hey just went on with the timetable as
usual."

"But didn't they talk to each other more?"

"There wasn't a whisper."

I considered for a minute.

"What exactly did you say to them when you announced that they were to
have self-government?"

"I just said what you told me last night."

"Did you add anything?"

He avoided my eye.

"Of course I said that I trusted them to carry on the school as usual,"
he admitted reluctantly.

"Thereby showing them that you didn't trust them at all," I explained.
"Mac, you must have been a thundering strict disciplinarian. The
kiddies are dead afraid of you. I fear that you'll never manage to
have self-government. This fear of you must be broken, and you've got
to break it."

"But how?" he asked helplessly.

"By coming down off your pedestal. You must become one of the gang.
One dramatic exhibition will do it."

"What do you mean?"

"Smash a window; chuck books about the room . . . anything to break
this idea that you are an exalted being whose eye is like God's always
ready to see evil."

Mac looked annoyed and injured.

"What good will my fooling do?" he asked.

"But," I protested seriously, "it's essential. You simply must break
your authority if you are to have a free school. There can be no real
self-expression if you are always standing by to stamp out slacking and
noise."

"But," he protested, "didn't I tell 'em I was giving up my authority?"

"Yes, but they don't believe you. You've got the eye of an authority."

He was by this time getting rather indignant.

"I can't go the length you do," he said sourly. "I'm not an anarchist."

"In that case I'd advise you to chuck the experiment, Mac," I said with
an indifferent shrug of my shoulders. The shrug nettled Mac; he is one
of the bull-dog breed, and I saw his lips set.

"I've begun it, and I won't chuck it," he said firmly. "And I hope to
prove that your methods are all wrong. Let it come gradually; that's
what I say."

When he came over at four o'clock his face glowed with excitement. He
slapped me on the back with his heavy hand.

"Man," he cried, "it's going fine! We had our first trial this
afternoon."

"Go on," I said.

"Oh, it was a first class start. Jim Inglis threw his pencil at Peter
Mackie."

"I hope he didn't miss," I said flippantly.

Mac ignored my levity.

"And then I didn't know what to do. My first impulse was to haul him
out and strap him, but of course I did