This was to pay her for teaching
Patience and Peregrine. The other children's parents paid her in corn,
and barley, and other good things that they raised on their farms. If
the teacher had been a man, the Puritan mothers would have spun and
woven some warm cloth to make him a coat, or knitted him a woollen
muffler, or a pair of stockings.
Late in the afternoon, after their luncheon of cold hasty pudding and
apples and more study and reading, school was over. Peregrine and
Patience each made a low bow before Mistress Endicott, went out of the
door, and started home. The dusk was already falling, but they ran,
and sang as they hurried along to keep up their courage.
There, at last, was the twinkle of the tallow candle which their
mother had set in the window to lead them home. She was waiting for
them at the door, and the kettle was singing on the hob. The
school-day, almost three hundred years ago, was over.
THE LAST CLASS
That morning, Franz was taking his way very slowly to school. He had a
great dread of being scolded, particularly as the school-master had
said that the lesson for the day would be on participles about which
Franz did not know a word. Suddenly an idea came to him. He would go
through the fields.
It was so warm, so clear.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130