American Agriculturist, June 23,1923 
527 
The Brown Mouse — By Herbert Quick 
^^rpHE grammar is good this morning. You’re gradually mastering the art of 
X stating a problem in arithmetic in English—and that’s improvement.” 
The hands of Jim Irwin’s dollar watch gradually approached the position in¬ 
dicating nine o’clock—at which time the schoolmaster rapped on his desk and the 
school came to order. Then, for a while, it became like other schools. A glance 
over the room enabled him to enter the names of the absentees, and those tardy. 
There was a song by the school, the recitation in concert of Little Brown Hands, 
some general remarks and directions by the teacher, and the primary pupils came 
forward for their reading exercises. A few classes began poring over their 
text-books, but most of the pupils had their work passed out to them in the form 
of hectograph copies of exercises prepared in the school itself. 
As the little ones finished their recitations, they passed to the dishes of wheat, 
and began aiding Raymond’s squad in the counting and classifying of the various 
seeds. They counted to five, and they counted the fives. They laughed in a sub¬ 
dued way, and whispered constantly, but nobody seemed disturbed. 
“Do they help much, Calista?” asked the teacher, as the oldest Simms girl came 
to his desk for more wheat. 
“No, seh, not much,” replied Calista, 
beaming, “but they don’t hold us back 
any—and maybe they do he’p a little.” 
“That’s good,” said Jim, “and they 
enjoy it, don’t they?” 
“Oh, yes, Mr. Jim,” assented Calista, 
“and the way Buddy is learnin’ to 
count is fine! They-all will soon know 
all the addition they is, and a lot of 
multiplication. Angie Talcott knows 
the kinds of seeds better’n what I do!” 
CHAPTER VIII 
AND THE OLD BOTTLES 
T he day passed. Four o’clock came. 
In order that all might reach honie 
for supper, there was no staying, ex¬ 
cept that Newt Bronson and Raymond 
Simms remained to sweep and dust the 
schoolroom, and .prepare kindling for 
the next morning’s fire—a work they 
had taken upon themselves, so as to 
enable the teacher to put on the black¬ 
boards such outlines for the morrow’s 
class work as might be required. Jim 
was writing on the board a list of 
words constituting a spelling exercise. 
They were not from the text-book, but 
grew naturally out of the study of 
the seed wheat—“cockle,” “morning- 
glory,” “convolvulus,” “viable,” “via- 
Mlity,” “sprouting,” “iron-weed” and 
the like. A tap was heard at the door, 
and Raymond Simms opened it. 
In filed three women—and Jim Irwin 
knew as he looked at them that he was 
greeting a deputation, and felt that it 
meant a struggle. For they were the 
wives of the members of the school 
board. He placed for them the three 
available chairs, and in the absence of 
any for himself remained standing be¬ 
fore thenl, a gaunt shabby-looking revo¬ 
lutionist at the bar of settled usage and 
fixed public opinion. 
Mrs. Haakon Peterson was a tall 
blonde woman who, when she spoke be¬ 
trayed her Scandinavian origin by the 
northern burr to her “r’s,” and a slight 
difficulty with her “j’s,” her “y’s” and 
long “a’s.” Jim felt an instinctive re¬ 
spect for her personality. Mrs. Bron¬ 
son was a good motherly woman, noted 
for her housekeeping, and for her 
church activities. She looked, oftener 
at her son and his friend Raymond 
than at the schoolmaster. Mrs. Bonner 
was the mpst voluble of the three, and 
was the only one who shook hands 
with Jim; but in spite of her rather 
offhand manner, Jim sensed in the 
little, black-eyed Irishwoman the real 
commander of the expedition against 
him—for such he knew it to be. 
“You may think it strange of us 
coming after hours,” said she, “but we 
wanted to speak to you, teacher, with¬ 
out the children here.” 
“I wish, more of the parents would 
call,” said Jim. “At any hour of the 
day.” 
“Or night either, I dare say,” sug¬ 
gested Mrs. Bonner. “I hear you’re the 
scholars here at all hours, Jim.” 
J IM smiled his slow patient smile. 
“We do break the union rules, I 
guess, Mrs. Bonner,” said he; “there 
seems to be more to do than we can get 
done during school hours.” 
“What right have ye,” struck in Mrs. 
Bonnei’, “to be burning the district’s 
fuel, and wearing out the school’s prop¬ 
erty out of hours like that—not that 
it’s ^anny of my. business,” she infjer- 
posed, hastily, as if she had been di¬ 
verted from her chosen point of attack. 
“I just thought of it, that’s all. What 
we came for, Mr. Irwin, is to object to 
the way the teachin’s being done—com 
and wheat, and hogs and the like, in¬ 
stead of the learnin’ schools was made 
to teach.” 
“Schools were made to prepare chil¬ 
dren for life, weren’t they, Mrs. 
Bonner?” 
“To be sure,” went on Mrs. Bonner, 
“I can see an’ the whole district can 
see that it’s easier for a man that’s 
been a farm-hand to teach farm-hand 
knowledge, than the learnin’ schools 
was set up to teach; but if so be he 
hasn’t the book education to do the 
right thing, we think he should get out 
and give a real teacher a chance.” 
“What am I neglecting?” asked Jim 
mildly. 
