Whether it was the novelty of the young teacher’s quiet manner, clear eyes, broad shoulders, and assured bearing, or the idea of the examination with which he undertook to begin the session, he had a week of surprising quiet.  The school filled day after day, and even the noted Dennison boys, from Jacob Dennison, the strapping six-foot senior, down to Dave, who was the youngest and smartest of the three, appeared duly every morning, and treated the young teacher with reasonable civility, if with somewhat insolent familiarity.

The day of the examination Squire Rawson attended, solemn and pompous with a superfluity of white shirt-front.  Brief as was the examination, it revealed to Keith an astonishing state of ignorance of the simplest things.  It was incredible to him that, with so many hours of so-called study, so little progress had been made.  He stated this in plain language, and outlined his plan for shorter hours and closer application.  A voice from the boys’ side muttered that the owner did not see anything the matter with the old hours.  They were good enough for them.  Keith turned quickly: 

“What is that?”

There was no answer.

“What is that, Dennison?” he demanded.  “I thought I heard you speak.”

“Wall, if you did, I warn’t speakin’ to you,” said Jacob Dennison, surlily.

“Well, when you speak in school, address yourself to me,” said Keith.  He caught Euphronia Tripper’s eyes on him.

“I mought an’ I moughtn’t,” said Jacob, insolently.

“I propose to see that you do.”

Jacob’s reply was something between a grunt and a sneer, and the school rustled with a sound very much like applause.

Next morning, on his arrival at school, Keith found the door fastened on the inside.  A titter from within revealed the fact that it was no accident, and the guffaw of derision that greeted his sharp command that the door should be opened immediately showed that the Dennison boys were up to their old tricks.

“Open the door, Jake Dennison, instantly!” he called.

The reply was sung through the keyhole: 

“‘Ole Molly hyah, what you doin’ dyah?  Settin’ in de cordner, smokin’ a ciggyah.’”

It was little Dave’s voice, and was followed by a puff of tobacco smoke through the keyhole and a burst of laughter led by Phrony Tripper.

An axe was lying at the woodpile near by, and in two minutes the door was lying in splinters on the school-house floor, and Keith, with a white face and a dangerous tremble in his voice, was calling the amazed school to order.  He heard the lessons through, and at noon, the hour he had named the day before, dismissed all the younger scholars.  The Dennisons and one or two larger boys he ordered to remain.  As the scholars filed out, there was a colloquy between Jacob Dennison and his younger brother Dave.  Dave had the brains of the family, and he was whispering to Jake.  Keith moved his chair and seated himself near the door.  There was a brief muttered conversation among the Dennisons, and then Jake Dennison rose, put on his hat slowly, and, addressing the other boys, announced that he didn’t know what they were going to do, but he was “a-gwine home and git ready to go and see the dance up at Gates’s.”