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"I am your new teacher and so I hope you will help me to get over my first day. Will you?" There was silence for a moment; then, "Yes teacher. Yes, teacher. Yes, teacher." She looked at the four little children sitting upright on the first form and said, "Now, tell me your names." And pointing to the end one, she said, "Yes?" and one after the other they said their names, some in a whisper, some loudly: "Mary.

Sarah. Kathleen," and she herself, smiling at the fourth one, said,

"And I know you are Margaret."

"Yes, teacher."

After she had been given the names of those on the back form, she said,

"Now, shall we start with the alphabet? You usually start with the alphabet, don't you?"

"No, miss; you call the register." It was Margaret again.

She looked helplessly towards the open cupboard. She had no register.

She hadn't been told about the register.

"Oh. Well, we'll see about that later ... There was no actual break until twelve o'clock, except that which the children contrived for them selves by asking: " May I leave the room, miss? " And one bright spark caused a giggle. When coming back into the room from her excursion, she remarked, " It stinks. "

At twenty minutes past eleven, if she was to judge by the hall clock striking the half hour and it being ten minutes fast, there were one or two yawns, so she decided to brighten things up in the rhyme section by getting the children to demonstrate the words as much as possible by the use of their hands. Looking through the book, she picked Jack and Jill and said, "Now children, let's be Jack and Jill, shall we? What did they do first?"

"They went up the hill, miss."

"All right, we'll all go up the hill."

Eight pairs of arms followed her actions and clawed their way up the hill.

There were only six rhymes in the ragged cloth books, and when they had finished demonstrating the last: Dickory, Dickory, Dock, The Mouse Ran Up The Clock, and she said, "Well, that is all," one child called out,

"Tell us another, miss," and this was echoed by the others, "Yes; let us do another, miss. Please. "

She put her head back as if thinking; and she was thinking of all the nursery rhymes her father had taught them and the funny little rhymes she herself had made up, dozens of them. But she had better stick to the well-known ones . Which one would be good for demonstrating?

"There was a little man'? Yes, yes; she would do that one. She said aloud: " I know a nursery rhyme. You can all act to it. It is called,

"There was a little man."

And so she began:

"There was a little man, And he had a little gun--'

She stopped here and said, "Well, make a gun. You know, a gun." She used both arms stretched out now as if she were holding a gun to her shoulder. Then she went on,

"And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead ... '

"And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead," they repeated, then there was a chorus of, "Bang! Bang!" Followed by high laughter, and,

"Do it again, teacher! Do it again!" So she did it again, going through the whole rhyme this time, and the responses grew louder and the laughter became higher. Then suddenly the door burst open and the first assistant appeared, her face expressing amazement.

"What on earth!"

"We are just demonstrating a nursery rhyme."

"I heard." It was a low whisper. Then, "Come outside for a moment."

In the dark corridor the woman said, "She just needs to hear that and you'll be out of the door. Bullets through the head; I've never heard such a thing."

"It's a nursery rhyme: There was a little man, he shot a little duck .

" Well, I've never heard of it. I'm just in the next room. I couldn't believe my ears at first. Look' her voice sank' if you want to remain here, stick to the rules. "

"I don't know whether I want to remain here."

"Well, that's up to you. But I'll say this much, I think you'll work out all right, for you're the best teacher we've had for a long time.

Now, take my advice and go in there and tell them they mustn't repeat that nursery rhyme, that's if they want to see you again. I'll leave it to you to work out how you'll do that. So far, from what I've heard, you seem to be able to cope with most things. "

Again Anna wanted to thank this miserable- looking woman. She also wanted to step round the corner, go into that smelly cubicle and put on her hat and cloak and go home.

And admit defeat?

She drew in a long breath and returned to the classroom.

At five o'clock Miss Benfield called Anna into the downstairs classroom and reminded her of her dissatisfaction with her apparel.

