"'My manors, halls, and bowers shall still be open at my soveryne's will,'" chanted the boy. He paused, and to illustrate the imperious humor of the Scot, he waved his fingers and a red wrister at me. The gesture unnerved him for a moment, and he had to go thumbing over the page to find his place. He caught it again and chanted on--"'At my sover-sover-yne's will. To each one whom he lists, however unmeet to be the owner's peer.'" Again the boy waved the fingers and the red wrister at me. Again he paused, gathering himself for the climax. That gesture was abominable, but at such a time I dared not interrupt. "'My castles are my king's alone from turret to foundation stone,'" he cried. The red wrister flashed beneath my eye. Ira had even forgotten his book and let it fall to his side. He took a step forward; paused with one knee bent and the other stiff; extended his right arm and shouted, "'The hand of Dooglas is his own, and never shall in friendly grasp the hand of sech as Marmyyon clasp.'" [Illustration: "'At my sover-sover-yne's will.'"] Well done, Ira! The proud Marmion must indeed have trembled until his armor rattled if the Scot bellowed at him in that way and shook a red wrister so violently under his very nose. Excellent, Ira; you put spirit in your reading. One can almost picture you beneath Tantallion's towers, drawing your cloak around you and giving cold respect to the stranger guest. But why say "Dooglas"? "S-o-u-p spells soup," answered Ira loftily to my question. "Then D-o-u-g must spell doog." "I tell you it's Douglas. 'The hand of Douglas is his own,'" I cried. At the mention of the doughty Scot I pounded the floor with my crutch and repeated "Dug--dug--dug." "But Teacher Thomas allus said Doog," exclaimed Chester Holmes. "I don't care what Teacher Thomas said," I retorted. "You must say Dug--Dug--Douglas." "But Teacher Thomas is the best speaker they is," piped in Lulu Ann Nummler from the end of the bench. "I don't care if Teacher Thomas can recite better than Demosthenes himself," I snapped. "In this school we say Douglas." My crutch emphasized this mandate, but I could not see how it was received, for every scholar's face was hidden from me by a book. "Now, Abraham, six lines."