There were long settles beside the fireplace and here the children
seated themselves, Peregrine on one side, and Patience on the other,
to study their lessons. They were given queer little books, called the
New England Primer, in wooden covers, and having funny, tiny pictures
for each letter of the alphabet, and beside each, a jingle. There were
verses to be learned from the Bible, too. Patience held her primer up
close to her nose and studied very diligently, but Peregrine's eyes
wandered out of the window and toward the blue sky. He was thinking
of a kite he planned to make when school was over.
"Class stand, and recite," Mistress Endicott said suddenly, stopping
the whir of her spinning wheel only a moment to call the children, for
industry and learning had to go on at the same time in those old days
in the Colonies.
At once the boys and girls rose and stood in front of their teacher,
the copper toes of their stout shoes placed exactly on a long crack in
the bare floor. Then they read aloud, while Mistress Endicott's wheel
whirred on. It sounded as if a hive of bees were humming in the
schoolroom, but the good dame could listen and spin at the same time.
She knew very well if a child made a mistake.
Across the room there were some long benches made of logs, split in
two, and with other logs to support them.
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