The Girl and the Kingdom

_LEARNING TO TEACH_

_WRITTEN BY_

KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN

[Illustration]

Presented to the Los Angeles City Teachers Club to Create an EducationalFund to Be Used in Part for the Literacy Campaign of The CaliforniaFederation of Women's Clubs

_Cover Designed by_ Miss Neleta Hain

 * * * * *

[Illustration: Kate Douglas Wiggin]

 * * * * *

The Girl and the Kingdom

_LEARNING TO TEACH_

A long, busy street in San Francisco. Innumerable small shops lined itfrom north to south; horse cars, always crowded with passengers, hurriedto and fro; narrow streets intersected the broader one, these built upwith small dwellings, most of them rather neglected by their owners. Inthe middle distance other narrow streets and alleys where taller housesstood, and the windows, fire escapes, and balconies of these, addedgreat variety to the landscape, as the families housed there kept mostof their effects on the outside during the long dry season. 

Still farther away were the roofs, chimneys and smoke stacks of mammothbuildings--railway sheds, freight depots, power houses and thelike--with finally a glimpse of docks and wharves and shipping. This, orat least a considerable section of it, was the kingdom. To the ordinarybeholder it might have looked ugly, crowded, sordid, undesirable, but itappeared none of these things to the lucky person who had been investedwith some sort of modest authority in its affairs. 

The throne from which the lucky person viewed the empire was humbleenough. It was the highest of the tin shop steps at the corner of Silverand Third streets, odd place for a throne, but one commanding a fineview of the inhabitants, their dwellings, and their activities. Theactivities in plain sight were somewhat limited in variety, but thesigns sported the names of nearly every nation upon the earth. TheShubeners, Levis, Ezekiels and Appels were generally in tailoring orsecondhand furniture and clothing, while the Raffertys, O'Flanagans andMcDougalls dispensed liquor. All the most desirable sites were occupiedby saloons, for it was practically impossible to quench the thirst ofthe neighborhood, though many were engaged in a valiant effort to do so. There were also in evidence, barbers, joiners, plumbers, grocers, fruit-sellers, bakers and venders of small wares, and there was thelargest and most splendidly recruited army of do-nothings that the sunever shone upon. These forever-out-of-workers, leaning against everylamp post, fence picket, corner house, and barber pole in the vicinity, were all male, but they were mostly mated to women fully worthy of them, their wives doing nothing with equal assiduity in the back streets hardby. --Stay, they did one thing, they added copiously to the world'spopulation; and indeed it seemed as if the families in the communitythat ought to have had few children, or none at all, (for theircountry's good) had the strongest prejudice to race suicide. Well, therewas the kingdom and there were the dwellers therein, and the luckyperson on the steps was a girl. She did not know at first that it was akingdom, and the kingdom never at any time would have recognized itselfunder that name, for it was anything but a sentimental neighborhood. Thegirl was somewhat too young for the work she was going to do, andconsiderably too inexperienced, but she had a kindergarten diploma inher pocket, and being an ardent follower of Froebel she thought a goodmany roses might blossom in the desert of Tar Flat, the ratheruneuphonious name of the kingdom. 

Here the discreet anonymity of the third person must be cast aside andthe regrettable egotism of the first person allowed to enter, for I wasa girl, and the modest chronicle of my early educational andphilanthropic adventures must be told after the manner of otherchronicles. 

The building in Silver Street which was to be the scene of suchbeautiful and inspiring doings (I hoped) as had been seldom observed onthis planet, was pleasant and commodious. It had been occupied by twoclasses of an overcrowded primary school, which had now been removed toa fine modern building. The two rooms rented for this pioneer freekindergarten of the Pacific Coast were (Alas!) in the second story butwere large and sunny. A broad flight of twenty wooden steps led fromstreet to first floor and a long stairway connected that floor with theone above. If anyone had realized what those fifty or sixty stairs meantto the new enterprise, in labor and weariness, in wasted time andstrength of teachers and children--but it was difficult to find idealconditions in a crowded neighborhood. 

The first few days after my arrival in San Francisco were spent in theinstalling of stove, piano, tables, benches and working materials, andthen the beautifying began, the creation of a room so attractive andhomelike, so friendly in its atmosphere, that its charm would be felt byevery child who entered it. I was a stranger in a strange city, my onlyacquaintances being the trustees of the newly formed Association. Thesenaturally had no technical knowledge, (I am speaking of the Dark Ages, when there were but two or three trained kindergartners west of theRocky Mountains) and the practical organization of things--akindergarten of fifty children in active operation--this was mydepartment. When I had anything to show them they were eager andwilling to help, meantime they could and did furnish the sinews of war, standing sponsors to the community for the ideals in education we wereendeavoring to represent. Here is where the tin shop steps came in. Isat there very often in those sunny days of late July, 1878, dreamingdreams and seeing visions; plotting, planning, helping, believing, forecasting the future. "Hills peeped o'er hills and Alps on Alps. "

I take some credit to myself that when there were yet no such things asSettlements and Neighborhood Guilds I had an instinct that this was theright way to work. 

"This school, " I thought, "must not be an exotic, a parasite, an aliengrowth, not a flower of beauty transplanted from a conservatory andshown under glass; it must have its roots deep in the neighborhood life, and there my roots must be also. No teacher, be she ever so gifted, everso consecrated, can sufficiently influence the children under her carefor only a few hours a day, unless she can gradually persuade theparents to be her allies. I must find then the desired fifty childrenunder school age (six years in California) and I must somehow keep inclose relation to the homes from which they come. "

How should I get in intimate touch with this strange, puzzling, foreigncommunity, this big clump of poverty-stricken, intemperate, overworked, lazy, extravagant, ill-assorted humanity leavened here and there by aGod-fearing, thrifty, respectable family? There were from time to timechildren of widows who were living frugally and doing their best fortheir families who proved to be the leaven in my rather sorry lump. 

