It was fully fifteen minutes before Esther and "Dodd" returned to the
schoolroom. It takes a large reserve force of both patience and
scraping to make presentable such a specimen as "Dodd" was on this
memorable morning. But when the two appeared again, the boy's boots
were clean, and his hair was smoothed down, while the book cover showed
only a wet spot, of deeper tint than the rest of the book, in place of
the black blot that had been so prominent a few minutes before. The
girl led the boy to a seat not far from hers and then returned to her
own little desk.
While the children were out Miss Stone had time to collect her
thoughts, and she began at once to consider what she should do to amuse
the child. It had been a primary principle with those who constructed
this female educator, that the chief end of a primary teacher was to
amuse the children placed under her charge.
This precept had been drilled into Miss Stone, and nothing less than a
charge of dynamite could have dislodged it.
She was taught that it was little less than wicked to impose tasks upon
young shoulders; that the "pretty little birdies" (this always said
with a smile) "enjoyed themselves, hopping about in God's blessed
sunlight, and that it was Nature's way to have her children happy."
"Happiness," in this case, seemed to mean doing nothing, but simply
being amused--a definition that finds general recognition among many,
there being those who dream of heaven as a place where they can be as
everlastingly lazy as they choose, through all eternity, with the
celestial choirs forever tooting soft music in the distance, and
streams of milk and honey flowing perpetually to their lips, all for
their amusement and delectation. Perhaps this last is the correct
idea. It might as well be confessed that on this point we are not well
posted in this world, though many profess to be. The Father will show
us this some day, as he will all else, but till then we can wait.
But, be the employment or enjoyment of heaven what it may, it is
evident that in this world a man or a child has something to do besides
being amused. We are all born destined for work, rich and poor alike.
It is our reasonable service, and the best thing we can do is to fit
ourselves for the task, from the very first. Not that our work shall
be mere drudgery, though it may be that and nothing more, and, even so,
be better than idleness or being amused; but it is the fate of every
soul born on earth to be called upon constantly to do things which it
had rather not do, just then, anyhow, and whenever such a condition
exists, work is the word that describes what has to be done. It is the
business of life to work. The Book has it that, "The Father worketh
hitherto." Even the new version has failed to reveal the phrase, "The
Father is amused," and the Master, when a boy, declared that he must
attend to the "business" that lay waiting for him.
But the pedagogic preceptors of Miss Stone did not draw their system of
education from so old a book as the one just referred to. It is
perhaps true, also, that German philosophy was evolved merely that
people might be amused by it!
Quietly she glided down the aisle, her dress rustling along the seats,
and an odor of "new mown hay" exhaling from her clothing. "Dodd" hung
his head as she approached--perhaps it was to dodge her smile--and
waited developments.
"What is your name, my dear?" came from between the pursed-up lips.
"Doddridge Watts Weaver," said the boy, in a loud tone.
There was a titter all over the room. The name was very odd, and an
oddity is always to be laughed at by the average person, boy or man.
Did you ever think of that, my dear pedagogue; you who would fain amuse
children, and yet will spit them upon the spear of public ridicule by
asking them to tell their names out loud in public, before all the rest
of the boys and girls? It is doubtful if any one ever likes to tell
his name in public. I have known old lawyers to blush when put upon
the witness stand and obliged to tell their names to the court and
jury, all of whom had known them for the last fifty years! If such is
the effect on a dry old stump of a lawyer, what must the effect be on a
green, sensitive child?
"Dodd" heard the titter and it made him mad. He was not to blame for
the name, and he felt that it was mean for the folks to laugh at him
for what he couldn't help. He cast an angry glance out of the corner
of his eyes, as if to say he would be even for this some day, and then
hung his head again.
"That's a very pretty name," said Miss Stone, thinking by this thin
compliment to amuse the boy.
"Tain't nuther!" returned the youth.
Miss Stone ventured no further in that line.
"I am glad you have come to school, and I hope you will be a very nice
little boy, because we all love nice little boys," replied Miss Stone.
"Dodd" glanced across the aisle to where sat a "curled darling" and
wished be could pull his hair till he howled.
