“Louder.  Put some spirit in it,” I cried. “‘Fierce broke he forth!’” And my crutch beat the floor.

“’Fierth broke he forth, and durtht thou then to bared——­”

“To beard,” I corrected.

“‘Bared the lion in hith den—­the Doog-dug-lath——­’” Abraham stopped and took a long breath.  I just gazed at him.

“‘In hith hall,’” he shouted. “’And h-o-p-hop-e-s-t-hopest thou then unthscathed to go?’”

The boy’s knees began to bend under him, and he was reaching a long, thin arm out behind hunting for the bench.  He was fleeing.  I knew it.  I warned him.

“No—­go on—­read on.”

Abraham sighed and drew his sleeve across his mouth from the elbow to the tips of his fingers.  Then he sang: 

“’Noby—­Thent Bride—­ofBoth—­wellno—­updraw—­bridgegrooms—­whatward—­erho —­lettheportculluthfall!’”

Young Spiker collapsed.

“‘Lord Marmion turned; well was his need,’” I cried, “if Douglas ever addressed him in that fashion.”

“Now watch me, boys,” I added.  And with as much fire as I could kindle in so short a time and under conditions so dampening, I thundered the resounding lines:  “’No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!  Up drawbridge, grooms—­what, warder, ho!’”

“‘Let the portcullis fall!’” This last command rang from the back of the room.  Perry Thomas stood there smiling.

“I couldn’t have done it better myself, Mark,” he said.  “It’s a splendid piece—­that Manny-yon—­ain’t it—­grand—­noble.  I love to say it.”

“Teacher Thomas, Teacher Thomas,” came in the shrill voice of Chester Holmes, “ain’t it Dooglas?”

Perry was at my side, smiling benignly on the school.  He really seemed to love the scholars; but Perry is a pious man, and seeks to follow the letter of the Scriptures, and the command is to love our enemies.

“Doogulus—­Doogulus,” he said.  “Of course, boys, it’s Doogulus.”

The word seemed to taste good, he rolled it over and over so in his mouth.

“Teacher Hope says you ain’t such a fine speaker after all,” cried Lulu Ann Nummler from the distant end of the bench.

She is fifteen and should have known better, but the people of our valley are dreadfully frank sometimes, and this girl spoke in the clear, sharp voice of truth that cut through one.  Perry turned quick as a flash and eyed me.

For a moment all I could do was to thump the floor and cry “Order!  Silence!  Lulu Ann Nummler, when you want to speak, you must hold up three fingers.”

The three fingers shot up at once and waved at me, but I pretended not to see them and turned to my guest.

“I said, Perry, that you were not quite so great a speaker as Demosthenes,” I stammered.  Chester Holmes had three fingers up and Ira Snarkle was waving both hands, but I went calmly on:  “They were telling me how beautifully you recited, and I was trying to instil into the piece a little of your spirit.  But now that we have you here, I insist on your showing me and the school just how it is done.”