eyes on the object across
the field. I want them to be too big to work for mere grades. We
never give prizes in our school, especially money prizes. It would
seem rather a cheap enterprise to my fine boys and girls to get a
piece of money for committing to memory the "Gettysburg Speech." We
respect ourselves and Lincoln too much for that. It would grieve me
to know that one of my girls could be hired to read a book for an
hour in the evening to a sick neighbor. I want her to have her pay
in a better and more enduring medium than that. I'd hope she would
aim at something higher than that.

If I can arrange the white rag, I know the pupils will do the work.
There was Jim, for example, who said to his father that he just
couldn't do his arithmetic, and wished he'd never have to go to
school another day. When his father told me about it I began at once
to hunt for a white rag. And I found it, too. We can generally find
what we are looking for, if we look in dead earnest. Well, the next
morning there was Jim in the arithmetic class along with Tom and
Charley. I explained the absence of Harry by telling them about his
falling on the ice the night before and breaking his right arm. I
told them how he could get on well enough with his other studies, but
would have trouble with his arithmetic because he couldn't use his
arm. Now, Tom and Charley are quick in arithmetic, and I asked Tom
to go over to Harry's after school and help with the arithmetic, and
Charley to go over the next day, and Jim the third day. Now, anybody
can see that white rag fluttering at the top of the stake across the
field two days ahead. So, my work was done, and I went on with my
daily duties. Tom reported the next day, and his report made our
mouths water as he told of the good things that Harry's mother had
set out for them to eat. The report of Charley the next day was
equally alluring. Then Jim reported, and on his day that good mother
had evidently reached the climax in culinary affairs. Jim's eyes and
face shone as if he had been communing with the supernals.

That was the last I ever heard of Jim's trouble with arithmetic. His
father was eager to know how the change had been brought about, and I
explained on the score of the angel-food cake and ice-cream he had
had over at Harry's, with no slight mention of my glorious white rag.
The books, I believe, call this social co-operation, or something
like that, but I care little w