"What is the name of the new boy?" he asked.
"Thin'-je-zhin-ga," answered one of the boys.
Gray-beard tried to repeat the name, but only set the whole school laughing. While this was going on, Little Tail reached down to his belt and drew out a roll of milkweed fibre. It was his ammunition. He tore off enough to make a bullet, chewed it, and, bringing the breach of the pop-gun to his mouth, inserted the ball, twisting the gun with his hands while he pressed the wad in with his teeth, making many motions with his head. By pounding the butt of the rammer on the floor, he drove the ball to the firing point; then raising the gun he began forcing the ball with vigorous thrusts, aiming it at a mischievous boy who sat opposite making faces at him. Bang! went the weapon; the bullet, instead of hitting the object aimed at, struck Gray-beard in the face, and made him throw his head back. We covered our faces to suppress the giggles that bubbled up at this mishap. The wounded man looked sharply at the young artillerist, who, seeing the mischief he had done, very slyly thrust his gun into his robe, and, keeping an eye on his victim, sat perfectly still.
The teacher looked serious, then we became scared. After a moment his face relaxed, and he said in a pleasant tone, "We must have the name of the new boy on the Register, but we cannot have any name that is unpronounceable. We shall have to give him an English name. Will you suggest one?"
A number of hands went up and as many historic names were offered and rejected. Finally it was determined to call him William T. Sherman and that name was entered upon the Register.
After school a few boys were detailed to wash and dress the new arrival; so, with arms full of clothing, towels, and other bathing appliances, the lad was taken up to the boys' dormitory. The first thing to be done was to cut his long hair. A towel was put around his neck, and soon the shears were singing a tune about his ears. He seemed to enjoy it, and laughed at the jokes made by the boys; but when by some chance he caught sight of his scalp-lock lying on the floor like a little black snake, he put his fists into his eyes and fell to sobbing as though his heart would break.
"Pshaw!" said little Isaac, rubbing his closely cropped head, "mine was longer than yours when it was cut off, but I didn't cry!"
"Mine too!" exclaimed Abraham, picking up the braided look and putting it where his had been; at which the rest of the boys laughed.
When the bath was over, William T. Sherman was dressed. He was delighted with his brand-new clothes, particularly with the long row of brass buttons that adorned the front of the jacket. When it came to the shoes, his grief for the lost scalp-lock was clean forgotten, and he strutted about to show the boys that his shining black shoes sang to his satisfaction.