The teacher laid down his book, calmly, walked to the seat of the young rebel, took him by the collar and the back of the neck, tore him out of the place where his hands and feet were clinging like the roots of a tree, dragged him roughly to the aisle and over the floor space, taking part of the seat along, and stood him to the wall with a bang that shook the windows. There was no halting--it was all over in half a minute. "You'll please remain there," said he, coolly, "until I tell you to sit down." He turned his back on the bully, walked slowly to his chair, and opened his book again. "Take it home with you to-night," said he, continuing his talk to the primer class. "Spell it over, so you won't have to stop long between words. All who read it well to-morrow will get another chapter." They began to study at home. Wonder grew, and pleasure came with labour as the tale went on. He dismissed the primer readers, calling the first class in geography. As they took their places he repaired the broken seat, a part of which had been torn off the nails. The fallen rebel stood leaning, his back to the school. He had expected help, but the reserve force had failed him. "Joe Beach--you may take your seat," said the teacher, in a kind of parenthetical tone. "Geography starts at home," he continued, beginning the recitation. "Who can tell me where is the Linley schoolhouse?" A dozen hands went up. "You tell," said he to one. "It's here," was the answer. "Where's here?" A boy looked thoughtful. "Nex' t' Joe Linley's cow-pastur'," he ventured presently, "Will you tell us?" the teacher asked, looking at a bright-eyed girl. "In Faraway, New York," said she, glibly. "Tom Linley, I'll take that," said the teacher, in a lazy tone. He was looking down at his book. Where he sat, facing the class, he could see none of the boys without turning. But he had not turned. To the wonder of all, up he spoke as Tom Linley was handing a slip of paper to Joe Beach. There was a little pause. The young man hesitated, rose, and walked nervously down the aisle. "Thank you," said the teacher, as he took the message and flung it on the fire, unread. "Faraway, New York;" he continued on his way to the blackboard as if nothing had happened. He drew a circle, indicating the four points of the compass on it. Then he mapped the town of Faraway and others, east, west, north, and south of it. So he made a map of the county and bade them copy it. Around the county in succeeding lessons he built a map of the state. Others in the middle group were added, the structure growing, day by day, until they had mapped the hemisphere.