in the front seat of the wallace school sat mannel rodd. nell gordon declared that he was the roundest object she had ever seen in human form. though he had arrived at the mature age of five, he still retained that cherubic appearance which one sees in the paintings of old masters. his eyes were as round as the rather sparsely-located buttons on his shirt. his nose was a small round knob. when he opened his little round mouth to lubricate a squeaky slate pencil or perhaps to enunciate some such interesting statement as this, “the cat is on the mat,” he disclosed a row of pearly little teeth. indeed his whole face would have been as round as the moon, were it not that his chin took an unexpected little saucer-like curve in the very middle of it.
it was apparent to the most casual observer that mannel’s whole wardrobe consisted of one grey shirt, one pair of faded blue overalls and a pair of braces. to the uninitiated his occasional absences from school for an entire day would have seemed most mysterious. leading questions as to the cause having been put to other members of the family who were present elicited only a reluctant reply that mannel was not ill. further than this they would not go. at last even on the most obtuse one, light would dawn. mannel was being laundered.
this small boy seemed to accept the limitations of his lot with a micawber-like philosophy. indeed it may easily have escaped his youthful notice, that there were persons in the world who did not have to spend a day in bed while their clothing was being washed. to mannel a second set of garments, even of so simple a character as those he constantly wore, would have seemed untold wealth.
perhaps the fact that mannel came from a home where russian was the language in use and that he knew little english, accounted for his abnormal seriousness during school hours. he could not be absolutely sure what was being said or what might be done to him. perhaps some cruel elder brother, before mannel had even started his education, had explained to him in voluble russian that dreadful pains and penalties were likely to follow the slightest deviation from the paths of virtue. certain it is that he kept a close watch on the teacher, and that none of her slightest movements escaped him. though his general appearance might cause mirth in others, he himself seldom smiled. day by day he sat in his little front seat grasping slate and pencil in chubby hands, gazing earnestly at the sums on the blackboard as he copied them down. afterward he worked these with fitting solemnity. to him they appeared to be of the greatest difficulty and of national importance. sometimes he wrote endless rows of letters on his slate. sometimes he made nondescript figures out of plasticine or drew patterns on his slate or counted beads. at other times, grievous to relate, when he felt sure the teacher was otherwise engaged and could not possibly see him, he drew fierce triangular cats with four or perhaps five stiff, geometrical legs and rampant tails.
by two o’clock one bright afternoon in may the school children found it hard to keep their minds concentrated on their lessons. but when their teacher said, “now, moses, will you pass the singing books,” a wave of awakened interest perceptibly cleared the atmosphere. moses promptly proceeded to distribute the geography textbooks.
“this aint got poultry in it nor moosic nor nothin’,” complained one small youth. moses made several further attempts to comply with the modest request of his teacher and at last each child held in grubby hands a book of quaint verses glorified by the tonic sol fah.
“doh, re, mi, fah, soh, la, ti, doh,” sang the children in faint uncertain tones.
“put some sunshine into your voices children,” admonished nell.
“now then,
dough when mother bakes the bread,
me when i catch you sleepy head,
ray when the sun shines on your bed,
saw when you work in the back woodshed.”
some of the voices were cracked and others badly out of tune. moses wopp’s voice, loudest of all, sounded like a foghorn and the windows fairly rattled in their frames. nell motioned him to her desk. she thought by occupying his attention elsewhere the music lesson might proceed with more melody and less noise. moses had developed his stentorian tones at home, by the lusty singing of hallelujah hymns under the strict supervision of his mother.
“what’s matter’s gordon?” he enquired anxiously.
“sharpen these pencils, moses, please, for the drawing lesson.”
moses sat down to the task; but fearing his education was being interfered with, looked up from time to time and added a hoarse phrase to the general tumult. he caught betty’s eye and significantly squinted his own right optic to remind her of job, whereon betty’s voice trailed off into a half-suppressed chuckle.
before school was dismissed mannel rodd, after earnest solicitation on the part of an older sister, was induced to mount the platform, where he shyly and with every evidence of stage fright recited,
“here i stand upon this stage
a pretty little figger,
and if the girls don’t love me now
they will when i am bigger.”
as the children left the school-house, betty was met by job. he appeared to be headed for a point at an angle of about forty-five degrees from his mistress, but it was only his corner-wise way of walking, caused by his defective eye. notwithstanding his seemingly erratic course he reached betty’s side and thrust his head into the pocket of her small pinafore. he found there what put him into high good humor. gaily he strutted after his little mistress. bringing up the rear came moses shuffling along, accompanied by jethro. he took from his pocket a huge bun.
“s’tup,” he commanded. jethro immediately sat up on his hind legs.
“aw mosey,” cried betty, “give it to him in two pieces an’ make him twict as happy.”
“naw nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.”
the bun in question must have had great dynamic force, the tail of jethro bearing evidence to the internal power generated.
