The New Teacher

Southland Times, Issue 19690, 24 October 1925, Page 22

The New Teacher

—First Prize.— “I am glad to be back at school this term,” said Doreen to ELsie as she slipped her hand into her friend’s arm and strolled towards the schoolroom. “Holidays are jolly, and it’s horrid leaving them behind, but, oh, school is lovely! This is such a dear old place, and I can’t help being glad to see the girls again—’specially you, Elsie, dear.” She gave her chum a loving squeeze as she spoke. “Yes, that’s just what I was thinking,” replied Elsie, a tall pretty girl of thirteen with beautiful gray-blue eyes and russet brown hair. “This is a splendid school—the best in the country. And the Lower Fourth is the best form in the school.” “Hear, hear!” cried Doreen. “And the mistresses are—oh, Elsie, who’s coming in place of Miss Oliver? Isn’t it awful to think she’s left? Our teacher, too, As if we didn’t have enough to trouble us!” She sighed es though the cares of the world were on her slender shoulders. “I don’t know, really,” Elsie frowned. “But I only hope she is decent.” “A new mistress is always an affliction,” stated Doreen with mournful emphasis. “You remember Miss Stone?” ELsie frowned again. She remembered Miss Stone very well—too well, in fact—for she had often come into conflict with that lady, who had been temporary mistress of the Lower Fourth at Riverleigh Grange just long enough to make her pupils detest her. And Elsie and Doreen, though only day-girls, had had painful experience of her. “Oh-er-she won’t be as bad as that,” said Elsie. “And we’ll be sure to like her, Dorrie.” “Well, I ha’ me doots,” retorted Dorrie, with one of her quick changes from seriousness to elfishness. “And here’s Miss Ray for us, I believe.” “ELsie! Doreen!” cried the mistress, coming swiftly towards them. “Miss Leigh wants you at once in her study. Go quickly, girls.” “What on earth—?” began Dorrie, but Elsie, seizing her hand, raced towards the stairs. When these were left behind they walked more slowly and talked softly as they went. “You can easily see it's first day, can’t you?” said Dorrie. “Look at the new kids looking like lost sheep and the boarders are there too.” “Well, lessons are over for the first day,” returned Elsie. “And we should be on our way home by now. What can Miss Leigh want with us?” “Dear knows,” laughed Doreen. “I haven’t anything on my conscience. Have you?” “Oh, no,” Elsie smiled and then, the study being reached, they composed their features and meekly tapped. “Ah, there you are, girls,” said Miss Leigh with a smile. “I am glad you came at once, as your train goes in ten minutes and you must catch it, I suppose. You want to become a boarder, do you, Dorrie?” “Oh, no,” said Doreen so emphatically that Miss Leigh smiled again. She was a tall woman, with dark hair, bright eyes and considering she was a “school-marm” as Dorrie said sometimes, quite a jolly smile. She was a great favourite with her pupils, though she had never been on the same terms of intimacy with them as had Miss Oliver, who had left the preceding term. It was the problem of the latter’s successor that had troubled the girls that same afternoon.

For lessons that day they had had another teacher, Miss Birkenhead, but it had been evident that her duties had been unexpected by the lady, for she had seemed quite confused when beginning lessons with the unruly Lower Fourth. Not that the form was unruly with her however. What form could be when its fate—or, in other words, the matter of its new teacher—hung on the balance? Besides, it was “first day,” a most important one for the girls of Riverleigh Grange—the grand old school that stood amidst such magnificent surroundings not far from the little village of Riverleigh. So great was the name of the school that many girls who lived in a town several miles away came there daily in the train. Among these latter were included two devoted chums, Elsie Vivian, and Doreen Winchester, who made the journeys backwards and forwards with unfailing regularity, rejoicing in the fact that they could enjoy so much together. Lessons were just over for the day—certainly very little work was done with everything in such a state of disorder and the air of expectancy in the room had so thoroughly

unsettled the Lzjwer Fourth—and Dorrie and Elsie had just been preparing for their return home when the summons had come from the headmistress.

