Rhody—Ma’ll lick you, ef you say it so.
Teacher—That will do, Rhoda. Let him fight it out with his mother himself. If he gets a whipping, it’s no more then he deserves.
Rhody—But Ma said for you to make him say it right.
Miss P.—If he’s to say it when he pleases, he may say it as he pleases, for all I care.
Aunt Hepsy—She’ll skin him alive, ef he does say it wrong. Hanner Ann writ that ere little varse herself, ’n she’s prouder of it than a kitten with its fust mouse. Better say “pretty toy,” Ruby, ef your ma says so.
Reuben—A jumpin’ jack is a pretty toy.
Miss P.—We will now sing our welcome song. (Several begin to sing, in different keys. Miss P. raps on her desk and they stop.)
Miss P.—No, no, children. Wait till I give you the key. I will start the songs, and you must wait for me. Why, what would people think if you started in like that, all out of tune?
Aunt Hepsy—Think it was a lot o’ sheep a blartin’, most likely.
(Children laugh. Miss P. raps for order, gets the key, with an old-fashioned tuning fork, if one can be obtained, and starts the song. All stand up to sing. Tune: “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching.”)