MASTER PAGE.
[Illustration]
SO impatient was Ronald to enter upon his academic career, that he had
his school books and his slate all ready for a start, Saturday
afternoon. On going up to his chamber, later in the day, he was
pleasantly surprised to find a nice new satchel upon his table, which
his mother had made for him, as a birth-day present. He packed his
books into it, and swung it over his shoulder, and walked back and
forth, to see how it would seem. While he was thus indulging in
pleasant anticipations, his room-mate, Otis, was undergoing a very
different experience. Entering the chamber, without noticing Ronald, he
threw himself upon the bed, and burst into tears. Ronald did not need
to inquire what ailed him. His parents had that afternoon made their
promised visit to Kate and Otis, and had just started for home, and the
poor boy was consequently suffering from that most distressing malady
of the mind—home-sickness. Ronald’s efforts to enliven him proved
unavailing, and he was reluctantly compelled to leave him to his grief,
which did not wholly subside until sleep came to his relief.
On Monday morning, more than half an hour before the first stroke of
the academy bell was heard, Ronald was busily engaged in hurrying up
his academical associates, whose moderation in getting themselves ready
for the day’s business seemed to him almost too bad to be patiently
endured. However, contrary to his predictions, all arrived at the
academy in good season, though they went in straggling parties—for it
was the preference of all to walk, rather than ride, when the weather
and the roads permitted. Of course, they carried their dinners.
At five minutes before nine o’clock the bell sounded, and the scholars
and teachers assembled in the school-room. The forenoon was spent in
taking the names of the pupils, assigning seats, forming classes,
giving out lessons, and in general remarks to the students on the
purpose for which they had assembled, and the duties which they were
expected to perform. Most of the preliminary matters were settled, in
the forenoon, and the regular studies commenced with the afternoon
session.
The incidents of the day afforded plenty of topics for conversation to
Marcus and the students from his family, as they proceeded home, at
night. General satisfaction was expressed that one of the monitors’
desks, overlooking a division of the smaller boys, had been assigned to
Oscar. This arrangement seemed peculiarly gratifying to Ronald and
Otis, who thus came under his oversight, and who smiled incredulously,
when he declared that he should keep a particularly sharp eye upon
them. Oscar expressed himself as much pleased with the preceptor, Mr.
Upton. Kate, who had been promoted to the highest class, and was in
excellent spirits, said she always admired Mr. Upton, and thought she
should rather like his new assistant, Mr. Page. Otis and Ronald, on the
other hand, were a little disappointed because Marcus had disregarded
their joint request, that they might sit together, and had placed them
so far apart that any intercourse during school hours, except by means
of winks, signs and paper “spit balls,” would be out of the question.
The reason Marcus gave for this refusal,—the fear that they would have
too good a time together,—was not very consoling to the boys. Instead
of Otis, Ronald had for his nearest comrade the boy who blotted his
writing-book at the district school, Lewis Daniels. Both Marcus and
Ronald, however, treated Lewis with kindness, and tried to make him
forget the injury he had inflicted upon the latter.
The ardor with which Ronald set out for school in the morning was a
little dampened by one or two other incidents that occurred during the
day. At noon, as he approached a group of large boys, he heard one of
them say—
“I don’t care for Marcus Page—he’s nothing but a boy, himself. He was a
scholar, here, for a year or more after I joined the academy.”
On turning round, and seeing Ronald near, the large boy added—
“Here, you youngster, you needn’t go and tell Page everything you hear,
because you happen to live with him; because if you do, you’ll be sorry
for it.”
Ronald had no heart to report this conversation to Marcus, though he
cared nothing for the threat. His ears tingled, however, to hear Marcus
spoken of in this way, and from that moment he felt a strong dislike
towards the boy in question, who, to do him justice, was not so bad as
he seemed, but only had an unhappy habit of saying more than he felt,
and threatening more than he was willing to perform.
Another large boy,—a mischievous but not ill-meaning fellow,—annoyed
Ronald a good deal by applying to him the nickname _Frenchy_, and
telling him he had got to wear it as his “academical name.” Ronald
reported this to Marcus; but the latter advised him to take no notice
of the affair, telling him that the inventor of the nickname would
probably soon forget all about it, if he saw that it did not trouble
Ronald.
“Who would have thought of seeing Jessie Hapley in the academy!”
exclaimed Kate, as they were walking home. “I declare, I never was more
surprised in my life—they are so poor, you know.”
“But Jessie is a very fine girl, if she is poor,” said Marcus.
