morning she parsed sentences in her head as she milked Bluebell. At the breakfast table she did math problems, her eyes glued to her textbook.
Though her father frowned at her, he said nothing.
As she and Felix drove to school she recited the Longfellow poem:
Â
"Tell me not in mournful numbersâ
Brake, clutch!
Life is butâ
Not so hard!
âan empty dreamâ
For the soul is dead that slumbersâ
Brake!
And things are notâ
Brake, clutch!
âwhat they seem
Life is real!â
Brake!
âLife is earnest!
And the graveâ
Clutch!
âis not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnestâ
Brake!
Was notâ
Brake! Clutch!
âspoken of the soul.
Â
"We're here!"
Â
In school, right after the morning exercises, Ida stood before the class.
"Anyone know where Herbert is?"
"Working, probably," Charley said.
"I need to know," Ida said, "if our school is still secret. How many of you told your parents what we're doing? I did," she informed them. "Had to."
Tom was the first one to respond. Then, shyly, Natasha raised her hand. Charley said, "I just told ours that school was going on. Didn't say you were teacher."
Ida explained what had happened when she went to Herbert's place and spoke to Mr. Bixler.
"By mistake I told him I was the teacher," she said. "He didn't like it." Then she told them what Mr. Bixler had said to her mother.
"Think he really will say something to Mr. Jordan?" Natasha asked.
"My dad says Mr. Bixler isn't really mean," Susie put in. "Just unhappy all the time."
"My ma said the same," Ida agreed. "I don't know what he'll do. But if you haven't already, I guess you'd better let your parents know everything. Just try to get them not to tell anyone else, specially Mr. Jordan."
She sighed. "Guess we better get on with our own work," Ida said. "Can't be any shirking if we're going to pass those exams."
Ida went to her desk and consulted her notebook, then gave instructions to the class. "Tom, sentence parsing. Mary, penmanship. In particular, your Gs, Qs, and Fs. Susie, I'd like you to help her. Natasha, when you're ready, I'll quiz you on the continents. Charley, reading. Felix, you start off with a recitation of your ABCs."
Everybody set to work.
More than before, Ida put everyone to tasks that they could do on their own. While they set about their assignments, she sat at her desk, secretly working on her own studiesâin particular, math.
Secret school Secret student,
she thought.
Halfway through the morning, Ida walked up to Tom's desk.
"Yes, Miss Bidson," he said.
"Tom," Ida said, whispering so no one else would hear. "I'm not teaching now. I'm studying for myself. How do you do this kind of math problem?"
Tom looked at her, pushed the hair away from his forehead, and gave her a wink.
"Tom," she whispered. "
Please.
"
"Okay. Better sit down, though," he said, and showed her how to do the problem.
"Thank you," she whispered, giving him a grateful look when he was done.
In the evening as soon as she got home, Ida raced through her chores, retreated to the loft, and worked on her studies. After dinner she did the same.
Her mother found Ida in bed. By the glowing light of a kerosene lamp she was rereading the school's frayed copy of
Great Orations by Great Men.
"Ida, it's very late. You're pushing yourself too hard."
"What's the good of me being teacher?" Ida replied with anguish. "If everyone else passes the exams and I don't, it'll be the last time I ever teach."
"Honey, I'm sure you know more than you think."
"Ma, the exam is a couple of weeks away, but I have no idea what's in it. I have to know
everything
."
"Honey, I don't want you getting sick. Won't be good for anything then."
"I'll be a whole lot sicker if I don't get to high school."
Mrs. Bidson sighed and retreated down the ladder.
Â
The next day school started as usual. As the hours passed, it grew darker and darker. Recess was held, but the thunderheads gathering around
Though her father frowned at her, he said nothing.
As she and Felix drove to school she recited the Longfellow poem:
Â
"Tell me not in mournful numbersâ
Brake, clutch!
Life is butâ
Not so hard!
âan empty dreamâ
For the soul is dead that slumbersâ
Brake!
And things are notâ
Brake, clutch!
âwhat they seem
Life is real!â
Brake!
âLife is earnest!
And the graveâ
Clutch!
âis not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnestâ
Brake!
Was notâ
Brake! Clutch!
âspoken of the soul.
Â
"We're here!"
Â
In school, right after the morning exercises, Ida stood before the class.
"Anyone know where Herbert is?"
"Working, probably," Charley said.
"I need to know," Ida said, "if our school is still secret. How many of you told your parents what we're doing? I did," she informed them. "Had to."
Tom was the first one to respond. Then, shyly, Natasha raised her hand. Charley said, "I just told ours that school was going on. Didn't say you were teacher."
Ida explained what had happened when she went to Herbert's place and spoke to Mr. Bixler.
"By mistake I told him I was the teacher," she said. "He didn't like it." Then she told them what Mr. Bixler had said to her mother.
"Think he really will say something to Mr. Jordan?" Natasha asked.
"My dad says Mr. Bixler isn't really mean," Susie put in. "Just unhappy all the time."
"My ma said the same," Ida agreed. "I don't know what he'll do. But if you haven't already, I guess you'd better let your parents know everything. Just try to get them not to tell anyone else, specially Mr. Jordan."
She sighed. "Guess we better get on with our own work," Ida said. "Can't be any shirking if we're going to pass those exams."
Ida went to her desk and consulted her notebook, then gave instructions to the class. "Tom, sentence parsing. Mary, penmanship. In particular, your Gs, Qs, and Fs. Susie, I'd like you to help her. Natasha, when you're ready, I'll quiz you on the continents. Charley, reading. Felix, you start off with a recitation of your ABCs."
Everybody set to work.
More than before, Ida put everyone to tasks that they could do on their own. While they set about their assignments, she sat at her desk, secretly working on her own studiesâin particular, math.
Secret school Secret student,
she thought.
Halfway through the morning, Ida walked up to Tom's desk.
"Yes, Miss Bidson," he said.
"Tom," Ida said, whispering so no one else would hear. "I'm not teaching now. I'm studying for myself. How do you do this kind of math problem?"
Tom looked at her, pushed the hair away from his forehead, and gave her a wink.
"Tom," she whispered. "
Please.
"
"Okay. Better sit down, though," he said, and showed her how to do the problem.
"Thank you," she whispered, giving him a grateful look when he was done.
In the evening as soon as she got home, Ida raced through her chores, retreated to the loft, and worked on her studies. After dinner she did the same.
Her mother found Ida in bed. By the glowing light of a kerosene lamp she was rereading the school's frayed copy of
Great Orations by Great Men.
"Ida, it's very late. You're pushing yourself too hard."
"What's the good of me being teacher?" Ida replied with anguish. "If everyone else passes the exams and I don't, it'll be the last time I ever teach."
"Honey, I'm sure you know more than you think."
"Ma, the exam is a couple of weeks away, but I have no idea what's in it. I have to know
everything
."
"Honey, I don't want you getting sick. Won't be good for anything then."
"I'll be a whole lot sicker if I don't get to high school."
Mrs. Bidson sighed and retreated down the ladder.
Â
The next day school started as usual. As the hours passed, it grew darker and darker. Recess was held, but the thunderheads gathering around
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