“I think we lose so much time in school,” Jim went on, “while the children are eating their dinners.”
“Well, Jim,” said Mrs. Woodruff, “every one but you is down on the human level. The poor kids have to eat!”
“But think how much good education there is wrapped up in the school dinner—if we could only get it out.”
Jennie grew grave. Here was this Brown Mouse actually introducing the subject of the school—and he ought to suspect that she was planning to line him up on this very thing—if he wasn’t a perfect donkey as well as a dreamer. And he was calmly wading into the subject as if she were the ex-farm-hand country teacher, and he was the county superintendent-elect!
“Eating a dinner like this, mother,” said the colonel gallantly, “is an education in itself—and eating some others requires one; but just how ‘larnin’ is wrapped up in the school lunch is a new one on me, Jim.”
“Well,” said Jim, “in the first place the children ought to cook their meals as a part of the school work. Prior to that they ought to buy the materials. And prior to that they ought to keep the accounts of the school kitchen. They’d like to do these things, and it would help prepare them for life on an intelligent plane, while they prepared the meals.”
“Isn’t that looking rather far ahead?” asked the county superintendent-elect.
“It’s like a lot of other things we think far ahead,” urged Jim. “The only reason why they’re far off is because we think them so. It’s a thought—and a thought is as near the moment we think it as it will ever be.”
“I guess that’s so—to a wild-eyed reformer,” said the colonel. “But go on. Develop your thought a little. Have some more dressing.”
“Thanks, I believe I will,” said Jim. “And a little more of the cranberry sauce. No more turkey, please.”