“O, yes, I like her very much,” promptly responded Kate; “and I’m glad
she is going to school with us; but I didn’t suppose her father could
afford to send her.”
“She earned the money herself, to pay for her tuition,” added Marcus.
“She sees she has got to support herself, if not the rest of the
family, and she is anxious to qualify herself for teaching. She thinks
she is better adapted to that business than to any other, and I think
so, too. She is an excellent scholar, and you will have to look out for
your laurels, Kate, now that she is in school.”
“Well, she is older than I am,” said Kate, quite unconcerned.
“Only a few months,” added Marcus; “besides, her school privileges have
been very limited, compared with yours.”
“No matter, I don’t think I shall be jealous of her,” replied Kate. “I
always did like Jessie, and if any girl is going to excel me, I’d
rather it should be her than any one else. But Abby Leonard declares
that she wont associate with her. She says she hates to see a poor girl
all the time ‘trying to be somebody.’”
“I am afraid Abby is not so wise as she might be, if she _has_ enjoyed
the advantages of city society,” observed Marcus.
“Do you know what she does to make herself look pale and slender?”
inquired Kate. “She eats chalk, and slate pencils, and drinks lots of
vinegar. She advised me to try it, because I’m so plump. She thinks it
doesn’t look interesting and genteel, to be fat.”
“I hope you wont follow her advice, unless you wish to ruin your
health,” replied Marcus. “I shall have to speak to her about this
subject—she has fallen into a very dangerous practice, as well as a
foolish theory. In fact, if she consumes those articles to any extent,
she is committing suicide, whether she knows it or not.”
The current of events continued to flow on smoothly day after day, at
the academy, until one morning, when the principal failed to appear.
Marcus opened the session, at the usual hour, and soon after received a
note from Mr. Upton, stating that he was ill, and unable to be present.
Marcus conducted the school through the day, with very good success,
and before returning home, called upon his associate, whom he found
prostrated with an illness which would probably detain him from his
labors for several weeks.
“I do not see but that you will have to take my place, for a week or
two, Marcus,” said Mr. Upton. “We have got well under way, and
everything is going on smoothly, so that I think you and Miss Tillotson
can manage matters very well, for a little while.”
Marcus shook his head, and looked somewhat alarmed, at this
proposition. Nor was he slow in making known his objections. He had had
little experience in teaching, even the simpler branches, and as to the
higher studies, he was appalled by what he considered his lack of
qualifications. Then how could he, an inexperienced youth, maintain the
discipline of such a school, composed in part of pupils as old as
himself, some of whom had been his school-mates a year previous? Mr.
Upton, however, did not give much heed to these objections. He did not
doubt Marcus’s qualifications to teach any of the branches, and as to
the discipline, if he experienced any trouble, the trustees would give
him all necessary aid. As it would be impracticable to make any other
arrangement, at least for a week or two, Marcus at length consented to
assume this new responsibility.
The next morning, Marcus informed the scholars of the new duties that
had devolved upon him, and expressed his determination to do his best
to make good their preceptor’s place, at the same time soliciting their
aid and co-operation in the work. With now and then a trifling
exception, the school was as orderly and quiet as usual, and Marcus was
soon satisfied that the public sentiment of his charge was on his side,
and would sustain him in his position. This was especially true of the
older scholars, of whom he had most stood in doubt. Appreciating the
value of their privileges, even the least sedate of them had no
inclination to come in collision with their young teacher, for whom,
indeed, they all felt some degree of esteem, as a personal friend.
Neither did the younger pupils manifest any disposition to question his
authority. Two days’ experience satisfied Marcus that the only pupils
from whom he had reason to anticipate trouble were three or four boys,
some thirteen or fourteen years old; and he had no doubt that he should
be able to bring these turbulent spirits into subjection, in a few
days.
These troublesome boys happened to be seated together, near the back
part of the room, and at times they created some little disturbance in
that quarter. Before dismissing school at night, Marcus pleasantly
informed them, separately, that he proposed to re-seat some of the
boys, and then proceeded to arrange such an exchange of desks as
brought them nearer to his platform, and at the same time scattered
them apart. One or two of the worst of them, by this change, were
brought under the monitorial eye of Oscar.
Marcus now made it a special object to secure the confidence and
good-will of the more unruly part of his charge. One noon, he saw
several of his most troublesome boys at work upon a snow figure, in the
grove back of the academy. He approached them, and, commending their
skilful workmanship, soon drew them into a pleasant conversation. As he
watched the growing statue, he observed that the credit belonged mainly
to one of the lads, named Charles Wilder, who directed the labor of the
others. Marcus had noticed that this boy exercised a good deal of
influence over his comrades; but in the school-room he was rather
inattentive to his lessons, and inclined to mischief.
