A bell rang, and all hurried to the schoolhouse. The afternoon was
uneventful. Those rough-edged, brawny fellows had become serious.
Hope had died in their breasts, and now they looked as if they had
come to its funeral. They began to examine their books as one
looks at a bitter draught before drinking it. In every subject the
teacher took a new way not likely to be hard upon tender feet. For
each lesson he had a method of his own. He angled for the interest
of the class and caught it. With some a term of school had been as
a long sickness, lengthened by the medicine of books and the
surgery of the beech rod. They had resented it with ingenious
deviltry. The confusion of the teacher and some incidental fun
were its only compensations. The young man gave his best thought
to the correction of this mental attitude. Four o'clock came at
last--the work of the day was over. Weary with its tension all sat
waiting the teacher's word. For a little he stood facing them.
"Tom Linley and Joe Beach," said he, in a low voice, "will you wait
a moment after the others have gone? School's dismissed."
There was a rush of feet and a rattle of dinner pails. All were
eager to get home with the story of that day--save the two it had
brought to shame.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127