Ursula shrank.
"Would you?" she asked, sweetly, yet in terror. "Aren't I
strict enough?"
"Because," he repeated, taking no notice of her, "they'll get
you down if you don't tackle 'em pretty quick. They'll pull you
down, and worry you, till Harby gets you shifted--that's
how it'll be. You won't be here another six weeks"--and he
filled his mouth with food--"if you don't tackle 'em and
tackle 'em quick."
"Oh, but----" Ursula said, resentfully, ruefully.
The terror was deep in her.
"Harby'll not help you. This is what he'll do--he'll let
you go on, getting worse and worse, till either you clear out or
he clears you out. It doesn't matter to me, except that you'll
leave a class behind you as I hope I shan't have to cope
with."
She heard the accusation in the man's voice, and felt
condemned. But still, school had not yet become a definite
reality to her. She was shirking it. It was reality, but it was
all outside her. And she fought against Mr. Brunt's
representation. She did not want to realize.
"Will it be so terrible?" she said, quivering, rather
beautiful, but with a slight touch of condescension, because she
would not betray her own trepidation.
"Terrible?" said the man, turning to his potatoes again. "I
dunno about terrible."
"I do feel frightened," said Ursula. "The children seem
so----"
"What?" said Miss Harby, entering at that moment.
"Why," said Ursula, "Mr. Brunt says I ought to tackle my
class," and she laughed uneasily.
"Oh, you have to keep order if you want to teach," said Miss
Harby, hard, superior, trite.
Ursula did not answer. She felt non valid before them.
"If you want to be let to live, you have," said Mr.
Brunt.
"Well, if you can't keep order, what good are you?" said Miss
Harby.
"An' you've got to do it by yourself,"--his voice rose
like the bitter cry of the prophets. "You'll get no help
from anybody."
"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Harby. "Some people can't be helped."
And she departed.
The air of hostility and disintegration, of wills working in
antagonistic subordination, was hideous. Mr. Brunt, subordinate,
afraid, acid with shame, frightened her. Ursula wanted to run.
She only wanted to clear out, not to understand.
Then Miss Schofield came in, and with her another, more
restful note. Ursula at once turned for confirmation to the
newcomer. Maggie remained personal within all this unclean
system of authority.
"Is the big Anderson here?" she asked of Mr. Brunt. And they
spoke of some affair about two scholars, coldly, officially.
Miss Schofield took her brown dish, and Ursula followed with
her own. The cloth was laid in the pleasant Standard Three room,
there was a jar with two or three monthly roses on the
table.
"It is so nice in here, you have made it different,"
said Ursula gaily. But she was afraid. The atmosphere of the
school was upon her.