THE TWENTY-THIRD FAILURE.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIX, Issue 71, 26 March 1910, Page 10

THE TWENTY-THIRD FAILURE.

ft was five o'clock in the afternoon, and almost dark. Lizzie. Brewer, aged "nine years nad seven month*," according to tho attendance register of her school, had just been let out of that institution on to the Hammersmith Bioadway, and was cautiously scuttling homewards in the direction of Hannover Cot-tage-mews. Thin small scuttling unit, who had left school a moment ago, toming her old green tammy in the air with a CockneyUed warwhoop, had left in her rear a scholastic stormflood . . a turmoil . . a wreckage. The school inspector was raving ; the hcad-nmtreFs of St. Stephen's non-provided girhi' school was meekly and impotently protesting ; Mifs Smith, the cla*s teacher, was white and speechless — and all in tho last instance because of Lizzie Brewer. She was the last and worst of twenty-three "failures" in a class of children who had just been examined. Her paper showed twenty-nine dictation errors, no sums right, and a composition consisting of the ttatement — tho theme set was the onion — "we as unyons for tee in »tu." Then the inspector lost his temper. "There cannot have been any proper teaching in this class, Miss Smith. Look at this paper," and ho struck Lizzie Brewer's production with a pulpy hand. "It is a disgrace to any claw. Twentythree of them, too." "Of couree," Miss Smith urged lamely, with her thoughts and eyes still fixed on the last paper, "Lizzie's sister is in a special school, and her people- are very poor." "But the child herself is all right, you admit. The children Bre f«nt nero to be taught, and these poor results are very serious for you, Miss Smith — let me repeat, very serious indeed., Much more serious than you think, and, of course, as you are only on probation, well. . ." He shrugged his shoulder*, and was about to turn away. But perhaps something in .the situation reminded him of the days when ne himself was still a teacher, for he suddenly held out the pulpy hand and eaid bluntly, "You must try to get better results next time." Miss Smith was left alone in her empty class-room. iShe knew what it meant. Twenty-three failures! The ranks of London teachers were full to overflowing. There was no room for those who could not get smart results, whatever the material with which they had to work. At the end of her year's probation she would be officially told that she could go. She herself would be a failure, laboriously trained for her work on the family savings of many years. . . Meanwhile the "twenty-third failure" had picked up a companion much smaller than herself, and was intelligently piloting her charge through the crowd. Opposite the Port Office a bucket of glowing charcoal shone ruddy on the kerb and the children paused and bent down to spread their small led . palms to the glow. "Don't you go orf with that 'ere coal bucket of ourn, you young uns," comes a burly voice from the workmen's shanty on the right. "Looks as if they'd like to eat en, live coal an' all, don't they, Bill ?" laughs a workman to his mate, now lighting the swinging lamps. "Got any old blocks to »pare, Bill ? They'll make a bit of a blaze for 'em at 'orae, nt the small cont of nuthin' per 'cad. 'Ere yo are, Sally." Down comes the full length and breadth of Lizzie's apron, that reached to her feet, but had been coiled round her waist in a clumsy roll. In go the caet-off wooden paving blocks — one, two, three, four — till the apron is full, and then the children hurry on, round tho coiner, to Hannover Cottage-mewu. Lizzie's face lights up as they draw near her home. There is intelligence enough in it now to please any inspector. Surely at this moment she could multiply by tens of thousands, and spell — spell anything in the world from pitch-pine block to kitchen blaze. Under the low archway beside her mother's door she pauses and looks round, then opens the apron and lets the blocks fall to the ground. " 'Ere, Polly, you look after them blocks 'arf a tick, and if any one wants to nab 'em, why you say they're Mrs. Brewer's, and tho copper'U be after them." As she opens the house door an angry voice is heard in the passage : "It ain't much use your cumin* 'ome if' it's tea ye after. Not a penny in the 'ouse and, never a stick to make a bit of fire with, and yer father out of work. What's all yer fine schoolin' (join' to do for yer, I'd like to know. When I was your age I was out to work, not crammin' me 'cad full of *tuff what ain't no good. So you just git out and don't come worritin' for what I ain't got to giv' yer." At la«t Lizzie is given a chance to fnll iv : " 'Ere, mother, you jist «cc what me aud Polly's brought along." She dragn her mother out under the archway wheie Polly is standing sentinel beside the treasured pile. "Why, Lor' bless us, child, where did yer get 'em! Now, that's what I call seme. I always did say you were good for sumthin'. Come on, and let's take 'em in nnd make a bit of fire 'fore yer father come* in." And for once Lizzie i-. not the twentythird failure, but rank* with the god who gavo fne to men. — T. La Chard, in \Ve3tminbter Gazette.