frail and slender, with lustrous black hair and brown eyes, and apparently not over twelve in years.
"Bring your slate here, Gilbert, and let me see it." The lad walked quickly to the desk and handed it to her.
"Correct, and very neatly written,"—and Miss Latham patted the little fellow's head approvingly.
Within a few minutes all the boys but one had mastered the example. He sat with his head resting on his left hand, his tongue projecting from the corner of his mouth, the perspiration dotting his forehead in great beads, and his eyes glued on the problem before him. His lips moved as he wrote, and figure after figure appeared on his slate only to be rubbed out. Long-drawn sighs were heard at intervals, and despair seemed pictured on his face.
"Sandy, we are waiting; all the pupils have the answer but you."
Sandy looked up with an apologetic air, and drawled: "It's mighty tough on ev'rybody havin' ter wait on me, Miss Maisie, but I ain't quite got the hang of it yet,"—slowly shaking his head and heaving another hopeless sigh.