"Now here is something that will amuse you a little while, I am sure,"
pursued Miss Stone, and she laid a handful of beans upon the desk.
The boy glanced up and giggled just a little--such a knowing giggle,
too, as much as to say: "What do you take me for? Here's a go! Come
to school to be amused with beans!"
Miss Stone caught the glance, and in her inmost soul knew all it meant,
and realized its full force; but she checked the truth that she felt
within her and proceeded by the card. And why not? Was she not acting
in accordance with the rules and regulations laid down by those who had
fashioned her for this very work, and were not these same warranted to
keep in any climate, and not to be affected by dampness or dry weather?
She had put her faith in a system and had paid for what she received;
and she didn't propose to be beaten out of her possession by any little
white-headed son of a Methodist preacher, in a town of a thousand
inhabitants.
She showed "Dodd" how to divide the handful of beans into little
bunches of three each, and how to lay each pile by itself along the top
of the desk, and then left him to be amused according to the rule in
such cases made and provided.
Now it is admitted, right here, that beans are not a strictly
Kindergarten "property"--to bring a stage term into the schoolroom--but
one seldom sees genuine Kindergarten properties, or hardly ever, even
in St. Louis, and beans are so commonly used as above stated, that it
can hardly be the fault of the harmless vegetable that Miss Stone's
plan did not succeed exactly as she wished it to. The fact is, "Dodd"
knew how to count before he went to school, and could even add and
subtract fairly, as was shown by his doing errands at the store for his
mother and counting the change which he brought back to her. The bean
business was therefore mere nonsense to him. He turned up his nose at
the inoffensive kidney-shaped pellets before him, and his reverence for
the dignity of the schoolroom and his faith in Miss Stone fell several
degrees in a few minutes.
Perhaps it would not have been so in Boston. In that city, I am told,
the bean is held in such reverence by all grown-up people that one
might well expect to see the quality descend to all children, as a
natural inheritance. But Circleville is not Boston, and there are
thousands of other towns in these United States that are like
Circleville in this respect.
However, "Dodd" sat idly moving the beans about for some time. He was
quiet, and gradually Miss Stone forgot him in the press of other
thoughts. To be plain, she had recently joined an Art Club, an
organization composed of a few ladies in the little village, women
whose husbands were well-to-do, and who, being childless, were restless
and anxious to "become developed." Miss Stone was a member of this
club, and in a few days she was to read a paper on "Giunta Pisano, and
his probable relation to Cimabue," and the subject was working her
mightily, for she was anxious to have her production longer than Miss
Blossom's, read at the last meet, and to secure this was no small task.
She had been to the "up-stairs room" during recess and brought down the
cyclopedia, and, happily, had found a page and a half regarding Giunta
Pisano therein, which she was copying verbatim. To be sure, there was
no word in it about Cimabue, or the relation of the one to the other,
but this was not taken into account. There were plenty of words in the
article, and that was the chief end just then.
So Miss Stone was soon busy with her pen, the index finger of her left
hand noting the line in the cyclopedia which should be next
transcribed. The children whispered and played a good deal, but she
paid little heed. There was little danger of visitors, for no one
visited schools in Circleville (how like all other towns it is in this
respect!) and Miss Stone knew how to hustle classes through recitations
and make time on a down grade just before dinner, and so took her time
at her task of writing up poor old Giunta.
She was presently conscious, however, that something unusual was going
on, and on looking up, found the eyes of the pupils fastened on "Dodd."
She ran down to his desk, hoping to find the beans in order. But alas
for human expectations! We are all so often doomed to disappointment!
Not a bean was to be seen, and "Dodd" hung his head.
Miss Stone reached for his hands, thinking he was hiding them there;
but his hands were empty. She tried his pockets. They yielded ample
returns of such things as boys' pockets are wont to contain, but no
beans appeared.
Miss Stone was alarmed, and she almost trembled as she asked:
"'Dodd,' where are the beans?"
The boy did not look up, but with a kind of suppressed chuckle, he
muttered, "I've eat 'em all up!"