Buying and borrowing were my first two aids to fellowship. I bought myluncheon at a different bakery every day and my glass of milk at adifferent dairy. At each visit I talked, always casually, of the newkindergarten, and gave its date of opening, but never "solicited"pupils. I bought pencils, crayons, and mucilage of the local stationers;brown paper and soap of the grocers; hammers and tacks of the hardwareman. I borrowed many things, returned them soon, and thus gave myneighbors the satisfaction of being helpful. When I tried to borrow thelocal carpenter's saw he answered that he would rather come and do thejob himself than lend his saw to a lady. The combination of a lady andedged tools was something in his mind so humorous that I nervouslychanged the subject. (If he is still alive I am sure _he_ is anAnti-Suffragist!) I was glad to display my school room to an intelligentworkman, and a half hour's explanation of the kindergarten occupationsmade the carpenter an enthusiastic convert. This gave me a new idea, and to each craftsman, in the vicinity, I showed the particular branchof kindergarten handiwork that might appeal to him, whether laying ofpatterns, in separate sticks and tablets, weaving, drawing, rudimentaryefforts at designing, folding and cutting of paper, or clay modelling. 

I had the great advantage of making all of my calls in shops, and thus Ihad not the unpleasant duty of visiting people's houses uninvited, northe embarrassment of being treated as peddlers of patronage and goodadvice are apt to be treated. Besides, in many cases, the shops andhomes (Heaven save the mark!) were under one roof, and children scuttledin and out, behind and under the counters and over the thresholds intothe street. They were all agog with curiosity and so were the women. Amother does not have to be highly cultured to perceive the advantage ofa place near by where she can send her four or five year olds free ofcharge and know that they are busy and happy for several hours a day. 

I know, by long experience with younger kindergartners and socialworkers in after years, that this kind of "visiting" presents manyperplexities to persons of a certain temperament, but I never enteredany house where I felt the least sensation of being out of place. Idon't think this flexibility is a gift of especially high order, northat it would be equally valuable in all walks of life, but it is ofgreat service in this sort of work. Whether I sat in a stuffed chair oron a nailkeg or an inverted washtub it was always equally agreeable tome. The "getting into relation, " perfectly, and without the loss of amoment, gave me a sense of mental and spiritual exhilaration. I neverhad to adapt myself elaborately to a strange situation in order to be insympathy. I never said to myself: "But for God's grace I might be thewoman on that cot; unloved, uncared for, with a new-born child at myside and a dozen men drinking in the saloon just on the other side ofthe wall * * * or that mother of five--convivial, dishonest, unfaithful* * * or that timid, frail, little creature struggling to support aparalytic husband. " I never had to give myself logical reasons for beingwhere I was, nor wonder what I should say; my one idea was to keep thesituation simple and free from embarrassment to any one; to be ascompletely a part of it as if I had been born there; to be helpfulwithout being intrusive; to show no surprise whatever happened; aboveall to be cheerful, strong and bracing, not weakly sentimental. 

As the day of opening approached an unexpected and valuable aide-de-campappeared on the scene. An American girl of twelve or thirteen slipped inthe front door one day when I was practicing children's songs, whereupon the following colloquy ensued. 

"What's this place goin' to be?"

"A kindergarten. "

"What's that?"

Explanation suited to the questioner, followed. 

"Can I come in afternoons, on my way home from school and see what youdo?"

"Certainly. "

"Can I stay now and help round?"

"Yes indeed, I should be delighted. "

"What's the bird for?"

"What are all birds for?" I answered, just to puzzle her. 

"I dunno. What's the plants and flowers for?"

"What are all flowers for?" I demanded again. 

"But I thought 'twas a school. "

"It is, but it's a new kind. "

"Where's the books?"

"The children are going to be under six; we shan't have reading andwriting. "

We sat down to work together, marking out and cutting brown paperenvelopes for the children's sewing or weaving, binding colored printswith gold paper and putting them on the wall with thumb tacks, andarranging all the kindergarten materials tidily on the shelves of theclosets. Next day was a holiday and she begged to come again. Iconsented and told her that she might bring a friend if she liked and wewould lunch together. 

"I guess not, " she said, with just a hint of jealousy in her tone. "Youand I get on so well that mebbe we'd be bothered with another girlmessin' around, and she'd be one more to wash up for after lunch. "

From that moment, the Corporal, as I called her, was a stanch ally andthere was seldom a day in the coming years when she did not faithfullyperform all sorts of unofficial duties, attaching herself passionatelyto my service with the devotion of a mother or an elder sister. Sheproved at the beginning a kind of travelling agent for the schoolharanguing mothers on the street corners and addressing the groups ofcurious children who gathered at the foot of the school steps. 

"You'd ought to go upstairs and see the _inside_ of it!" she wouldexclaim. "It's just like going around the world. There's a canary bird, there's fishes swimmin' in a glass bowl, there's plants bloomin' on thewinder sills, there's a pianner, and more'n a million pictures! There'sclosets stuffed full o' things to play and work with, and whatever thescholars make they're goin' to take home if it's good. There's aplay-room with red rings painted on the floor and they're going to marchand play games on 'em. She can play the pianner standin' up or settin'down, without lookin' at her hands to see where they're goin'. She'sgoin' to wear white, two a week, and I got Miss Lannigan to wash 'em forher for fifteen cents apiece. I tell her the children 'round here'sawful dirty and she says the cleaner she is the cleaner they'll be.... No, 'tain't goin' to be no Sunday School, " said the voluble Corporal. "No, 'tain't goin' to be no Mission; no, 'tain't goin' to be no Lodge!She says it's a new kind of a school, that's all I know, and nextMonday'll see it goin' full blast!"

