ALTHOUGH Miss Lavinia’s door was sorely in need of a coat of paint, no house in Draeth had a brighter knocker, and no door-step was whiter than hers. The twenty boys and girls who were Miss Lavinia’s pupils had learned to respect the whiteness of this step, and on muddy days they jumped over it so that no footprint should mar its cleanliness. More than twenty children Miss Lavinia could not take. The back sitting-room was used as the schoolroom. There were tables and chairs for the children with the longest legs, while the very little ones sat on the two low window-seats.

Tommy loved going to school, and he was never late. At twenty minutes to nine each morning he left home, his face shining with soap and his hair neatly brushed. On his way he almost always called for Ruthie, who was now only his cousin, but who in the future was to be his wife. Hand in hand the two children ran round the twists and corners of the narrow alleys, until they were in Main Street itself. At the top of Main Street, this side of the bridge, stood Miss Lavinia’s house. At this time of day the shabby green door stood wide open, and in the narrow rather dark passage one saw the low wooden pegs on which the children hung hats and jackets as they entered.

When the new Guildhall clock struck nine Miss Lavinia walked into the schoolroom, and the twenty children, standing in their places, made a little bobbing curtsy and wished her “Good morning.” Then when all the hands were clasped and all eyes tightly closed they said “Our Father” together, and after this sang a hymn led by Miss Lavinia’s sweet though trembling voice.

Tommy enjoyed the hymn-singing very much. He had absolutely no idea of tune, but as he learned the words very quickly that did not matter, and his voice could always be heard above the rest.

His quite favourite hymn was one about Angels in Heaven, and with great energy he sang, “Bright songs they sing, sweet harps they hold,” but (if Miss Lavinia had only known!) his interpretation was “sweethearts they hold.” Of harps he was quite ignorant, but his Mammy often called him “sweetheart.” He had a very vivid picture of a chorus of Angels all with golden hair, white robes and beautiful wings. They sang songs all day long, and each held by the hand a little boy. In his fancy all the boys were very much like Tommy Tregennis, as Tommy Tregennis appeared to himself in the looking-glass that hung by the kitchen sink.

His second favourite hymn was “Shall we gather at the river?” for Angels came in that, too. He wished the verses did not leave it quite so indefinite as to what it was that was gathered; after a little thought he decided that it must be grasses and forget-me-nots and dismissed the subject from his mind.

Once he did speak to Miss Lavinia about it. “It means they meet together, Tommy,” she explained.

“Meet to gather?” asked Tommy.

“Yes,” replied Miss Lavinia, and Tommy’s difficulty remained.

Although Miss Lavinia had no time-table to refer to, all the children were kept busily occupied in one way or another from nine o’clock until twelve.

The first lesson was writing when for half-an-hour or so slate-pencils squeaked unremittingly. The older boys and girls copied from a book, but those who sat on the window-seats had a line set at the top of the slate, and this they wrote out eight times below. During the writing-lesson Miss Lavinia was able to run upstairs, make her bed and dust the rooms. On her return the writing was put on one side, and while some of the children did sums the younger ones read. Reading, of course, meant saying letters and putting together words of one syllable. Ruby Dark could go backwards from Z Y X to C B A without a pause!

The naughtiest girl in the school was Lizzie Wraggles. Lizzie sat on the window seat. She was only four and looked very shy, but Miss Lavinia said she was naughty and uncontrolled. It was always in the reading-lesson that difficulties arose for Lizzie would not read properly.

Tommy’s Ladies had left Draeth on a Saturday, and it was on the Monday morning following that Lizzie was naughtier and more uncontrolled than she had ever been before. On the Friday she had learned, after saying it many times over, that S-O spelled so. This morning, in reading a column of letters and little words, she had pronounced T-O as tow.

“Too,” corrected Miss Lavinia.

“S-O, so; T-O, tow,” murmured Lizzie in a low, sing-song voice.

The squeaking of slate pencils ceased, and all the older children stopped doing sums to listen.

Miss Lavinia became agitated: “Say T-O, tow, Lizzie,” she ordered sternly, and Lizzie said “T-O, tow.”

Miss Lavinia flushed deeply: “I made a mistake,” she explained. “T-O, too.”

“Tow,” whispered Lizzie.

Then Miss Lavinia stood up and slapped her! It was a real slap on her bare arm; a slap that was heard by every child in the room. The school held its breath.

Lizzie Wraggles looked straight into Miss Lavinia’s eyes, dropped her slate, and “Tow” she said, in quite a loud voice.

Miss Lavinia picked up both Lizzie and the slate, and with a shake put them on a hassock in the corner. Miss Lavinia was thoroughly perturbed. “There you must sit,” she said, “and write T-O fifty times before you go home to dinner.”

The children had no proper play-time because there was no place in which they could really play. But at half-past ten, while Miss Lavinia did one or two odd jobs in the kitchen, they sat anywhere in the school-room, and those who had brought lunch with them ate it then. Miss Lavinia stayed away from the room longer than usual this morning. The encounter with Lizzie Wraggles had upset her altogether. Never before had she either slapped or shaken a child, and she could have cried with vexation.

When she returned to the school-room the chairs and tables were pushed on one side so that the middle of the floor was left clear for a game. Then they all joined hands in a ring and played “Luby Loo.”

Twenty shrill childish trebles (no, nineteen, for Lizzie Wraggles still sat on the hassock in the corner) sang out the old tune and words; nineteen right legs were shaken, nineteen left legs too; then hands and heads wriggled and shook all through the six verses.

