"I say, boy," I called with a pronounced Piccadilly Johnny accent,
"heah, boy! Can you direct me to the--er--village post-office?"
He scratched his head and looked round him dubiously.
"Blowed if Aw ken," he said at last. "Aw'm a stranger here."
Yes, Macdonald will whack him.
I sent Jim out yesterday to measure the rainfall (there had been a
fortnight's drought) and he went out to the playground. In ten minutes
he returned looking puzzled. He came to my desk and lifted an Algebra
book, then he went to his seat and seemed to sweat over some huge
calculation. At length he came to me and announced that the rainfall was
·3578994 of an inch. I went out to the playground ... he had watered it
with the watering-can.
"There are no flies on you, my lad," I said.
"No, sir," he smiled, "the flies don't come out in the rain."
Yes, Macdonald is sure to whack him.
I shall miss Jim. I shall miss them all ... but Jim most of all. What
about Janet? And Gladys? And Ellen? And Jean?... Well, then, I'll miss
Jim most of all the boys.
I tried to avoid being melodramatic to-day. It has been a queer day, an
expectant day. They followed me with their eyes all day; if an inspector
had arrived I swear that he would have put me down as a good
disciplinarian. I never got so much attention from my bairns in my life.
I blew the "Fall in!" for the last time at the three o'clock interval.
Janet and Ellen were late. When they arrived they carried a wee parcel
each. They came forward to my desk and laid their parcels before me.
"A present from your scholars," said Janet awkwardly. I slowly took off
the tissue paper and held up a bonny pipe and a crocodile tobacco-pouch.
I didn't feel like speaking, so I took out my old pouch and emptied its
contents into the new one; then I filled the new pipe and placed it
between my teeth. A wee lassie giggled, but the others looked on in
painful silence.
I cleared my throat to speak, but the words refused to come ... so I lit
the pipe.
"That's better," I said with forced cheerfulness, and I puffed away for
a little.
"Well, bairns," I began, "I am----" Then Barbara Watson began to weep. I
frowned at Barbara; then I blew my nose. Confound Barbara!
"Bairns," I began again, "I am going away now." Janet's eyes began to
look dim, and I had to frown at her very hard; then I had to turn my
frown on Jean ... and Janet, the besom, took advantage of my divided
attention. I blew my nose again; then I coughed just to show that I
really did have a cold.
"I don't suppose any of you understand why I am going away, but I'll try
to tell you. I have been dismissed by your fathers and mothers. I
haven't been a good teacher, they say; I have allowed you too much
freedom. I have taken you out sketching and fishing and playing; I have
let you read what you liked, let you do what you liked. I haven't taught
you enough. How many of you know the capital of Bolivia? You see, not
one of you knows."
"Please, sir, what is it?" asked Jim Jackson.
"I don't know myself, Jim."
My pipe had gone out and I lit it again.
"Bairns, I don't want to leave you all; you are mine, you know, and the
school is ours. You and I made the gardens and rockeries; we dug the
pond and we caught the trout and minnows and planted the water-plants.
We built the pigeon-loft and the rabbit-hutch. We fed our pets together.
We----"
I don't know what happened after that. I took out my handkerchief, but
not to blow my nose.
"The bugle," I managed to say, and someone shoved it into my hand. Then
I played "There's No Parade To-day," but I don't think I played it very
well.
Only a few went outside; most of them sat and looked at me.
"I must get Jim to save the situation," I said to myself, and I shouted
his name.
"P-please, sir," lisped Maggie Clark, "Jim's standin' oot in the porch."
"Tell him to come in," I commanded.
Maggie went out; then she returned slowly.
"P-please, sir, he's standin' greetin' and he winna come."
"Damnation!" I cried, and I bustled them from the room.
A quarter-past six! It's time Jim came for these boxes.
* * *
I am back in my old rooms in a small street off Hammersmith Broadway. My
landlady, Mrs. Lewis, is a lady of delightful garrulity, and her
comments on things to-day have served to cheer me up. She is intensely
interested in the fact that I have come from Scotland, and anxious to
give me all the news of events that have happened during my sojourn in
the wilds.
"Did you 'ear much abaht the war in Scotland?" she said.