It was somewhat in this fashion, that I walked joyously into the heartof a San Francisco slum, and began experimenting with my newly-learnedpanaceas. 

These were early days. The kindergarten theory of education was on trialfor its very life; the fame of Pestalozzi and Froebel seemed to myyouthful vision to be in my keeping, and I had all the ardor of aneophyte. I simply stepped into a cockle-shell and put out into anunknown ocean, where all manner of derelicts needed help and succor. Theocean was a life of which I had heretofore known nothing; miserable, overburdened, and sometimes criminal. 

My cockle-shell managed to escape shipwreck, and took its frail placeamong the other craft that sailed in its company. I hardly saw or feltthe safety of the harbor or the shore for three years, the three yearsout of my whole life the most wearying, the most heart-searching, themost discouraging, the most inspiring; also, I dare say, the best worthliving. 

"Full blast, " the Corporal's own expression, exactly described thesetting out of the cockle-shell; that is, the eventful Monday morningwhen the doors of the first free kindergarten west of the Rockies threwopen its doors. 

The neighborhood was enthusiastic in presenting its offspring at thealtar of educational experiment, and we might have enrolled a hundredchildren had there been room. I was to have no assistant and we hadprovided seats only for forty-five, which prohibited a list of more thanfifty at the outside. A convert to any inspiring idea being anxious toimmolate herself on the first altar which comes in the path of duty, Icarefully selected the children best calculated to show to the amazedpublic the regenerating effects of the kindergarten method, and as awhole they were unsurpassed specimens of the class we hoped to benefit. 

Of the forty who were accepted the first morning, thirty appeared to beeither indifferent or willing victims, while ten were quite the reverse. These screamed if the maternal hand were withdrawn, bawled if their hatswere taken away, and bellowed if they were asked to sit down. Thisrebellion led to their being removed to the hall by their mothers, whospanked them vigorously every few minutes and returned them to me eachtime in a more unconquered state, with their lung power quite unimpairedand their views of the New Education still vague and distorted. As themothers were uniformly ladies with ruffled hair, snapping eyes, highcolor and short temper, I could not understand the childrens' fear ofme, a mild young thing "in white"--as the Corporal would say--but theyevidently preferred the ills they knew. When the last mother led in thelast freshly spanked child and said as she prepared to leave: "Well, Isuppose they might as well get used to you one time as another, sogood-day, Miss, and God help you!" I felt that my woes were greater thanI could bear, for, as the door closed, several infants who had beenquite calm began to howl in sympathy with their suffering brethren. Thenthe door opened again and the Corporal's bright face appeared in thecrack. 

"Goodness!" she ejaculated, "this ain't the new kind of a school Ithought 'twas goin' to be!--Stop your cryin', Jimmy Maxwell, a great bigboy like you; and Levi Isaacs and Goldine Gump, I wonder you ain'tashamed! Do you 'spose Miss Kate can do anything with such a racket? Nowdon't let me hear any more o' your nonsense!--Miss Kate, " she whispered, turning to me: "I've got the whole day off for my uncle's funeral, andas he ain't buried till three o'clock I thought I'd better run in andsee how you was gettin' on!"

"You are an angel, Corporal!" I said. "Take all the howlers down intothe yard and let them play in the sand tables till I call you. "

When the queue of weeping babes had been sternly led out by the Corporalsomething like peace descended upon the room but there could be no workfor the moment because the hands were too dirty. Coöperation wasstrictly Froebelian so I selected with an eagle eye several assistantsfrom the group--the brightest-eyed, best-tempered, and cleanest. Withtheir help I arranged the seats, the older children at the back tablesand the babies in the front. Classification was difficult as many ofthem did not know their names, their ages, their sexes, nor theiraddresses, but I had succeeded in getting a little order out of chaos bythe time the Corporal appeared again. 

"They've all stopped cryin' but Hazel Golly, and she ran when I wa'n'tlookin' and got so far I couldn't ketch her; anyway she ain't no lossfor I live next door to her. --What'll we do next?"

"Scrub!" I said firmly. "I want to give them some of the easiest work, two kinds, but we can't touch the colored cards until all the hands areclean. --Shall we take soap and towels and all go down into the yardwhere the sink is, children, and turn up our sleeves and have a nicewash?" (Some of the infants had doubtless started from home in atolerable state of cleanliness but all signs had disappeared en route). 

The proposition was greeted amiably. "Anything rather than sit still!"is the mental attitude of a child under six!

"I told you just how dirty they'd be, " murmured the Corporal. "I know'em; but I never expected to get this good chance to scrub any of 'em. "

"It's only the first day;--wait till _next_ Monday, " I urged. 

"I shan't be here to see it _next_ Monday morning, " my young friendreplied. "We can't bury Uncle _every_ week!" (This with a sigh ofprofound regret!)

