a different color down to the last, who wore a modest black.

When the teacher announced that prizes were to be given when the school session was over, there was much gladness, with many promises of attention and diligence for the time to come. Proceeding to work, he asked—

"If you divide 24 nuts among 12 good friskies, how many are left?"

"They're all left if they're bad," said Chattie.

Red, White, and Blue were correct, each having a big round O on their slates. So was number four, called Silver Ribbon. Several of the others were incorrect. Black Ribbon wrote down that he thought the parrot was right, but that after all he wasn't sure if the nuts were bad. He had a big head, a loving heart, and open honest brown eyes, and when the teacher saw what was written down he laughed and took him up in his arms and kissed him.

"My simple pet," said Robin, "you have as good a head as the others, but you have not been so long in the class; and, besides, your mamma is a poor, sick widow and unable to help you with your lessons."

Silver Ribbon (whose constant position for a certain reason was against the apple-tree) was the oftenest correct of all the class; but though very frolicsome and good-looking, she had a strange sly look about her face, very different from Black Ribbon's.

Chattie was pleased to hear her master sympathise with Black Ribbon, and desiring that no one might overlook his remark, she very distinctly said—

"Failure does not always mean a faulty head."

She had quite a liking for Black Ribbon, and well she might: he was a splendid climber of trees, and a magnificent leaper from branch to branch, his best feats being performed too whether the others were looking on or not. He was also civil and kind to everyone, and was most helpful to his sick mother at home. For these reasons, Chattie had lately taken his arithmetic in hand, but she was a great joker, and sometimes led the simple-minded little fellow astray. She was very sorry for his helpless mother, and therefore she visited her every day, prepared her meals, chatted with her, made her bed and swept the house with her tail. Indeed widow Black Ribbon's final recovery was due to Chattie's careful nursing, rather than to Dr. Beaver's baths and poplar pills.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ADVICE OF HUG-GRIPPY, THE AFFECTIONATE.

The class was just finishing when Hug-grippy, the chief of the Chippewa bears, appeared upon the scene. He had come on a friendly visit, and to get a breakfast of ripe raspberries and honey that Robin had promised him for saving the white pony, Plumpy, from the horns of a huge elk. He had indulged in a recent meal evidently, for his ribs bulged out so much and so comically that Chattie shrieked with laughter and cried out—

"There is more nourishment in fasting sometimes than in eating over much."

Hug-grippy himself laughed, although had he been thin-skinned he would not, but he was good-natured, and looking up he merely remarked that Miss Chattie appeared to him to be uttering a contradiction in some way or other. For his entertainment the teacher gave the class another question in division, and Hug-grippy wondered at their cleverness.

"As for me," said he, "I am bad at any kind of counting, but I can't do division at all. I suppose it's because I——"

"like everything to myself," said Chattie, finishing his sentence and laughing a her own joke.

When Robin told his class to count the bear's toes, they all jumped from their seat and seized his feet, and before he could recover from his mock alarm he was astonished to learn what he never could find out for himself—that he had no fewer than twenty toes. Then the friskies jumped upon his great back and head like a lot of monkeys. During the fun and confusion that followed, Black Ribbon ran to his home (which was close by) and begged a nut from his mamma; then returning quickly, he stood upon his hind legs and duly presented it to Hug-grippy. The great bear looked down, and patting the little fellow on the head, remarked, with a broad grateful smile, that he was a dear wee boy, fit to be at the head of his class, if for kindness only. Then turning to Robin he said—

"I think you should get up a kindness class, and (with a sly twinkle at Chattie) I shall come along often, not to talk and joke like some people, but to give the class an opportunity of putting their learning into practice."

"Very good advice," replied Robin.

Encouraged by this, Hug-grippy continued—

"There is too much teaching of the head in this world, and too little acting of the heart. Is it not intended that every bit of us should be exercised? If people neglect kindness, that fine feeling will die."

"Hear, hear," said Robin, "you have spoken well."

"Mind, master Robin," answered Bruin earnestly, "I am not hinting anything against your class, for the friskies need head treatment, and I am sure you show them in your own life how to be kind; but they will be all the better of doing as well as seeing, and so I have humbly suggested a class for the exercise of the faculty of kindness."

"Thank you, Hug-grippy, the idea is capital. I will raise such a class very soon, and put my best arithmetic-pupils into it by way of reward."

"Yes," replied Bruin, "the cleverest often need it most, to restore the proper balance between head and heart; and put Chattie in it," he added with a funny smile, as he lay down on the grass with his nose between his toes.

"And Hug-grippy too," cried Chattie.

"Oh no," said the bear, "I am trained."

"But you require to keep up your education, Mr. Bruin."

"True, very true," replied Hug-grippy quietly, "but too much exercise is bad, and I need an occasional rest. Besides, my dear, the class must have someone to work upon, someone to whom to be kind." Putting one of his great paws over his eyes he looked through his claws at Robin, and with a modest but humorous smile added—

"And if I might venture to speak of myself, I may mention that I am not unfavorable to honey."

"Oh you cunning rascal," cried the parrot.

"Hush," said the white pony, putting back her ears, "hush, hush."

And Robin laughed.

CHAPTER V.

THE ADVICE OF THE SUBTLE SNAKE.

Two weeks passed, the class had worked hard, and even Black Ribbon had pulled up wonderfully, but Silver Ribbon had the highest number of marks. The time for prize-giving, however, had not come, but the pupils were to get a rest for two or three days before going through a special examination, which would last half a day. When this was over the prizes would be given, and then there would be the glorious holidays, with excursions far into the forest.

Meantime Silver Ribbon got the preliminary silver medal attached to her neck. The other pupils crowded around her, congratulated her, and kissed her. Black Ribbon took her hand in his, and in a simple boyish way promised her a nut. Then they all carried her home shoulder high, singing and dancing merrily. Her mother, a kind, thin, old squirrel, with soft, black, melting eyes, was quite excited as she received her victorious daughter with a good big hug and many kisses. But her father, who was a stout, gruff-toned squirrel, though not unkind, was suspicious.

"I can't understand," said he, "why a girl that never does anything but play—never studies at home—should be the very head of a class of clever boys and girls. There is no special gift in our family to explain it: I fear there is something wrong."

And, sad to say, her father's honest suspicion was too well founded. The explanation is this. One day shortly after the class was formed, and when the other squirrels had all gone home from play, either to study or help their parents, Silver Ribbon remained stealthily behind to