He had been sent to school, but his mischievous propensities had so infected the boys sitting near him that the teacher had been compelled to request his removal.
Three times in the week, during the afternoon, Pomp came over to the farm for instruction.

On the first of these occasions we will look in upon him and his teacher.
Pomp is sitting on a cricket by the kitchen fire.

He has a primer open before him at the alphabet.

His round eyes are fixed upon the page as long as Frank is looking at him, but he requires constant watching.

His teacher sits near-by, with a Latin dictionary resting upon a light stand before him, and a copy of Virgil's Aeneid in his hand.
"Well, Pomp, do you think you know your lesson ?" he asks.
"Dunno, Mass' Frank; I reckon so." "You may bring your book to me, and I will try you." Pomp rose from his stool and sidled up to Frank with no great alacrity.
"What's that letter, Pomp ?" asked the young teacher, pointing out the initial letter of the alphabet.
Pomp answered correctly.
"And what is the next ?" Pomp shifted from one foot to the other, and stared vacantly out of the window, but said nothing.
"Don't you know ?" "'Pears like I don't 'member him, Mass' Frank." Here Frank had recourse to a system of mnemonics frequently resorted to by teachers in their extremity.
"What's the name of the little insect that stings people sometimes, Pomp ?" "Wasp, Mass' Frank," was the confident reply.
"No, I don't mean that.