A DAY AT SCHOOL.
In the front seat of the Wallace school sat Mannel Rodd. Nell Gordon
declared that he was the roundest object she had ever seen in human
form. Though he had arrived at the mature age of five, he still
retained that cherubic appearance which one sees in the paintings of
old masters. His eyes were as round as the rather sparsely-located
buttons on his shirt. His nose was a small round knob. When he opened
his little round mouth to lubricate a squeaky slate pencil or perhaps
to enunciate some such interesting statement as this, “The cat is on
the mat,” he disclosed a row of pearly little teeth. Indeed his whole
face would have been as round as the moon, were it not that his chin
took an unexpected little saucer-like curve in the very middle of it.
It was apparent to the most casual observer that Mannel’s whole
wardrobe consisted of one grey shirt, one pair of faded blue overalls
and a pair of braces. To the uninitiated his occasional absences from
school for an entire day would have seemed most mysterious. Leading
questions as to the cause having been put to other members of the
family who were present elicited only a reluctant reply that Mannel
was not ill. Further than this they would not go. At last even on the
most obtuse one, light would dawn. Mannel was being laundered.
This small boy seemed to accept the limitations of his lot with a
Micawber-like philosophy. Indeed it may easily have escaped his
youthful notice, that there were persons in the world who did not have
to spend a day in bed while their clothing was being washed. To Mannel
a second set of garments, even of so simple a character as those he
constantly wore, would have seemed untold wealth.
Perhaps the fact that Mannel came from a home where Russian was the
language in use and that he knew little English, accounted for his
abnormal seriousness during school hours. He could not be absolutely
sure what was being said or what might be done to him. Perhaps some
cruel elder brother, before Mannel had even started his education, had
explained to him in voluble Russian that dreadful pains and penalties
were likely to follow the slightest deviation from the paths of
virtue. Certain it is that he kept a close watch on the teacher, and
that none of her slightest movements escaped him. Though his general
appearance might cause mirth in others, he himself seldom smiled. Day
by day he sat in his little front seat grasping slate and pencil in
chubby hands, gazing earnestly at the sums on the blackboard as he
copied them down. Afterward he worked these with fitting solemnity. To
him they appeared to be of the greatest difficulty and of national
importance. Sometimes he wrote endless rows of letters on his slate.
Sometimes he made nondescript figures out of plasticine or drew
patterns on his slate or counted beads. At other times, grievous to
relate, when he felt sure the teacher was otherwise engaged and could
not possibly see him, he drew fierce triangular cats with four or
perhaps five stiff, geometrical legs and rampant tails.
By two o’clock one bright afternoon in May the school children found
it hard to keep their minds concentrated on their lessons. But when
their teacher said, “Now, Moses, will you pass the singing books,” a
wave of awakened interest perceptibly cleared the atmosphere. Moses
promptly proceeded to distribute the geography textbooks.
“This aint got poultry in it nor moosic nor nothin’,” complained one
small youth. Moses made several further attempts to comply with the
modest request of his teacher and at last each child held in grubby
hands a book of quaint verses glorified by the tonic sol fah.
“Doh, re, mi, fah, soh, la, ti, doh,” sang the children in faint
uncertain tones.
“Put some sunshine into your voices children,” admonished Nell.
“Now then,
Dough when Mother bakes the bread,
Me when I catch you sleepy head,
Ray when the sun shines on your bed,
Saw when you work in the back woodshed.”
Some of the voices were cracked and others badly out of tune. Moses
Wopp’s voice, loudest of all, sounded like a foghorn and the windows
fairly rattled in their frames. Nell motioned him to her desk. She
thought by occupying his attention elsewhere the music lesson might
proceed with more melody and less noise. Moses had developed his
stentorian tones at home, by the lusty singing of Hallelujah hymns
under the strict supervision of his mother.
“What’s matter’s Gordon?” he enquired anxiously.
“Sharpen these pencils, Moses, please, for the drawing lesson.”
Moses sat down to the task; but fearing his education was being
interfered with, looked up from time to time and added a hoarse phrase
to the general tumult. He caught Betty’s eye and significantly
squinted his own right optic to remind her of Job, whereon Betty’s
voice trailed off into a half-suppressed chuckle.
Before school was dismissed Mannel Rodd, after earnest solicitation on
the part of an older sister, was induced to mount the platform, where
he shyly and with every evidence of stage fright recited,
“Here I stand upon this stage
A pretty little figger,
And if the girls don’t love me now
They will when I am bigger.”
As the children left the school-house, Betty was met by Job. He
appeared to be headed for a point at an angle of about forty-five
degrees from his mistress, but it was only his corner-wise way of
walking, caused by his defective eye. Notwithstanding his seemingly
erratic course he reached Betty’s side and thrust his head into the
pocket of her small pinafore. He found there what put him into high
good humor. Gaily he strutted after his little mistress. Bringing up
the rear came Moses shuffling along, accompanied by Jethro. He took
from his pocket a huge bun.
“S’tup,” he commanded. Jethro immediately sat up on his hind legs.
“Aw Mosey,” cried Betty, “give it to him in two pieces an’ make him
twict as happy.”
“Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the
dorg is outside the bun already.”
The bun in question must have had great dynamic force, the tail of
Jethro bearing evidence to the internal power generated.