And here they were in her study. Doubtless you were surprised to receive my message,” began Miss Leigh,” and I'm afraid I am going to ask you to do something which will appear more so —indeed, I fear it will be startling to you. However, you will do your best, I am sure. Now don’t be worried, my dear children”—she smiled as she noticed the puzzled expressions on the faces of her audience—“l only want you to escort a lady to school to-morrow morning. You know you are to have a new teacher, I presume? This is the lady and you have been chosen because of your being in the form she is to have.” “But-but-er—.” Doreen stammered as she Was conscious of the keen eyes upon her—‘Please, Miss Leigh, how will we recognise the lady? We’ll need a description.” “Oh, didn’t I tell you? This is it—small dark hat, navy costume, carrying satchel. That is all, but I am sure you will have no difficulty. Just travel with Miss-er-Miss Castle to this school, answer ail her questions and be, in your own way, ‘nice’ to her. It will be such an advantage for her to know two girls—and I think I may say the two leading girls—of the form she assumes charge of, and I was so pleased to find that you two lived near her. That is all, just now. Good afternoon, girls.” ‘’Good afternoon, Miss Leigh.” chorused the pair, and then, turning quickly they left the room. Then—- “ Elsie!” exclaimed Doreen. “What an awful prospect! A mistress to trot us to school every day, as she lives near us! And our best ‘Sunday-go-to-meeting’ manners. I fi’pose. No more jolly rags—we are Unlucky, aren’t we?” “Well, we’ll exist under the new rule,” said Elsie the philosopher, sighing, nevertheless. For she had enjoyed the journeys to and from school, and with a mistress to spoil everything—oh, how she disliked the thought! “I bet she’s horrid,” remarked Dorrie, in the railway carriage a few minutes later. “An old beast, I bet my boots!” “Doreen!” reproved Elsie. “Such slang dear, And you don’t know what she is like yet. She may be quite nice.” But despite her words Elsie looked doubtful, and her words made no impression on Dorrie, who, having formed an opinion, in her own expression, “stuck to it.” “I don’t see how she can be,” argued Dorrie obstinately. “By the description she’s a typical school teacher—navy costume, small hat—ugh! I wonder she doesn’t have goloshes.” “But this is summer,” stated Elsie, the practical, “and MisSjStone didn’t have goloshes—at least, she only wore them once.” “But that once was enough!” Dorrie chuckled softly. “And she had gloves—mittens I mean. Oh, my hat, she was a peach!” “Well, we don’t know what this one— Miss Castle—is like yet,” said her chum as the train, having reached its destination, drew up and the girls alighted. “See you to-morrow, Dorrie, dear, and do come early.” “Trust me,” said Doreen lugubriously, and, grimacing at Elsie much to the amusement of the porter who admired the “leddies” greatly, she fled in the direction of her home, with a comical expression of despair still on her exceedingly flexible features. • • • • It was morning. At the railway station at Bramley stood two schoolgirls, neatly attired in gym. dresses and wearing the Riverleigh badge. A stray sunbeam, wandering o’er the landscape, caught on the golden curls of one and slowly brought out the glorious tints in the long, beautiful mane; while another lingered lovingly on Elsie’s russet locks, which fell in a rich, wavy mass to her waist. Altogether the girls looked a perfect picture of beauty and happiness, with their bright eyes and rosy cheeks. But the faces underneath the broad sailor hats were far from happy. Indeed, so mournful was Dorrie's cherubic countenance that one of her schoolfellows had been so sympathetic as to inquire “where she felt it most," which was certainly not soothing, seeing that Dorrie could not retaliate for the fear of an unknown mistress who loomed :n the distance as “a Giant of Despair,” as Dorrie hopefully suggested; and who would probably have punished the two girls severely. Suddenly a shadow fell across the path, and looking up, they beheld a tall female, who looked to them a terrible sight. She evidently had not noticed the children, and they would have been glad to miss her, but, even though they pretended to be very interested in the posters by the statioji, they seemed doomed to make her acquaintance. It was brought about by an empty box left on the platform by a careless porter. Seeing her train stop, the tall lady advanced towards it and then—“lt’s a quotation from Shakespeare,” Elsie was saying to Doreen, “Some are bom great, some achieve greatness ” —Qatter! clatter! crash. A large form fairly flew towards the girl, and before she could realise it, she had sat down on the platform. Dorrie, overcome with astonishment, stared at her for a full minute before she understood the turn affairs had taken. Then light came to her —this was the new teacher, and, from outward appearances at least, she was even worse than they had anticipated. What should she do? What could she do? To think was to act; to act was to seize Elsie’s hand hurriedly, raise her to her feet, seize their satchels, and fly to the train! “Oh dear,” sighed Dorrie in the train as it began to move. “Well, Elsie, my love, you certainly had that quotation finished in style! ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them!’ You had greatness thrust upon

