[Sidenote: Outdoing the Teacher]
Miss Peterson taught the fifth and sixth grades in a central Illinois
town. She had a loud, scolding voice. The children whispered almost
incessantly, apparently to drown her harsh tones. They nearly always
succeeded in part, but occasionally when the noise of whispering seemed
worse, Miss Peterson’s voice actually arose above the din and in
threatening tones she said to them, “Stop whispering!”
Her evident reason for this was to get only a temporary, partial
silence, for this was all she accomplished. Her outbreak against noise
occurred two or three times daily. The children even blew whistles very
softly at times and actually disliked Miss Peterson the more because she
seemed to believe them when they told her the sound was made by the wind
whistling through the cracks around the ill-fitted windows.
One day when the noise seemed worse than usual, she announced that
whoever whispered next would have to “stand on the floor.” There was a
moment’s silence and then one of the girls whispered a comment upon her
remark. Instantly Miss Peterson called her to stand up in the front of
the room. The girl to whom she whispered immediately talked for the
obvious purpose of joining her friend in disgrace. When Miss Peterson
asked the second girl to join the first, a smile was exchanged between
them. This was seen by others who decided to join in the fun. One after
another, almost as fast as named, joyfully joined the group of those
standing, and what is more, whispered to each other on the floor. When
almost half of the pupils had been called out, poor Miss Peterson gave
them a very angry lecture, and threatened them with the loss of recess.
A partial silence ensued after the lecture, but that session of the
school was worse than lost.