ted, too."

It has, on several occasions, been my unhappy duty to make some such
announcement, and never has it been received twice in the same way. Some
ladies entirely disbelieve, and set it down to the natural officiousness
of teachers--"buttin' in where they ain't got no call." Others will fall
away into hysterics. Yet others will remark that their own eyes were
unsatisfactory in earlier stages: "It's just growin', I guess. I outgrew
the trouble before I was twelve." One mother accepted the facts frankly,
took the child to an oculist, bought the glasses he prescribed, and
applied the drops he recommended, until she inadvertently used the
dropper to fill her fountain-pen. Soon the boy lost his glasses, and the
incident was closed.

Ears and teeth, tonsils and adenoids, frequently furnish
stumbling-blocks to education, but the teacher who reports them to the
home authorities does so at the risk of wasting her time, or of being
accused of causing or inventing the conditions. Recently the boards of
education in the larger cities have been legislating for appropriations
to be applied to free glasses, free dentistry, free professional
services of all kinds to the children of the public schools. And the
gratitude of the parents--whose duties are being attended to--takes
fearful and wonderful forms.

Philosophers, in their slow and doddering way, may question the exact
part played by heredity in the formation of human character. Not so the
mother. She has reduced the problem to a formula. All that is bad,
hateful, and spiteful in the child is the direct contribution of his
father or his father's house. All that is appealing, lovable,
interesting, and most especially all that is "cute," is directly
inherited from the female side. The only exception to this rule is the
half-orphan. In his case one or two good qualities may be inherited from
the deceased parent.

Once I taught a Gwendolin. She was a peculiarly abominable individual,
as, poets to the contrary notwithstanding, a child may sometimes be. The
class was large, the school was a public one, and the curriculum
prescribed from on high. There was no time for private instructions, and
Gwendolin lagged far in the rear. She was late by habit; lazy by nature;
and tearful by policy and experience. I spent hours which should have
been devoted to the common good in setting down Gwendolin's tardiness,
listening to her excuses, and drying her tears. Finally I sent for the
mo