Hooray! Think of it! Think of it—a pony and a pony cart! That was the way things stood with Mamie Bates during the last quarter of the year in Miss Kennedy’s room. The black bobbed hair fell over her eyes more industriously than ever as she bent over her problems in arithmetic. In the margins of Mamie Bates’s examination and test papers each Friday there began to appear such delectable written words as, “Well done, Mamie.” But the big blue crosses didn’t quite disappear—oh, no!
Mary Bates continued to keep her marks to herself. Very rarely did she show any. Those that she did show weren’t so bad as some of the other girls’ papers. But there never seemed to be “Well done, Mary,” on any one of them. Even though there was nothing of this kind, Mary Bates seemed contented with them. She said she had received ninety-five in deportment and that was about the best mark that anybody could ever receive. Miss Kennedy would never give a higher deportment mark. Even Sallie Roberts who was noted throughout the whole class room for being “awfully good” never received a higher mark than ninety-five—but then, only the very bad scholars received less. Mary Bates also said that she had a splendid report in spelling. She didn’t say what, but everybody knew that she could spell. So could Mamie.
And so the time went by each week nearer and nearer to Mamie Bates’s excited anticipation of that pony! The marks, so far, had been all right. Daddy would have to keep the promise! Toward the end of the quarter every girl in the class was wondering if she were going to pass herself. It all depended upon the final tests. Even Mary Bates admitted that she was a little shaky but not much. She thought she knew it all.
Mercy! How Miss Kennedy’s class did drill! Over the old, old stumbling blocks they went with long pieces of yellow scratch paper. It did seem as if everybody must pass the arithmetic test! Then the week of examinations came and with it the worst dreaded of all, arithmetic examination!
Over this, Mary Bates shook her curls soberly. Mamie Bates struggled with black hair falling over her forehead. And then the time was up and papers had to be handed in. Mamie Bates gave in her paper reluctantly. Her cheeks were flushed. As soon as it had gone, she asked if she might look at it again, just for a minute. Miss Kennedy smiled. She didn’t let her. “Time’s up, Mamie,” she admonished. “What’s done must stay—it isn’t fair to the rest, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” returned Mamie, “but you see the pony and pony cart depend upon it. The others aren’t working for so much.” But Miss Kennedy passed on. Everybody in the class knew of daddy’s promise and hoped Mamie would win that percent in her arithmetic—everybody.
Mary Bates brought her paper to Miss Kennedy’s desk without even waiting for it to be collected. “I’m sure I got everything right,” she chirped. “It was easy! I think I’ll get ninety-five! There’s only one thing that might be wrong.”
Sallie Overton nudged her neighbor. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “She always thinks that she knows everything. I think it was hard, don’t you?”
Oh, dear! Everybody seemed depressed as they left for home that afternoon—everybody but Mary Bates who was quite sure of herself always. Everybody compared notes with everybody else on the way home but nobody seemed sure. One had to wait till the reports came in. It was dreadful to wait—at least dreadful for little Mamie Bates who was thinking about daddy’s promise and the pony. One always made more mistakes than one knew of, somehow, yet she had tried ever so hard. She hoped she was right. She had tried not to get excited. She had tried to stop and think over rules and she thought she ought to have done something she hadn’t done, of course. It was fearfully hard to wait till Monday. On Monday the report cards were to be given out. Almost everybody was expecting some kind of a surprise that day, but the surprise that Miss Kennedy’s class anticipated was one of percents, not of teachers. When the class assembled, there in Miss Kennedy’s chair and right at her desk making out the report cards sat—a substitute teacher! She would tell nobody what the marks were and she just snapped. Really, Miss Kennedy would have told Mamie Bates, at least. She knew about the pony. But the substitute teacher only said that there was no hurry, they’d know fast enough. She didn’t like to be asked questions at all. She said Miss Kennedy might not come back at all—no, of course not! Why should she? (At this everybody looked more worried than ever. All the class loved Miss Kennedy. Sallie Overton had openly said that she didn’t want to pass because if she did, next year, she’d have to leave Miss Kennedy’s room.) But at the end of the study period, before being finally dismissed, the report cards were given out, at last!
Mamie Bates grasped hers. She hardly dared to look, but when she did, tears sprang to her eyes and she had to shake the brown bobbed hair over them. There it was seventy-six percent! The schoolroom blurred—only seventy-six percent! And how hard she had tried to please daddy—and how she did want that pony! Yet all hope was gone now because the final mark had fallen below! Mechanically she stood to be dismissed. Mechanically she went to the cloak room, and mechanically she walked toward home.