"Mother and I had a school at home," he exclaimed joyfully to his teacher at recess. "We took turns in hearing the class recite. She said I was very strict."
At the end of another week, the teacher one afternoon told her pupils to lay aside their books as she wished to talk to them.
"Two days ago," she began, "I lost a little knife, with a pearl handle. I used it in my desk, and felt quite sure I left it here; but, after searching in vain, outside and inside the desk, I made up my mind I had taken it home in my pocket by mistake. I would not suspect one of my scholars of so mean a thing as borrowing my knife without leave; and I dared not for a moment entertain the thought that any one here would steal from the teacher.
"I looked for it at home without success; but what was my surprise this afternoon, when I opened my desk, to find the knife lying directly before me, the blade broken so badly that it was useless!"
She held up the knife, while her eye glanced rapidly from one scholar to another.
All were very curious; some expressed indignation at the deed; but no one seemed particularly moved except Ernest Monroe. His usually pale cheeks were dyed with blushes, while tears trembled in his eyes, and he covered his face.
"What can it mean," thought the teacher. "I'm sure Ernest is not the guilty one; and yet he looks so embarrassed."
"Can any of you tell me how my knife came to be broken?" asked Miss Fosdick. "I will readily forgive the offender if she or he will confess. It is a wicked thing to steal; don't add to the sin by a lie. Come up to the desk bravely, and tell me the whole truth."
No one moved, but several of the scholars noticed how much Ernest tried to hide his confusion. He opened and shut his desk, and held his face closely over his books.
"Don't he look guilty?" whispered Henry Drake, touching his companion under the seat.