Miss Hunt colored angrily. “Something is the matter with the school to-day,” she said sharply. “I never knew them to behave so in my life! I can’t see what’s come over them! They _always_ carry their chairs in front of them.” “I should hope so,” responded the visitor placidly, “nothing could be worse for them than that angle.” “At least they’re safe now,” the youngest assistant whispered to her fellow-teacher, as the children sat decorously attentive in their chairs, their faces turned curiously toward the strange lady with the fascinating plumes in her bonnet. “——Nothing like animals to bring out the protective instinct—feebler dependent on the stronger,” she concluded rapidly, and then addressed the objects of these theories. [Illustration: “_Sneezed loudly and unexpectedly._”] “Now, children, I’m going to tell you a nice story—you all like stories, I’m sure.” At just that moment little Richard Willetts sneezed loudly and unexpectedly to all, himself included, with the result that his ever-ready suspicion fixed upon his neighbor, Andrew Halloran, as the direct cause of the convulsion. Andrew’s well-meant efforts to detach from Richard’s vest the pocket-handkerchief securely fastened thereto by a large, black safety-pin strengthened the latter’s conviction of intended assault and battery, and he squirmed out of the circle and made a dash for the hall—the first stage in an evident homeward expedition. This broke in upon the story, and even when it got under way again there was an atmosphere of excitement quite unexplained by the tale itself. [Illustration: “’_Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, what do you think I saw?_’”] “Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, _what_ do you think I saw?” The elaborately concealed surprise in store was so obvious that Marantha rose to the occasion and suggested: “An el’phunt!” “Why, no! Why should I see an elephant in my yard? It wasn’t _nearly_ so big as that—it was a _little_ thing!” “A fish!” ventured Eddy Brown, whose eye fell upon the aquarium in the corner. The _raconteuse_ smiled patiently. “Why, no! How could a fish, a live fish, get in my front yard?” “A dead fish?” persisted Eddy, who was never known to relinquish voluntarily an idea. “It was a little kitten,” said the story-teller, decidedly. “A little white kitten. She was standing right near a great big puddle of water. And what else do you think I saw?” “Another kitten?” suggested Marantha conservatively. “No, a big Newfoundland dog. He saw the little kitten near the water. Now cats don’t like the water, do they? They don’t like a wet place. What do they like?” “Mice!” said Joseph Zukoffsky abruptly. “Well, yes, they do; but there were no mice in my yard. I’m sure you know what I mean. If they don’t like _water_, what do they like?” “Milk!” cried Sarah Fuller confidently. “They like a dry place,” said Mrs. R. B. M. Smith.