for a moment. “You’re right, this really isn’t as important as I thought it might be. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Finally the victor, Beth nodded smugly.
• • •
It always took a good five minutes to settle the children after dinner, but eventually the youngsters in Grades One and Two were coloring. Grades Three, Four, and Five worked on their penmanship, while the oldest grades diligently attacked their arithmetic. The lice check was finished and so far it wasn’t too serious. She would send home notes with those requiring treatment.
Beth helped Jonah Pickard at the blackboard with a long division problem, and just as he began to grasp the concept, there was a knock at the door.
If it’s that blacksmith … She never finished her silent threat for when she opened the door, there stood a formidable looking stranger. His hat sat perfectly straight on his head as if God had placed it there Himself.
“Good afternoon, Miss Patterson. I’m Inspector Glower. May I come in?”
No! her mind screamed while her lips said, “Of course, welcome.” She turned to her class and wondered if they could read the look of panic on her face. She hadn’t even thought to prepare her students for a surprise visit by the inspector. She could only pray the previous teacher had coached them how to behave. “Children, this is Mr. Glower. How do we welcome our guest?” She had hoped for a chorus of “Good afternoons,” but instead got an informal jumble of shy “hi’s” and bold “howdy’s.”
Glower sat at the back of the room in the large desk Freddie North had once occupied. “I’m just here to observe. Carry on with your work.”
Beth felt the school walls close in around her like bars of a jail cell. How long would it take for him to realize she was a fake? On legs that felt wooden, she returned to the blackboard, printing up several more division problems for Jonah to do before she moved on to help another student.
Bless their souls! Her students bent to work with earnest. She could see they were desperately trying not to scratch their heads. But the more they resisted, the more they fidgeted in their seats.
A sharp cracking sound spun Beth around. Somehow without her noticing, Glower had moved from his desk to the blackboard, rapping it smartly with the pointer stick. “Come on boy, think! How many times does seven go into fifty-nine?” With each crack, poor Jonah cringed.
“Use your times table,” Glower commanded.
By then the entire class had abandoned their own studies and were staring at Jonah, who was so rattled he could barely speak.
Eight, Beth’s mind urged. Eight. You know that one.
“Nine?” the boy answered doubtfully.
The pointer cracked against the board. “Wrong! Eight!” Glower grabbed the chalk from Jonah’s hand and scribbled the numbers on the board. Then he slashed a line underneath and subtracted fifty-six from fifty-nine. “The answer is eight with a remainder of three. This is elementary arithmetic. You should know this.”
He does, Beth steamed, but not when someone is standing over him with a stick!
Glower moved down the aisle toward Davy. “Have you nothing to do but scratch and squirm?”
“No, sir,” Davy replied timidly.
“Then get back to work!”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up his reader, and even from a distance Beth could see his little hands shake.
Glower marched up and down the aisles like a dictator, slapping the pointer stick against his palm. When he stopped at Penelope Pickard’s desk and leaned over her shoulder to inspect her work, Beth knew immediately what would happen. And there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.
Glower raised his head and listened, then suddenly looked down at his feet. “What on earth!” he uttered, aghast. He was standing in a growing puddle of urine. Penelope, embarrassed and frightened, began to cry.
The boys guffawed. The girls giggled. The inspector growled, “Miss Patterson, have you no control
Finally the victor, Beth nodded smugly.
• • •
It always took a good five minutes to settle the children after dinner, but eventually the youngsters in Grades One and Two were coloring. Grades Three, Four, and Five worked on their penmanship, while the oldest grades diligently attacked their arithmetic. The lice check was finished and so far it wasn’t too serious. She would send home notes with those requiring treatment.
Beth helped Jonah Pickard at the blackboard with a long division problem, and just as he began to grasp the concept, there was a knock at the door.
If it’s that blacksmith … She never finished her silent threat for when she opened the door, there stood a formidable looking stranger. His hat sat perfectly straight on his head as if God had placed it there Himself.
“Good afternoon, Miss Patterson. I’m Inspector Glower. May I come in?”
No! her mind screamed while her lips said, “Of course, welcome.” She turned to her class and wondered if they could read the look of panic on her face. She hadn’t even thought to prepare her students for a surprise visit by the inspector. She could only pray the previous teacher had coached them how to behave. “Children, this is Mr. Glower. How do we welcome our guest?” She had hoped for a chorus of “Good afternoons,” but instead got an informal jumble of shy “hi’s” and bold “howdy’s.”
Glower sat at the back of the room in the large desk Freddie North had once occupied. “I’m just here to observe. Carry on with your work.”
Beth felt the school walls close in around her like bars of a jail cell. How long would it take for him to realize she was a fake? On legs that felt wooden, she returned to the blackboard, printing up several more division problems for Jonah to do before she moved on to help another student.
Bless their souls! Her students bent to work with earnest. She could see they were desperately trying not to scratch their heads. But the more they resisted, the more they fidgeted in their seats.
A sharp cracking sound spun Beth around. Somehow without her noticing, Glower had moved from his desk to the blackboard, rapping it smartly with the pointer stick. “Come on boy, think! How many times does seven go into fifty-nine?” With each crack, poor Jonah cringed.
“Use your times table,” Glower commanded.
By then the entire class had abandoned their own studies and were staring at Jonah, who was so rattled he could barely speak.
Eight, Beth’s mind urged. Eight. You know that one.
“Nine?” the boy answered doubtfully.
The pointer cracked against the board. “Wrong! Eight!” Glower grabbed the chalk from Jonah’s hand and scribbled the numbers on the board. Then he slashed a line underneath and subtracted fifty-six from fifty-nine. “The answer is eight with a remainder of three. This is elementary arithmetic. You should know this.”
He does, Beth steamed, but not when someone is standing over him with a stick!
Glower moved down the aisle toward Davy. “Have you nothing to do but scratch and squirm?”
“No, sir,” Davy replied timidly.
“Then get back to work!”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up his reader, and even from a distance Beth could see his little hands shake.
Glower marched up and down the aisles like a dictator, slapping the pointer stick against his palm. When he stopped at Penelope Pickard’s desk and leaned over her shoulder to inspect her work, Beth knew immediately what would happen. And there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.
Glower raised his head and listened, then suddenly looked down at his feet. “What on earth!” he uttered, aghast. He was standing in a growing puddle of urine. Penelope, embarrassed and frightened, began to cry.
The boys guffawed. The girls giggled. The inspector growled, “Miss Patterson, have you no control
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