第73部分(第6/7 頁)

conscience。　At　last　he　had　stopped　crying；　and　sat　bunched　over

his　hands；　playing　quietly。　Then　he　looked　up　at　her。　His　face

was　dirty　with　tears；　his　eyes　had　a　curious　washed　look；　like

the　sky　after　rain；　a　sort　of　wanness。　He　bore　no　malice。　He　had

already　forgotten；　and　was　waiting　to　be　restored　to　the　normal

position。

〃Go　on　with　your　work；　Hill；〃　she　said。

The　children　were　playing　over　their　arithmetic；　and；　she

knew；　cheating　thoroughly。　She　wrote　another　sum　on　the

blackboard。　She　could　not　get　round　the　class。　She　went　again　to

the　front　to　watch。　Some　were　ready。　Some　were　not。　What　was　she

to　do？

At　last　it　was　time　for　recreation。　She　gave　the　order　to

cease　working；　and　in　some　way　or　other　got　her　class　out　of　the

room。　Then　she　faced　the　disorderly　litter　of　blotted；

uncorrected　books；　of　broken　rulers　and　chewed　pens。　And　her

heart　sank　in　sickness。　The　misery　was　getting　deeper。

The　trouble　went　on　and　on；　day　after　day。　She　had　always

piles　of　books　to　mark；　myriads　of　errors　to　correct；　a

heart…wearying　task　that　she　loathed。　And　the　work　got　worse　and

worse。　When　she　tried　to　flatter　herself　that　the　position

grew　more　alive；　more　interesting；　she　had　to　see　that　the

handwriting　grew　more　and　more　slovenly；　the　books　more　filthy

and　disgraceful。　She　tried　what　she　could；　but　it　was　of　no　use。

But　she　was　not　going　to　take　it　seriously。　Why　should　she？　Why

should　she　say　to　herself；　that　it　mattered；　if　she　failed　to

teach　a　class　to　write　perfectly　neatly？　Why　should　she　take　the

blame　unto　herself？

Pay　day　came；　and　she　received　four　pounds　two　sh