how
the incident impressed him. Although he was in the second grade, that
was the first time he had known a teacher to stop regular school work to
tell a story. Immediately the teacher was transformed. She had been
merely a teacher, one of those respected, awe-inspiring creatures whose
business it is to make the school mill go; but the magic of her story
established the relation of friendship between teacher and pupil. She
was no longer merely a teacher. If the story had been read as a part of
the reading lesson, it would not have impressed the pupil greatly. It
was impressive because it was presented as literature.

A clear distinction should be made between reading and literature,
especially in the primary grades. In the work of the reading course the
pupil should take the lead, being guided by the teacher. If the pupil is
to progress, he must master the mechanics of reading--he must learn to
pronounce printed words and to get the meaning of printed sentences and
paragraphs. The course in reading requires patient work on the part of
the pupil, just as the course in arithmetic does, and the chief pleasure
that the primary pupil can derive from the work is a consciousness of
enlarged power and of success in accomplishing what is undertaken.

In the work with literature, however, the teacher should take the lead.
She should open to the pupils the magic treasure house of the world's
best story and song. The literature period of the day should be the
pupil's imaginative play period, bringing relief from the tension of
tired nerves. The teacher who makes the study of literature a mechanical
grind instead of a joyous exercise of imagination misses at least two of
her greatest opportunities as a teacher. First, by failing to cultivate
in her pupils an appreciation of good literature, she misses an
opportunity to make the lives of her pupils brighter and happier.
Second, by failing to realize that the person with a story and a song is
everybody's friend, she misses an opportunity to win the friendship,
admiration, and love of her pupils. The inexperienced teacher who is
well-nigh distracted in her efforts to guide forty restless, disorderly
pupils through the program of a day's work might charm half her troubles
away by the magic of a simple story or by the music and imagery of a
juvenile poem. Her story or poem would do more than remove the cause of
disorder by giving the pupils relaxation from nerve-straining work: it
would