“Very well, very well,” said he, loudly, as though it were a matter of small credit, after all.
A member of the first class in arithmetic was not so fortunate. To him he put a problem.
“Go to the blackboard,” the old gentleman commanded. “A man had three sons—put down three, if you please.
“To A he willed half his property, to B a quarter, and to C a sixth. Now, his property consisted of eleven sheep. The sons wished to divide the sheep without killing any, so they consulted a neighbor. The neighbor came with one of his own sheep and put it in with the eleven, making twelve in all. Then he gave one-half to A, making six; one-quarter to B, making three; one-sixth to C, making two—a total of eleven—and drove back his own sheep. Now, tell me, young man, what is the matter with that problem—tell me at once, sir.”
The boy trembled, looked stupidly at the blackboard, and gave up.
“Huh! that will do,” snapped the old gentleman.
Here was the grand, stentorian method applied to geography and mathematics.
At last school was dismissed. The tears of the children as they parted with Betsey seemed to please the old gentleman. His face softened a little.
“Ah, you'll make a good mother, Betsey,” he said, rather snappishly, as he came down from his seat, drawing his breath at the proper places of punctuation and touching his right leg as though he had a pain in it. “Do ye know how to work, eh?”
“I've always had to work,” said Betsey.