"It wasn't any system," Mamie hastened to explain, anxious to disclaim a connection evidently so undesirable; "it was tissue-paper." "And this confessed openly to my face?" said the teacher. She was, even after many years at the business of exposing the natural depravity of the youthful mind, appalled at the brazenness of Mamie. Mamie looked uncertain. Whatever she had done, it was well to have company. "We all used tissue-paper," said Mamie. It proved even so. The teacher, that this thing might be fully exposed, called the roll. Each little girl responded in alphabetical sequence. The teacher's condition of shocked virtue rendered her coldly laconic. "Tissue-paper?" she asked each little girl in turn. "Tissue-paper" was the burden, if not the form, of every alarmed little girl's reply. "Cipher," said the teacher briefly as each made confession, and called the next. O--Outer darkness! The teacher at the last closed her book with a snap. "Cipher and worse," she told them. "You are cheats, and to cheat is to lie. And further, the class has failed in drawing." A bell rang. Recess was over. The teacher, regarding them coldly, picked up the chalk, and turned to write on the board, "If a man----" Examination in "New Eclectic Practical and Mental Primary Arithmetic" had begun. The Third Reader Class, stunned, picked up its pencils. Miss Jenny had feared for them in arithmetic. They had feared for themselves. They were cheats and liars and they had failed. And the knowledge did not make them feel confident. They were cheats, and a suspicious and cold surveillance on the part of the teacher kept them reminded that she looked upon them as cheats and watched them accordingly. Misery and despair were their portion. And further, failure. In their state of mind it was inevitable for them to get lost in the maze of conditions surrounding "If a man----" They did better next day in geography and reading. They passed on Friday in spelling and penmanship. But the terrible fact remained--the teacher had declared them cheats and liars. If they could only see Miss Jenny. Miss Jenny would understand. Miss Jenny would make it all right after she returned. When the Third Reader Class assembled on Monday, a tall lady occupied the platform. She was a Real Teacher. But at the door stood a memory of Miss Jenny, the hair blown about her face, kissing her hand. The Third Reader Class never saw Miss Jenny again. THE PLAY'S THE THING It was the day of the exhibition. At close of the half year the Third Reader Class had suffered a change in teachers, the first having been a Substitute, whereas her successor was a Real Teacher. And since the coming of Miss Carrie, the Third Reader Class had lived, as it were, in the public eye, for on Fridays books were put away and the attention given to recitations and company.