They were not at all alike and they were not even sisters—those two little Bates girls. One had curly light hair and the other had bobbed-off black hair. One was slender and the other was plump. One had blue eyes and the other had brown ones and both were as different as different could be, though the names of both came upon Miss Kennedy’s school roll one after the other; first Mamie and then Mary.

Mary had light curls that bobbed in a lively way even in arithmetic class, where everything was rather subdued by hard problems that Miss Kennedy set. Mamie Bates had bobbed black hair that had a way of falling over her forehead when she was bending over work—in brief, Mary Bates was lively and Mamie Bates was not. Mamie Bates acknowledged that arithmetic was about the hardest thing in school but Mary Bates said it was easy, even though Miss Kennedy’s blue pencil went over her paper and made big blue crosses that meant “Wrong” as often as they crossed the papers of Mamie in the same way.

It ought not to have been so. Nevertheless the first quarterly report that Miss Kennedy made out for Mamie and Mary Bates ranked them side by side—seventy-six percent! That’s not a high mark; Miss Kennedy shook her head over both marks. It was surely nothing to be proud of!

Mary Bates refused to show her report.

Mamie Bates hung her head woefully and explained that she had tried the best she knew how—which was right. Both of them decided to try even harder next quarter. And they did try. Mamie Bates mounted up to eighty percent, and in one examination, she achieved eighty-three! “Next time,” urged Miss Kennedy, “see if you can’t make it eighty-five!” Mary Bates did not tell her mark. It may have been that she was ashamed of it or it may have been that she did not want to brag. Nobody knew which.

But when Mamie Bates went home, she told her daddy all about that eighty-three percent and her daddy smiled and said, “Well, if you’ll make the next one ninety instead of eighty-five, and if you’ll keep all the other marks above eighty-three after that, by the end of the next quarter you shall have—What do you want most?”

“A pony and a cart,” laughed Mamie.

“A pony and a cart,” repeated daddy. “A real live pony and a basket cart!”

Hooray! Think of it! Think of it—a pony and a pony cart! That was the way things stood with Mamie Bates during the last quarter of the year in Miss Kennedy’s room. The black bobbed hair fell over her eyes more industriously than ever as she bent over her problems in arithmetic. In the margins of Mamie Bates’s examination and test papers each Friday there began to appear such delectable written words as, “Well done, Mamie.” But the big blue crosses didn’t quite disappear—oh, no!

Mary Bates continued to keep her marks to herself. Very rarely did she show any. Those that she did show weren’t so bad as some of the other girls’ papers. But there never seemed to be “Well done, Mary,” on any one of them. Even though there was nothing of this kind, Mary Bates seemed contented with them. She said she had received ninety-five in deportment and that was about the best mark that anybody could ever receive. Miss Kennedy would never give a higher deportment mark. Even Sallie Roberts who was noted throughout the whole class room for being “awfully good” never received a higher mark than ninety-five—but then, only the very bad scholars received less. Mary Bates also said that she had a splendid report in spelling. She didn’t say what, but everybody knew that she could spell. So could Mamie.

And so the time went by each week nearer and nearer to Mamie Bates’s excited anticipation of that pony! The marks, so far, had been all right. Daddy would have to keep the promise! Toward the end of the quarter every girl in the class was wondering if she were going to pass herself. It all depended upon the final tests. Even Mary Bates admitted that she was a little shaky but not much. She thought she knew it all.Mercy! How Miss Kennedy’s class did drill! Over the old, old stumbling blocks they went with long pieces of yellow scratch paper. It did seem as if everybody must pass the arithmetic test! Then the week of examinations came and with it the worst dreaded of all, arithmetic examination!

Over this, Mary Bates shook her curls soberly. Mamie Bates struggled with black hair falling over her forehead. And then the time was up and papers had to be handed in. Mamie Bates gave in her paper reluctantly. Her cheeks were flushed. As soon as it had gone, she asked if she might look at it again, just for a minute. Miss Kennedy smiled. She didn’t let her. “Time’s up, Mamie,” she admonished. “What’s done must stay—it isn’t fair to the rest, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” returned Mamie, “but you see the pony and pony cart depend upon it. The others aren’t working for so much.” But Miss Kennedy passed on. Everybody in the class knew of daddy’s promise and hoped Mamie would win that percent in her arithmetic—everybody.

Mary Bates brought her paper to Miss Kennedy’s desk without even waiting for it to be collected. “I’m sure I got everything right,” she chirped. “It was easy! I think I’ll get ninety-five! There’s only one thing that might be wrong.”

Sallie Overton nudged her neighbor. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “She always thinks that she knows everything. I think it was hard, don’t you?”