Many days were spent in learning the unpronounceable names of my flockand in keeping them from murdering one another until Froebel's justlycelebrated "law of love" could be made a working proposition. It wassome time before the babies could go down stairs in a line withoutprecipitating one another head foremost by furtive kicks and punches. Iplaced an especially dependable boy at the head and tail of the line butaccidentally overheard the tail boy tell the head that he'd lay him outflat if he got into the yard first, a threat that embarrassed a free andexpeditious exit:--and all their relations to one another seemed atthis time to be arranged on a broad basis of belligerence. But betterdays were coming, were indeed near at hand, and the children themselvesbrought them; they only needed to be shown how, but you may well guessthat in the early days of what was afterwards to be known as "TheKindergarten Movement on the Pacific Coast, " when the Girl and herKingdom first came into active communication with each other, thequestion of discipline loomed rather large! Putting aside altogether thequestion of the efficiency, or the propriety, of corporal punishment inthe public schools, it seems pretty clear that babies of four or fiveyears should be spanked by their parents if by anyone; and that ateacher who cannot induce good behavior in children of that age, withoutspanking, has mistaken her vocation. However, it is against theirprinciples for kindergartner's to spank, slap, flog, shake or otherwisewrestle with their youthful charges, no matter how much they seem toneed these instantaneous and sometimes very effectual methods ofdissuasion at the moment. 

There are undoubtedly times when the old Adam (I don't know why itshouldn't be the Old Eve!) rises in one's still unregenerate heart, andone longs to take the "low road" in discipline; but the "high road"commonly leads one to the desired point without great delay and there isgenuine satisfaction in finding that taking away his work from a child, or depriving him of the pleasure of helping his neighbors, is as great apunishment as a blow. 

You may say such ideal methods would not prevail with older boys andgirls, and that may be true, for wrong development may have gone toofar; but it is difficult to find a small child who is lazy orindifferent, or one who would welcome the loss of work; difficult alsoto find one who is not unhappy when deprived of the chance of service, seeing, as he does, his neighbors happily working together and joyfullyhelping others. 

I had many Waterloos in my term of generalship and many a time was I afeeble enough officer of "The Kid's Guards" as the kindergarten wastranslated in Tar Flat by those unfamiliar with the German word. 

The flock was at the foot of the stairs one morning at eleven o'clockwhen there was a loud and long fire alarm in the immediate vicinity. Nodoubt existed in the mind of any child as to the propriety oradvisability of remaining at the seat of learning. They started down thesteps for the fire in a solid body, with such unanimity and rapiditythat I could do nothing but save the lives of the younger ones and keepthem from being trampled upon while I watched the flight of theirelders. I was left with two lame boys and four babies so fat andbow-legged that they probably never had reached, nor ever would reach, afire while it was still burning. 

Pat Higgins, aged five and a half, the leader of the line, had a suddenpang of conscience at the corner and ran back to ask me artlessly if hemight "go to the fire. "

"Certainly not, " I answered firmly. "On the contrary please stay herewith the lame and the fat, while _I_ go to the fire and bring back theother children. "

I then pursued the errant flock and recovering most of them, marchedthem back to the school-room, meeting Judge Solomon Heydenfelt, President of the new Kindergarten Association, on the steps. He had beenawaiting me for ten minutes and it was his first visit! He had neverseen a kindergarten before, either returning from a fire or otherwise, and there was a moment of embarrassment, but I had a sense of humor andfortunately he enjoyed the same blessing. Only very young teachers whoawait the visits of supervisors in shuddering expectancy can appreciatethis episode. 

The days grew brighter and more hopeful as winter approached. I got intocloser relation with some homes than others, and I soon had half a dozenfive-year-olds who came to the kindergarten clean, and if not whole, well darned and patched. One of these could superintend a row of babiesat their outline sewing, thread their needles, untangle theireverlasting knots, and correct the mistakes in the design by the jabbingof wrong holes in the card. Another was very skillful at weaving andproved a good assistant in that occupation. 

I developed also a little body guard which was efficient in making aserener and more harmonious atmosphere. It is neither wise nor kind toburden a child with responsibilities too heavy or irksome for his years, but surely it is never too early to allow him to be helpful to hisfellows and considerate of his elders. I can't believe that any of thetiny creatures on whom I leaned in those weary days were the worse formy leaning. The more I depended on them the greater was theirdependableness, and the little girls grew more tender, the boys morechivalrous. I had my subtle means of communication, spirit to spirit! IfPat Higgins, pausing on the verge of some regrettable audacity orhilarious piece of mischief, chanced to catch my eye, he desisted. Heknew that I was saying to him silently: "You are not so very naughty. Icould almost let you go on if it were not for those others who arealways making trouble. Somebody _must_ be good! I cannot bear it if youdesert me!"

Whenever I said "Pat" or "Aaron" or "Billy" in a pleading tone it meant"Help! or I perish!" and it was so construed. No, I was never leftwithout succor when I was in need of it! I remember so well an afternoonin late October when the world had gone very wrong! There had been adisagreeable argument with Mrs. Gump, who had sent Goldine to minglewith the children when she knew she had chicken pox; StanislasStrazinski had fallen down stairs and bruised his knee; Mercedes Pulaskihad upset a vase of flowers on the piano keys and finally PetroniusNelson had stolen a red woolen ball. I had seen it in his hand and takenit from him sadly and quietly as he was going down the stairs. Isuggested a few minutes for repentance in the play-room and when he cameout he sat at my knee and sobbed out his grief in pitiful fashion. Histears moved my very heart. "Only four years old, " I thought, "and noplaythings at home half as attractive as the bright ones we have here, so I must be very gentle with him. " I put my arm around him to draw himto me and the gesture brought me in contact with his curiously knobby, little chest. What were my feelings when I extracted from his sailorblouse one orange, one blue, and two green balls! And this after tenminutes of repentant tears! I pointed the moral as quickly as possibleso that I might be alone, and then realizing the apparent hopelessnessof some of the tasks that confronted me I gave way to a moment ofhysterical laughter, followed by such a flood of tears as I had not shedsince I was a child. It was then and there the Corporal found me, on herway home from school. She flung her books on the floor and took my headon her kind, scrawny, young shoulder. 

