“Oh, yes,” the young woman replied. “Furthermore, the Mississippi is flowing into the Gulf of Mexico as hard as it can, and rice is growing in Japan.”
The children understood, now, and they were both laughing. “Are the prepositions and adverbs in their places?” they asked.
“Multiplication tables set, I suppose?” said J. M.
“Certainly,” the teacher answered. “And the tables of weights and measures, too. And many things are here in addition.”
“How,” asked little Ann, “do the children in Zodiac Town know when it’s time for school to open?”
“Just the way the children in any other town know,” the teacher replied.
“When bees and birds and butterflies
Have grown a little lazy;
When flowers are rare, with here and there
A late rose or a daisy;
When streams are slow, and water’s low
Down in the swimming-pool,
And grass burns brown along the lane,
And goldenrod is bright again—
There’s something tells you just as plain,
‘Time for school!’
“When apples in the orchard lot
And pears come thumping, falling;
When sweet and clear, far off and near,
The bobwhite’s voice is calling;
When crickets trill out on the hill,
And dusk comes quick and cool;
When all at once, in midst of play,
You can’t remember what’s the way
To multiply—you stop and say,
‘Time for school!’”
A clock boomed ten with a familiar sound, and Ann and Amos jumped.