She also said that, from what she had overheard, her discipline needed a great deal of improvement, and, if she did not like the meal that was provided then she had better bring her own.

To all this, and probably to Miss Benfield's surprise, Anna made no reply. She was feeling tired and weary. Moreover, she was cold. The whole house was cold. And she was hungry . When she reached the market square, the carrier cart had already left, and she had never known herself to be so near to tears. She would have to walk; the twilight would soon be on her, and if she didn't hurry it would be dark before she reached the cut, which was the shortest way home. That path, at one point, passed close to the edge of the quarry, and although the quarry wasn't all that deep, she wouldn't like to fall into it in the dark. But then her father might still be waiting for her. Yet, if he saw that she wasn't on the carrier's cart, would he stay there? No; more likely he'd go back and get their own cart out.

She had been standing on her feet for most of the day, and so by the time she had left the town and had taken to the country road her step had slowed. And when she reached the cut, she wasn't surprised to find no-one waiting for her.

The cut, as it was called, ran between open green fields, through a small copse, then uphill onto the edge of the quarry, which was no more than thirty feet at its deepest point and extended over hardly an eighth of an acre. It was said that the demand for its stone had already dwindled before it was half dug out. Going away from it, the path once again ran between open fields, until it merged into the moor.

At one point it crossed the bridle-path to the village. At the edge of the moor another hardly discernible path led to their own patch of woodland which, in turn, gave way to the hill and there, in its shelter, was home.

As she rounded the bottom of the hill, she saw in the distance the lights on the cart picking out Neddy's rump, and she went into a stumbling run now, shouting, "Dada! I'm here!"

It was Jimmy who heard her first, and his voice echoed back to her:

"She's here, Dada!"

In the yard they were all about her, questioning, but her father's voice rose above the rest, demanding harshly, "Where've you been? Why weren't you on the cart, girl?"

"Oh, Dada, let me get in and sit down. I'm worn out. One way and another, I'm worn out."

In the kitchen Maria said, "You've had us worried, dear. You see, you're not used to the town and ... " Ma, let me take my shoes off.

"

Eager hands were now at her feet and they took her shoes off and lifted her cold soles towards the blaze of the fire while rubbing them.

"May I have something hot, Ma?"

"Yes, my love, yes. It's all ready; some mutton broth."

"What happened?" It was Oswald bending towards her now.

She turned to look over her shoulder, saying, "Wait till Dada comes in'

she smiled wanly now 'and I'll tell you, right from the beginning at nine o'clock this morning. No; ten minutes to, onwards."

She had finished the soup and eaten two large slices of bread and pork fat before Nathaniel came into the room. He seemed to have taken his time unharnessing the horse and stabling it, and Maria looked at him anxiously while making a motion with her head; then he was standing in front of her, saying, "Well!

let me have it. What kept you? It was all arranged that you would come home on the cart. "

Anna let out a very audible sigh, then said, "Do you want to hear the whole story before you eat, or after?" At this there was laughter; but when he said, "For my part, before," there were slight groans. So she told them exactly what had happened, from the meeting with the head of the establishment in the so-called dining-room, the condition of the kitchen, what she was expected to teach, the watery stew with the grease floating on the top which she couldn't stomach at dinner time, the first assistant for whom she felt sorry, and lastly, what had prevented her from catching the cart, which was the lecture from Miss Benfield.

"She can't go back there again, can she?" Maria appealed to Nathaniel;

and he thought for a moment, then looked at his daughter and said,

"Well, it's up to you. Why not leave it until after we have eaten properly and then you can tell me what you intend to do, and I will go across to Miss Netherton and give her a report, because I can see you're all in."

"Dada." She looked up at him and, her voice soft, she said, "It's your fault, you know; you've made it too easy for me all these years."

Anna continued to teach at Miss Kate Benfield's Academy during the remainder of September, then through October and November, and she had experience with all the children, from the five-year-olds right up to those of fourteen, who were classed as young ladies.

