A HARD LESSON
"My, I'll bet he's mad!" said Bobby. Tim was standing in the mud,
trying to scrape some of it off his clothes. His cap was gone and
great patches of mud clung to his face and hair. He was a distressed
looking object indeed. While they watched, he glanced up and saw them
standing there. He shook a fist at Bobby, and began to limp slowly off
down the road.
"Do you suppose he is hurt?" asked Meg anxiously. "Maybe he ought to
go to see Doctor Maynard."
"He isn't hurt," Bobby assured her confidently. "That mud is as soft
as--as anything! Wasn't Philip fine to think of scaring him like
that?"
Indeed, Philip had an extra good supper that night, after Bobby and
Meg had told Mother and Norah all about the help he had given them,
and the twins, when they came in from their drive, were filled with
admiration for such an intelligent dog.
"My practicing's all done," announced Meg happily. "I don't mind it so
much now, 'cause I want to be ready to play assembly marches when I'm
in the third grade."
"If you want to see how rabbit pens ought to look," Bobby told
Twaddles confidentially, "just go out and see those I fixed this
afternoon."
"Huh," sniffed Twaddles with withering indifference, "I guess the
rabbits don't know they're any better off!"
The first week of school went very smoothly, and both Bobby and Meg
began to look forward to their reports at the end of the month. These
reports were immensely important, according to Bobby, who was, of
course, experienced in such matters.
"If Bert Figger gets eight in spelling, his father's going to give him
fifty cents," Bobby told Meg.
"You'll get nine in 'rithmetic, I know you will," said Meg admiringly.
"You're awfully good in that, Bobby."
"Yes, I think I am," agreed Bobby. "I haven't missed one so far. Every
answer I've worked out has been right."
He repeated this assertion at the supper table that night, and Father
Blossom shook his head.
"Don't be too sure of that nine," he said warningly. "The work is
going to get harder the further you go, you know. Trying for a nine is
all right, but I don't like to hear you speak as though you didn't
have to make any effort to reach it."
The next morning in school Miss Mason had something interesting to
show her first grade pupils. It was a very beautifully illustrated
book of verses for children. The poems were written by famous poets,
and each poet had signed his name to his own verse. The pictures were
in colors and had been painted by well-known artists, who had signed
their work with a pen after the pictures had been printed. So it was
really a picture book, a poem book, and an autograph album all in
one.
"There are only three like it in the world," explained Miss Mason.
"They were raffled off at a fair for a children's hospital, and a
friend of mine, one of the artists, won a copy. She sent it to me."
Miss Mason said the second grade might examine the book at recess or
at noon, because they had been busy with their writing lesson while
she was showing it to the younger children. Then, while the first
grade was set to work to make a page of "S's," Miss Mason called the
second grade to order for their arithmetic lesson.
"You will not need pencils and paper this morning," she announced. "We
are going to have a little mental arithmetic."
Charlie Black groaned.
"That will do," said the teacher sharply. "Tim Roon, are you chewing
gum again? Come and put it in the waste basket."
Tim gulped hastily.
"I've swallowed it," he declared.
Miss Mason frowned.
"I hope that some day you will do as I tell you," she said impatiently.
"Now ready. Robert Blossom, if I go down to Mr. Dryburg's shop and
buy two yards of percale at sixteen cents a yard, how much must I pay?"
Bobby hastily counted on his fingers.
"Thirty-two cents," he answered.
"Stand up straight," commanded Miss Mason. "And if I buy three yards
of braid at ten cents a yard, how much will that be?"
Meg looked up from her writing lesson to watch Bobby's hands, though
she knew that if Miss Mason saw her she would be scolded severely. He
held them behind him and his fingers fairly galloped as he used them
for an adding machine.
"Thirty cents for braid," stammered Bobby.
"And if I give Mr. Dryburg a dollar bill, how much change shall I
have?" asked Miss Mason, switching from multiplication to subtraction
so quickly that the startled Bobby lost his count.
"Well?" urged the teacher. "What are you doing with your hands,
Robert? Bring them out where I can see them. Now then, how much change
is coming to me?"
Bobby was hopelessly bewildered now, and he had forgotten the cost of
both percale and braid. He managed to stutter, "I--I--don't know,"
and sat down thankfully.
Tim Roon scraped his feet noisily, intending to annoy Bobby, but
unfortunately he drew the attention of Miss Mason to himself.
"Stand up, Tim," she commanded sharply. "How much change should I have
from that dollar bill?"
"Don't know," muttered Tim.
"How much did the braid cost?" demanded Miss Mason.
"I've forgotten," said Tim.
"You mean you didn't listen," retorted Miss Mason. "Sit down. If this
class can't do any better with a simple test like this, I'm afraid
you'll make a poor showing with your cards this month. Marion Green,
perhaps you can tell me how much change I should have?"
Marion Green was a little girl ordinarily very good in arithmetic. But
she was frightened now and plainly showed it. She wouldn't even get
out of her seat and try to answer.
Palmer Davis was no better, and Hester Scott frankly burst into tears
when called upon. By this time most of the class had forgotten what
the problem was, but Miss Mason refused to repeat it. She said they
should be able to remember it.
"Well, Bertrand?" Miss Mason spoke to Bertrand Ashe, a rather dull
boy, and one who habitually made mistakes when sent to the blackboard
to work out examples.
Bertrand stood up, his sleepy eyes fixed earnestly on his teacher.
"The percale and the braid came to sixty-two cents altogether," he
announced, "so if you gave Mr. Dryburg a dollar, you would have
thirty-eight cents in change."
Bertrand sat down.
"Right," said Miss Mason. "I'm glad I have one pupil who knows how to
use his brain. Some of those who might have had eight on their cards
this month needn't be surprised to find a six. Robert, how much is
seven times six?"
"I don't know," muttered Bobby ungraciously.
He did know, but he was miffed to think he had missed a problem that
Bertrand Ashe had been able to solve.
"That isn't the kind of spirit to show," said Miss Mason sharply.
"Instead of being resentful, you should resolve to keep your head next
time. Nothing in the world but panic made you miss that question,
Robert. Now go to the board and take the example I read you."
Bobby sat still, his feet locked rebelliously in the iron framework of
his desk.
Miss Mason took no notice of him for a moment, sending several others
to the board, among them Tim Roon and Charlie Black. Then she came
down the aisle to Bobby's desk, a piece of chalk in her hand.
"Go to the board, Robert," she said quietly, putting the chalk into
his unwilling fingers and closing them around it with a warm friendly
pressure of her own strong, slim fingers.
Bobby was suddenly ready to go, though not ready yet to show that he
was ashamed of the way he had acted. Miss Mason read aloud the
problem, and those at the board began their figuring.
"Margaret!" Miss Mason spoke so suddenly that Meg jumped. "Are you
interested in this lesson? Have you finished your page?"
Meg blushed brightly and bent over her copy book. She had made only
seven letters, but then she had been anxious lest Bobby get one of his
"stubborn fits," as Norah called them, when no one but Father Blossom
could persuade him to change his mind.
"I think Miss Mason is as mean as can be!" thought Meg to herself,
carefully tracing the outline of a graceful "S." "She says cross
things all the time. I wonder is she old?"
Old people had a right to be cross, Meg considered. Miss Mason didn't
look old--she had hair as yellow as Meg's own, and big brown eyes. And
she wore pretty dresses. Meg was so interested in studying Miss Mason
that the recess bell rang before she had finished her copy-book
page.