you, didn’t you?” “But- what ever will Miss Leigh say?” said Elsie, frowning. “I hardly think she’ll be pleased to think we’ve insulted the new mistress. There is Miss Castle in the next carriage.” “Well, I don’t mind,” said Dorrie cheerfully. “I think it’s—look out Elsie, your satchels falling!” “Here, let me put it up for you,” said the third occupant of the carriage, a young lady of some twenty-one or twenty-two years, who had been watching with interest the expressions on the faces of her young companions. Tall and pretty, she looked little older than the seniors at Riverleigh Grange, though the slight seriousness of her eyes showed that more years had passed over her head. To the two chums she looked most attractive, and it seemed only natural that they should enter into conversation with her, after her timely rescue of Elsie’s satchel. In a short time she was being told about their troubles with the new mistress. “We’ll have a wretched time at school,” Dorrie assured the young lady, “for Miss Leigh is frightful when in a wax.” She sighed as though she had had painful experience of Miss Leigh in such a condition—which indeed was true, for such a young pickle was Dorrie that she was continually in scrapes. These, however, did not disturb her at all, and a more happy child did not exist. “And you expert to meet that tall woman at school?” asked the lady, smiling. “Yes —worse luck—we’re sure to,” gloomily Dorrie replied. “Then I can reassure you,” was the smiling retort, “That lady is merely advertising a new gas stove!” “What!” The two girls fell back in their seats, looking horrified and quite overcome by the unexpected announcement. Dorrie recovered her breath first. Then, womanlike, she demanded explanations. “How do you know?” she said “Oh, she gave me full particulars when I was waiting for someone at the station. You two evidently disliked her —at any rate, you seemed to have little inclination to make her acquaintance.” “Oh, we didn't!” cried both. “You see,” added Elsie, “We thought she was our new’ mistress—we had to take her to school. And she did look like a teacher, really.” “I believe you.” the lady smiled again. “But how did you know it was your teacher?” “Well—navy costume, small hat, and satchel,” said Dorrie. "That is the description Miss Leigh—our head—gave us.”

'But there are plenty of people who answer to that description. Why, there is one before you.” “You! Oh, you couldn’t be a horrid, frowsy school teacher!” cried Dorrie, laughing.

"But if I tell you I am—” began the lady—but she was interrupted by an excited squeal from Elsie—“Oh! Oh! E.C. on your satchel! Are you Miss Castle? Really and truly?” “I’m afraid so,” laughed the lady—or, as we will in future know her, Miss Castle, “I cqiildn’t introduce myself because you two emphatic people had already decided I was all sorts of horrid things. And you didn’t really give me an opportunity, did you?” “N-no,” said Doreen. “But—” laughing—“we’ll forgive you, if you forgive us.” “Very well,” said Miss Castle, and then was formed a friendship never to be broken. And that was the end of the adventure of the “new teacher.” —First prize—s/- and 4 marks to Cousin Winnie McQuilkan (12), 255 Yarrow Street, Invercargill —Second Prize.— “Girls, I’ve seen her!” Breathless and dishevelled, Betty Manors literally hurled herself into the recreation room of the Fourth Form. “You mean the new teacher?” It was Stella Maddox who asked the question, and Betty nodded excitedly. “Of course. Who else could I mean? And, oh, girls—” She was interrupted by a perfect babble of voices. “What’s she like, Betty?” “How old does she look?” “Do you think we’ll like her?” “Betty, you aggravating creature do tell us what she’s like.” Betty dropped languidly into a comfortable chair, fanned herself with a newspaper, and smiled condescendingly at her exasperated chums. "If you’d only be patient, my children.” she said, enjoying to the full the sensation which she had created. "Well to begin at the beginning. You know the head said the new teacher would arrive in the 5 train, have tea with her, and then go straight to her room, thus not seeing us until to-morrow. To-morrow seemed a long way off and I was hanging over the banisters hoping to get a glimpse of her when Miss March came along. ‘I wonder if you’d take this parcel to Miss Drummond, Betty,’ she said pleasantly. *Yes, Miss March,” I said meekly, thanking my stars for such a lucky chance and I almost danced down to the head’s study. Miss Drummond was having tea with the new teacher and when I had delivered the parcel, she said to her. “This is one of the Fourth Form girls, Miss Wilson.” Girls, I almost did a fade-aw’ay for I’ve never, never experienced such a shock as I did then. The new teacher had hair of a bright red hue, wore specs, and was clothed in a silk blouse of emerald green, a brown skirt and had a bright red belt fastened round her waist. She worked my hand like a pump handle, and said: “Howcher do m’der?” I gasped out something in reply and bolted. Oh, girls! She’s perfectly awful.” “I wonder what Miss Drummond was thinking of to chose such a person.” said Sheila Murray. “Perhaps she didn’t know what Miss Wilson was like,” suggested* Stella, who was the form captain. “And teachers are scarce just now.” "Well, it’s rotten luck that she should have come to St. Catherine’s,” grumbled Sheila.

