PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST
MISS VIRGINIA SMITH knew how to teach arithmetic. Fractions lost
their terror for Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were eagerly
anticipated. History became more than ever a living story to the child,
and geography was a never failing joy. On rainy days every stream and
puddle between Mrs. Golding's home and the schoolhouse was named, and
if several Mississippi Rivers emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if
half a dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the country road, what
difference did it make? When the sun shone bright and only dew-drops
glistened in the shade, Marian saw deserts and plains, mountains and
volcanoes along the dusty way.
For a time the game of geography became so absorbing Marian played it
at the table, forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and sprinkling
salt upon the summits until the drifts were so deep, only the valleys
below were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was always the Missouri River
winding its way across Marian's plate between banks of vegetables. Ice
cream meant Mammoth Cave. A piece of pie was South Africa from which
the Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared. However hungry Marian might
be, there was a time when she ate nothing but continents and islands.
Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach the country children,
Marian Lee appropriated for herself. She listened to all recitations
whether of the chart class or the big boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian
had attended more strictly to her own lessons, she might have made the
kind of a record she thought would please Uncle George. As it was,
Jimmie Black "Left off head" in the spelling class more times than she
did, the first month. Belle Newman had higher standings in arithmetic
and geography, and some one carried off all the other honors.
Marian, however, knew something about botany before the end of May,
and she gloried in the fact that she could name all the bones in her
body. Mr. Golding was proud of her accomplishment and once when she
went with him to see old Bess newly shod, he asked her to name the
bones for the blacksmith: and the blacksmith thought it wonderful that
a little girl knew so much. "Yes, but that's nothing," remarked the
child, "all the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class know their
bones."
"Ain't you in the fifth reader?" asked the blacksmith.
"No," was the reply, "I can read the whole reader through, but I'm
not in that reader class. That's the highest class in the country. I
suppose being in the fifth reader here is like being in the high school
at home just before you graduate. I won't have to learn bones when I
get up to the high school."
"And still you say that ain't nothing," protested the blacksmith.
Marian shook her head. "I haven't done one thing in school better'n
anybody else," she said, "and to do something better'n anybody else
is all that counts. Don't you try to be the best blacksmither in the
country?"
Old Bess flourished her tail in the blacksmith's face and the man spoke
to her next instead of to Marian. He wasn't the best blacksmith and he
knew it. Some years afterwards when he had won an enviable reputation,
he told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought of trying to do
unusually good work was when the little Lee girl asked him if he tried
to be the best blacksmith in the country.
Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that Marian was interested in the
wild flowers and had told her many a legend of wayside blooms when
walking with her through the fields and across the hills: but she
had no idea how much the child had learned from listening to the
recitations of the botany class, until the Saturday morning when the
wax doll went to school. Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib
unnoticed by teacher or pupil.
The doll was propped in an attitude of attention among the ears of corn.
"Now, little girl," the instructor was saying, "if you ever expect to
amount to anything in this world, you've got to use your eyes and
ears. I'm the Professor of Botany your mother was reading about last
night, who knew nothing about botany until she began to study it. Next
winter when we can't get outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on
seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves. The Professor of
Botany has got to learn the names of the shapes of leaves and how to
spell them. She really ought to own a book but she doesn't, and that
can't be helped. You're sure to get what you want some time though, if
you only try hard enough, and the Botany Professor will get a book. You
just wait.
"Don't think, little girl, because we are skipping straight over
to flowers this morning that you are going to get out of learning
beginnings. We're taking flowers because it is summer. Of course you
know this is a strawberry blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it
wasn't for strawberry blossoms you couldn't have strawberry shortcake,
remember that. That's the principal thing about strawberries. This
little circle of white leaves is called the corolla. Now don't get the
calyx mixed with the corolla as some children do. I tell you it makes
me feel squirmy to hear some big girls recite. You ought to see this
flower under a microscope. I guess I'll go and ask Professor Smith for
hers."
Marian turned around so quickly Professor Smith was unable to get out
of sight. The doll's instructor felt pretty foolish for a moment, but
only for a moment.
"Marian Lee," said Miss Smith, "you shall join the botany class next
Monday morning and I'll give you a book of mine to study."
"What will the big girls say?" gasped Marian.
"About as much as your doll in there," laughed Miss Smith, adding
seriously, "I won't expect too much of you, Marian, but you may as well
be in the class and learn all you can."
On Monday morning, although the big girls smiled and the little girls
stared, Professor Lee became a member of the botany class and learned
to press the wild flowers.
"I won't have the most perfect lessons of anybody in the class,"
Marian confided to her doll, "because the big girls know so much; but
I'll try and have the best specimens in my herbarium. I can do that, I
am sure. I have just got to do something better than any one else in
school before I go home."
The following Saturday the doll listened with unchanging face to a
confession. "Every one of the big girls can press specimens better than
I can. Their violet plants look like pictures but mine look like hay.
I guess Uncle George will be discouraged. I don't do anything best. A
robin is building a nest just outside the window where my seat is in
school and I forgot to study my spelling lesson. Of course I missed
half the words. It was the robin's fault. She ought to keep away from
school children."