shall be frightened even to look at Mr. Scudamore, if this is a specimen

of what he does. There is scarcely a boy looking off his book. But

how old he does look! I suppose it must be the effect of so much hard

teaching."

"You silly thing," her sister answered; "you are looking at the great

head-master. Mr. Scudamore is here at the bottom of the school. Between

these big hinges you can see him; and he looks as young as you do."

Miss Dolly, who dearly loved any sly peep, kept her light figure back

and the long skirt pulled in, as she brought her bright eyes to the slit

between the heavy black door and the stone-work. And she speedily gave

her opinion.

"He is nothing but a regular frump. I declare I am dreadfully

disappointed. No wonder the title did not come on! He is nothing but a

very soft-natured stupe. Why, the boys can do what they like with him!"

Certainly the scholars of the Virgil class, which Blyth Scudamore was

dealing with, had recovered from the querimonies of those two sons of

Ovid, on the further side of Ister, and were having a good laugh at the

face of "Captain Scuddy," as they called their beloved preceptor. For

he, being gifted with a gentle sense of humor, together with a patient

love of the origin of things, was questing in his quiet mind what had

led a boy to render a well-known line as follows: "Such a quantity of

salt there was, to season the Roman nation." Presently he hit upon the

clue to this great mystery. "Mola, the salted cake," he said; "and the

next a little error of conjugation. You have looked out your words,

Smith, but chanced upon the wrong ones."

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