on the floor; and everybody tittered and giggled until the boy had been coaxed into taking the dog home, for if merely left in the entry he howled and whined in a way that made study impossible.  But one day the boy was not to be coaxed, and the teacher grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck, and flung him through a window so forcibly that he never came back.  And now a woman was to teach the school:  she was only a little woman and yet the boys obeyed her, and I had come to think that a woman could teach school nearly as well as a man, when the awful announcement was made that thereafter every week we were to have a Friday Afternoon.  There were to be no lessons; everybody was to speak a piece, and then there was to be a spelling-match—­and that was all.  But heavens! it was enough.

Monday began very blue and gloomy, and the density increased as the week passed.  My mother had drilled me well in my lines, and my big sister was lavish in her praise, but the awful ordeal of standing up before the whole school was yet to come.

Thursday night I slept but little, and all Friday morning I was in a burning fever.  At noon I could not eat my lunch, but I tried to, manfully, and as I munched on the tasteless morsels, salt tears rained on the johnnycake I held in my hand.  And even when the girls brought in big bunches of wild flowers and cornstalks, and began to decorate the platform, things appeared no brighter.

Finally, the teacher went to the door and rang the bell:  nobody seemed to play, and as the scholars took their seats, some, very pale, tried to smile, and others whispered, “Have you got your piece?” Still others kept their lips working, repeating lines that struggled hard to flee.

Names were called, but I did not see who went up, neither did I hear what was said.  At last, my name was called:  it came like a clap of thunder—­as a great surprise, a shock.  I clutched the desk, struggled to my feet, passed down the aisle, the sound of my shoes echoing through the silence like the strokes of a maul.  The blood seemed ready to burst from my eyes, ears and nose.

I reached the platform, missed my footing, stumbled, and nearly fell.  I heard the giggling that followed, and knew that a red-haired boy, who had just spoken, and was therefore unnecessarily jubilant, had laughed aloud.

I was angry.  I shut my fists so that the nails cut my flesh, and glaring straight at his red head shot my bolt:  “I know not how others may feel, but sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my heart and my hand to this vote.  It is my living sentiment and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment.  Independence now, and independence forever.”

That was all of the piece.  I gave the whole thing in a mouthful, and started for my seat, got halfway there and remembered I had forgotten to bow, turned, went back to the platform, bowed with a jerk, started again for my seat, and hearing some one laugh, ran.