The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1881-08-05

Wake, mamma, wakel
Now they're shining, dark and bright;
Fly back little blankets light;
Come again tomorrow night
Wake, mamma wake
youths Companion.
1t was writing afternoon"-said
Miss Jenkins-and my scholars were
new. If you had ever been teacher,
my dear, you would realize what the
combination of those two simple facts
implies-the WEAKNESS of body and the
utter vexation of spirit First, there's
the holding of the pen. If there's one
thing more than another in which schol-
airs exhibit their own originality, it is in
managing pen-holder. Then, the ink.
To some it was simply ink, nothing
more. To others it seemed an irresisti-
bic tempter, whispering of unique de-
signs, grotesque or otherwise, to be
worked out upon desk or jacket, or per-
haps upon the back of one small hand.
Well, upon the afternoon of which l
am going to tell you, 1 had had more
correcting to do than usual, for some of
the scholars were stupid, and couldn t
do as 1 wished; and others were care
less, and didn't try. What with the
looking, and STOPPING, and continual
showing, felt my patience giving way,
and when saw that three of the large
boys had left the page upon which they
should have been practicing, and were
making unknown characters" in differ
ent parts of their books, lost it utterly.
"That I will not have" said !, sharply.
CT will punish any boy who makes a
mark upon any but the lesson-page.
They were very still for while.
Nothing was heard but the scratch,
scratching of the pens, and the sound
of my footsteps as 1 walked up and
down the aisles. Involuntarily, found
myself studying the hands before me as
Harry Sanford's, large and plump, and
fabby withal, but not over clean. His
"n's" stood weakly upon their legs,
seeming to feel the need of other letters
to prop then up.
Walter Lanes, red and chapped, with
short, stubbed fingers, nails bitten off
to the quick, had yet certain air of
sturdy dignity and his ms" if not
handsome, were certainly plain, and
looked as if they knew their place, and
meant to keep it.
Tommy Silver's, long and limp, be-
smeared with ink from palm to nail,
vainly strove to keep time with tongue
which wagged uncertainty, this way and
that, and which should have been red,
but was black, like the fingers. His
ems" had neither form nor loneliness,
and might have stood for "v's," or even
"x's," quite as well.
Then there was Hugh Bright's hand,
hard and rough with work, holding the
pen as if it never meant to let it go but
his ems" aOere ems" and could not he
mistaken for anything else.
At length / came to Frank Dunbar
desk--dear little Frank, who had been
real help and comfort to me since the
day when he bashfully knocked at my
door, with books and slate in hand. His
hand was white and shapely; fingers
spotless, nails immaculate, and his "n's"
but what was it that sent cold chill
over me as 1 looked at them? All, my
dear, if I should live thousand years,
/ could never tell you how l felt when 1
found that Frank Dunbar had written
half dozen letters upon the opposite
page of his copy-book:
"why, Frank, said I, show did that
happen?"
az did it"
"You did it before 1 spoke ?" said /,
clinging to foriorn hope.
"No, m; did it afterwazd. I for
got"
"Oh, Frank my good, good boy
How could you? shall nave to punish
you"
"Yes, 'm"-the brave blue eyes look
ing calmly up into my face.
Every well; you may go to the desk. y
He went, and L walked the aisles
again-up and down, up and down,
giving caution here and q word of adj.
vice there, but not knowing in the least
what / was about. Ny thoughts were
all with the faxen-haired culprit, who
stood bravely awaiting his penalty.
Vaiply l strove to listen to my inward
monitor. 1t seemed suddenly to have
become two-voiced-the one tantal;Eing
the otter soothing-and, OF course, the
tones were conflicting.
A." You must punish him, said one.
You mustn't" said the other.
He deserves il"
"He doesn't"
He disobeyed you fatty"
"But he forgot-and he has always
been SO good"
"But you promised. You have given
your word. Here are thirty boys to
whom you should be an example. Dc
you think they are not watching you
Look at them !"
1 did look at them. Walter Lanes
sharp black eyes and Harry Sanford's
sleepy orbs we're fixed curiously upon
me. Nor were these all. Gray eyes,
blue eyes, hazel and brown eyes-all
were regarding me intently; almost
fancied that they looked at me pityingly.
1 could not bear it.
"Attend to your writing, boys. y
Then walked slowly up to the desk.
" You see how it is, said the trouble
some voice. "You will certainly have
to punish him."
But 1 had thought of possible plan