discourtesy or a bit of rudeness since I came to this school." That is
strong testimony for a new man in a new place. Splendidly done, Oyler!

Mr. Voorhes has not stopped working. On the contrary, he is at it harder
than ever, shaping his school to the ever-changing community needs. He
has stopped disciplining, though, and he has stopped wondering about the
success of his experiment. Time was when Oyler looked upon high school
attendance much as a New York gunman looks at Sunday School. Last year
of the thirty-three children in the eighth grade, eighteen--more than
half--went to high school. The tradition against high school has been
replaced by a healthy desire for more education. "One day a week in the
shops," Mr. Voorhes says, "means interest and enthusiasm. Our children
compete in high school with the children of grammar schools from the
well-to-do sections, and with the best our boys and girls hold their
own."

The community is interested. Parents and manufacturers alike come to the
school, consult, advise, suggest, co-operate. The school boy is no
longer sneered at by "the gang." The school has made its place in the
community, and "the gang" is enthusiastically engaged in school work.
The complexion of the neighborhood has changed, too. It is less rough,
the police have less to do. Houses are neater, children better clothed
and cared for. Oyler has won the hearts of its people, improved the food
on their tables and the clothes on their backs, sent the children to
high school, and their mothers to Mothers' Clubs; and the people who
once uttered their profanity indiscriminately in every direction now
swear by Oyler.

CHAPTER IX

VITALIZING RURAL EDUCATION

I The Call of the Country

There is a call of the land just as there is a call of the city, though
the call of the city has sounded so insistently during the past century
that men innumerable, heeding it, have cast in their lot with the
throngs of city dwellers. Yet the city proves so unsatisfying that
thousands are turning from its rows of brick houses and lines of paved
streets to the fruit trees, dairy herds, market gardens and broad acres
of the countryside. The call of the city is answered by a call which is
becoming equally distinct--the call "Back to the Land."

The ten-acre lot may not be any nearer paradise than the "Great White
Way," but there is about it a breadth of quiet wholesomeness which
cannot make its presence felt in the bustle