“Charlie’s the boy for this kind of work,” said one of the lads,
addressing Marcus.
“Yes, I see he understands it,” replied Marcus. “You have quite an
artist’s eye, Charlie. Where did you learn so much about modelling?”
“O, I don’t know much about it—all I do know came natural to me,”
replied the boy.
“I remember seeing an account of a young man in this State,” said
Marcus, “who made a statue of snow and ice that was so beautiful, that
a rich gentleman ordered a copy of it in marble. Perhaps you will be as
fortunate as he, one of these days.”
“I mean to be a sculptor, some time or other,” replied Charles, his
face lighting up with an expressive smile.
“I suppose it’s hard work to make a statue, isn’t it?” inquired one of
the boys.
“No, I don’t know as it is exactly what you would call hard work, but
it requires a good deal of skill, and taste, and genius, to make a fine
statue,” replied Marcus.
“O, I suppose they have plenty of tools, and pound it out,” observed
another boy.
“Pound out your grandma’am with tools, just as much!” exclaimed
Charles, with a glance of mingled pity and indignation at the boy who
held this degraded view of the beautiful art to which his soul was thus
early wedded.
“You must be somewhat proficient in drawing, Charlie, to design such a
statue as this,” resumed Marcus.
“I’m very fond of drawing, but I don’t know much about it,” replied
Charles.
“You are not taking lessons in drawing, I believe?” inquired Marcus.
“No, sir; I wanted to, but father said it was of no use,” replied
Charles.
“I think it _would_ be of use,” said Marcus; “that is, if you have as
much taste for it as I think you have. I wish you would let me see one
of your drawings,—perhaps I could persuade your father to let you take
lessons, if I think it worth while.”
“I’ve got one in my desk—I’ll run and get it,” said Charles; and he
darted off, soon returning with a very neatly executed drawing of a dog
hunting a stag, which he had copied with much skill from an engraving.
“That is very creditable to you—very much so,” said Marcus, as he
examined the picture. “You certainly have a taste for drawing, and your
father must let you take lessons of Miss Tillotson. I will speak to him
about it, this week.”
The young artist looked pleased and grateful, and Marcus left him, not
only feeling a new interest in the boy, but with a firm persuasion that
he should have no further trouble with him.
[Illustration]
The above is a representation of Charles’s drawing. Marcus took the
trouble to call upon Mr. Wilder, that afternoon, and after a little
persuasion obtained permission for Charles to take drawing lessons.
A day or two after this, Marcus found on his desk, one morning, an
anonymous note, which read as follows:—
“TO MASTER PAGE:—I think it is too bad that some of the
scholars should be allowed to have keys to their arithmetics,
when it is against the rules. Fair play is a jewel. This is
from
ONE WHO KNOWS.”
Marcus was for a time in doubt what to do in relation to this
complaint. The anonymous character of the note deprived it of all claim
upon his attention; and its apparently implied censure upon him for
something of which he had no knowledge, rendered it still more
objectionable. After reflection, however, he determined to investigate
the matter at once, leaving to a future occasion some remarks to the
school on the impropriety and meanness of writing anonymous letters of
complaint. He accordingly remarked to the school:—
“I have been informed that some of the scholars have keys to their
arithmetics. I wish all such would rise.”
Much to his surprise, Oscar promptly arose, and said:—
“I have a key, but I have made no improper use of it. I do all my sums
before I look at the answers.”
“Did you not know that it is contrary to the rules for any scholar to
have a key?” said Marcus.
“Yes, sir,” replied Oscar.
“That is sufficient,” said Marcus. “You have violated one of our rules,
whatever use you may have made of the key. If you have it here, you may
deliver it up.”
Oscar obeyed the order, his appearance indicating that he felt the mild
rebuke rather keenly. It is due to him to say, that with this
exception, his conduct in school had thus far been quite exemplary, and
his progress in his studies commendable.
After Ronald had become somewhat familiar with the school, he found it
rather difficult to wholly repress the promptings to fun within him.
During the first week of the principal’s absence, Marcus had occasion
to reprove him several times, privately, for offences of this kind, and
on one occasion, detained him after school, as a punishment. One
afternoon, as Marcus was hearing a class recite, he was startled by one
of his most quiet boys crying out:—
“You quit that!”
