose hen is it?”

“Peter’s.”

“How came it at school?”

John looked at Peter, and the latter answered readily, not being overbashful, “I carried it there.”

“What for?” asked the general, surprised.

“I tied it in the master’s chair.”

“You wanted to play a trick upon him, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did he say?” asked General Wall, in some curiosity.

“He said,” answered John, who took a little malicious satisfaction in annoying Peter, “that the hen was qualified to teach the one who brought her there.”

“Very good,” said the general, laughing. “He had you there, Peter.”

Peter scowled, but did not reply. The joke was at his expense, and he did not relish it. He felt angry with John for repeating the offensive remark, and with his father for laughing at it.

“Was the teacher angry?” was the next question.

“No; he took it as a joke, and told Peter he might carry the hen home.”

“There was no need of your coming too, John.”

“Peter wanted me.”

General Wall was a little surprised at this. He knew his son and had heard him more than once speak in contemptuous terms of Peter, whose company he now appeared to seek. However, he said nothing further, except to caution Peter against playing any further tricks, and enjoining upon both boys to return to school as soon as possible.

“What made you tell your father what the master said of me?” demanded Peter, angrily, when General Wall had driven by.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” said John, not quite truthfully.

“Well, I do care,” said Peter, sullenly, “and I don’t want you to speak of it again.”

“You won’t mind after you’ve got even with him.”

“No, but I haven’t got even with him yet.”

“You will, though.”

“Of course I will. I wish I could to-day.”

There was some more conversation of this character, but it did not vary in substance from what has already been reported.

When the boys returned to the schoolhouse it was time for Peter’s class in grammar to recite. The latter did not belong to the first class, but the second, and it happened that he was the oldest and largest scholar in his class, but not by any means the most proficient. He had applied to Mr. Barclay to let him join the first class, which request was very promptly refused. Peter did not dare to make a fuss, knowing that Mr. Barclay had the physical strength to enforce his decision. But with Walter he believed it to be different. He therefore proposed to make a transfer, that he might no longer be humiliated by being associated with those smaller and younger than himself. When, therefore, the second class in grammar took their places, he remained in his seat. Walter might not have noticed this, but one of the class spoke, saying: “Peter Groot belongs to this class.”

Peter looked up and said: “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Have you been accustomed to recite in this class, Peter?” asked Walter.

“Yes.”

“Then why do you not take your place?”

“I’m goin’ into the first class,” said Peter, defiantly.

“I have no objections to that, if you are qualified.”

“I am qualified.”

“That I can determine after one recitation. Take your place to-day with your old class, and then, if I judge you fit I will let you enter the first class.”

Peter hesitated. He did not want to recite with his old class at all. But he reflected that, even if the teacher decided against him, he could refuse to obey him, and this would bring on the collision and trial of strength which he desired. He knew very well that he was not qualified for promotion, and had no doubt the teacher would so decide, unless he was afraid to do so. On the whole, therefore, he thought it best to submit for the present, and, rising, advanced to his place.

Presently it came to Peter’s turn to parse.

“You may parse ‘had been conquered,’ Peter,” said the young teacher.

“Had been conquered is an adverb,” said Peter, hesitatingly.

“You surely cannot mean that!” said Walter.

“I thought it was an adverb.”

“It is a verb. Go on and parse it.”

The whole sentence read thus: “If the Americans had been conquered in their struggle for independence, the cause of political liberty and human progress would have been retarded by at least a century.”

“It is a common active passive verb,” said Peter, “masculine gender, objective case, and governed by Americans.”

This was so evidently absurd that the entire class burst into a shout of laughter, in which Walter had great difficulty in not joining.

“I am afraid you spoke without reflecting, Peter,” he said. “The verb could not be both active and passive, and the rest of your description applies properly to nouns.” He went on to correct Peter’s mistakes, and tried to draw out of him what he ought to say, but with only partial success. Peter’s ideas of grammar were very far from clear. He was not well grounded in the fundamental principles of this branch of study, and was not even qualified to keep up with the second class.

At the end of the recitation, Walter said: “You may remain in this class, Peter. You are not qualified to enter the first class.”

“Why not?” demanded Peter, in a surly tone.

“You must know as well as I do,” said Walter, rather provoked. “If not, the rest of your class can tell you.”

“I want to go into the first class,” persisted Peter.

“I cannot consent to your doing so. Judging from your recitation to-day, I should say it would be better for you to join a lower class.”

Peter was so astonished at this decided remark that he did not make any further remonstrance. He was very angry and equally mortified, but in addition to these feelings there dawned upon him the conviction that Walter could not be afraid of him, or he would never have dared to speak to him in such terms.