Paul's face brightened as the sexton said this. He instinctively felt that Mr. Cameron was right. He had never forgotten his father's dying injunction, and this was one reason that impelled him to run away from the Almshouse, because he felt that while he remained he never would be in a situation to carry out his father's wishes. Now his duty was reconciled with his pleasure, and he gratefully accepted the sexton's suggestions. The next Monday morning, in accordance with the arrangement which had just been agreed upon, Paul repaired to school. He was at once placed in a class, and lessons were assigned him. At first his progress was not rapid. While living in Wrenville he had an opportunity only of attending a country school, kept less than six months in the year, and then not affording advantages to be compared with those of a city school. During his father's sickness, besides, he had been kept from school altogether. Of course all this lost time could not be made up in a moment. Therefore it was that Paul lagged behind his class. There are generally some in every school, who are disposed to take unfair advantage of their schoolmates, or to ridicule those whom they consider inferior to themselves. There was one such in Paul's class. His name was George Dawkins. He was rather a showy boy, and learned easily. He might have stood a class above where he was, if he had not been lazy, and depended too much on his natural talent. As it was, he maintained the foremost rank in his class. “Better be the first man in a village than the second man in Rome,” he used to say; and as his present position not only gave him the pre-eminence which he desired, but cost him very little exertion to maintain, he was quite well satisfied with it. This boy stood first in his class, while Paul entered at the foot. He laughed unmercifully at the frequent mistakes of our hero, and jeeringly dubbed him, “Young Stupid.” “Do you know what Dawkins calls you?” asked one of the boys. “No. What does he call me?” asked Paul, seriously. “He calls you 'Young Stupid.'” Paul's face flushed painfully. Ridicule was as painful to him as it is to most boys, and he felt the insult deeply. “I'd fight him if I were you,” was the volunteered advice of his informant. “No,” said Paul. “That wouldn't mend the matter. Besides, I don't know but he has some reason for thinking so.” “Don't call yourself stupid, do you?” “No, but I am not as far advanced as most boys of my age. That isn't my fault, though. I never had a chance to go to school much. If I had been to school all my life, as Dawkins has, it would be time to find out whether I am stupid or not.” “Then you ain't going to do anything about it?” “Yes, I am.” “You said you wasn't going to fight him.” “That wouldn't do any good. But I'm going to study up and see if I can't get ahead of him. Don't you think that will be the best way of showing him that he is mistaken?” “Yes, capital, but----”