"What have they been doin' to you?" she stormed. "You just tell me whichone of 'em 'tis and I'll see't he remembers this day as long as helives. Your hair's all mussed up and you look sick abed!"

She led me to the sofa where we put tired babies to sleep, and coveredme with my coat. Then she stole out and came back with a pitcher of hot, _well-boiled_ tea, after which she tidied the room and made everythingright for next day. Dear Old Corporal!

The improvement in these "little teachers" in capacity as well as inmanner, voice, speech and behavior, was almost supernatural, and it wasonly less obvious in the rank and file. There was little "scrubbing"done on the premises now, for nearly all the mothers who were notinvalids, intemperate, or incurable slatterns, were heartily in sympathywith our ideals. At the end of six weeks when various members of theBoard of Trustees began to drop in for their second visit they werealmost frightened by our attractive appearance. 

"The subscribers will think the children come from Nob Hill, " one ofthem exclaimed in humorous alarm. "Are you _sure_ you took the mostneedy in every way?"

"Quite sure. Sit down in my chair, please, and look at my private book. Do you see in the first place that thirteen are the children of smallliquor sellers and live back of the saloons? Then note that ten are thechildren of widows who support large families by washing, cleaning, machine sewing or shop-keeping. You will see that one mother and threefathers on our list are temporarily in jail serving short terms. We maynever have quite such a picturesque class again, and perhaps it wouldnot be advisable; I wish sometimes that I had taken humanity as it ran, good, bad and indifferent, instead of choosing children from the mostdiscouraging homes. I thought, of course, that they were going to belittle villains. They ought to be, if there is anything either inheredity or environment, but just look at them at this moment--afavorable moment, I grant you--but just look at them! Fortypretty-near-angels, that's what they are!"

"It is marvellous! I could adopt twenty of them! I cannot account forit, " said another of the Trustees. 

"I can, " I answered. "Any tolerably healthy child under six who isclean, busy, happy and in good company looks as these do. Why shouldthey not be attractive? They live for four hours a day in this sunny, airy room; they do charming work suited to their baby capacities--work, too, which is not all pure routine, but in a simple way creative, sothat they are not only occupied, but they are expressing themselves ascreative beings should. They have music, stories and games, and althoughthey are obliged to behave themselves (which is sometimes a trifleirksome) they never hear an unkind word. They grow in grace, partlybecause they return as many of these favors as is possible at their age. They water the plants, clean the bird's cage and fill the seed cups andbath; they keep the room as tidy as possible to make the janitor's workeasier; they brush up the floor after their own muddy feet; the olderones help the younger and the strong look after the weak. The conditionsare almost ideal; why should they not respond to them?"

California children are apt to be good specimens. They suffer noextremes of heat or cold; food is varied and fruit plentiful and cheap;they are out of doors every month in the year and they are more thanordinarily clever and lively. Still I refuse to believe that any othercompany of children in California, or in the universe, was ever sounusual or so piquantly interesting as those of the Silver StreetKindergarten, particularly the never-to-be-forgotten "first forty. "

As I look back across the lapse of time I cannot understand how anycreature, however young, strong or ardent, could have supported thefatigue and strain of that first year! No one was to blame, for theexperiment met with appreciation almost immediately, but I wasattempting the impossible, and trying to perform the labor of threewomen. I soon learned to work more skillfully, but I habituallysquandered my powers and lavished on trivial details strength thatshould have been spent more thriftily. The difficulties of each daycould be surmounted only by quick wit, ingenuity, versatility; by thesternest exercise of self-control and by a continual outpour ofmagnetism. My enthusiasm made me reckless, but though I regret that Iworked in entire disregard of all laws of health, I do not regret asingle hour of exhaustion, discouragement or despair. All my pains werejust so many birth-pangs, leaving behind them a little more knowledge ofhuman nature, a little wider vision, a little clearer insight, a littledeeper sympathy. 

There were more than a thousand visitors during the first year, acircumstance that greatly increased the nervous strain of teaching; forI had to train myself, as well as the children to as absolute a state ofunconsciousness as possible. I always jauntily described the visitors as"fathers and mothers, " and told the children that there would soon beother schools like ours, and people just wanted to see how we sang, andplayed circle games, and modelled in clay, and learned arithmetic withbuilding blocks and all the rest of it. I paid practically no attentionto the visitors myself and they ordinarily were clever enough tounderstand the difficulties of the situation. Among the earliest in thelate autumn of 1878 were Prof. John Swett and Mrs. Kincaid of the SanFrancisco Normal School who thereafter sent down their students, two ata time, for observation and practical aid. The next important visitor inthe spring of 1879 was Mrs. Sarah B. Cooper. She possessed the"understanding heart" and also great executive ability, so that with thehelp of her large Bible class she was able to open a second freeKindergarten on Jackson Street in October, 1879. Soon after this datethe desert began to blossom as the rose. I went to the Eastern citiesduring my summer vacation and learned by observation and instruction allthat I could from my older and wiser contemporaries Miss Susan Blow ofSt. Louis, Dr. Hailman of LaPorte, Mrs. Putnam of Chicago and MissElizabeth Peabody and Miss Garland of Boston. Returning I opened my ownKindergarten Training School and my sister Miss Nora Archibald Smithjoined me both in the theoretical and practical spreading of the gospel. 

