MRS. PARKE'S LETTER.
And now commenced Marion's work. She was not quite fitted in higher
mathematics, and Miss Palmer, not disposed to be too indulgent in a
study where stupid girls tried her patience to its utmost every day of
her life, conditioned her without hesitation.
Miss Jones found her fully up, even before her class, in Latin and
Greek; her father having taken special pains in this part of her
education, being himself one of the elect in classical studies when in
Yale College. Her words of commendation almost made amends to Marion
for Miss Palmer's brief dismissal; almost, not quite, for, in common
with nine-tenths of the scholars in the academy, Marion "hated
mathematics."
Miss Sausmann tried her on the pronunciation of a few German
gutturals, then patted her on the shoulder and said,--
"Marrione, you vill do vell; you may koom: I vill be most gladness to
'ave you koom. I vill give unto you one, two, three private lessons.
You may koom to-day, at four. The stupid class vill not smile at you;
you vill make no mistakens." Then she kissed Marion as affectionately
as if she had been a dear old friend, and watched her as she went down
the long corridor. Some words she said to herself in German, smiled
pleasantly, waved two little hands after the retreating figure, and
smiled again, this time with some self-congratulatory shakes of the
head.
The truth was, though German was an elective study, it was by no means
a favorite in the school, and, it may be, Miss Sausmann was not a
popular teacher. Broken English, too great an affection for, and
estimation of the grandeur of, the Fatherland, joined with a quick
temper, do not always make a successful teacher.
The girls, moreover, had fallen rather into the habit of making fun of
her, and this did not add to her happiness. In Marion she thought she
saw a friend, and very welcome she was.
The arrangement that put four scholars in one room for study, also was
not the wisest on the part of the architect of Montrose Academy. If he
had taught school for even one year, he would have found how easy it
was for a restless scholar to destroy the quiet so essential to all
true work.
In Marion's room there was not a stupid or a lazy girl; but they
committed their lessons at such different times, and in such different
ways, that they often proved the greatest annoyance to each other.
One of the first obstacles Marion found as she bent herself to real
hard work, was the need of a place where her attention was not
continually called from her book to something one of her room-mates
was doing or saying.
To be sure, it was one of the rules of the school that there should be
perfect quiet in the room during study hours, but that was absolutely
impossible; and Marion, especially with her mathematics, found herself
struggling to keep her thoughts upon her lesson, until she grew so
nervous that she could not tell _x_ from _y_, or demonstrate the most
common proposition in an intelligible way; and now she found to her
surprise a new life-lesson waiting for her to learn, one not in books.
So far, her life had all been made easy and sure by the wise parents
who had never allowed anything to interfere with their child's best
interests; as they had made more and greater sacrifices than she ever
knew, to send her East for her education, so nothing that could
prepare her for it had been forgotten or neglected.
The very opportunities she had craved had been granted her, and she
found herself hindered by such trifles as Gladys moving restlessly
around the room, her own lessons well learned, lifting up a window
curtain and letting a glare of sunshine fall over her book, knocking
the corner of the study table, pushing a chair; no matter how trifling
the disturbance, it meant a distracted attention, and lost time; or,
Susan would fidget in her chair, draw long and loud breaths, push away
one book noisily and take up another, fix her eyes steadily on
Marion, look as if she were watching the slow progress she made, and
wondering at it.
Even Dorothy, dear, good Dorothy, was not without her share in the
annoyance. If she had any occasion to move about the room, "she creeps
as if she knew how it troubles me, and was ashamed of me," thought
nervous Marion.
In her weekly letters home she gave to her mother an exact account of
her daily life, and among the hindrances she found this nervous
susceptibility was not omitted. It had never occurred to her that it
was a thing under her own control, therefore she was not a little
surprised when she received the following letter from her mother:--
"MY DEAR CHILD,--You are not starting right. What your
room-mates do, or do not do, is none of your concern. Learn at
once what I hoped you had learned, at least in part, before
leaving home, to fix your mind upon your lesson, to the shutting
out of all else while that is being learned. I know how
difficult this will seem to you, with your attention distracted
by everything so new about you; _but it can be done_, and it
must be if you are to acquire in the only way that will be of
any true use to you in the future. Remember that the very first
thing you are to do, in truth the end and aim of all education,
is to develop and strengthen the powers of your mind.
Acquisition is, I had almost written, only useful in so far as
it tends to this great result. When you leave school, if your
memory is stored with all the facts which the curriculum of your
school affords, and you lack in the mental control which makes
them at your service, your education has only made your mind a
lumber-room, full perhaps to overflowing, but useless for the
great needs of life. Now you will wonder what all this has to do
with your being made uncomfortable, so that you could not study,
by the restlessness of your room-mates. If you begin at once to
fix your mind, as I hope you will soon be able to do, on your
lesson, you will be delighted to find how little you will be
disturbed by anything going on around you, and how soon your
ability to concentrate your working powers will increase.
"Try it faithfully, my dear one, and write me the result. I want
to send you one other help, which I am sure you will enjoy. In
your studies, make for yourself as much variety as possible. By
_that_, I mean when you are tired of your Latin do not take up
your Greek; take your mathematics, or your logic, or your
literature,--any study that will give you an entire change.
Change is rest; and this is truer even in mental work than in
physical. Above all, _do not worry_. Nothing deteriorates the
mind like this useless worry. When you have done your best over
a lesson, do not weary and weaken yourself by fears of failure
in your recitation room. Nothing will insure this failure so
certainly as to expect it. Cultivate the feeling that your
teacher is your friend, and more ready to help you, if you
falter, than to blame you. You think Miss Palmer is hard on you
in your mathematics, and don't like you. Avoid personalities. At
present, you probably annoy Miss Palmer by your blunders; but
that is class work, and I do not doubt a little sharpness on her
part is good for you; but, out of the recitation room, you are
only 'one of the girls,' and if you come in contact with her, I
have no doubt you will find her an agreeable lady. There is a
tinge of self-consciousness about this, which I am most anxious
for you to avoid. I want you to forget there is such a person in
the world as Marion Parke, in your school intercourse; but more
of this at another time."
Here follows a few pages written of the home-life, which Marion reads
with great tears in her eyes.
What her mother has written her Marion had heard many times before
leaving home, but its practical application now made it seem a
different thing. She could not help the thought that if her mother had
been in her place, had been surrounded as she was by the new
life,--the teachers, the scholars, the routine of everyday,--if she
had seen the anxious, pale faces of many of the girls when they came
into the recitation room, and the tears that were often furtively
wiped away after a failure, she would not have thought it so easy to
fix your attention on your lesson, undisturbed by any external thing,
or to bend your efforts to the development of your mind, above every
other purpose: but, after all, the letter was not without its salutary
effect; and coming as it did at the beginning of Marion's school
career, will prove of great benefit to her.