Miss James was a strict teacher who kept her word and was both feared
and respected by her pupils. Technically she was a good teacher, too;
that is, she knew how to present a subject to the child mind, to
organize and emphasize the vital points in a lesson. There was
apparently no reason why the children of the eighth grade room should
not accomplish as much as the individual ability of each child would
permit.
[Sidenote: Interrupting the Studious]
But they were not doing it. Mildred, who had gotten averages of 90 in
most subjects throughout the seventh grade, was hovering just above the
passing mark. The same was true to a lesser degree of others, and there
was a continuous effort on the part of Miss James, the teacher, to
suppress small naughtinesses in children who had good records for
previous years.
The children never finished tasks in the time assigned and the work done
was mediocre in quality. Miss James did not realize how badly things
were going until Mildred’s mother presented the case to her.
It was just after the monthly issue of report cards. Mildred’s card
showed some unusually low marks—one that was far below passing grade.
Mildred was a conscientious girl and could not herself understand why
she failed to do as good work as she had done the year before. She knew
she worked hard but she never seemed to accomplish results. Things
always managed to happen just so that she had to skip over the last few
paragraphs of her history lesson in a hurry, and look up all her reading
words at recess because she had no other time to spend on them.
When she showed her card to her mother, bitter tears of hurt pride were
in her eyes, for in the past there had never been anything but
commendation at home when she brought home her month’s record. Her
mother, being a wise woman, drew her little daughter to her and asked:
“What’s the matter, dear? Father and I know you don’t waste your time at
school. There must be a reason for these low marks. Is it that Miss
James is unfair? Doesn’t she give you what you deserve to get?”
“No,” sobbed Mildred. “It isn’t that. She marks higher than Miss Johnson
did last year. I really don’t deserve to get any more than this. I do
well enough on tests when I can study up, but I don’t do good work every
day.”
And Mildred cried out her trouble in her mother’s arms. That lady
resolved to visit Miss James the next day and have a serious talk with
her.
Miss James had seen that the eighth grade was doing uncommonly poor work
and had cast about in her mind for the reason. She had shortened lessons
until she was in danger of not complying with the schedule, and she had
watched with an eagle eye for inattention and laziness. When Mildred’s
mother pointed out the contrast between this year’s and last year’s work
she was forced to admit that Mildred was always busy and was by no means
a dull pupil.
What was the trouble?
She decided to watch more closely than before the events in her
school-room.
The next morning after opening exercises were over, her glance over the
room showed her every head bent over a book. The room was so quiet that
Robert Woods’ wheezy breathing (he had a very bad cold) was distinctly
audible.
Then the stillness was broken by John. He saw Miss James looking at him
and asked a question about the lesson. Most of the children looked up
from their work, shifted their positions, or gave some other evidence of
having noticed the break. In a few minutes someone else asked permission
to leave the room. And so on through the period.
Not until she had watched for several periods did Miss James realize the
stir each one of these speeches aloud made, and how frequent they were.
Then she saw that the speaking aloud disease had reached an advanced
stage in her school-room and that it, and it alone, was responsible for
the seemingly causeless deterioration in her pupils’ work.