Thirty-seven years have passed, but if I were a portrait painter Icould reproduce on canvas every nose, eye, smile, hand, curl of hair, inthat group. I often close my eyes to call up the picture, and almostevery child falls into his old seat and answers to his right name. Hereare a few sketches of those in the front row:

Willy Beer, dubbed Wriggly Beer by the older boys in his street, becauseof a slight nervous affection that kept him in a state of perpetualmotion. He was not uncomely; indeed, when I was telling a story it was apleasure to watch his face all twitching with interest; first nose, theneyes, then mouth, till the delight spread to his fat hands, whichclasped and unclasped as the tale proceeded. He had a perfect sense oftime and tunes and was indefatigable in the marching and games. Hismother sent me this unique letter when he had been with me a month:

 "_Yung lady_:

 "_Willy seems to be onto his foot most of the time. These is all the butes Willy will half to Krissmus. Can you learn him settin' down?_ _Respeckfully, _ "_Mrs. Beer. _"

Sitting next to Willy, and rhyming with him, was Billy--BillyPrendergast--a large boy for his years with the face and voice of a manof thirty. 

Billy Prendergast taught me a very good lesson in pedagogy when I wasmaking believe teach him other things!

One of our simple morning songs ended with the verse:

 "All ye little children, hear the truth we tell. God will ne'er forget you, for he loves you well. "

One day in the gentle lull that succeeded the singing of that song, Billy's growling baritone fell on my ear:

"Why will he never get yer?" he asked, his strange rough voice bringingcomplete silence, as it always did. 

"What do you mean, Billy?"

"That's what it says: 'God will never get yer, for he loves you well. "

Consternation overcame me. Billy, and goodness knows how many others, had been beginning the day with the puzzling theological statement: "Godwill never get yer (ne'er forget you) for he loves you well. "

I chose my verses more carefully, after that experience, avoiding alle'ers and ne'ers and other misleading abbreviations. 

Hansanella Dorflinger now claims attention. 

Hansanella sounds like one word but they were twins, and thus introducedto me by a large incoherent boy who brought them to the kindergarten. Hewas in a hurry and left them at my door with scant ceremony, save thefrequent repetition of the watchword "Hansanella. "

After some difficulty I succeeded in deciding which was Hans and whichwas Ella, though there was practically no difference between themexcepting that the ash blonde hair of Hans was cropped still moreclosely than that of Ella. 

They had light blue glassy eyes, too far apart, thin lips, chalky skinsand perennial colds in the head. They breathed together, smiled and wepttogether, rose and sat down together and wiped their nosestogether--none too frequently. Never were such 'twinneous' twins asHansanella, and it was ridiculous to waste two names on them, for therewas not between them personality enough for one child. 

When I requested Ella to be a pony it immediately became a span, for shenever moved without Hans. If the children chose Hans for thefather-bird, Ella intrusively and suffragistically fluttered into thenest, too, sadly complicating the family arrangements. They seldomspoke, but sat stolidly beside each other, laying the same patterns withdogged pertinacity. 

One morning a new little boy joined our company. As was often the casehe was shy about sitting down. It would seem as if the spectacle offorty children working tranquilly together, would convince newapplicants that the benches contained no dynamite, but they alwaysparted with their dilapidated hats as if they never, in the nature ofthings, could hope to see them again, and the very contact of theirpersons with the benches evoked an uncontrollable wail, which seemed tosay: "It is all up with us now! Let the portcullis fall!"

The new boy's eye fell on Hansanella and he suddenly smiled broadly. 

"Sit mit Owgoost!" he said. 

"We haven't any 'August', " I responded, "that is Hans Dorflinger. "

"Sit mit Owgoost, " he repeated thickly and firmly. 

"Is this boy a friend of yours, Hans?" I inquired, and the twins noddedblandly. 

"Is your other name August, Hans?"

This apparently was too complicated a question for the combined mentalactivities of the pair, and they lapsed comfortably into their ordinarystate of coma. 

The Corporal finally found the boy who originally foisted upon ourParadise these two dullest human beings that ever drew breath. Heexplained that I had entirely misunderstood his remarks. He said that heheard I had accepted Hansanella Dorflinger, but they had moved withtheir parents to Oakland; and as they could not come, he thought it wellto give the coveted places to August and Anna Olsen, whose mother workedin a box-factory and would be glad to have the children looked after. 

"What's the matter mit 'em?" he asked anxiously. "Ain't dey goot?"

"Oh, yes they are good, " I replied, adding mysteriously. "If twochildren named August and Anna allow you to call them Hansanella forfive weeks without comment, it isn't likely that they would be veryfertile in evil doing!"

I had a full year's experience with the false Hansanella and in thattime they blighted our supremest joys. There was always a gap in thecircle where they stood and they stopped the electric current wheneverit reached them. I am more anxious that the Eugenic Societies shouldeliminate this kind of child from the future than almost any other type. It has chalk and water instead of blood in its veins. It is as cold asif it had been made by machinery and then refrigerated, instead of beingbrought into being by a mother's love; and it never has an impulse, butjust passes through the world mechanically, taking up space that couldbe better occupied by some warm, struggling, erring, aspiring humancreature. 