“What is the matter, Edmund?” inquired Marcus.
The boy, coloring deeply replied:—
“Ronald has been snapping nut-shells at me for half an hour, and he
just hit me in the eye with one. I was very busy ciphering, and I spoke
before I thought. I forgot I was in school.”
Ronald was called out, a handful of nuts was transferred from his
pocket to the teacher’s desk, and he was then directed to stand upon
the platform facing the school, until he had committed to memory a page
from a geography used by another class. In all this Marcus was as calm
and mild as usual; but nevertheless, Ronald did not feel very
pleasantly, as he took his position and commenced his task, though the
punishment was not what he feared it would be, when called out. His
mortification was not a little increased, when, after reciting the
task, Marcus assigned him a new seat, directly under his own eye.
Ronald avoided all company, on his way home, that afternoon, and seemed
especially anxious to keep out of the reach of Marcus, through the rest
of the day. Marcus, however, had something to say to Ronald, and after
tea he found an opportunity to say it.
“Ronald,” he said, “I have been thinking that I had better increase
your lessons a little. I am afraid you are getting along too easily at
school.”
“Why, I think our lessons are pretty hard,” replied Ronald, somewhat
surprised.
“They are hard enough for most of your class, but you learn so readily
that I shall have to give you some extra tasks,” added Marcus.
“I don’t think that is fair,” replied Ronald. “If I get all the lessons
that the others do, I should think that is enough.”
“If your lessons are so easy that you learn them without much effort,”
continued Marcus, “you are missing the real end of going to school. It
is not the chief aim of education to give a child a smattering of
knowledge, but the object should be to discipline his mind, and that
cannot be done without real tasks—lessons that will make him study
hard, and think closely. He needs something to rouse him to exertion,
and then he will begin to find out what his powers are. I think I shall
let you study book-keeping and algebra, with the third class, in
addition to your other lessons.”
“Well, if you think best, I will try it,” said Ronald.
“I have another reason for this,” added Marcus. “You have too many idle
moments, now. Your lessons are not hard enough to keep you out of
mischief. I shall have to increase them until you have no time for
idleness or mischief during study hours.”
Marcus imposed the additional studies upon Ronald, the next day. The
salutary effects of this, and of the incidents of the previous
afternoon, were soon apparent. He was careful, however, not to overtask
the boy’s powers, which would have been a greater evil than the
opposite error.
With Otis, Marcus found a different course of management necessary. He
was more quiet and orderly in school than Ronald, but less perfect in
his lessons. Indeed, he was not remarkably fond of study, and needed a
little spurring, now and then, to prevent his falling below the average
of his class. One afternoon, as he was walking home with Marcus, he
said:—
“I can’t get that sixth sum right, any way. I’ve tried it half a dozen
times, and I get it exactly the same every time. The answer in the book
must be wrong, for I know I did it right. I did the other sums in just
the same way, and they came right.”
“You are wrong,” replied Marcus, “for I happen to know that the answer
in the book is right. Georgianna Ellis came to me this afternoon with
the same story. She thought the answer in the book was a mistake. But I
did the sum, and found it right.”
“How did you do it?” inquired Otis.
“That is for you to find out yourself, if you can,” replied Marcus,
with a significant accent upon the last clause of the sentence.
“Didn’t you show Georgianna how to do it?” inquired Otis.
“No,” replied Marcus; “I told her to read over the question carefully,
and then to keep trying upon it until she got the right solution.”
“Did she get it?” inquired Otis.
“I do not know,” replied Marcus; “but if she has not found out her
error, I have no doubt she will.”
“Then I suppose you think I can do the sum, if I keep trying,” said
Otis.
“I have some doubts about that,” replied Marcus. “I suppose I ought to
give you the same direction that I gave Georgianna; but I have little
faith that you would be successful, after all.”
“Why couldn’t I find out the answer, if she can?” inquired Otis.
“There is a great difference in scholars,” replied Marcus. “Some are
careful, and examine everything very closely, when they meet a
difficulty, while others blunder about without much thought. Some have
great perseverance, and others are quickly discouraged. And then some
do not seem to have much sense, or if they have, they don’t exercise
it.”
Otis did not push his inquiries any further, and the subject was
dropped. The stimulus of shame, judiciously applied, is sometimes
effective when other means fail, and so it proved in this case. Otis
was not discouraged by what Marcus said, but was incited by it to a new
and more earnest effort. He solved the problem, unaided, and so derived
more real benefit from this one puzzling question than from all the
others in the day’s lesson, which he performed without difficulty.
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