Further complaints were cut short by the ringing of the tea bell and the girls trooped upstairs to wash their hands. They were passing the head’s study when Miss Drummond herself came out, followed by “The Person’’ as Betty had christened the new teacher. To their horror the fourth form girls realised Betty’s description was only too accurate. For the remainder of that evening the main topic of conversation was the poor person. * * • • It was with some anxiety that the girls seated in the Fourth’ Form class room awaited the arrival of their new mistress the following morning They were not kept long in suspense. Presently the door opened and the head entered and mounted the platform. “Girls.” she began in her clear voice: “This is Miss Wilson, your new teacher. I Why what is the matter, Betty?” For Betty had risen and was staring in amazement at the figure which had followed Miss Drummond into the class-room. This was not the Person but a slender, lovely girl of perhaps 20 years, whose well-poised little head was crowned by a mass of red gold hair. She was dressed in a frock of cool, green linen, which seemed to emphasise the beauty of her slim graceful figure and she had the merriest smile in the world. “But Miss Drummond I—that is—we—that is—” floundered Betty helplessly. "Wasn’t that Miss Wilson to whom you introduced me last night?” “You don’t mean to say you thought she was your new mistress?” queried Miss Drummond with the faintest suspicion of laughter in her voice. “But you said her name was Miss Wilson and she arrived in the 5 train,” Betty was plainly bewildered. “We—we thought . ; he was our new teacher.” The head was now laughing heartily. “My dear girls what a curious mistake you have made,” she said gaily. “But I can see how it all occurred. Our laundry maid is leaving to be married to Joe the under gardener and I advertised for a new one. Curiously enough the one whom I selected for the position was also named -Wilson, which is a fairly common name. Both teacher and maid were to travel here in the 5 train but at the last moment your new mistress wired to say that she could not come until the 9 train. Which, girls, explains everything. lam sure you will all like your new teacher and I can assure you that our other Miss Wilson is a very capable laundry maid, even —” and the head's eyes twinkled merrily—“even if she is not altogether able to take a class.” Stella Maddox, form captain, sprang to her feet. “Girls,” she said dearly, “Let’s give three cheers for our two Miss Wilsons.” And out through the open windows of St Catherine’s into the sunlit garden beyond, the fresh young voices echoed and re-echoed. —2/6 and 3 marks to Cousin Gladys Stimpson (14), 20 Sydney Street, North Invercargill. —Highly Commended.— He was away—that old teacher who had let them play all the pranks they pleased. And a new teacher was to come to the little country school of Vylmere. On Monday morning, therefore, all the children went to school extra early to see what this new teacher would be like. “There’s a lady boarding at Hobson’s, across the road,” said Muriel Wendel, one of the biggest girls in the school. “I suppose that will be teacher.” “Oh, it’s a girl, is it ?” cried Samuel Jenkins. “We’ll be able to play some tricks then. Ha! Ha! Ha!” “Yes,” called out Nicholas Robin, who was always up to tricks. “Say we start right away? Now, all of you go into the porch. I’ve an idea!” Nicholas Robin’s ideas usually turned out with amusement in them; so the twenty children assembled in the school porch and listened to Nicholas as he laid his plan before them.

CROSS WORD PUZZLE.

