Three times in the week, during the afternoon, Pomp came over to the farm for instruction.  On the first of these occasions we will look in upon him and his teacher.

Pomp is sitting on a cricket by the kitchen fire.  He has a primer open before him at the alphabet.  His round eyes are fixed upon the page as long as Frank is looking at him, but he requires constant watching.  His teacher sits near-by, with a Latin dictionary resting upon a light stand before him, and a copy of Virgil’s Aeneid in his hand.

“Well, Pomp, do you think you know your lesson?” he asks.

“Dunno, Mass’ Frank; I reckon so.”

“You may bring your book to me, and I will try you.”

Pomp rose from his stool and sidled up to Frank with no great alacrity.

“What’s that letter, Pomp?” asked the young teacher, pointing out the initial letter of the alphabet.

Pomp answered correctly.

“And what is the next?”

Pomp shifted from one foot to the other, and stared vacantly out of the window, but said nothing.

“Don’t you know?”

" ’Pears like I don’t ‘member him, Mass’ Frank.”

Here Frank had recourse to a system of mnemonics frequently resorted to by teachers in their extremity.

“What’s the name of the little insect that stings people sometimes, Pomp?”

“Wasp, Mass’ Frank,” was the confident reply.

“No, I don’t mean that.  I mean the bee.”

“Yes, Mass’ Frank.”

“Well, this is B.”

Pomp looked at it attentively, and, after a pause, inquired, “Where’s him wings, Mass’ Frank?”

Frank bit his lips to keep from laughing.  “I don’t mean that this is a bee that makes honey,” he explained, “only it has the same name.  Now do you think you can remember how it is called?” “Bumblebee!” repeated Pomp triumphantly.

Pomp’s error was corrected, and the lesson proceeded.

“What is the next letter?” asked Frank, indicating it with the point of his knife-blade.

“X,” answered the pupil readily.

“No, Pomp,” was the dismayed reply.  “It is very different from X.”

“Dat’s him name at school,” said Pomp positively.

“No, Pomp, you are mistaken.  That is X, away down there.”

“Perhaps him change his name,” suggested Pomp.

“No.  The letters never change their names.  I don’t think you know your lesson, Pomp. just listen to me while I tell you the names of some of the letters, and try to remember them.”

When this was done, Pomp was directed to sit down on the cricket, and study his lesson for twenty Minutes, at the end of which he might again recite.

Pomp sat down, and for five minutes seemed absorbed in his book.  Then, unfortunately, the cat walked into the room, and soon attracted the attention of the young student.  He sidled from his seat so silently that Frank did not hear him.  He was soon made sensible that Pomp was engaged in some mischief by hearing a prolonged wail of anguish from the cat.