“She give out,” continued the Tinsmith, not heeding the interruption, “that she’d take the best edicated. That tickled Jawhn, an’ he blowed around to his frien’s how he was goin’ to send ’em invites to his weddin’. Perry jest grit his teeth an’ sayd nawthin’ ’cept that he was ready. Then he got out his spellin’ book an’ went to sawin’ wood jest ez hard an’ fast ez he could.” “That there reminds me o’ my pap.” The Chronic Loafer was sitting up again. “Well, if your pap was anything like his son,” said the Teacher, “I guess he could ’a’ sawed most of his wood with a spellin’ book.” The author of this witticism laughed long and loud, having support in the Miller and the G.A. R. Man. The Patriarch put his hand under his chin and dexterously turned his long beard upward so that it hid his face. In the seclusion thus formed he had a quiet chuckle all to himself, for he was a politic old person and loath to offend. “Boys, boys,” he said when the mirth was subsiding, “remember what the Scriptur’ sais----” “Pap didn’t git it from the Scriptur’,” said the Loafer complacently. “He use to give it ez a text tho’, somethin’ like this, ‘He that goeth at the wood-pile too fast gen’rally breaketh his saw on the fust nail an’ freezeth all winter.’” “Not ef he gits the right kind o’ firewood--the kind that hasn’t no nails,” said the Miller hotly. “Huh!” exclaimed the Loafer, and he sprawled out upon the counter once more. The Tinsmith took up the narrative again. “It was agreed that the two teachers ’ud hev it out at the big spellin’ bee ’tween their schools the follyin’ week. The night set come. Sech a crowd ez gathered at the Happy Grove school house! They was sleighin’, an’ fer a quarter of a mile in front o’ the buildin’ they was nawthin’ but horses hitched to the fences. The room was decorated with greens an’ lighted with ile lamps fer the occasion, an’ was jest packed. All the seats was filled with girls. The men was lined three deep along the walls an’ banked up on top of one another at the back. On one side o’ the platform, settin’ on a long bench under the blackboard, was the sixteen best scholars o’ Happy Grove school led be Jawhn Jimson. He was smilin’ an’ conferdent, an’ gazed longin’ at Hannah Ciders, who was on one o’ the front seats an’ ’peared rather nervous. “Perry Muthersbaugh come up to me ez I was standin’ be the stove warmin’ up, an’ I whispered him a few words of encouragement, tho’ I felt sorry fer him. He was a leetle excited but ’lowed it ’ud come out all right. Then he tuk his place on the other side o’ the platform with his sixteen scholars, an’ the proceedin’s begin.