d roe of those experiences in the Greek class.
Every bluebird I see does that for me. The good old doctor, one
morning in early spring, rhapsodized for five minutes on the singing
of a bluebird he had heard on his way to class, telling how the
little fellow was pouring forth a melody that made the world and all
life seem more beautiful and blessed. We loved him for that, because
it proved that he was a big-souled human being; and pupils like to
discover human qualities in their teachers. The little professor may
have heard the bluebird's singing, too; but if he did, he probably
thought it was serenading him. If colleges of education and normal
schools would select teachers who can delight in the song of a
bluebird their academic attainments would be ennobled and glorified,
and their students might come to love instead of fearing them. Only
a man or a woman with a big soul can socialize and vitalize the work
of the schools. The mere academician can never do it.

The more I think of all these degree decorations in my efforts to
determine what is major in life and what is minor, the more I think
of George. He was an earnest schoolmaster, and was happiest when his
boys and girls were around him, busy at their tasks. One year there
were fourteen boys in his school, fifteen including himself, for he
was one of them. The school day was not long enough, so they met in
groups in the evening, at the various homes, and continued the work
of the day. These boys absorbed his time, his strength, and his
heart. Their success in their work was his greatest joy. Of those
fourteen boys one is no more. Of the other thirteen one is a state
official of high rank, five are attorneys, two are ministers of the
Gospel, two are bankers, one is a successful business man, and two
are engineers of prominence. George is the ideal of those men. They
all say he gave them their start in the right direction, and always
speak his name with reverence. George has these thirteen stars in
his crown that I know of. He had no degrees, but I am thinking that
some time he will hear the plaudit: "Well done, good and faithful
servant."

CHAPTER XXVIII

PURELY PEDAGOGICAL

It was a dark, cold, rainy night in November. The wind whistled
about the house, the rain beat a tattoo against the window-panes and
flooded the sills. The big base-burner, filled with anthracite coal,
was illuminating the room through its mica windows, on all sides,