Heart of Gold | Page 3

Rapidly she searched through her memory. It was
such a funny word. How could she have forgotten it?
The children sniggered audibly.
"Gan--what?" urged the weary teacher sarcastically.
O, yes, now she remembered it! "Gandermeats and pigeons,"
triumphantly finished Peace, with a saucy toss of her head.
There was a moment of dead silence in the room; then a jeering shout
rose from forty-nine throats. But it was instantly quelled by a sharp rap
on the desk, and when order was restored, Miss Phelps said
encouragingly, "Ganymede and what, Peace? Surely not pigeon! You
didn't mean that, now did you?"
But Peace had come to the end of her resources. If it wasn't pigeons,
what was it?

"Tell her, children," prompted Miss Phelps, as Peace floundered
helplessly.
"An eagle," yelled the chorus of eager voices.
An eagle! Queer, but she had heard no mention made of an eagle; and
she trembled in her shoes for fear the teacher would ask still more
embarrassing questions.
Fortunately, however, Miss Phelps turned to the lad across the aisle,
and said, "Johnny, you may tell us the story of Ganymede."
Johnny was nearly bursting his jacket in his eagerness to publish his
knowledge; so to Peace's immense gratification and relief, he gabbled
off his version of Ganymede's experience with Jupiter's eagle. And
Peace breathed more freely when he sat down puffing with pride at the
teacher's, "Well told, Johnny."
"Mercy! I'm glad she didn't ask me any more about the old fellow,"
Peace sighed. "I--I guess I didn't hear much she said, but that horrid
mythology is so dry. I don't see why she keeps reading the stuff to us.
I'd a sight rather study about physiology and cardrack valves and
oil-factory nerves in the nose like Cherry does; though I don't see how
she ever remembers those long words and what part of the body they
b'long to. I'd--yes, I'd rather have mental 'rithmetic every day of the
week than mythology about old gods that never lived, and did only
mean things to everybody when they b'lieved they lived."
"Peace Greenfield!" sounded an exasperated voice in her ear. "If you
would rather watch those pigeons across the street than to pay attention
to your lessons, we will just excuse you and let you stand by the
window until--"
"I wasn't watching a single pigeon that time," Peace broke in hotly. "I
was only thinking about those hateful gods folks used to b'lieve in, and
wondering why the School Board makes us study about them when
they were just clear fakes--every one of 'em--'nstead of learning things
that really did happen at some time. There's enough true, int'resting

things going on around us to keep us busy without studying fakes,
seems to me."
Now it happened that the mythological tales with which Miss Phelps
regaled her small charges from time to time were not a part of the
regular course of study laid out for her grade, and at this pupil's blunt
criticism, the teacher's face became scarlet; but she quickly regained
her poise, and turning to the school, asked, "How many of you enjoy
listening to these myths which I have been reading?"
A dozen wavering, uncertain hands went up. The rest remained clasped
on their desks.
The woman was astounded. "What kind of stories do you like best?"
she faltered.
"Those in the new Readers," responded the pupils as with one voice.
Mechanically Miss Phelps reached for one of the volumes, and opening
it at random, read the New England tale of the Pine-tree Shillings to her
delighted audience.
Peace tried to center her thoughts upon what was being read, but the
lure of the Spring sunshine and blue sky was too great to be resisted;
and before the story was ended, she was again wandering in realms of
her own. Down by the river where the pussy willows grew, out in the
marshland where the cowslips soon would blow, up the gently sloping
hillside, far up where the tall shaft of marble stood sentinel over the
grave of her beloved Lilac Lady, she wandered, planning, planning
what she would do when the warm Spring sunshine had chased away
the Frost King for another year.
The book closed with a sudden snap, and the teacher demanded crisply,
"All who think they can tell the story as well as Johnny told us about
Ganymede, raise your hands."
Vaguely aware that Miss Phelps had told them to raise their hands,
Peace quickly shot one plump arm into the air and waved it frantically.

"Very well, Peace, you may begin."
Peace bounced to her feet. What was expected of her? Why had she
raised her hand?
"Aw, tell her about the pine-tree shillings," prompted boastful Johnny
in a whisper, and Peace plunged boldly into the half-heard story,
wondering