小说园

第77部分（第4页）

She　felt　no　responsibility　for　them。　It　was　for　once　a　game；

this　teaching。　And　if　they　got　their　sums　wrong；　what　matter？

And　she　would　take　a　pleasant　bit　of　reading。　And　instead　of

history　with　dates；　she　would　tell　a　lovely　tale。　And　for

grammar；　they　could　have　a　bit　of　written　analysis　that　was　not

difficult；　because　they　had　done　it　before：

〃She　shall　be　sportive　as　a　fawn

That　wild　with　glee　across　the　lawn

Or　up　the　mountain　springs。〃

She　wrote　that　from　memory；　because　it　pleased　her。

So　the　golden　afternoon　passed　away　and　she　went　home　happy。

She　had　finished　her　day　of　school；　and　was　free　to　plunge　into

the　glowing　evening　of　Cossethay。　And　she　loved　walking　home。

But　it　had　not　been　school。　It　had　been　playing　at　school

beneath　red　hawthorn　blossom。

She　could　not　go　on　like　this。　The　quarterly　examination　was

ing；　and　her　class　was　not　ready。　It　irritated　her　that　she

must　drag　herself　away　from　her　happy　self；　and　exert　herself

with　all　her　strength　to　force；　to　pel　this　heavy　class　of

children　to　work　hard　at　arithmetic。　They　did　not　want　to　work；

she　did　not　want　to　pel　them。　And　yet；　some　second　conscience

gnawed　at　her；　telling　her　the　work　was　not　properly　done。　It

irritated　her　almost　to　madness；　and　she　let　loose　all　the

irritation　in　the　class。　Then　followed　a　day　of　battle　and　hate

and　violence；　when　she　went　home　raw；　feeling　the　golden　evening

taken　away　from　her；　herself　incarcerated　in　some　dark；　heavy

place；　and　chained　there　with　a　consciousness　of　having　done

badly　at　work。

What　good　was　it　that　it　was　summer；　that　right　till　evening；

when　the　corncrakes　called；　the　larks　would　mount　up　into　the

light；　to　sing　once　more　before　nightfall。　What　good　was　it　all；

when　she　was　out　of　tune；　when　she　must　only　remember　the　burden

and　shame　of　school　that　day。

And　still；　she　hated　school。　Still　she　cried；　she　did　not

believe　in　it。　Why　should　the　children　learn；　and　why　should　she

teach　them？　It　was　all　so　much　milling　the　wind。　What　folly　was

it　that　made　life　into　this；　the　fulfilling　of　some　stupid；

factitious　duty？　It　was　all　so　made　up；　so　unnatural。　The

school；　the　sums；　the　grammar；　the　quarterly　examinations；　the