Ella, a little schoolgirl of the sixties

by Eva March Tappan

As the weeks passed on, the work became more and more intense. Every question in the geographical question book had been answered, as has been said. Every topic in history was recited and every map of a battle reviewed. “Miscellaneous Problems” from numerous arithmetics were now showered upon the children’s heads like avalanches. Weird and incredible tales these problems were, tales of men who bought goods on the most impossible terms and sold them in fractional lots of most uncomfortable size; tales of a group of men who bought a grindstone in partnership and left to the members of the First Class the task of finding out how many inches each should grind off to get his money’s worth. Did any one ever work on that problem without a mental vow never, never to buy a share in a partnership grindstone, especially well in toward the center?

The rules of the grammar were thoroughly reviewed and then came a great expanse of opportunity for parsing and analyzing. On pages and pages of the Sixth Reader difficult words were underlined for parsing. The most complicated sentences were carefully dissected, and incidentally a habit of looking closely into the exact meaning of words and the precise shade of thought which they expressed was formed. The study of grammar was much more than a repetition of rules. It had a wide and generous margin. It took the place in the grammar school that is filled by logic in the college.

In spelling, the knowledge of one book was all that was required. Indeed, there was once quite a little insurrection when, in one of the test examinations, the word “pusillanimous” appeared, a word which was not in the spelling book. About music there was grave questioning. Many of the pupils were taking lessons at home, and some were doing quite advanced work. Was it fair to compare this with the work of children whose only instruction came from an hour a week in school? “There will always be a difference in home advantages,” said the wise superintendent, “but these examinations should be limited to what they have had full opportunity to learn in school.” It was decided that the examination in music should be given, but should not be counted in ranking the pupils.

This matter of rank was of vast importance in the eyes of the children, and was watched with interest by some thousands of the older folk of the city. The high school examinations were not given in the grammar schools, but in the high school—which gave to them an added dignity. The papers were corrected with the utmost care and were then ranked according to their percentage. The city was proud of her schools, and to stand Number One in these examinations was looked upon as being the highest honor that it could bestow upon a pupil entering the high school.

This was Ella’s ambition. “I want it! I want it! I want it!” she said to herself. “It seems as if I must have it.” But would she get it? Ever since the first half-term she had been at the head of her class. She had become used to this, and had fallen into the habit of writing carelessly in her diary, “Reports to-day. I was Number One as usual,” and then had forgotten it all and had crocheted a mitten or played ball without thinking any more about it. This, however, was quite different. Her work was to be compared with that of the pupils of the First Class in all the grammar schools of the city. It is no wonder that she was anxious.

The last day of school arrived. Ella went through the exercises almost in a dream. She began to realize that she was going into a strange new school, and she was half afraid. After the day was over and the guests had gone, the whole class wrote their names on the board with “Graduating Class of 1869. Good-bye.”

On the following morning a long procession of boys and girls wound its way up the hill to the high school. They were distributed among the different rooms. Each room was in charge of a teacher, and Ella was delighted to find the assistant standing by the door in her room, ready to welcome her. The place of honor was given to arithmetic; first written, then mental arithmetic. It was “mental” indeed, for not one figure was allowed to be written. The pupils did the examples in their minds as best they could, then set down the answer; and they had had so much practice in keeping the example as well as the work in mind that it seemed to them hardly more than play when a good clear printed copy of the questions lay before them.

What the nerves of the children of 1869 were made of is a mystery, but sure it is that after graduating from the grammar school on Tuesday, going through part of the high school examinations on Wednesday, Ella, and probably many others, went to a party Wednesday evening, and on Thursday finished the examinations—geography, grammar, spelling, history, and music. Thursday afternoon there was a visitor for Ella to take shopping. The visitor went home at night, and now there was time to think. Ella began to be a little alarmed. She thought over one of her answers after another, and wondered whether she had by mistake slipped in a wrong word or figure. “I must be head of the city,” she said to herself. “I want it! I want it! Oh, I want it! I do so wish the principal would come and tell me.”

The doorbell rang; the principal had come.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Ella cried. “Do please tell me where I stand!”