Every morning after the game came composition. Sometimes it was History composition, sometimes Geography, sometimes Scripture; sometimes just anything Miss Lavinia read out of a book. The best composition time of all was when Miss Lavinia told a story, right out of her head.

The children only half understood Miss Lavinia’s stories, but in spite of this they liked them better than any others, possibly because they felt that these stories belonged to them and to Miss Lavinia only; out of all the world no one else could know them, they were every bit their own.

It was to be Scripture composition this morning. When it was composition all the children listened to Miss Lavinia first of all, then the older boys and girls wrote about it from memory, while the little ones did something else.

After the games “Coppersition” was what Tommy liked best of all. Tommy had a very real love for Miss Lavinia. To most people she was just a little old maid who had great difficulty in making both ends meet, but Tommy admired her greatly. He liked to look at her all the time she was speaking; he admired the wave of her silvery hair and the shape of her delicate, white hands—so different from Mammy’s hands. Still his Mammy had the most beautiful hands in all the world, and he would fight any boy his own size who said she hadn’t. Thus he ruminated when the composition class began. Then he wondered if Miss Lavinia would agree to wait for him until he was grown up, so that he could marry her then if Ruthie would not greatly mind.

He was recalled to the things of everyday by Miss Lavinia’s urging him to look at a picture in front of him. He was glad to do so, for it was a delightful picture, Tommy thought. One of the most attractive giants he had ever seen was crouching down behind a boulder of rock. Facing him, at some little distance, stood a young man who wore very few clothes and these of a most unusual pattern.

“This,” said Miss Lavinia, pointing to the central figure of the picture, “this is David.”

David Williams, sitting in the corner near the old Grandfather clock, smiled self-consciously as eighteen pairs of eyes turned to look at him. (Lizzie Wraggles still sat on a hassock in the corner with her back to the rest of the school.)

“David,” continued Miss Lavinia, and now nineteen pairs of eyes were fixed solemnly on hers, “David was very brave. All the boys in this room want to grow up to be brave men and true.”

Ten chests swelled visibly and the composition lesson continued: “David went out in the light of the Eastern morning to meet the giant who threatened all the land. And the sun’s rays fell upon David as he went forth. He had no weapons wherewith to fight the giant, but he trusted in God who was his strength and his shield. On the way he passed a brook, rippling through the fresh, green valley, and stooping, he chose from the bed of the stream five large, smooth, polished stones. Why do you think David wanted these stones?”

“For to kill the giant,” said Jimmy Prynne, and Tommy was annoyed that he had not thought of the answer.

“David,” continued Miss Lavinia, “put a stone into his sling and hit the giant” (here Miss Lavinia lowered her voice and there was deep silence in the room) “right on the forehead between the eyes; and the giant fell back dead.”

“Oh!” murmured the children, and David Williams, in the right-hand corner by the old Grandfather clock, looked as though reflected glory shone upon him.

In a dazed way Tommy rubbed his forehead and wondered how it would feel to have a stone just there. Then, remembering the distinction achieved by Jimmy Prynne, “We’m going to have beans for dinner,” he declared.

Miss Lavinia was shocked. She had hoped the story was making a deep impression, and now, before she could point the moral, before she could show how good must always soar triumphant and evil must ever suffer defeat, Tommy Tregennis, one of her best little boys, had interrupted in a manner that surely proved his thoughts to be very far away.

While Miss Lavinia hesitated, Ruthie’s high-pitched voice broke the silence. “’Tisn’t that giant, Tommy,” she said, “’twas Jack and that giant, but this is David.”

Miss Lavinia’s brow cleared. There was some connexion it seemed between beans and the Scripture story and after all Tommy Tregennis had listened although he had missed the point.

After giving the composition Miss Lavinia went away to put on the potatoes; then there was only time for a short Geography lesson with the little ones before the Guildhall clock struck twelve, and morning school was ended.

“Shoes is too tight,” Tommy complained to Ruthie, as they stood together in the narrow passage, putting on their hats. “They pinches!”

Ruthie sighed. “You do be growin’ brave an’ fast, Tommy,” she replied. “I can’t keep up with ee nohow.”

Tommy drew himself up proudly. “When my head do be so high as the knob on Mammy’s cupboard, then I be a-goin’ to wear long trousers,” he asserted.

Ruthie looked at him still more admiringly, and, as her custom was, slipped her hand into his, and turned towards the door.

But Tommy hesitated. “I be gettin’ a’most too big to hold hands,” he demurred, and, as he spoke, he tried to pull his hand away.

“Don’t ee be so silly,” Ruthie admonished. “’Tisn’t your hands as is growin’. Your shoes is pinchin’ because your feet do be that big; your hands is all right, Tommy.”

This argument was unanswerable and the children ran home hand in hand.

They were the last to leave. When the door closed behind them Miss Lavinia went over to Lizzie Wraggles in the corner to see the fifty “TO’s” that were to be written before Lizzie went home. Alas! the only “TO” on the slate was the one Miss Lavinia herself had written there as a copy. Below was Lizzie’s conception of a house.

As for Lizzie herself she had fallen asleep and one tear was still wet on her cheek. Miss Lavinia’s heart softened. All the other children had gone. She put one arm round Lizzie and gently roused the sleeping child. “Lizzie,” she whispered and kissed her, “little Lizzie, try to be a good girl, dear; and try to read your words just as well as ever you can.”

Lizzie smiled, a little roguish smile. “TO, too,” she crooned, and Miss Lavinia kissed her again and sent her home.