[Sidenote: Desiring Approval]
Sigrid Holderson was a pale, timid, anæmic child, who never joined the
other children in their play, and one whom the other children seemed
instinctively to dislike. When she was in the fifth grade she conceived
a blind adoration for her teacher, Miss Field. She brought her votive
offerings of wilted flowers and specked apples, all her limited
resources afforded; and she watched for chances to prove her devotion by
running errands and cleaning erasers.
One noon she came in with flushed cheeks and handed Miss Field a
crumpled piece of paper containing a list of names.
“All those kids was sliding on the bank where you told them not to,” she
announced. “I took down every kid’s name that went down.”
Miss Field had the usual horror of “tattling.”
“Why, you little tattler, you!” she said. “Go right to your seat,
Sigrid, and don’t ever do such a thing again! You must never tattle
unless it is necessary.”
Sigrid’s humiliation was complete. Her adored teacher had rejected her
choicest offering, the paper whose writing had been done with stiff,
cold fingers to an accompaniment of jibes from the lawless sliders. Her
little mind could not quite fathom why Miss Field did not approve her
deed, but seemed instead to take sides with the disobedient pupils.
This rebuff cured Sigrid of tattling, but the cure was worse than the
disease. When Miss Field deserted her, Sigrid felt she had lost her last
friend. Her classmates heaped scorn upon her as a “tattle-cat”; she
withdrew more and more into herself, and became more and more abnormally
sensitive.