“We are going to play a game,” she announced the next day, when regular lessons were done and the happy play-hour had come. “We’re going to play we are going along the street, and meet each other. We’ll practice the right way to greet our friends.” She told a little story of a boy who started out one morning and met various people,—a lady, whom he greeted with lifted hat; an old man, whose basket he carried; a stranger, whom he directed; and a lost baby, whom he took home to his mother. She illustrated graphically the various stages in this small paragon’s progress, and then asked who wanted to play that he was Ben Blossom (the name of the model boy). Two hands went up; really all wanted to play, but games were a new thing and the children were shy. So these two boys were allowed to put on their hats and play the little drama of good manners. She herself took the part of the woman, and greeted the boy who lifted his hat with sweet courtesy. She hobbled along like an old man, with her satchel for a basket, and she selected the smallest girl to be the lost baby. They were all so excited about the play that they forgot to stop at four o’clock; and Miss Strong promised that they might play it again. When they played it the second time, Bob Everly took the part of Ben, and Dicey Snively was the lady. “Good morning, Miss Snively,” Bob called out cheerily as soon as he entered the room. “How d’ you do?” “Aw, that ain’t the way to do it,” Bud Hawkins complained. “’Tis too,” returned Bob, hotly. “Ain’t it, Miss Strong?” “Let’s talk about that,” said Miss Strong. “Bob, do you think Ben Blossom shouted at the lady as soon as he saw her, or did he wait until he was near her and then spoke in a rather low voice?” “He waited!” Bud Hawkins put in virtuously. “I don’t know,” said Bob. “What _did_ he do?” “He waited until he had almost reached her, and then he lifted his hat with the hand that was on the other side of her. See if you can show Bud just how it was done.” Bob did it beautifully. “Now,” said Miss Strong, “I want to see if you can bow and lift your hats to me, next time you pass me on the road, as nicely as Ben Blossom did to that lady he knew. And you’ll wait until you are near me before you begin to tell me things, won’t you? I like that so much better than calling out to me.” “My pop don’t lift his hat,” said Bud. “He says it’s stuck-up.” “I think it’s stuck-up _not_ to lift your hat,” said the new teacher. “If you don’t lift your hats, I might think you didn’t like me.”