they enjoy it, don't they?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Jim," assented Calista, "and the way Buddy is learnin' to
count is fine! They-all will soon know all the addition they is, and a lot
of multiplication. Angie Talcott knows the kinds of seeds better'n what I
do!"

CHAPTER VIII

AND THE OLD BOTTLES

The day passed. Four o'clock came. In order that all might reach home for
supper, there was no staying, except that Newt Bronson and Raymond Simms
remained to sweep and dust the schoolroom, and prepare kindling for the
next morning's fire--a work they had taken upon themselves, so as to
enable the teacher to put on the blackboards such outlines for the
morrow's class work as might be required. Jim was writing on the board a
list of words constituting a spelling exercise. They were not from the
text-book, but grew naturally out of the study of the seed
wheat--"cockle," "morning-glory," "convolvulus," "viable," "viability,"
"sprouting," "iron-weed" and the like. A tap was heard at the door, and
Raymond Simms opened it.

In filed three women--and Jim Irwin knew as he looked at them that he was
greeting a deputation, and felt that it meant a struggle. For they were
the wives of the members of the school board. He placed for them the three
available chairs, and in the absence of any for himself remained standing
before them, a gaunt shabby-looking revolutionist at the bar of settled
usage and fixed public opinion.

Mrs. Haakon Peterson was a tall blonde woman who, when she spoke betrayed
her Scandinavian origin by the northern burr to her "r's," and a slight
difficulty with her "j's," her "y's" and long "a's." She was slow-spoken
and dignified, and Jim felt an instinctive respect for her personality.
Mrs. Bronson was a good motherly woman, noted for her housekeeping, and
for her church activities. She looked oftener at her son, and his friend
Raymond than at the schoolmaster. Mrs. Bonner was the most voluble of the
three, and was the only one who shook hands with Jim; but in spite of her
rather offhand manner, Jim sensed in the little, black-eyed Irishwoman the
real commander of the expedition against him--for such he knew it to be.

"You may think it strange of us coming after hours," said she, "but we
wanted to speak to you, teacher, without the children here."

"I wish more of the parents would call," said Jim. "At any hour of the
day."

"Or night either, I dare say," suggested Mrs. Bonner. "I hear you've the
scholar