SAD AFFAIR OF THE EGGS

It was arithmetic lesson and the classroom was quiet. Both blackboards were covered with sums,* and the three groups groaned over diverse mathe­matical problems.

Beside me sat Cathy who was shown once again the mysteries of long multiplication.* She had some difficulty with this type of sum, and with the examination so near I felt we really must master this particular problem.

We were interrupted by the heavy footsteps in the lobby. Mr. Roberts' large head came round the door.

'Sorry to interrupt,' he said in a loud whisper. The children looked up, delighted at this welcome interruption.

'Can I have a word with you alone?' he asked. I sent Cathy back to her desk, and followed him into the lobby. His big face was distressed.

'Look here!' he began, 'I don't like suspecting people, as you know.' He stopped and studied his boot so long that I felt he needed some assistance.

'Well, come on! Out with it!'* I said, 'the children will be copying wholesale* in there if I don't get back quickly.' Mr. Roberts took a deep breath and rattled it all out.* It appeared that he had been missing eggs from the hen-house and had marked some very early that morning and put them back in the nest. He went to collect them at half past nine and they had disappeared. Would I mind if he looked through the children's pockets?*

I said I thought we should ask the children first if they knew anything about the missing eggs; then they would have the chance to own up.*

An unhappy silence greeted my inquiries. No, no one knew anything about the eggs. Blue eyes, brown eyes, hazel eyes, met mine in turn, as I looked at their upturned faces. I nodded to Mr Roberts who returned miserably to the lobby. This was obviously hurting him as much as it hurt us, I thought.

'Get on with your work again,' I said to the children. Pens were scratching on paper again, and superficially, at least, all seemed normal; but there was a tension in the air. The door opened again and Mr. Roberts beckoned me out* with an enormous forefinger.

'Oh, miss!' came a choked cry as I went towards the door. It was Eric who had called out— his normally pale face was quite flushed. Tears stood in his eyes.

'What is it, Eric?'

'Nothing, miss, nothing!' he said with a sob. And putting his head down in his arms he began to sob. His neighbours looked at him in astonishment and pity.

Out in the lobby Mr Roberts held open the pocket of Eric's raincoat. There, carefully wrapped in leaves, were three eggs. Each had a tiny cross on its side from Mr. Roberts' pencil.

'Will you deal directly with this?' I asked, 'or shall I make it a caning job?'*

Mr. Roberts' face looked unhappy. 'Oh, by no means! Not caning! Such little children —' he began incoherently.

'They're quite big enough to know the difference between right and wrong,' I said firmly, 'but if you feel that way about it I shall hand him over to you and content myself with a short lecture about this.'

Mr. Roberts twisted his great hands together and I felt a twinge of compunction for his soft heart* as I opened the classroom door.

'Eric,' I called, 'come here a moment!'

With a dreadful shuddering sigh Eric lifted his sad face. Slowly he came towards the lobby where Mr. Roberts awaited him with quite as much agitation of spirit. I looked at them both, and then returned to the classroom, leaving the coats and hats to witness the meeting between accuser and accused.

*

'And I gave a few to little Joe Coggs,' Eric said to me later, 'because he saw me taking them and I never wanted him to say nothing.'

History lesson was sacrificed to a lecture on common honesty, the power of example, and the evil of leading others into bad ways.* It was a much-chastened class that settled down to its nature lesson about the common newt, several of which could be seen in a glass tank at the side of the room. I left them drawing, and went into the next room to bring home to* Joseph Coggs the wickedness of his crime.

'And another two?' Miss Gray was asking the children, placing milk bottles in pairs into the crate.

'Four!' chorused the group clustered round her.

'And another two?'

'Six!'

'And two more?' The milk bottles clinked again.

'Eight!' This rather more doubtfully. Miss Gray left them to count again, and straightened her back to greet me. I told her the storyand asked if I might take Joseph out into her lobby.

'I wanted to see you about my digs,' said Miss Gray.

'What is the matter at Mrs. Pratt's?' I asked.

'Well, you know how it is —' she began uncomfortably.

'Tell me later,' I said taking Joseph's hand and leading him from the class to the lobby.

Mrs Pringle's copper was humming merrily as I drew from Joseph the sorrytale of his part in the egg crime.* Big tearsrolled down his face and splashed on to his dirty jersey.

'And my mum put'em in the cupboard and we had one each for breakfast.' His tears flowed afresh as he burst out, 'Nothing ain't nice today! My little paper house, what I took home... my dad used it to light his pipe this morning... he never cared, he never cared!'

Truly Joseph Coggs suffered much. When he stopped crying I gave him what consolation I could by telling him that it was treacle tart for dinner and he might make another little house. The tears dried miraculously.

'But mind,' I added, in a firm voice, 'there's to be no more stealing. You understand!'

'Yes, miss,' answered Joseph with a repentant sniff; but I noticed that his eyes were on the school oven.

*

At the end of afternoon school Miss Gray said to me, 'I do so want to go to the orchestra practice today and it begins at 6.30. I'm afraid I won't be able to help you this afternoon, I'm terribly sorry!'

'How are you getting into Caxley?'

'Mr. Annett said he would fetch me and bring' me back. I know him a little through the people! I used to stay with in Caxley. They play in the' orchestra too.'

'Miss Clare's coming to tea,' I said, 'can you stop for tea with us?'

'I'd rather not, many thanks. I must collect my violin and music; and I shall need to change.* Which reminds me... It looks as though I shall have to leave Mrs. Pratt's,* I'm afraid.

'Isn't it working out well?* I know it's not ideal, but digs are impossible to find in a village. Is it the food?'

'Oh, no! I get more than I want. No... Mrs. Pratt's mother has just died over at Springbourne and they'll want my room for her father. He's evidently going to make his home with them.* In a way,* it solves my problem — but what shall I do about other digs? I feel I can't live too far away. I can't afford a car and the buses from Caxley just don't fit in* with school hours.'

'You can have my spare bedroom until you find something that you really like. I'll make more inquiries, but don't worry. If Mrs. Pratt wants you to leave quickly, come to me for a time.'

Her thanks were cut short by the arrival of Miss Clare who was propping up her bicycle in its old accustomed spot by the stone sink in the lobby. She looked well and rested and greeted us in her gentle voice.

Miss Gray made her farewells and hastened off to Mrs. Pratt's to get ready for Mr. Annett, and Miss Clare and I walked, arm in arm, in the playground to watch the rooks as they flew about the elms, sticks in beaks, busily building up their nests for the arrival of the fledglings.

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