“Seeing it’s a girl,” he said, “we’re in for an easy time, and so we might as well begin the day with a bit of fun. This is my plan. Sam Jenkins, you’ll keep watch on Hobson’s front door, and when you see teacher come out, you’ll let us know by jumping up in the air. I’ll be out watching, and when I see you give this sign, I’ll go into the porch. Then, all of us in the porch will be silent and still until we hear her (i.e. teacher’s) footsteps on the concrete just round the corner of the school. Then, with one bound, we’ll rush out, yelling weird yelk and screwing queer faces. That will give teacher a scare. See! At first she’ll think we’re a pack of witches and wizards sprung from the porch by magic; or if she’s frightened of rats, she’ll think we’re some of the rats which the Pied Piper drew away from Hamelin Town. When she hears the great noise all of a sudden, she’ll think we are whatever she has most fear of.” “Jolly good scheme, Nick! Ha! Ha!” cried the boys with a cheer, and the girls showed, by the expressions on their faces, that they didn’t fall out with the idea. All except Muriel Wendel, who decided that, somehow or other, she would put an end to their horrible scheme. “It’s no use telling them what I think of it,” she thought. “That would only make them more anxious to carry it out. I know what I’ll do to stop it. I’ll try to get over to Hobson’s without letting Sam Jenkins see me; and then I’ll come, as it will seem, out of Hobson’s, and walk toward the school. Sam will give the sign to the others, who will rush out at me instead of teacher.” She pleaded an excuse and went out of the porch, having told no one what she was going to do, except her special chum, Greta Field. But Greta wished to win the respect of Sam Jenkins, and so she told him what Muriel was going to do. “Ha! Ha!” laughed Sam. “We’ll outwit Muriel yet. I sha’n’t give the sign until I am certain it wasn’t Muriel who came out of Hobson’s. I’ll get up close and then I’ll be able to see.” Sam went out and stood just across the road from Hobson’s. The bushes in front of Hobson’s rather hid his view of the front door, so often he was tempted to jump up, in order to see more clearly what was going on there. All cf a sudden he realised that he had jumped up—that he had given the sign to his fellows to get ready for the “rush.” Samuel’s colour came and went. They would think he was like the boy who cried “Wolf! Wolf!” when there were no wolves. Samuel didn’tknow what to do. Perhaps they hadn’t seen him ! jump up Perhaps So ■ he stayed where he was, in wait for the i real person to ccme out of Hobson’s house. i But Nicholas Robin did see Samuel jump ! up. He went into the porch, telling the ; others to keep as quiet as mice, for teacher i was coming. Nicholas arranged the child- ' ren in two semi-circles, one in front of the ■ other, just inside the door. Eighteen I breaths came and went with excitement, as 1 the eighteen children listened for the foot- ( steps. | Now, when Muriel went out, she thought ( “I’ll hide round the side of the school, I till I see where Sam will stand.” But I when she went round the side of the school, ■ she found that one of the windows there 1 was wide open. I “We must have forgotten to shut that ! window on Friday night,” she thought. "But all the better. I’ll climb in and make a noise in the school turning blackboards,

etc. Then, those in the porch will think that teacher is in the school, and so they will leave off their scheme.”

She climbed in the window, and was just walking softly down to the blackboard, when she stopped short with horror. For there, with his back to her, was a man rummaging in the cupboard. “A thief,” thought Muriel, and her heart beat wildly. She turned round and stealthily went out the way she came in.

Now, during this time, footsteps sounded on the concrete outside the porch; whereupon the eighteen children rushed out with weird yells and strange faces. Straight forward they rushed for several chains, and when they turned round, expecting to see the “girl” shrinking from them with awe, they saw a man of about 60 scampering away as fast as he could go. He had forgotten all about his shiny boots which he had taken such a pride in before. He was covered with mud right over these shiny boot-tops, and his wig was stuck fast in a pool of mud behind him. Then the horrified onlookers saw his hat soaring heavenwards with the wind and then swerve suddenly to the south and sink down the school chimney. The children did not even laugh. In fact they did not feel much like laughing, for the old man whom they had scared was no other than the school inspector. “Won’t teacher be disgusted with us when she knows?” said Samuel Jenkins, sorrowfully. Samuel Jenkins had run up when he saw his schoolmates rush out of the school. A gloom was cast over the nineteen children, who went into the playshed and sat down in silence. Just then Muriel ran up excitedly. “There’s a burglar in the school!” she said. “Nonsense, Muriel!” said Nicholas Robin. “Well, come and see for yourself, then,” said Muriel. The children all followed as Nicholas went round and peeped in the open window. “It’s funny how the window’s open,” whispered Nicholas. Although he pretended to be not the least bit afraid, his heart was thumping wildly at the thought of seeing a real live burglar. He jumped up and looked in the window. “I say,” he ejaculated. “The cupboard doors are open, and the pictures have all been shifted. But there’s no burglar in there, Muriel.” “No burglar!” cried Muriel in a stage whisper. “But there is. I saw him. Oh! I know; he will have heard us and he will have forced the door open, and he’ll be away. Oh! catch him!” With one accord the children rushed round to the porch. Between the porch door and the gate was the man Muriel had seen. He was calmly picking the inspector’s wig out of the mud. “He’s even trying to get off with that!” said Nicholas in disdain, as he and the other boys bounded towards the man and surrounded him, and, despite his remonstances, marched him into the school. “Now, just be quiet!” ordered Samuel Jenkins, who, with his hands held firm on the prisoner’s arm, looked as though he was experienced in dealing with thieves. “He’ll just try to give excuses, boys,” he added to his mates. The man was powerless in the hold of ten strong boys, who thought they were doing a great deed by capturing a real live thief. As they were taking him into the school, Jennie Jones, a wee girl of five, ran up to him, crying, “Mr Nctefe! Mr Notefe! Naughty boys, leave Mr Notefe!” “Go away, Jennie,” said Nicholas gently. “This man is a thief.” So Jennie went away, weeping. “Poor Mr Notefe,” she said. The boys marched the man into the school and prepared to have him shut up in the cupboard. But he grew angry then, and had the boys not been helped by the thought of what a great deed they were doing, they surely would have believed what

