Read Ebook: The Evolution of Dodd A pedagogical story giving his struggle for the survival of the fittest tracing his chances his changes and how he came out by Smith William Hawley

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Ebook has 802 lines and 49958 words, and 17 pages

This, vocally. In mental reservation she remarked at the same time: "Drat the little villain, I've got to take him at last," for she had heard of "Dodd" and his exploits before she had been in her place a week.

"I don't haf to," returned the youth, scraping a piece of black loam off his left boot with the toe of his right, and rubbing the sticky lump into the floor.

But Miss Stone had faith in her training. She hastily ran through all the precepts and maxims of Froebel, and also such others as his American followers have added by way of perfecting this highly wrought system, but though she thought a great deal more rapidly than usual, she found no rules and regulations duly made and provided for a case just like this.

For the first time in her life she realized that there was one thing in this world that even a German specialist, backed up by St. Louis philosophy, had not reached; neither Froebel nor his followers said a word about poking mud off one boot with the toe of the other, nor of rubbing mud into the floor, nor what to do with a saucy little boy who said defiantly, "I don't haf to."

Had she been teaching in a large city she might have sent for the principal, and he might have telephoned the superintendent, who might have called a meeting of the Board to consider the case, and so overcome the dilemma; but Circleville had a school of only three rooms, and the principal, so called, heard twenty-two recitations a day, in his own room, and had little time for anything else. So there was no help from that quarter, and for the time Miss Stone was dumb.

There is a tradition that her smile left her for a moment, but the fact is not well authenticated and should not be too freely believed.

How long this teacher would have remained in her unfortunate condition it is impossible to tell, for just at this instant Esther Tracy, a motherly little soul, aged seven, who had been conscientiously trying for half an hour to see in how many different ways she could arrange four wooden tooth-picks upon the desk, according to a modified form of Froebel's canons, as interpreted by Miss Stone, took the ends of her fingers out from between her lips, where she had thrust them during the moment of her doubt, and raising her hand, said:

"Please, Miss Stone, let me take 'Dodd' and I'll take care of him."

Without waiting for a reply, she came forward, took the boy by the hand and led him out of the room.

O, Nature, Nature! How inexorable art thou! As people are born, so are they always, and what do all our strivings to change thy decrees amount to? Esther Tracy, aged seven, who had never heard of a Theory and Art of Teaching, and who scarce knew her letters; indeed, has put to shame Miss Elvira Stone, the handmade disciple of Froebel and the St. Louis Kindergarten system! She knew what to do with "Dodd," and Miss Stone didn't. This was the success of one, the failure of the other. The principle obtains always.

It was fully fifteen minutes before Esther and "Dodd" returned to the schoolroom. It takes a large reserve force of both patience and scraping to make presentable such a specimen as "Dodd" was on this memorable morning. But when the two appeared again, the boy's boots were clean, and his hair was smoothed down, while the book cover showed only a wet spot, of deeper tint than the rest of the book, in place of the black blot that had been so prominent a few minutes before. The girl led the boy to a seat not far from hers and then returned to her own little desk.

While the children were out Miss Stone had time to collect her thoughts, and she began at once to consider what she should do to amuse the child. It had been a primary principle with those who constructed this female educator, that the chief end of a primary teacher was to amuse the children placed under her charge.

This precept had been drilled into Miss Stone, and nothing less than a charge of dynamite could have dislodged it.

She was taught that it was little less than wicked to impose tasks upon young shoulders; that the "pretty little birdies" "enjoyed themselves, hopping about in God's blessed sunlight, and that it was Nature's way to have her children happy."

"Happiness," in this case, seemed to mean doing nothing, but simply being amused--a definition that finds general recognition among many, there being those who dream of heaven as a place where they can be as everlastingly lazy as they choose, through all eternity, with the celestial choirs forever tooting soft music in the distance, and streams of milk and honey flowing perpetually to their lips, all for their amusement and delectation. Perhaps this last is the correct idea. It might as well be confessed that on this point we are not well posted in this world, though many profess to be. The Father will show us this some day, as he will all else, but till then we can wait.

But, be the employment or enjoyment of heaven what it may, it is evident that in this world a man or a child has something to do besides being amused. We are all born destined for work, rich and poor alike. It is our reasonable service, and the best thing we can do is to fit ourselves for the task, from the very first. Not that our work shall be mere drudgery, though it may be that and nothing more, and, even so, be better than idleness or being amused; but it is the fate of every soul born on earth to be called upon constantly to do things which it had rather not do, just then, anyhow, and whenever such a condition exists, work is the word that describes what has to be done. It is the business of life to work. The Book has it that, "The Father worketh hitherto." Even the new version has failed to reveal the phrase, "The Father is amused," and the Master, when a boy, declared that he must attend to the "business" that lay waiting for him.