How can I describe Jacob Lavrowsky? There chanced to be a row of littleBiblical characters, mostly prophets sitting beside one another abouthalf way back in the room:--Moses, Jeremiah, Ezekial, Elijah and Elisha, but the greatest of these was Jacob. He was one of ten children, theoffspring of a couple who kept a secondhand clothing establishment inthe vicinity. Mr. And Mrs. Lavrowsky collected, mended, patched, soldand exchanged cast-off wearing apparel, and the little Lavrowsky'splayed about in the rags, slept under the counters and ate Heaven knowswhere, during the term of my acquaintance with them. Jacob differed fromall the other of my flock by possessing a premature, thoroughlyunchildlike sense of humor. He regarded me as one of the mostunaccountable human beings he had ever met, but he had such respect forwhat he believed to be my good bottom qualities that he constantly triedto conceal from me his feeling that I was probably a little insane. Hehad large expressive eyes, a flat nose, wide mouth, thin hair, long neckand sallow skin, while his body was so thin and scrawny that his clothesalways hung upon him in shapeless folds. His age was five and his pointof view that of fifty. As to his toilettes, there must have been a largeclothes-bin in the room back of the shop and Jacob must have dailydressed himself from this, leaning over the side and plucking from thevaried assortment such articles as pleased his errant fancy. He had noprejudices against bits of feminine attire, often sporting a dark greencashmere basque trimmed with black velvet ribbon and gilt buttons. Itwas double breasted and when it surmounted a pair of trousers cut to theright length but not altered in width, the effect would have startledany more exacting community than ours. Jacob was always tired and wentthrough his tasks rather languidly, greatly preferring work to play. Alldiversions such as marching and circle games struck him as pleasantenough, but childish, and if participated in at all, to be gone throughwith in an absent-minded and supercillious manner. There were momentswhen his exotic little personality, standing out from all the rest likean infant Artful Dodger or a caricature of Beau Brummel, seemed to makehim wholly alien to the group, yet he was docile and obedient, his onlyfault being a tendency to strong and highly colored language. To makethe marching more effective and develope a better sense of time, Iinstituted a very simple and rudimentary form of orchestra with atriangle, a tambourine, and finally a drum. When the latter instrumentmade its first appearance Jacob sought a secluded spot by the piano andgave himself up to a fit of fairly courteous but excessive mirth. "_Adrum!_" he exclaimed, between his fits of laughter. "_What'll yer havenext? This is a h--l of a school!_"

Just behind Jacob sat two little pink-cheeked girls five and four yearsold, Violet and Rose Featherstone. Violet brought the younger Rose everyday and was a miracle of sisterly devotion. I did not see the mother forsome months after the little pair entered, as she had work that kepther from home during the hours when it was possible for me to call uponher, and she lived at a long distance from the kindergarten in aneighborhood from which none of our other children came. 

I had no anxiety about them however, as the looks, behavior, andclothing of all my children was always an absolute test of theconditions prevailing in the home. What was my surprise then, one day toreceive a note from a certain Mrs. Hannah Googins, a name not in myregister. 

She said her Emma Abby had been bringing home pieces of sewing andweaving of late, marked "Violet Featherstone. " She would like to seesome of Emma Abby's own work and find out whether she had taken that ofany other child by mistake. A long and puzzling investigation followedthe receipt of this letter and I found that the romantic little EmmaAbby Googins, not caring for the name given her by her maternal parent, had assumed that of Violet Featherstone. Also, being an only child andgreatly desiring a sister, she had plucked a certain little NellieTaylor from a family near by, named her "Rose Featherstone" and takenher to and from the kindergarten daily, a distance of at least half amile of crowded streets. The affair was purely one of innocent romance. Emma Abby Googins never told a fib or committed the slightest fault orfolly save that of burying her name, assuming a more distinguished one, and introducing a sister to me who had no claim to the Googins blood. Her mother was thoroughly mystified by the occurrence and I no less so, but Emma Abby simply opened her blue eyes wider and protested that she"liked to be Violet" and Rose liked to be Rose, and that was the onlyexcuse for her conduct, which she seemed to think needed neither apologynor explanation. 

Now comes the darling of the group, the heart's ease, the nonesuch, theRose of Erin, the lovely, the indescribable Rosaleen Clancy. 

We were all working busily and happily one morning when a young womantapped at the door and led in that flower and pearl of babyhood, theaforesaid Rosaleen. 

The young woman said she knew that the kindergarten was full, and indeedhad a long waiting list, but the Clancy family had just arrived fromIreland; that there were two little boys; a new baby twenty-four hoursold; Mr. Clancy had not yet found work, and could we take care ofRosaleen even for a week or two?

As I looked at the child the remark that we had not a single vacant seatperished, unborn, on my lips. She was about three and a half years old, and was clad in a straight, loose slip of dark blue wool that showed herneck and arms. A little flat, sort of "pork pie" hat of blue velveteensat on the back of her adorable head, showing the satiny rings of yellowhair that curled round her ears and hung close to her neck. (No wonder!)She had gray-blue eyes with long upper and under lashes and a perfectmouth that disclosed the pearly teeth usually confined to the heroinesof novels. As to her skin you would say that Jersey cream was theprincipal ingredient in its composition. 

The children had stopped their weaving needles and were gazingopen-mouthed at this vision of beauty, though Rosaleen had by no meansunmasked all her batteries. She came nearer my chair, and without beinginvited, slipped her hand in mine in a blarneyish and deludthering waynot unknown in her native isle. The same Jersey cream had gone into itsskin, there were dimples in the knuckles, and baby hand though it was, its satin touch had a thrill in it, and responded instantly to mypressure. 

"Do you think we can make room for her, children?" I asked. 

Every small boy cried rapturously: "Look Miss Kate! Here's room! I kinscrooge up!" and hoped the Lord would send Rosaleen his way!

