CHAPTER III.
THE STRANGE SCHOOL CLASS.
Full many a beauteous lesson, too,
Their rosy lips can teach;
Great men would wonder if they knew
How well the fairies preach.
Havergal.
One day in June, when the sky was as blue as it is in Italy, and when all the trees and shrubs were dressed in bright green, there was a curious sight in the Fairy Garden of Castle Frank. Under the shade of a big apple-tree, and upon a long school-like seat, there sat twelve little jet-black squirrels. They were but half-grown creatures, the offspring of different parents. They sat upon their haunches, all in a row, with their forefeet raised as hands, holding tiny slates. Right in front of them stood Robin, giving them a question in arithmetic to answer.
"How many walnuts are 2 and 4 and 6?"
"How many walnuts are 2 and 4 and 6?"
"Not half enough for them anyway," said a tame grey parrot, sitting on a branch above the class.
The little squirrels shook their tails and tittered and said "tut—tut—tut—," but the teacher looked up and gently said—
"You are not one of the class; please keep quiet, Chattie" (which was the parrot's name).
"I am above their class anyway," replied Chattie.
"Please do not take away their attention," said the teacher patiently.
"Yes, the friskies need all their attention. It is the first rule of getting on. It was the first thing that helped me to speak anyway." And here Chattie stopped, believing that she had said a wise thing (which indeed was true), and that it was prudent to stop now for fear of offending her master.
"Put up your slates, all that have got the answer down," requested the teacher.
Every slate went up except one. Examining them, Robin saw that four had the correct answer, seven were wrong and one was unfinished. The teacher commended the successful pupils, helped those that were mistaken, and worked out the sum for the pupil that had stuck. This took a long time, for Robin wished everyone to understand before going further. He then made a sign to Chattie to give the signal for dismissal of the class. Chattie did so, giving a loud shrill whistle, ending in a long cat-like yell that filled the woods and made the friskies and Robin laugh outright; which greatly pleased the parrot, for she loved to talk and make a noise and be well thought of. The signal over, the squirrels marched away to their several homes, laid aside their slates and went out to play.
"You do not believe much in cram," said Chattie, as the pupils marched away.
"Mother says that 'cramming makes the figures blurred and weak; education makes them bright and strong.'"
"Ah," replied Chattie, "but laziness makes no figure at all."
Robin smiled and asked her to come home with him to tea. Chattie was his constant companion, and she flew down upon his shoulder and rubbed her head affectionately against his soft, ruddy cheek.
"I suspect you have a cheat in the class," said the parrot.
"I hope not," replied Robin trustfully, and he walked into the castle to partake of tea with his mother, who was alone, his father being far away on government business.
Robin's mother was much interested in the progress of the squirrel-class, not only as a pleasure and discipline for the pupils themselves, but as helping to train her darling boy in patience and kindness. These little creatures sometimes found their lessons irksome, and being naturally frisky they would suddenly leap from their seat and chase each other over a score of trees, while Robin entreated and waited patiently for their return; but they were gradually getting interested in their lessons and trained to attention and submission, out of love for their teacher. Robin's mother also wished her boy to learn the value of thoroughness. If he could observe that a pupil that thoroughly understood the lessons would be able to do them alone, whereas one that copied from others would fail when left alone, it would stimulate thoroughness where he himself was a learner.
When Robin entered the room his mother was already seated and waiting him. "Good evening, mother dear," he said, and he went forward and kissed her. He loved his mother much, and well he might. We do not love people for what they promise or give us, but for the heart that lies behind. Bad people may give much for their own ends, but we do not trust or love them. Robin's mother had a tenderness of heart that warmed and enhanced the beauty of her face, so much so that her servants and the poorest felt quite at home in her presence. She had also refinement and intelligence, giving her a dignity that kept even the rudest from being familiar and disrespectful. The Indians of the district called her Ininatig, the maple tree, because they thought her so sweet and beautiful. During tea there was much conversation about Robin's father, and when it was over his mother said—
"I have a gift for your best pupil, and something for all of them, when vacation comes."
"What are the gifts, mother?" Robin asked eagerly.
"A big white toy-horse for the first, a doll for the second, a looking-glass for the third, a tall hat for the fourth, then a trumpet, a small sword, a little ship, and so on, getting less and less in value according to the pupil's merit."
Robin was delighted.
Next morning the twelve young friskies were in their places as usual, and it was such a pretty picture to look at the row of glossy black bodies, with a silk ribbon around each neck to distinguish one black pupil from another. Number one wore a red ribbon, number two a white, number three a blue, and so on, each a different color down to the last, who wore a modest black.
When the teacher announced that prizes were to be given when the school session was over, there was much gladness, with many promises of attention and diligence for the time to come. Proceeding to work, he asked—
"If you divide 24 nuts among 12 good friskies, how many are left?"
"They're all left if they're bad," said Chattie.
Red, White, and Blue were correct, each having a big round O on their slates. So was number four, called Silver Ribbon. Several of the others were incorrect. Black Ribbon wrote down that he thought the parrot was right, but that after all he wasn't sure if the nuts were bad. He had a big head, a loving heart, and open honest brown eyes, and when the teacher saw what was written down he laughed and took him up in his arms and kissed him.
"My simple pet," said Robin, "you have as good a head as the others, but you have not been so long in the class; and, besides, your mamma is a poor, sick widow and unable to help you with your lessons."
Silver Ribbon (whose constant position for a certain reason was against the apple-tree) was the oftenest correct of all the class; but though very frolicsome and good-looking, she had a strange sly look about her face, very different from Black Ribbon's.
Chattie was pleased to hear her master sympathise with Black Ribbon, and desiring that no one might overlook his remark, she very distinctly said—
"Failure does not always mean a faulty head."
She had quite a liking for Black Ribbon, and well she might: he was a splendid climber of trees, and a magnificent leaper from branch to branch, his best feats being performed too whether the others were looking on or not. He was also civil and kind to everyone, and was most helpful to his sick mother at home. For these reasons, Chattie had lately taken his arithmetic in hand, but she was a great joker, and sometimes led the simple-minded little fellow astray. She was very sorry for his helpless mother, and therefore she visited her every day, prepared her meals, chatted with her, made her bed and swept the house with her tail. Indeed widow Black Ribbon's final recovery was due to Chattie's careful nursing, rather than to Dr. Beaver's baths and poplar pills.