Taking up the brilliantly bound little book, Miss Preston said:
“Now, my friends, I hope you will look upon the cover of this book as a brilliant and rosy example of what I expect, and, I beg of you, do not disappoint me,” holding up the bright red book for the inspection of all. “Do not become excited, but learn to take a ‘philosophical’ view of it.” Miss Preston paused, and so well did the girls understand her original way of doing things that “philosophical” was at once essayed. The first attempt resulted in “philosopical.”
“A little too suggestive of milk-toast, I’m afraid, Marion. We must have our philosophy upon a sound basis. Next.”
Several words passed successfully down the line until “course” was given, and when that was spelled “cource” Miss Preston’s face was a study.
“That which we are most inclined to accept as a matter of course we may be sure will prove a matter of mortification to us. Katherine, you are given to poetic flights. Who was it that said: ‘The course of true love never did run smooth?’ He would have had an opportunity to learn that there were also other courses which did not run smoothly had he followed—‘pedagogy.’”
This proved a stumbling-block for the first girl, but the next one spelled it correctly.
“You see, Alma, that even the road thereto has its pitfalls, so take warning.”
“Catch me ever teaching,” was the half-audible reply, but softly as it was spoken sharp ears caught it.
“Posterity will be grateful for the blessings in store for it, ‘undoubtedly.’”
The word fell to a little girl, but was rattled off as quick as a wink, to Miss Preston’s great amusement, for the child was an ambitious little body who hated to be outdone by the big girls.