The Owosso times., 1881-08-05
HOWMISSJENKINS"GO1
OUT OF IT."

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
scholars exhibit their own originality,
it is in managing a>pen-holder. Then,
the ink: To some it was simply ink,
nothing more. To others it seemed an
irresistible tempteB whispering of
unique designs, grOtesque or otherwise,
to be worked out upon desk or jacket,
or perhaps upon the back Of one small
hand.
Well. upon the afternoon of which L
am going to tell you, had more cor
recting to dothan usual, for some of the
scholars were stupid, and couldn't do
as wished; and others were careless
and didn't try. What with the looking
and stopping, and continual showing, l
felt my patience giving away, and
when I saw that three of the largest
boys had left the page upon which they
should have been practicing, and were
making unknown characters" in diff
ferent parts of their books, 1 lost it
utterly. "That aoiH not have" said
/, sharply. 81 will punish any boy
who makes mark upon any but the
lesson-page." Il 80 !
They were very still for a while.
Nothing was heard but the scratch,
scratching of the pens, and the sound
of my footsteps as walked up and
down the aisles. InvOluntarily, found
myself studying the hands before me
as if they had been faces. There was
Harry SanfOrd's, large and plump, but
fabby withal and not over clean. His
"n's" stood weakly upon their legs,
seeming to feel the need of other letters
to prop them 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 "n's" if not
handsome, were certainly plain, and
looked as if they knew their place, and
meant to keep it.
Tommy Silyer's, long and limp, be-
smeared with ink from palm to nail,
vainly strove to keep. time with a
tongue which wagged, uncertainty. this
way and that, and which should have
been red, but was black, like the fin
gers. His 'n's" had neither form nor
comliness, aud 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 go; but
his "n's" soere "n's" ard. could not be
mistaken for anything else.
At length L came to Frank Dunbar s
desk-dear little Frank, who had been
a real help and comfort ton since the
day when he bashfully knocked at my
door, with books and slate in hand.
His hand was white and shapely; fin
gers spOtless, nails immaculate, and
his "n's'r-but what was it that sent
q cold chill over me as l looked at
themp All, my dear, if l should live a
thousand years, conld never tell you
how I felt when / found that Frank
Dunbar had written half a dozen let
ters upon the oppositepage of his copy
book!
why, Frank said I, how did that
happen 2 -, -.
You ana IL before 4 ispokeY said /,
clinging to a forlorn hope.
No, m: didit afterward. I for.
got
NJ 'Oh. Prank my good, good boyl
How could you? shall have to pun
lish you.
Yes m the brave blue eyes look.
ing calmly tip into my face.
n Very well; yolmay go to the desk.
He went, and I walked the aisles
aQain---up and down, up and down.
giving caution here or word of id.
lvico there, bat not knowing, in the
4 least, what / was about. My thoughts
lwere all with the faxen-haired culprit
| who stood bravely awaiting his penal
'tty. Vainly strove to listen to my In
j ward monitor, Itseemed suddenly tt
1have become two-voiced, the one tan
tilizing, the other soothing, and, o.
1 course, the tones were conflicting.
4, You must punish him., said one.
: you mustn't said the other,
Il He deserves it.
He doesn't =
sbOO w