It should happen that Miss Benfield, the first assistant, who usually supervised the nine-to-eleven and the twelve-to-fourteen children's classes, was subject to severe bouts of head colds, during which she sniffed, blew and coughed a great deal until, hardly able to stand, Miss Benfield the elder would allow her to go to her room . wherever that was. Anna never found out.

When this happened Anna would take one or other of these classes on alternate mornings and afternoons and, of all Miss Benfield's classes, she liked taking those of the older girls, for she knew they enjoyed her teaching, although twice she had been pulled over the coals by Miss Benfield for taking liberties with Shakespeare. Miss Benfield had insisted that she herself would choose passages that the girls must learn by rote and from which they must not deviate.

In the course of her teaching she also had to deal with religious instruction. There was no Bible in any of the classrooms, but prior to the religious lesson Miss Benfield would hand her a copy, having marked a particular psalm or proverb that Anna must read to her class, then ask them questions about; after which they were to write a short essay on the subject.

It transpired that today she had marked the Thirty-sixth Psalm:

"Wickedness confronts God's Love'. It consisted of twelve short verses; but, of course, that wasn't enough for Miss Benfield, who had also marked the first part of the Proverbs: the Proverbs of Solomon, Son of David, King of Israel. And Anna was instructed to tell her pupils they were to write a short essay on the word 'wisdom'.

So here she was facing nine young ladies, socalled, five of the age of fourteen, four of the age of thirteen, and their faces were full of interest. She was aware that they liked her, and with the exception of one girl, she liked them. And yet it should happen that this particular girl was the brightest of them all. In fact. Miss Lilian Burrows, Anna considered, was too advanced for her age and she was sure that the knowledge she had acquired hadn't all come from Miss Benfield's Academy.

So she began.

"Well now, you are all aware what day this is' she made a little moue with her mouth' and you know what lesson we have on a Friday."

"Oh, yes, yes."

"Oh, yes, teacher, yes."

The scoffing retorts came from them all. They still had to address her as 'teacher' even though she had earlier pointed out they could call her

Miss Dagshaw. This had caused another storm in Miss Benfield's bosom.

The only one to be addressed as "Miss' was herself. Would she please remember that!

Anna had, on that occasion, said she would try, and the bosom had swelled still further. There were many nights she caused her brothers and sisters to roll on the floor when, with a pillow pushed down a bib bed apron, her dark thick shining hair dragged up to the top of her head and her feet turned outwards, she performed a remarkable imitation of the mistress.

"Not Proverbs again, teacher!"

She looked down at the pained expression of a pretty girl sitting in the front desk.

"I'm afraid so, Rosalie; but we are having the Psalms first."

The groans were so audible that she turned and looked quickly towards the door, then ^aid, "Shh! Shh!" And when quiet was restored she said, "Now listen carefully. This is the Thirty-sixth Psalm and it is headed, " To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David, The Servant Of The Lord". Just write.

"A Psalm of David."

She waited; then after a moment she said, "It deals with wickedness that confronts God's love." She glanced around her, then began to read.

The transgression of the wicked saith within my heart, that there is no fear of God before his eyes.

For he flattereth himself in his own eyes, until his iniquity be found to be hateful.

The words of his mouth are iniquity and deceit: he has left off to be wise, and to do good.

Verse after verse she read until she reached the twelfth one. When she had finished she said, "As you know, you will have to write a short essay dealing with the wickedness that confronts God's love. Shall I read it again?"

"No, miss, no. Anyway, we read that psalm some weeks ago."

One bright voice piped up now, saying, "Miss Pinkerton read it on her last day here. She used to almost stutter."

"She didn't!"

"She did."

"She didn't! She had a lisp."

The two combatants turned to a third girl who said, "She didn't reign long." Then this girl, looking at Anna, said, "You know, teacher, you've stuck it the longest. But anyway, I hope you go on till I leave; I'm going into Newcastle at Easter."