[Sidenote: “Trying on” Clothing]
The children in Valley Grove School had an insatiable curiosity
concerning unfamiliar things, which annoyed Miss Freeman, their teacher,
exceedingly. She was a city woman, with no idea of the restricted lives
her pupils lived. They were crudely inquisitive, coming from homes which
were morally wholesome, but uncultured or even boorish in manners. Miss
Freeman was anxious to help them, but was very young and not well
prepared. She went home every week-end, and every day the carrier left a
letter for her at the schoolhouse.
She wore pretty clothes, which the little girls admired greatly. One day
Maggie Linton touched the silken sweater which they all liked so much,
and then Erna wondered how it felt to wear such a garment; and the
result was that Ollie Bain put on sweater, hat and gloves, and was
turning around in a small circle of admiring femininity when Miss
Freeman came into the hall.
“Why, you naughty girls!” she exclaimed. “You mustn’t touch other
people’s things. Take them off, Ollie. You may look at them, but you
mustn’t handle them; hasn’t your mother taught you that? Look how dirty
your hands are, Ollie. I’ll have to have my gloves cleaned.”
She was not angry, for she liked the children and had a good
disposition. But she failed to _use_ the girls’ curiosity, and she
failed to generalize the principles that teach children when curiosity
may be satisfied and when it must be controlled.
“Teacher, why do you get a letter every day, and who writes it?”
Carl Voegling asked the question one rainy recess, while all the other
children stood at ecstatic attention to hear what the answer would be.
“Carl, that’s not any of your business, and you are not to ask me
personal questions,” Miss Freeman answered. The children saw her cheeks
grow pink, and, having been brought up to think it legitimate fun to
tease people, they continued slyly to refer to the letters throughout
the year.
[Sidenote: Watching Mail]
One day, the teacher came into the hall to find George Funk examining
the envelope of the letter that had come that morning. She was very
angry this time, and told George, a boy of twelve, to stay in at recess
for a week. She thought she had come just in time to prevent his opening
and reading the letter, and told him that after this she would keep her
mail in the desk, since she could not trust her pupils out of her sight.
George had not really meant to read the letter, and feeling that her
remarks were unjust, became very sullen.
When the week was almost up, Miss Freeman herself had an impulse of
curiosity. “Why did you want to read my letter, George?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to read your letter,” he answered. “I just wanted to see
the postmark.”
“But what good would that do you?”
“Well, I wanted to know where it was from.”
“But why? You know I like you, George,” in a sudden rush of compunction
at the hurt, sullen look on George’s face; “do tell me, why did you want
to know where it was from?”
George hesitated a moment, then his story came out in a rush. “Well, at
home they all were talking about your letters, and my brother Curt said
that he bet they were from that fellow in Carlinville that he saw you
with one day. And he dared me to look at the envelope and see what the
postmark was. He said he’d let me drive the bay colt if I would.”
“Well, you tell your brother Curt that he ought to be ashamed of himself
to set you at such tricks. You needn’t stay in this afternoon, George.
But next time, remember, keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to
you.”