THE STRANGE SCHOOL CLASS.
Full many a beauteous lesson, too,
Their rosy lips can teach;
Great men would wonder if they knew
How well the fairies preach.
_Havergal._
One day in June, when the sky was as blue as it is in Italy, and when
all the trees and shrubs were dressed in bright green, there was a
curious sight in the Fairy Garden of Castle Frank. Under the shade of
a big apple-tree, and upon a long school-like seat, there sat twelve
little jet-black squirrels. They were but half-grown creatures, the
offspring of different parents. They sat upon their haunches, all in a
row, with their forefeet raised as hands, holding tiny slates. Right
in front of them stood Robin, giving them a question in arithmetic to
answer.
"How many walnuts are 2 and 4 and 6?"
[Illustration: "How many walnuts are 2 and 4 and 6?"]
"Not half enough for them anyway," said a tame grey parrot, sitting on
a branch above the class.
The little squirrels shook their tails and tittered and said
"tut--tut--tut--," but the teacher looked up and gently said--
"You are not one of the class; please keep quiet, Chattie" (which was
the parrot's name).
"I am above their class anyway," replied Chattie.
"Please do not take away their attention," said the teacher patiently.
"Yes, the friskies need all their attention. It is the first rule of
getting on. It was the first thing that helped me to speak anyway."
And here Chattie stopped, believing that she had said a wise thing
(which indeed was true), and that it was prudent to stop now for fear
of offending her master.
"Put up your slates, all that have got the answer down," requested the
teacher.
Every slate went up except one. Examining them, Robin saw that four
had the correct answer, seven were wrong and one was unfinished. The
teacher commended the successful pupils, helped those that were
mistaken, and worked out the sum for the pupil that had stuck. This
took a long time, for Robin wished everyone to understand before going
further. He then made a sign to Chattie to give the signal for
dismissal of the class. Chattie did so, giving a loud shrill whistle,
ending in a long cat-like yell that filled the woods and made the
friskies and Robin laugh outright; which greatly pleased the parrot,
for she loved to talk and make a noise and be well thought of. The
signal over, the squirrels marched away to their several homes, laid
aside their slates and went out to play.
"You do not believe much in cram," said Chattie, as the pupils marched
away.
"Mother says that 'cramming makes the figures blurred and weak;
education makes them bright and strong.'"
"Ah," replied Chattie, "but laziness makes no figure at all."
Robin smiled and asked her to come home with him to tea. Chattie was
his constant companion, and she flew down upon his shoulder and rubbed
her head affectionately against his soft, ruddy cheek.
"I suspect you have a cheat in the class," said the parrot.
"I hope not," replied Robin trustfully, and he walked into the castle
to partake of tea with his mother, who was alone, his father being far
away on government business.
Robin's mother was much interested in the progress of the
squirrel-class, not only as a pleasure and discipline for the pupils
themselves, but as helping to train her darling boy in patience and
kindness. These little creatures sometimes found their lessons
irksome, and being naturally frisky they would suddenly leap from their
seat and chase each other over a score of trees, while Robin entreated
and waited patiently for their return; but they were gradually getting
interested in their lessons and trained to attention and submission,
out of love for their teacher. Robin's mother also wished her boy to
learn the value of thoroughness. If he could observe that a pupil that
thoroughly understood the lessons would be able to do them alone,
whereas one that copied from others would fail when left alone, it
would stimulate thoroughness where he himself was a learner.
When Robin entered the room his mother was already seated and waiting
him. "Good evening, mother dear," he said, and he went forward and
kissed her. He loved his mother much, and well he might. We do not
love people for what they promise or give us, but for the heart that
lies behind. Bad people may give much for their own ends, but we do
not trust or love them. Robin's mother had a tenderness of heart that
warmed and enhanced the beauty of her face, so much so that her
servants and the poorest felt quite at home in her presence. She had
also refinement and intelligence, giving her a dignity that kept even
the rudest from being familiar and disrespectful. The Indians of the
district called her _Ininatig_, the maple tree, because they thought
her so sweet and beautiful. During tea there was much conversation
about Robin's father, and when it was over his mother said--
"I have a gift for your best pupil, and something for all of them, when
vacation comes."
"What are the gifts, mother?" Robin asked eagerly.
"A big white toy-horse for the first, a doll for the second, a
looking-glass for the third, a tall hat for the fourth, then a trumpet,
a small sword, a little ship, and so on, getting less and less in value
according to the pupil's merit."
Robin was delighted.
Next morning the twelve young friskies were in their places as usual,
and it was such a pretty picture to look at the row of glossy black
bodies, with a silk ribbon around each neck to distinguish one black
pupil from another. Number one wore a red ribbon, number two a white,
number three a blue, and so on, each a different color down to the
last, who wore a modest black.
When the teacher announced that prizes were to be given when the school
session was over, there was much gladness, with many promises of
attention and diligence for the time to come. Proceeding to work, he
asked--
"If you divide 24 nuts among 12 good friskies, how many are left?"
"They're all left if they're bad," said Chattie.
Red, White, and Blue were correct, each having a big round O on their
slates. So was number four, called Silver Ribbon. Several of the
others were incorrect. Black Ribbon wrote down that he thought the
parrot was right, but that after all he wasn't sure if the nuts were
bad. He had a big head, a loving heart, and open honest brown eyes,
and when the teacher saw what was written down he laughed and took him
up in his arms and kissed him.
"My simple pet," said Robin, "you have as good a head as the others,
but you have not been so long in the class; and, besides, your mamma is
a poor, sick widow and unable to help you with your lessons."
Silver Ribbon (whose constant position for a certain reason was against
the apple-tree) was the oftenest correct of all the class; but though
very frolicsome and good-looking, she had a strange sly look about her
face, very different from Black Ribbon's.
Chattie was pleased to hear her master sympathise with Black Ribbon,
and desiring that no one might overlook his remark, she very distinctly
said--
"Failure does not always mean a faulty head."
She had quite a liking for Black Ribbon, and well she might: he was a
splendid climber of trees, and a magnificent leaper from branch to
branch, his best feats being performed too whether the others were
looking on or not. He was also civil and kind to everyone, and was
most helpful to his sick mother at home. For these reasons, Chattie
had lately taken his arithmetic in hand, but she was a great joker, and
sometimes led the simple-minded little fellow astray. She was very
sorry for his helpless mother, and therefore she visited her every day,
prepared her meals, chatted with her, made her bed and swept the house
with her tail. Indeed widow Black Ribbon's final recovery was due to
Chattie's careful nursing, rather than to Dr. Beaver's baths and poplar
pills.