Oh, dear! Everybody seemed depressed as they left for home that afternoon—everybody but Mary Bates who was quite sure of herself always. Everybody compared notes with everybody else on the way home but nobody seemed sure. One had to wait till the reports came in. It was dreadful to wait—at least dreadful for little Mamie Bates who was thinking about daddy’s promise and the pony. One always made more mistakes than one knew of, somehow, yet she had tried ever so hard. She hoped she was right. She had tried not to get excited. She had tried to stop and think over rules and she thought she ought to have done something she hadn’t done, of course. It was fearfully hard to wait till Monday. On Monday the report cards were to be given out. Almost everybody was expecting some kind of a surprise that day, but the surprise that Miss Kennedy’s class anticipated was one of percents, not of teachers. When the class assembled, there in Miss Kennedy’s chair and right at her desk making out the report cards sat—a substitute teacher! She would tell nobody what the marks were and she just snapped. Really, Miss Kennedy would have told Mamie Bates, at least. She knew about the pony. But the substitute teacher only said that there was no hurry, they’d know fast enough. She didn’t like to be asked questions at all. She said Miss Kennedy might not come back at all—no, of course not! Why should she? (At this everybody looked more worried than ever. All the class loved Miss Kennedy. Sallie Overton had openly said that she didn’t want to pass because if she did, next year, she’d have to leave Miss Kennedy’s room.) But at the end of the study period, before being finally dismissed, the report cards were given out, at last!

Mamie Bates grasped hers. She hardly dared to look, but when she did, tears sprang to her eyes and she had to shake the brown bobbed hair over them. There it was seventy-six percent! The schoolroom blurred—only seventy-six percent! And how hard she had tried to please daddy—and how she did want that pony! Yet all hope was gone now because the final mark had fallen below! Mechanically she stood to be dismissed. Mechanically she went to the cloak room, and mechanically she walked toward home.

Seventy-six—not even eighty-three! And the pony—the pony!

Daddy didn’t ask about reports. Mamie Bates decided to wait and give the bad news out when she herself was a little more used to it. Perhaps next day, she could do it. Of course, seventy-six would promote one into the next grade, but it wouldn’t give the pony! If Miss Kennedy had been there, she would have explained to Mamie Bates all about her mistakes, but the substitute kept the papers. She didn’t seem to think much of anybody’s mark—but substitutes never do seem to care. Mamie hoped Miss Kennedy would come back next day. She’d explain everything.

And the next day, sure enough, there was Miss Kennedy at her desk, smiling. As Mamie came in and passed her, she smiled. “Mamie,” she smiled, “I’m glad about your arithmetic. Are you?”

Mamie hung her head. “It wasn’t good, Miss Kennedy,” she stated, trying hard not to cry. “I thought I was doing it right but I must have been careless. I really knew about everything!”

“Let’s see your paper,” asked Miss Kennedy—but the substitute had the paper. Miss Kennedy didn’t know of any very bad trouble. “Let’s see your card, then,” she asked.

Mamie took it out of her book where it was hidden, unsigned as yet by daddy. “It’s too bad,” she sighed. “There can’t be any pony at all now!”

“No pony? Why not?” And then Miss Kennedy saw the seventy-six percent upon the report card! “Why, why, Mamie Bates!” exclaimed Miss Kennedy. “Your mark is ninety-six, not seventy-six! I’ve just seen it in the teacher’s book. That must be a mistake! Wait a minute and I’ll see.” Off she dashed to get the examination papers in the next room. Mamie Bates’s heart went pit-pat. She was sure Miss Kennedy was right—oh, the pony!

Yes, of course, it was a mistake—a mistake made by the substitute. She had mixed the marks of the two little Bates girls, who were no more alike than their arithmetic marks!

Mary Bates said she didn’t care so long as she passed, so perhaps the change of her mark didn’t matter so much. It was really Mamie Bates who had worked hardest, anyhow.

But the really lovely thing that happened, happened at the close of school that day. When Mamie Bates came out of school, there was a pony and a pony cart waiting by the curb and daddy was in the cart! He—how did he know about the arithmetic reports being all right? But it didn’t take Mamie Bates long to claim the pony! She wanted to know if he had a name and when daddy said he didn’t think so, he was called Arithmetic right then and there. Miss Kennedy came out to see him and had the first ride behind him.

Arne’s Fourth of July Battle

THE JULY SURPRISE

The July pocket that came first was opened on July third at noon. It held a wee American flag. The story pocket came later and it held a Fourth of July story. They read it sitting in the hammock on the porch. It was called, “Arne’s Fourth of July Battle.”