“Tissue-paper?” she asked each little girl in turn.
“Tissue-paper” was the burden, if not the form, of every alarmed little girl’s reply.
“Cipher,” said the teacher briefly as each made confession, and called the next.
O—Outer darkness!
The teacher at the last closed her book with a snap. “Cipher and worse,” she told them. “You are cheats, and to cheat is to lie. And further, the class has failed in drawing.”
A bell rang. Recess was over.
The teacher, regarding them coldly, picked up the chalk, and turned to write on the board, “If a man——”
Examination in “New Eclectic Practical and Mental Primary Arithmetic” had begun.
The Third Reader Class, stunned, picked up its pencils. Miss Jenny had feared for them in arithmetic. They had feared for themselves. They were cheats and liars and they had failed. And the knowledge did not make them feel confident. They were cheats, and a suspicious and cold surveillance on the part of the teacher kept them reminded that she looked upon them as cheats and watched them accordingly. Misery and despair were their portion. And further, failure. In their state of mind it was inevitable for them to get lost in the maze of conditions surrounding “If a man——”
They did better next day in geography and reading. They passed on Friday in spelling and penmanship.