But the pedagogic preceptors of Miss Stone did not draw their system of education from so old a book as the one just referred to. It is perhaps true, also, that German philosophy was evolved merely that people might be amused by it!

Quietly she glided down the aisle, her dress rustling along the seats, and an odor of "new mown hay" exhaling from her clothing. "Dodd" hung his head as she approached--perhaps it was to dodge her smile--and waited developments.

"What is your name, my dear?" came from between the pursed-up lips.

"Doddridge Watts Weaver," said the boy, in a loud tone.

There was a titter all over the room. The name was very odd, and an oddity is always to be laughed at by the average person, boy or man. Did you ever think of that, my dear pedagogue; you who would fain amuse children, and yet will spit them upon the spear of public ridicule by asking them to tell their names out loud in public, before all the rest of the boys and girls? It is doubtful if any one ever likes to tell his name in public. I have known old lawyers to blush when put upon the witness stand and obliged to tell their names to the court and jury, all of whom had known them for the last fifty years! If such is the effect on a dry old stump of a lawyer, what must the effect be on a green, sensitive child?

"Dodd" heard the titter and it made him mad. He was not to blame for the name, and he felt that it was mean for the folks to laugh at him for what he couldn't help. He cast an angry glance out of the corner of his eyes, as if to say he would be even for this some day, and then hung his head again.

"That's a very pretty name," said Miss Stone, thinking by this thin compliment to amuse the boy.

"Tain't nuther!" returned the youth.

Miss Stone ventured no further in that line.

"I am glad you have come to school, and I hope you will be a very nice little boy, because we all love nice little boys," replied Miss Stone.

"Dodd" glanced across the aisle to where sat a "curled darling" and wished be could pull his hair till he howled.

"Now here is something that will amuse you a little while, I am sure," pursued Miss Stone, and she laid a handful of beans upon the desk.

The boy glanced up and giggled just a little--such a knowing giggle, too, as much as to say: "What do you take me for? Here's a go! Come to school to be amused with beans!"

Miss Stone caught the glance, and in her inmost soul knew all it meant, and realized its full force; but she checked the truth that she felt within her and proceeded by the card. And why not? Was she not acting in accordance with the rules and regulations laid down by those who had fashioned her for this very work, and were not these same warranted to keep in any climate, and not to be affected by dampness or dry weather? She had put her faith in a system and had paid for what she received; and she didn't propose to be beaten out of her possession by any little white-headed son of a Methodist preacher, in a town of a thousand inhabitants.

She showed "Dodd" how to divide the handful of beans into little bunches of three each, and how to lay each pile by itself along the top of the desk, and then left him to be amused according to the rule in such cases made and provided.

Now it is admitted, right here, that beans are not a strictly Kindergarten "property"--to bring a stage term into the schoolroom--but one seldom sees genuine Kindergarten properties, or hardly ever, even in St. Louis, and beans are so commonly used as above stated, that it can hardly be the fault of the harmless vegetable that Miss Stone's plan did not succeed exactly as she wished it to. The fact is, "Dodd" knew how to count before he went to school, and could even add and subtract fairly, as was shown by his doing errands at the store for his mother and counting the change which he brought back to her. The bean business was therefore mere nonsense to him. He turned up his nose at the inoffensive kidney-shaped pellets before him, and his reverence for the dignity of the schoolroom and his faith in Miss Stone fell several degrees in a few minutes.

Perhaps it would not have been so in Boston. In that city, I am told, the bean is held in such reverence by all grown-up people that one might well expect to see the quality descend to all children, as a natural inheritance. But Circleville is not Boston, and there are thousands of other towns in these United States that are like Circleville in this respect.

However, "Dodd" sat idly moving the beans about for some time. He was quiet, and gradually Miss Stone forgot him in the press of other thoughts. To be plain, she had recently joined an Art Club, an organization composed of a few ladies in the little village, women whose husbands were well-to-do, and who, being childless, were restless and anxious to "become developed." Miss Stone was a member of this club, and in a few days she was to read a paper on "Giunta Pisano, and his probable relation to Cimabue," and the subject was working her mightily, for she was anxious to have her production longer than Miss Blossom's, read at the last meet, and to secure this was no small task. She had been to the "up-stairs room" during recess and brought down the cyclopedia, and, happily, had found a page and a half regarding Giunta Pisano therein, which she was copying verbatim. To be sure, there was no word in it about Cimabue, or the relation of the one to the other, but this was not taken into account. There were plenty of words in the article, and that was the chief end just then.

