So Morris was helpless, his mother poor, and Teacher all unknowing.
And now the great day, the Friday before Christmas, came, and the school was, for the first half-hour, quite mad. Room 18, generally so placid and so peaceful, was a howling wilderness full of brightly colored, quickly changing groups of children, all whispering, all gurgling, and all hiding queer bundles.
Isidore Belchatosky was the first to lay tribute before Teacher. He came forward with a sweet smile and a tall candlestick, and Teacher, for a moment, could not be made to understand that all that length of bluish-white china was really hers “for keeps.”
“It’s to-morrow holiday,” Isidore assured her; “and we gives you presents, the while we have a kind feeling. Candlesticks could to cost twenty-five cents.”
“It’s a lie! three for ten,” said a voice in the background; but Teacher hastened to respond to Isidore’s test of her credulity.
“Indeed, they could. This candlestick could have cost fifty cents, and it’s just what I want. It is very good of you to bring me a present.”
“You’re welcome,” said Isidore, retiring.
And then, the ice being broken, the First-Reader Class in a body rose to cast its gifts on Teacher’s desk, and its arms around Teacher’s neck.
Nathan Horowitz presented a small cup and saucer; Isidore Applebaum bestowed a large calendar for the year before last; Sadie Gonorowsky brought a basket containing a bottle of perfume, a thimble, and a bright silk handkerchief; Sarah Schrodsky offered a pen-wiper and a yellow celluloid collarbutton, and Eva Kidansky gave an elaborate nasal douche, under the pleasing delusion that it was an atomizer.
Jacob Spitsky pressed forward with a tortoise-shell comb of terrifying aspect and hungry teeth, and an air showing forth a determination to adjust it in its destined place. Teacher meekly bowed her head; Jacob forced his offering into her long-suffering hair, and then retired with the information “Costs fifteen cents, Teacher.”