CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW SCHOOLING.
Without a word, Mr.Simon opened a drawer, and taking from it about a score of leaves of paper, handed one of them to Cosmo.

Upon it, in print, was a stanza--one, and no more.
"Read that," he said, with a glance that showed through his eyes the light burning inside him, "and tell me if you understand it.

I don't want you to ponder over it, but to say at a reading whether you know what it means." Cosmo obeyed and read.
"I dinna mak heid nor tail o' 't, sir," he answered, looking over the top of the paper like a prisoned sheep.
Mr.Simon took it from him, and handed him another.
"Try that," he said.
Cosmo read, put his hand to his head, and looked troubled.
"Don't distress yourself," said Mr.Simon.

"The thing is of no consequence for judgment; it is only for discovery." The remark conveyed but little consolation to the pupil, who would gladly have stood well in his own eyes before his new master.
One after another Mr.Simon handed him the papers he held.

About the fifth or sixth, Cosmo exclaimed, "I do understand that, sir." "Very well," returned Mr.Simon, without showing any special satisfaction, and immediately handed him another.
This was again a non-luminous body, and indeed cast a shadow over the face of the embryo student.