So Miss Stone was soon busy with her pen, the index finger of her left hand noting the line in the cyclopedia which should be next transcribed. The children whispered and played a good deal, but she paid little heed. There was little danger of visitors, for no one visited schools in Circleville and Miss Stone knew how to hustle classes through recitations and make time on a down grade just before dinner, and so took her time at her task of writing up poor old Giunta.

She was presently conscious, however, that something unusual was going on, and on looking up, found the eyes of the pupils fastened on "Dodd." She ran down to his desk, hoping to find the beans in order. But alas for human expectations! We are all so often doomed to disappointment! Not a bean was to be seen, and "Dodd" hung his head.

Miss Stone reached for his hands, thinking he was hiding them there; but his hands were empty. She tried his pockets. They yielded ample returns of such things as boys' pockets are wont to contain, but no beans appeared.

Miss Stone was alarmed, and she almost trembled as she asked:

"'Dodd,' where are the beans?"

The boy did not look up, but with a kind of suppressed chuckle, he muttered, "I've eat 'em all up!"

For some cause or other Miss Stone and "Dodd" did not get on well together as their acquaintance progressed. The boy was impulsive, saucy, rude, and generally outrageous, in more ways than can be told or even dreamed of by any one but a primary teacher who has become familiar with the species.

Miss Stone had no natural tact as a teacher, no gift of God in this direction, no intuition, which is worth more than all precepts and maxims combined. She knew how to work by rule, as so many teachers do, but beyond this she had little ability. This to her credit, however: she did, ultimately, labor hard with the boy, and tried her best to do something with him, or for him, or by him, but all to little purpose.

It seemed to be "Dodd's" special mission to knock in the head the pet theories of this hand-made school-ma'am. She had him up to read on the afternoon of the first day of his attendance at school. Being but six years of age, and having just entered school, it was proper, according to the regulations, that he should enter the Chart Class. So to the Chart Class he went.

The word for the class that day was "girl," and the lesson proceeded after the usual manner of those who hold to this method of teaching children to read.

A little girl was placed upon the platform , and the pupils were asked to tell what they saw. They all answered in concert, "a girl;" and it is to be hoped that this answer, thus given, was duly evolved from their inner consciousness by a method fully in harmony with the principles of thought-development, as laid down in the books, and by Miss Stone's preceptors. A picture girl was then displayed upon a card-board which hung against the wall. There were many of these card-boards in the room, all made by a book-concern that had some faith and a good deal of money invested in this particular way of teaching reading--all of which, I am sure, is well enough, but the fact, probably, ought to be mentioned just here, as it is.

The pupils were asked if the girl on the platform was the same as the one on the card-board, and there was a unanimous opinion that they were not identical. The analysis of differences was not pursued to any great length, but enough questions were asked the children, by Miss Stone, to develop in them the thought that "structurally and functionally the two objects, designated by the common term, were not the same!" When this diagnosis had been thoroughly mastered by the children, a third member was added for their serious consideration, Miss Stone having duly explained to the class that "there is still another way to make us think girl."

"You know," she said, "we always think girl when we see 'Lollie'"--the little girl on the platform--"and we always think girl when we see the picture; but now you all watch me, and I will show you one other way in which we may always be made to think girl."

Then, with much flourish of chalk, Miss Stone printed "GIRL" upon the board, and proceeded to elucidate, as follows:

"Now, this that I have written upon the board is not 'Lollie,' for she is on the platform yet; nor is it the picture, for that is on the card-board, but it is the word 'girl,' and whenever I see it, it makes me think girl. Now, 'Lollie' is the real girl, on the card-board is the picture girl, and on the blackboard is the word girl. Now, who thinks he can take the pointer and point to the kind of girl I ask for?"

Several little hands went up, but "Dodd's" was not among them. Miss Stone noticed this and was "riled" a little, for she had tried doubly hard to do well, just because this tow-head was in the class, and now to have the little scamp repudiate it all was too bad.

She called on one and another of the children to point, now to the real girl, now to the picture girl, now to the word girl, and all went very nicely, till finally she asked "Dodd" to take the pointer and see what he could do. But the boy made no motion to obey. Gently she urged him to try, but he hung his head and would not budge.

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