"Wish't 'twas more! Wish't 'twas more!" sobbed Mrs. Beaseley. "But he'll come back ter me nex' Fall. I know! When he goes ter teachin' ag'in, he must come here to live."
"Oh, Mrs. Beaseley! do you think they will let Nelson teach again in the Polktown school?" cried the girl.
"My mercy me! D'yeou mean to tell me Cross Moore and Massey and them other men air perfect fules?" cried the widow. "Here 'tis 'most time for school to close, and they tell me the graduatin' class ain't nowhere near where they ought to be in their books. The supervisor come over himself, and he says he never seen sech ridiculous work as this Mr. Adams has done here. He—he's a baby! And he ought to be teachin' babies—not bein' principal of a graded school sech as Mr. Haley built up here."
There were plenty of other people in Polktown who spoke almost as emphatically against the present state of the school and in Nelson's favor. Three months or so of bad management had told greatly in the discipline and in the work of the pupils.
A few who would graduate from the upper grade were badly prepared, and would have to make up some of their missed studies during the Summer if they were to be accepted as pupils in their proper grade at the Middletown Academy.
Mr. Haley's record up to the very day he had withdrawn from his position of teacher was as good as any teacher in the State. Indeed, several teachers from surrounding districts had met with him in Polktown once a month and had taken work and instructions from him. The State Board of Education and the supervisors had appreciated Nelson's work. Mr. Adams had been the only substitute they could give Polktown at such short notice. He was supposed to have had the same training, as Mr. Haley; but—"different men, different minds."
"Ye'd oughter come over to our graduation exercises, Janice," said Marty, with a grin. "We're goin' to do ourselves proud. Hi tunket! that Adams is so green that I wonder Walky's old Josephus ain't bit him yet, thinkin' he was a wisp of grass."
"Now Marty!" said his mother, admonishingly.
"Fact," said her son. "Adams wants me to speak a piece on that great day. I told him I couldn't—m' lip's cracked!" and Marty giggled. "But Sally Prentiss is going to recite 'A Psalm of Life,' and Peke Ringgold is going to tell us all about 'Bozzar—Bozzar—is'—as though we hadn't been made acquainted with him ever since Hector was a pup. And Hector's a big dog now!"
"You're one smart young feller, now, ain't ye?" said his father, for this information was given out by Marty at the supper table one evening just before the "great day," as he called the last session of school for that year.