But Grace thought ruefully of all her high-flown plans for this Sunday class, and felt that it was a terrible descent to be restricted to the “Third Primer.”  But Geordie seemed convinced that through this dog-eared volume lay the only royal road to learning.  He had already opened the book at one of the little lessons near the end which he seemed to think he had not sufficiently mastered in the “schoolin’ days” already far away in the distance to the little herd-boy.  He still stood by Grace’s side at the table, and his finger travelled slowly along the page as he read, in the nasal sing-song tone in which the reading functions were performed at the parish school, one of those meaningless little paragraphs that are supposed to be best adapted by the compilers of primers for teaching the young idea how to shoot.

Grace sat listening, rather perplexed as to what course it would be best to pursue.  This certainly was not the kind of ideal Sunday-class which she had in her mind all these months; indeed, this “Third Primer” was hardly orthodox food for Sunday at all, according to her ideas; and yet Geordie was laboriously travelling over the page with a dogged earnestness which she did not know how to divert into any other channel without doing harm in some shape or other.  But presently help came to her from a quarter where she had least expected it.

Jean, who had been seated on the form unnoticed for several minutes, listening to Geordie’s earnest but uninteresting sing-song, as he stood at the table leaning over his lesson-book, got tired of her neglected situation, and descending from her high seat, she planted her sturdy little legs on the floor, saying, in a decided tone, as she stumped away towards the door, “Geordie, I’m tired sittin’ here.  I’m away home.”  Jean’s words fell like a thunderbolt both on Geordie and Grace.  The blood mounted to the boy’s face, and his earnest blue eyes turned anxiously towards the young teacher, to see what she was thinking of such an utter breach of good manners on Jean’s part.

[Illustration:  The first lesson.]

Poor Grace felt bitterly conscious of sudden and terrible failure in this work which she had so longed to undertake.  She had not been able to interest one scholar for a quarter of an hour, and the other seemed only to have his heart set on learning to spell.  “But it is not quite time to go home yet, Jean,” she faltered, as she watched the little girl’s efforts to open the door, since Geordie did not seem inclined to come to her assistance.  “Indeed, we haven’t really begun yet,” continued Grace.  “Come, Jean, would you not like to stay a little longer and hear a story from the Bible before you go?  Geordie used to like them at school, he says;” and then, turning to the boy, who stood looking in grave reproving silence at Jean, she said, “Besides, Geordie, I think, perhaps, I did not quite explain to you the other day what I thought we should try to learn on Sunday afternoons when you come here.  I shall be very glad to help you with spelling, too, you know, but I thought I should like to tell you something about the Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour, and to read some of his wonderful words which we find in the New Testament.  You have heard of him, have you not, Geordie?”