(_Exit George._) _Peter._ The more fool you! Now, he will be in such a fluster, that he will be sure to miss in the very first sentence. _John._ There is the master, coming over the hill; now if I should just step up to him, and tell him the whole story! _Peter._ You know better than to do that. You know he never encourages tale-bearers. _John._ I know that, very well; and I would almost as soon be a cheat as a tell-tale; but the master will find you out, yet, without anybody’s help; and that will be a day of rejoicing to the whole school. There is not a fellow in it that don’t scorn you, Peter Sly. _Peter._ And who cares, so long as the master---- _John._ Don’t be quite so sure about the master, either; he never says much till he is ready. But I have seen him looking pretty sharply at you, over his spectacles, in the midst of some of your clever tricks. He will fetch you up one of these days, when you little think of it. I wish you much joy of your medal, Mr. Peter Sly. You got to the head of the class, last week, unfairly; and if your medal weighed as much as your conscience, I guess it would break your neck. (_Peter sits whittling, and humming a tune._) _Peter._ Let me see. I am quite sure of the medal in this class; but there’s the writing! John Steady is the only boy I am afraid of. If I could hire Timothy Dummy to pester him, and joggle his desk till he gets mad, I should be pretty sure of that, too. (_Enter master, taking out his watch._) _Master._ It wants twenty minutes of nine. Peter Sly, come to me. I want to have some conversation with you, before we go into school. _Peter._ Yes, sir.--What now? he looks rather black. (_Aside._) _Master._ For what purpose do you imagine I bestow medals, once a week, on the best of my scholars? _Peter._ To make the boys study, I believe, sir. _Master._ And why do I wish them to study? _Peter._ Why,--to please their parents, I suppose, sir. _Master._ I wish them to study for the very same reason that their parents do;--that they may get knowledge. I have suspected, for some time, that you labor under a considerable mistake about these matters. You take great pleasure, I presume, in wearing home that piece of silver, hanging round your neck; and your mother takes pleasure in seeing it. _Peter._ Yes, sir; she does. _Master._ And why? What does the medal say to her? Of what is it a sign? _Peter._ Why, that I am the best scholar in my class. _Master._ Is that what it says? I think it only shows, that you have been at the head of the class oftener, during the week, than any other boy. _Peter._ Well, sir; then, of course, she must think me the best scholar.