At twelve o’clock precisely, the examining committee being in their places, the classbooks on the table before them, the classes ranged in order in front of them, and the greater part of the company assembled, the business of the examination commenced in earnest.

The examining committee was composed of the masters of a neighboring collegiate school, who were three in number—­namely, Professor Adams, Doctor Martin, and Mr. Watkins.  The school was divided into three classes.  They began with the lowest class and ascended by regular rotation to the highest.  The examination of these classes passed off fairly enough to satisfy a reasonable audience.  Among the pupils there was the usual proportion of “sharps, flats, and naturals”—­otherwise of bright, dull, and mediocre individuals.  After the examination of the three classes was complete, there remained the two youths, Walter Middleton and Ishmael Worth, who, far in advance of the other pupils, were not classed with them, and, being but two, could not be called a class of themselves.  Yet they stood up and were examined together, and acquitted themselves with alternating success and equal honor.  For instance, in mathematics Walter Middleton had the advantage; in belles-lettres Ishmael excelled; in modern languages both were equal; and nothing now remained but the reading of the two Greek theses to establish the relative merits of these generous competitors.  These compositions had been placed in the hands of the committee, without the names of their authors; so that the most captious might not be able to complain that the decision of the examiners had been swayed by fear or favor.  The theses were to be read and deliberated upon by the examiners alone, and while this deliberation was going on there was a recess, during which the pupils were dismissed to amuse themselves on the lawn, and the audience fell into easy disorder, moving about and chatting among themselves.

In an hour a bell was rung, the pupils were called in and arranged in their classes, the audience fell into order again, and the distribution of prizes commenced.  This was arranged on so liberal a scale that each and all received a prize for something thing or other—­if it were not for scholastic proficiency, or exemplary deportment, then it was for personal neatness or something else.  The two Burghes, who were grossly ignorant, slothful, perverse, and slovenly, got prizes for the regular attendance, into which they were daily dragooned by their father.

Walter Middleton received the highest prize in mathematics; Ishmael Worth took the highest in belles-lettres; both took prizes in modern languages; so far they were head and head in the race; and nothing remained but to award the gold watch which was to confer the highest honors of the school upon its fortunate recipient.  But before awarding the watch the two theses were to be read aloud to the audience for the benefit of the few who were learned enough to understand them.  Professor Adams was the reader.  He arose in his place and opened the first paper; it proved to be the composition of Ishmael Worth.  As he read the eyes and ears of the two young competitors, who were sitting together, were strained upon him.