"We can't have two children in one seat;" I explained to Rosaleen'ssponsor, "because they can't have proper building exercises nor work togood advantage when they're crowded. "

"I kin set on the pianner stool!" gallantly offered Billy Prendergast. 

"Perhaps I can borrow a little chair somewhere, " I said. "Would you liketo stay with us Rosaleen?"

Her only answer (she was richer in beautiful looks than in speech) wasto remove her blue velveteen hat and tranquilly placed it on my table. If she was lovely with her hair covered she was still lovelier now;while her smile of assent disclosing as it did, an irresistible dimple, completed our conquest; so that no one in the room (save Hansanella, whowent on doggedly with their weaving) would have been parted from the newcomer save by fire and the sword. 

At one o'clock Bobby Green came back from the noon recess dragging ahigh chair. It was his own outgrown property and he had asked ourJanitor to abbreviate its legs and bring it up stairs. 

When Rosaleen sat in it and smiled, a thrill of rapture swept throughthe small community. The girls thrilled as well as the boys, forRosaleen's was not a mere sex appeal but practically a universal one. 

There was one flaw in our content. Bobby Green's mother arrived shortlyafter one o'clock in a high state of wrath, and I was obliged to go outin the hall and calm her nerves. 

"I really think Bobby's impulse was an honest one, " I said. "He did notknow I intended to buy a chair for the new child out of my own salarythis afternoon. He probably thought that the high chair was his veryown, reasoning as children do, and it was a gallant, generous act. Idon't like to have him punished for it, Mrs. Green, and if we both tellhim he ought to have asked your permission before giving the chair away, and if I buy you a new one, won't you agree to drop the matter?--Thinkhow manly Bobby was and how generous and thoughtful! If he were mine Icouldn't help being proud of him. Just peep in and look at the baby whois sitting in his chair, a little stranger, just come from Ireland toSan Francisco. "

Mrs. Green peeped in and saw the sun shining on Rosaleen's primrosehead. She was stringing beads, while Bobby, Pat and Aaron knelt besideher, palpitating for a chance to serve. 

"She's real cute!" whispered Mrs. Green. "Does Bobby act very often likehe's doin' now?"

"He's one of the greatest comforts of my life!" I said truly. 

"I wish I could say the same!" she retorted. "Well, I came roundintendin' to give him a good settlin' but he'd had two already thisweek and I guess I'll let it go! We ain't so poverty-struck as some o'the folks in this neighborhood and I guess we can make out to spare achair, it's little enough to pay for gettin' rid of Bobby. "

Two years that miracle of beauty and sweetness, Rosaleen Clancy stayedwith us, just as potent an influence as the birds or the flowers, thestories I told, or the music I coaxed from the little upright piano. Herface was not her only fortune for she had a heart of gold. Ireland didindeed have a grievance when Rosaleen left it for America!

This is just a corner of my portrait gallery, which has dozens of othertypes hanging on the walls clamoring to be described. Some were lovelyand some interestingly ugly; some were like lilies growing out of themud, others had not been quite as able to energize themselves out oftheir environment and bore the sad traces of it ever with them;--still, they were all absorbingly interesting beyond my power to paint. Monthafter month they sat together, working, playing, helping, growing--in aword learning how to live, and there in the midst of the group was I, learning my life lesson with them. 

The study and the practice of the kindergarten theory of education andof life gave me, while I was still very young, a certain ideal by whichto live and work, and it has never faded. --Never, whether richer orpoorer, whether better or worse, in sickness or in health, in prosperityor adversity, never wholly to lose my glimpse of that "celestial light"that childhood-apparalled "Meadow, grove and stream, the earth and everycommon sight:" and to hold that attitude of mind and heart which givesto life even when it is difficult something of "the glory and thefreshness of a dream!"

[Illustration]

 * * * * *

ADVERTISEMENTS

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 12mo, $1. 25. NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 12mo, $1. 25. ROSE O' THE RIVER. Ill. In color. 12mo, $1. 25. THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. Ill. 12mo, $1. 25. THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL. Illustrated. 12mo, $1. 00. A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP AND PENELOPE'S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES. Ill. 16mo, $1. 00. PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. 16mo, $1. 25. PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. 16mo, $1. 25. PENELOPE'S EXPERIENCES. I England; II Scotland; III Ireland; Holiday Edition. With many illustrations by Charles E. Brock. 3 vols. , each 12mo, $2. 00 the set, $6. 00. A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP. Holiday Edition, enlarged. Illustrated by C. E. Brock. 12mo, $1. 50. THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 50 cents. THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents. A SUMMER IN A CANYON. A California Story. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 25. TIMOTHY'S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who cares to read it. 16mo, $1. 00. Holiday Edition. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1. 50. POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. In Riverside School Library. 60 cents, net; postpaid. THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 16mo, $1. 00MARM LISA, 16mo, $1. 00. NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. Wiggin. Words by Herrick, Sill, and others. Square 8vo, $1. 25. 

 * * * * *

By Mrs. Wiggin and Miss Nora Archibald Smith

THE STORY HOUR. A Book for the Home and Kindergarten. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. CHILDREN'S RIGHTS. A Book of Nursery Logic. 16mo, $1. 00. THE REPUBLIC OF CHILDHOOD. In three volumes. Each, 16mo, $1. 00. I. FROEBEL'S GIFTS. II. FROEBEL'S OCCUPATIONS. III. KINDERGARTEN PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. 

 * * * * *

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANYBoston and New York