the man said about it being his right to rummage in the cupboard, and shift the pictures, and would have let him go. But the boys believed they were heroes; and so by force they put the man in the cupboard, locked the door, and left him there. “When teacher comes, won’t she just be proud of us,” they said. “It’s rather a pity we frightened the inspector away, though!” When they went out into the playground, Jennie Jones was crying bitterly. “Let Mr Notefe out of the cupboard,” she said pleadingly. “Now Jennie,” said Nicholas Robin. “See, how proud teacher will be of us when she knows we’ve caught a real live thief.” Presently, a girl of about twenty walked in the school gate, holding a child by the hand. “It’s teacher!” whispered the children excitedly. But little Jennie Jones called out, “Hallo, Ava!” Then she adedd to the schoolchildren, ‘That’s my cousin. She’s staying with us. She’s bringing my little sister to school. That little girl is Joy, my wee sister. She’s four years old.” “Oh, just fancy!” said one of the big girls. “Teacher is Jennie’s cousin, and is staying at Jennie’s.” “Well, dad said teacher was staying at Hobson’s,” interposed Muriel Wendel. Just then the lady came up. The children gathered round her. “Oh, teacher!” they cried, “We’ve caught a thief. We’ve shut him in the cupboard. He tried to get away from us. Oh, teacher, aren’t you proud of us?” But the girl’s face was a study. Then understanding came to her, and she gasped. “I’m not your teacher,” she said. “Your teacher is Mr Notefe, whom Jennie’s father (and Jennie) brought up from the train last night. He’s boarding at Hobson’s. And from what I can see you’ve locked your teacher, Mr Nctefe, in the Cupboard.” A faint smile played round the girl’s mouth, but her mind was awake to the gravity of the situation. “You’ve shut your teacher in the cupboard,” said the girl; and Jennie added, “Yes. Naughty boys shut poor Mr Notefe in the cupboard.” By Miss Jones* orders, Mr Nctefe was soon out of the cupboard. He looked very sad. The new suit which he had worn especially for the occasion was creased and torn, and splattered with red ink and with black ink. His face and head were w'hite with dust from the blackboard duster, and lumps of plasticine were sticking fast on his poor bald pate. Soon things were put to rights. Miss Jones went away, leaving Joy with Jennie. The children were all hard at work in the school-room. Mr Notefe was at his ease once more, and told the boys that next time, they captured a thief, to make sure that it was a thief they had captured. He laughed gaily and so won the esteem of the children. The episode was almost forgotten when a knock came to the door. It was the inspector. The children shuddered to think of facing the poor man to whom they had behaved so disrespectfully. But this inspector was in reality a jovial old ch'ap, and so he readily forgave them. But he made them promise that they would never try such tricks again. “For,” he said, “you mightn’t strike such a jolly old chap as me.” And that was the end of the episode. But it was many a long day before any of those twenty children forgot about what happened on the day which gave them the new teacher, who grew to be such a hero in their eyes. , —2 marks to Cousin Annie Playfair (14), “Bonniefield,” Gummies Bush.