n he finally arose, the morning was already bright and hot; the
rooms were swept; all was in order.

Later in the day he followed Mrs. Grumble to the schoolhouse, carrying
a pail, soap, a scrubbing brush, and a broom. After Mr. Jeminy had
filled the pail with water at the school pump, Mrs. Grumble got down on
her knees, and began to scrub the floor. The schoolmaster went ahead
with the broom. "Sweep in all the corners," she said. "For," she
added, "it's in the corners one finds everything." As she spoke, the
brush, under her freckled hands, pushed forward a wave of soapy water,
edged with foam, like the sea.

Mr. Jeminy swept up and down with a sort of solemn joy; he even took
pride in the little mountain of brown dirt he had collected with his
broom, and watched it leap across the threshold with regret. He would
have liked to keep it. . . . Then he could have said, "Well, at least,
I took all this dirt from under the desks."

The truth is that Mr. Jeminy was not a very good teacher. Although, as
a young man, he had read, in Latin and Greek, the work of Stoics,
Gnostics, and Fathers of the Church, and although he had opinions about
everything, he was unable to teach his pupils what they wished to
learn, and they, in turn, were unable to understand what he wanted them
to know. But that was not entirely his fault, for they came to school
with such questions as: "How far is a thousand miles?"

"It is the distance between youth and age," said Mr. Jeminy. Then the
children would start to laugh.

"A thousand miles," he would begin. . . .

By the time he had explained it, they were interested in something else.

This summer morning, a dusty fall of sunlight filled the little
schoolroom with dancing golden motes. It seemed to Mr. Jeminy that he
heard the voices of innumerable children whispering together; and it
seemed to him that one voice, sweeter than all the rest, spoke in his
own heart. "Jeminy," it said, "Jeminy, what have you taught my
children?"

Mr. Jeminy answered: "I have taught them to read the works of
celebrated men, and to cheat each other with plus and minus."

"Ah," said another voice, with a dry chuckle like salt shaken in a
saltcellar, "well, that's good."

"Who speaks?" cried Mr. Jeminy.

"What," exclaimed the voice, "don't you know me, old friend? I am plus
and minus; I am weights and measures. . . ."

"Lord ha' mercy," cried Mrs. Grumble from the floor, "have you gone
mad? What