This was decidedly different from the comfortable fashion of roaming about the tiny yellow geography to which Ella had been accustomed, learning a few “map questions” wherever she chose.
The new pupil had heard one recitation and she felt quite wise in the customs of the school. She did not yet see why Alice was sent to the foot; but she had learned that lessons were short, but must be learned perfectly, and recited without questioning; that everything must be recited exactly right; that if it was not, you raised your hand and went above her; and that you were expected to remember everything you had ever learned.
Ella tried hard to recall what she had ever learned that she was absolutely sure of, and the only thing she could call to mind on the instant was the multiplication table—which she had never learned!
The geography class was now dismissed, and the children took their seats. The roll was called for reports, and when it came to Alice, she reported, “One hundred, and also fifteen extra for being at the head three recitations.” Then Ella understood one thing more. If you could “get up head” and stay there three recitations, you went to the foot with fifteen extra and had a chance to get to the head again. The fifteen extra might be used perhaps to make up for some failure. She wished she knew. It wouldn’t be quite so dreadful to fail if there was only some way to make up. She did not want to ask any of the girls; she must ask Beejay. Then she remembered that Beejay could not be asked, for he had gone away to a boarding-school for boys. He had been to the public school, and she wondered why he had never told her all of these interesting things. He went to another school, however, and maybe all schools were not so wonderful as this one. She would write to him and ask.
Ella’s lessons were usually recited in a few minutes, but evidently more time was allowed for them in this school, for the children now took out their atlases and set to work to draw a map of Maine. Ella watched eagerly. The teacher noticed how interested she was and asked if she could draw maps.
“I don’t know,” replied the little girl honestly. “I never tried; but I can draw flowers and old castles and dogs and cats.”
“I will lend you an atlas,” said the teacher, “and you can try.”
The teacher walked about the room, looking at the children’s work and showing them where they could make it better. Ella’s hands began to tremble, she did so hope that hers was as good as the others. The teacher stood watching her—for half an hour, it seemed to the little girl. Then she took up the paper and looked it over carefully.
“That is exceedingly good,” she said as she laid it down.
Ella was happy. The teacher had not said “exceedingly” to any other boy or girl.