grew nervous under the discipline. He thought so much about keeping his eyes in the prescribed place that he could think very little about his lessons; and so he became comparatively dull and defective in his recitations.

At length, just before the teacher left Mrs. Garfield’s for another boarding-place, he said to her in James’s presence:—

“I do not want to wound your feelings; James is such a noble boy; but then I want to tell you—”

“Say on,” replied Mrs. Garfield, quite startled by the solemn tone of the “master.”

“James is not quite the boy in school that I expected.”

“How so?” interrupted Mrs. Garfield, completely taken by surprise. “You astonish me.”

“I know that you will be grieved; but I think it is my duty to tell you.” And Mrs. Garfield could see that he shrunk from telling her, and she began to think that something awful had happened; still she repeated:—

“Say on.”

“Well, it is only this: James don’t sit still, and he don’t learn his lessons. I fear that I shall not be able to make a scholar of him.”

“Oh, James!” his mother exclaimed, as if the teacher had put a shot through her body. That was all she said; and it was uttered in a tone of agony that went straight to the little fellow’s heart, as he stood looking and listening. She sent him to school that he might make a scholar, and now her hopes were dashed in a moment. No wonder that her response was an exclamation of disappointment and grief!

“I will be a good boy!” ejaculated James, bursting into tears, and burying his face in his mother’s lap. “I mean to be a good boy.” And he never told more truth in a single sentence than he did in the last one. It never will do for a philosopher, however wise, to attempt to repress the centrifugal force of nature; and that was what the teacher was trying to do.

“Perhaps he can’t sit still,” at length Mrs. Garfield suggested; “he never was still in his life.”

“I will sit still!” was the boy’s response, still sobbing as if his heart would burst, yet speaking before the teacher had time to reply.

“Perhaps so,” answered the teacher thoughtfully, as if the grieved mother had awakened a new idea in him.

“I never knew him to fail of learning before,” Mrs. Garfield continued: “never.”

“I will learn, mother!” the boy shouted between his sobs.

“You mean to learn, I have no doubt,” answered his mother. “Some boys do worse than they intend; perhaps that is the trouble with you.”

“You dear child,” said the teacher, putting his hand upon his head, touched by the lad’s piteous appeals; “you and I are good friends, and I think we shall have no more trouble. I will try you again. So wipe up, and let us laugh and not cry.”

The teacher saw his mistake. The child’s mother had opened his eyes by her wise suggestion. In his mind he resolved to let the centrifugal force alone, and adopt another policy. So the subject was dropped, and James went to school on the following day, to sit still or not, as he pleased. The teacher resolved to leave him to himself, and see what the effect would be. The result was excellent. The boy did not sit