Of course they knew it was the Geography Song from their McGuffey Reader which the singing master had set to tune. To make sure they had not forgotten the McGuffey piece he halted the singing and directed that they speak over the piece together, which they did with a verve: Oh! have you heard Geography sung? For if you've not, it's on my tongue; About the earth in air that's hung. All covered with green, little islands. Oceans, gulfs, and bays, and seas; Channels and straits, sounds, if you please; Great archipelagoes, too, and all these Are covered with green, little islands. Philomel Whiffet sometimes had his school do unexpected things that way. And now once again they went on with the geography singing lesson, putting in the names of places and rivers to the tune. Far and wide traveled Philomel Whiffet's singing school, wafted by note from freedom's shore to African wilds. They knew it all by heart. On and on they sang, and Drusilla Osborn's voice led all the rest: Bolivia capital Suc-re Largest city in South America Mexico is Mexico Government Republican Around the world and back again, nor did they stop until they again went through all the States, finishing with a lusty: New Hampshire's capital is for a fact Concord on the Merrimac. Silence came at last. Taking from the stand the songbook, Philomel placed a hand behind him and announced with quiet decorum, "Those who have brought their notebooks will please open them up to page--" he faltered, fumbling the leaves of his book. "Open to page--" still groping was Philomel Whiffet and squinting at the faded pages. "Those who have not brought their notebooks can look on with someone else." Trying to act unconcerned was the singing master. "Turn to one--of our--old favorites," poor old Whiffet murmured, still fumbling the pages of the book. "My eyes--are dim"--he mumbled in confusion--"I--cannot see." Vainly he searched his vest pockets, the pockets of his coat. "--I've left my specs at home," he blurted in desperation. With that the tantalizing Drusilla Osborn, from her bench at the back of the room, nudged the girl beside her and, pointing to the staff of music left on the wall where Philomel had placed it,--Dru began to hum. "You've pitched it too shaller," whispered the other girl, and quickly Dru hummed a lower register until her companion caught the pitch; then the two sang loud and shrill: My eyes are dim, I cannot see, My specs I left at home.