“Probably it’s merely the effect of what he hears at home.”

“Not altogether.  Anthony is an independent little chap and makes up his own mind about things.  He has always gone to men before and he says girl teachers are no good.  Well, we’ll see what patience and kindness will do.  I like overcoming difficulties and teaching is really very interesting work.  Paul Irving makes up for all that is lacking in the others.  That child is a perfect darling, Gilbert, and a genius into the bargain.  I’m persuaded the world will hear of him some day,” concluded Anne in a tone of conviction.

“I like teaching, too,” said Gilbert.  “It’s good training, for one thing.  Why, Anne, I’ve learned more in the weeks I’ve been teaching the young the ideas of White Sands than I learned in all the years I went to school myself.  We all seem to be getting on pretty well.  The Newbridge people like Jane, I hear; and I think White Sands is tolerably satisfied with your humble servant . . . all except Mr. Andrew Spencer.  I met Mrs. Peter Blewett on my way home last night and she told me she thought it her duty to inform me that Mr. Spencer didn’t approve of my methods.”

“Have you ever noticed,” asked Anne reflectively, “that when people say it is their duty to tell you a certain thing you may prepare for something disagreeable?  Why is it that they never seem to think it a duty to tell you the pleasant things they hear about you?  Mrs. H. B. DonNELL called at the school again yesterday and told me she thought it her duty to inform me that Mrs. Harmon Andrew didn’t approve of my reading fairy tales to the children, and that Mr. Rogerson thought Prillie wasn’t coming on fast enough in arithmetic.  If Prillie would spend less time making eyes at the boys over her slate she might do better.  I feel quite sure that Jack Gillis works her class sums for her, though I’ve never been able to catch him red-handed.”

“Have you succeeded in reconciling Mrs. DonNELL’s hopeful son to his saintly name?”

“Yes,” laughed Anne, “but it was really a difficult task.  At first, when I called him ‘St. Clair’ he would not take the least notice until I’d spoken two or three times; and then, when the other boys nudged him, he would look up with such an aggrieved air, as if I’d called him John or Charlie and he couldn’t be expected to know I meant him.  So I kept him in after school one night and talked kindly to him.  I told him his mother wished me to call him St. Clair and I couldn’t go against her wishes.  He saw it when it was all explained out . . . he’s really a very reasonable little fellow . . . and he said I could call him St. Clair but that he’d ‘lick the stuffing’ out of any of the boys that tried it.  Of course, I had to rebuke him again for using such shocking language.  Since then I call him St. Clair and the boys call him Jake and all goes smoothly.  He informs me that he means to be a carpenter, but Mrs. DonNELL says I am to make a college professor out of him.”