When the long hymn was finished, the President, having pronounced the benediction, stepped down from the platform and started down the centre aisle, followed by an old white-headed professor, and he by the professor on his left. The little tutor sat next, and so, innocently enough, he started down behind them. How was he to know that there was a custom to be observed in this trooping out of chapel, that the order was determined by precedence? Ah, it made him flush when he thought of it, even now. He could remember just how the whole college and academy laughed--they did not titter, but laughed outright--and when he realized the position and hesitated, trembling, half-way down the aisle, and tried to smile, some of them fairly shouted. He could even now see, in his mind, the face of one of the college men next to the aisle as he leaned back and laughed merrily, cruelly, looking squarely into the little tutor's eyes without pretending to control his mirth. The little tutor never remembered how he gained the cool of the outside. But why was he to be blamed? They should have told him. How was he to know that there was any rule about the matter? At his college the professors never attended chapel; that is, except two or three, who sat in the stalls. The next morning, with some fear and much hope, he had met his first class. Perhaps his hand shook a little as he held the roll while his pupils came into the room, and his voice trembled, perhaps, as he addressed the class, and he couldn't help blushing--his old failing--when he heard the laugh caused by his mispronouncing a queer name; but he told himself that he had gotten along splendidly when the long day was over, and the future seemed bright once more as he planned his work. He thought out just what his attitude toward his pupils would be. He was determined that he would not lord it over them, but would win their confidence, become friends with them, get to know them all personally, and invite them around to his rooms some time, perhaps. He even determined upon his policy of discipline, if that should become necessary. He would not, he thought, be sarcastic with them, as one of his professors at college used to; no, because that, he deemed, was taking a mean advantage of the student, who could not, by reason of the relations of master and pupil, answer back; the master had it all on his side. Neither did he think he would affect the indignant attitude; no, because--well, he remembered the fellows' laugh at him when he once tried to be indignant. He would assume a dignified disregard, as the dean used to. That was the best method of maintaining order and attention in a class-room. That would best become Horatio B. Stacy, A.B. He fell asleep that night wondering what his pupils would give him for a nickname.