He was halting again.

  “How beautiful the cow—­”

He hesitated once more.

“O beautiful cow,” sang out the roguish Wort behind the sheet.

“Shut up!” shrieked the infuriated vocalist, rushing to the bed-sheet.  “Don’t interrupt me!”

He resumed his recitation: 

  “How beautiful the cow-slip
    Upon the verdant mead,
  How diligent the sower
    Who drops the tiny seed.”

He continued and finished the piece amid great enthusiasm on the part of the boys behind the sheet, who applauded tumultuously.  There was little movement on the part of the butter-tubs.  They opened their eyes and stared wonderingly.  Then they opened their mouths and grinned.

Charlie now appeared, announcing as his selection “Independence Bell,” a subject which he commenced to treat vigorously.  The reference was to the bell at Philadelphia, rung at the Declaration of Independence, and somebody behind the sheet now began to shake a cowbell, a device which it was thought would heighten the effect of the performance.

“’Taint time!” called out Charlie, turning in despair to the curtain.  Here Wort’s round, beaming face appeared at a rent which was growing larger every few minutes.

“Tell me when,” he whispered.

Charlie resumed his recitation.  Soon he whispered, “Go it!” Didn’t Wort do his duty!  No bell-ringer in Philadelphia could have been more enthusiastic, and no cow astray seeking after home ever wagged her bell so continuously.  It was afterward found out that every boy behind the curtain had a chance to swing that bell, a fact accounting for the popularity of the piece and for the tumultuous applause following it.  The applause came from brother-performers, but was none the less gratifying to the speaker.

The final piece was by Wort, “The Last Rose of Summer.”  If given, no one can say how successful it might have been, but while the subject implied a compliment to Wort and those preceding him, the adjective “last” was ominous.  There were several boys struggling to look through the curtain, one through the old rent Wort had used, and the others through new rents that they had ingeniously made with their fingers.  But what curtain could hold up against the continued pressure of three stout boys?  There was nothing that such a curtain could do but come down; and this it did, the three boys sprawling at the base of the stem of the Last Rose of Summer—­in other words, at Wort’s feet!  Wort, in turn, was ignominiously night-capped by the sheet, for it completely covered him.  The butter-tubs now gave way to their sense of the ludicrous, and clapped and laughed merrily.  This did not please the four boys in or on the floor, who angrily rubbed their shins.  Sid declared that it was too bad to act as disgracefully.  All this was poor preparation for the serious duties of school-keeping, to which the president now directed his attention.  With how much pomp and dignity he took up the duties of school-teacher, confronting a row of uneasy boys occupying seats on a green blind, each one wearing his cap!