It was a lesson the lad never forgot.  In the final contest between him and his teacher, he was conquered and he admitted it.  Mr. Lathrop made a study of his character, and having proven himself physically his master, set out to acquire the moral conquest that was needed to complete the work.  It need hardly be added that he succeeded, for he was a thoughtful, conscientious instructor of youth, who loved his work, and who toiled as one who knows that he must render an account of his stewardship to Him who is not only loving and merciful, but just.

A YOUNG HERO.

Reuben Johnson leaned on his hoe, and, looking up at the sun, wondered whether, as in the Biblical story, it had not been stationary for several hours.  He was sure it was never so long in descending to the horizon.

“Wake up, Rube,” sharply called his Uncle Peter, smartly hoeing another row a few paces behind him, “doan be idlin’ your time; de sun am foah hours high yit.”

The nephew started and raised his implement, but stopped.  He was staring at the corner of the fence just ahead, where sat the jug of cold water, with the Revolutionary musket leaning against the rails.  The crows were so annoying that the double-loaded weapon was kept ready to be used against the pests when they ventured too near.

“See dar, uncle!” said Rube in a scared voice.  The old man also ceased work, adjusted his iron-rimmed spectacles, and looked toward the fence.

Within a few feet of where the flint lock musket inclined against the rails, a yellow dog was trying to push his way through.  Watching his efforts for a few minutes, the elder said: 

“Rube, I wish we had de gun; dat dog ain’t peaceable.”

“He am mad; dis ain’t de place fur us.”

“Slip down to de fence and got de gun; dat’s a good boy!”

“Gracious!” gasped the youth; “it am right dar by de dog.”

“He won’t notice you; run behind him and be quick ’bout it, or he’ll chaw us bofe to def.”

“He’ll chaw me suah if I goes near him,” was the reply of Rube, who felt little ardor for the task his relative urged upon him.

“Ain’t it better dat one ob us should go dead, dan bofe should be obstinguished?” asked the uncle reproachfully.

“Dat ’pends which am de one to go dead; if it am me, it am better for you, but I don’t see whar I’m to come in; ’spose you see wheder you can got de gun—­”

“Dar he comes!” whispered Uncle Pete.

Sure enough the cur, having twisted his body between the rails, began trotting toward the couple that were watching him with such interest.

There was good reason for fear, since the canine was afflicted with the rabies in the worst form.  He showed no froth at the jaws, for animals thus affected do not, but his eyes were fiery, his mouth dry, the consuming fever burning up all moisture.  He moaned as if in pain, his torture causing him to snap at everything in reach.  He had bitten shrubbery, branches, wood and other objects, and now made for the persons with the purpose of using his teeth on them.