“Which is exactly why I have insisted on our sticking to the regular schools,” put in Mr. Clyde, with the air of quiet decisiveness. “I want our children to be brought up like other children!” The mother shook her head dubiously. “I wish I were sure it is the right place for them.”
“You ought to be sure. I might even say—if you will forgive the implied criticism—that you ought to be surer than you are.”
Alarmed at his tone, the mother leaned forward. “Is there anything the matter at Number Three?”
“Several things. Nothing that you need worry about immediately, however. I’ve been talking with some of the teachers, and found out a few points. Charley’s teacher, for instance, tells me that she has a much harder time keeping the children up to their work in the winter term than at other times.”
“I remember Charley’s tantrums over his arithmetic, last winter,” said Grandma Sharpless.
“My head felt funny. Kinder thick,” defended Charley.
“That is bad,” said Dr. Strong, “very bad. I’ve reported the teacher in that grade to Dr. Merritt, the Health Officer.”
“Reported teacher?” said Charley, his eyes assuming a prominence quite startling. “What for?”
“Starving her grade.”
Mrs. Clyde fairly bounced in her chair. “Our children are not supposed to eat at school, Dr. Strong.”