"What would you teach?" Elizabeth asked, anxiously sympathetic, yet knowing a little more of the ways of the educational world than did Miss Tripp. "You know, Evelyn,—at least I am told—that nearly every teacher has to be a specialist now. You might study kindergartening," she added more hopefully.
Miss Tripp shook her head. "No; I couldn't do that. It would take too long, and we should have plenty of time to—starve, I fancy, before——. But what nonsense I'm talking! I must start out this minute; I have an appointment at Whitcher's Teacher's Agency this morning. They told me yesterday that a man—a school principal—was coming there to hire a primary teacher. I'm sure I could do that; don't you think I could, Elizabeth?—Just to teach the children how to read and write and do little sums on their slates. I shall say I can anyway."
She waved her hand to her friend as she went bravely away down the snowy street, and Elizabeth turned back to her children, feeling a new and unfamiliar sense of gratitude for the warm home nest, with its three turbulent birdlings.
It was Saturday, and the children could not be dispatched to kindergarten as on other mornings of the week. It was also baking-day, and bread and rolls were in slow process of rising to their appointed size in the chilly kitchen. Elizabeth was frugally looking over the contents of her larder with a view to a "picked-up" luncheon, when she heard a small yet distinct knock on the back door.
She opened it upon Robbie Stanford, dancing with impatience on the snowy step.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Brewster," he began with an ingratiating smile, "I've come over to play with Carroll an' Doris. I c'n stay two hours 'n' maybe three, 'nless my mother comes from down-town before that."
"Oh; isn't your mother at home?" asked Elizabeth, with a dubious glance at the red-cheeked, black-eyed young person, who was already edging smilingly toward the closed door of the dining-room. She had entertained Master Stanford before in the absence of his parents and had learned to dread the occasions of his visits.
"No, ma'am," said Robbie politely. "My mother's gone to have her teeth fixed. The' was a teeny hole in one of 'em, an' the hole ached. Did you ever have holes in your teeth, Mrs. Brewster?"