The annual visit of the County Superintendent of Schools always
carries with it some degree of anxiety for the teacher. Sometimes the
visit comes unexpectedly, but generally the news is sent round in some
manner, and last minute polish and coachings are given for the hour of
trial. The teacher, naturally eager to make a creditable showing, never
knows what vagaries of stupidity will seize her brightest pupils and
cause them to stand helpless and stranded as she questions them in the
presence of the distinguished visitor and critic.
The Superintendent came to the Crow Hill school on a blustery March day
of the sort that blows off hats and tries the tempers of the sweetest
natured people. Amanda thought she never before lived through hours so
long as those in which she waited for the visitors. But at length came
the children's subdued, excited announcement, "Here they come!" as the
grind of wheels sounded outside the windows. A few minutes later the
hour was come--the County Superintendent and the directors, Mr.
Mertzheimer in the lead, stepped into the little room, shook hands with
the teacher, then seated themselves and waited for Amanda to go on with
her regular lessons and prove her efficiency.
Amanda, stirred by the underhand workings of Mr. Mertzheimer, was on
her mettle. She'd just show that man she could teach! Two years'
experience in handling rural school classes came to her support. With
precision, yet unhurried, she conducted classes in geography, grammar,
reading, arithmetic, some in beginners' grades and others in the
advanced classes.
She saved her trump card for the last, her nature class, in which the
children told from the colored pictures that formed a frieze above the
blackboard, the names of fifty native birds and gave a short sketch of
their habits, song or peculiarities.
After that the pupils sang for the visitors. During that time the eyes
of the Superintendent traveled about the room, from the pressed and
mounted leaves and flowers on the walls to the corn-husk and grass
baskets on a table in the rear of the room.
When the children's part was ended came the time they loved best, that
portion of the visit looked forward to each year, the address of the
County Superintendent. He was a tall man, keen-eyed and kindly, and as
he stood before the little school the eyes of every child were upon
him--he'd be sure to say something funny before he sat down--he always
did!
"Well, boys and girls, here we are again! And, as the old Pennsylvania
Dutch preacher said, 'I'm glad that I can say that I'm glad that I'm
here.' "He rattled off the words in rapid Pennsylvania Dutch, at which
the children laughed and some whispered, "Why, he can talk the Dutch,
too!" Then they listened in rapt attention as the speaker went on: "Last year my hour in this schoolroom was one of the high-lights of my
visits to the rural schools of the county. So I expected big things
from you this year, and it gives me great pleasure to tell you that I
am not disappointed. I might go farther and tell you the truth--I am
more than pleased with the showing of this school. I listened
attentively while all the classes were in session, and your answers
showed intelligent thinking and reasoning. You had a surprise for me in
that bird class. I like that! It's a great idea to learn from colored
pictures the names of our birds, for by so doing you will be able to
identify them readily when you meet them in the fields and woods. No
lover of birds need fear that one of you will rob a bird's nest or use
a sling-shot on a feathered neighbor. You show by your stories about
the birds that a proper regard and appreciation for them has been
fostered in you by your teacher. You all know that it has long been
acknowledged that 'An honest confession is good for the soul,' so I'm
going to be frank and tell you that as Miss Reist pointed to the birds
there were thirty out of the fifty that I did not know. I have learned
something of great value with you here to-day, and I promise you that
I'm going to buy a book and study about them so that when I come to see
you next year I'll know every one of your pictures. You make me feel
ashamed of my meagre knowledge of our feathered neighbors on whom,
indirectly, our very existence depends.