Mrs. Bonner seemed unprepared for 
the question, and sat for an instant 
mute. Mrs. Peterson interposed her 
attack while Mrs. Bonner might be re¬ 
covering her wind. 
^ “We people that have had a hard 
time,” she said in a precise way which 
seemed to show that she knew exactly 
what she wanted, “want to give our 
boys and girls a chance to live easier 
lives than we lived. We don’t want 
our children taught about nothing but 
work. We want higher things.” 
“Mrs. Peterson,” said Jim earnestly, 
“we must have first things first. Mak¬ 
ing a living is the first thing—and the 
highest.” 
^^TLTAAKON and I will look after 
Xi. making a living for our family,” 
said she. “We want our children to 
learn nice things, and go to high school, 
and after a while to the Juniwersity.” 
“And I,” declared Jim, “will send out 
from this school, if you will let me, 
pupils better prepared for higher 
schools than have ever gone from it^ 
because they will be trained to think 
in terms of action. Aren’t you’re chil¬ 
dren happy in school, Mrs. Peterson?” 
“I don’t send them to school to be 
happy,. Yim,” replied Mrs. Peterson, 
calling him by the name most familiarly 
known to all of them; “I send them to 
learn to be higher people than their 
father and mother. That’s what 
America means!” 
“They’ll be higher people—higher 
than their parents—higher than their 
teacher—they’ll be efficient farmers, 
and efficient farmers’ wives. They’ll be 
happy, because they will know how to 
use more brains in farming than any 
lawyer or doctor or merchant can pos¬ 
sibly use in his business.” 
“It’s a fine thing,” said Mrs. Bonner, 
coming to the aid of her fellow soldiers, 
“to work hard for a lifetime, an’ raise 
nothing but a family of farmers! A 
fine thing!” 
“They will be farmers anyhow,” 
cried Jim, “in spite of your efforts— 
ninety out of every hundred of them! 
And of the other ten, nine will be 
wage-earners in the cities, and wish to 
God they were back on the farm; and 
the hundredth one will succeed in the 
city. Shall we educate the ninety-and- 
nine to fail, that the hundredth may 
steal them away to make the city 
stronger?” 
The guns of Mrs. Bonner and Mrs. 
Peterson were silenced for a moment, 
and Mrs. Bronson, after gazing about 
at the typewriter, the hectograph, the 
exhibits of weed seeds, the Babcock 
milk te.ster, and the other unscholastic 
equipment, pointed to the list of words, 
and the arithmetic problems on the 
board. 
“Do you get them words from the 
speller?” she asked. 
“No,” said he, “we got them from a 
lesson on seed wheat.” 
“Did them examples come out of 
an arithmetic book?” cross-examined 
she. 
“No,” said Jim, “we used problems 
we made ourselves. We were figuring 
profits and losses on your cows, Mrs. 
Bronson!” 
“Ezra Bronson,” said Mrs. Bronson 
loftily, “don’t need any help in telling 
what’s a good cow. He was farming 
before you was born!” 
“Like fun, he don’t need help! He’s 
going to dry old Cherry off and fatten 
her for beef; and he can make more 
money on the cream by beefing about 
three more of ’em. The Babcock test 
shows they’re just boarding on us with¬ 
out paying their board!” 
T he delegation of matrons ruffled 
like a ^oup of startled hens at this 
interposition, which was Newton Bron¬ 
son’s effective seizing of the opportunity 
to issue a progress bulletin in the re¬ 
search work on the Bronson dairy herd. 
“Newton!” said his mother, “don’t 
interrupt me when I’m talking to the 
teacher!” • 
“Well, then,” said Newton, “don’t 
tell the teacher that pa knew which 
cows were good and which were poor. 
If anyone in this district wants to 
know about their cows they’ll have to 
come to this shop. And I can tell you 
that it’ll pay ’em to come too, if they’re 
going to make anything selling cream. 
Wait until we get out our reports on 
the herds, ma!” 
The women were rather stampeded 
by this onslaught of the irregular 
troops—especially Mrs. Bronson. She 
was placed in the position of a woman 
taking a man’s wisdom from her ne’er- 
do-well son for the first time in her life. 
Like any other mother in this position, 
she felt a flutter of pride—but it was 
strongly mingled with a motherly de¬ 
sire to ^ spank him. The deputation 
rose, with a unanimous feeling that 
they had been scored upon. 
“Cows!” scoffed Mrs. Peterson. “If 
we leave you in this yob, Mr. Irwin, 
our children will know nothing but cows 
and hens and soils and grains—and 
where will the culture come in? How 
will our boys and girls appear when 
we get fixed so we can move to town? 
We won’t have no culture at all, Yim!” 
“Culture!” exclaimed Jim. “Why 
.—why, after ten years of the sort of 
school I would give you if I were a 
better teacher, and could have my way, 
the people of the cities would be beg¬ 
ging to have their children admitted so 
that they might obtain real culture— 
culture fitting them for life in the 
twentieth century—” 
“Don’t bother to get ready for the 
city children, Jim,” said Mrs. Bonner 
sneeringly, “you won’t be teaching the 
Woodruff school that long.” 
All this time, the dark-faced Cracker 
had been glooming from a corner, 
earnestly seeking to fathom the wrong¬ 
ness he sensed in the gathering. Now 
he came forward. 
“I reckon I may be making a mis¬ 
take to say anything,” said he, “f’r 
we-all is strangers hyeh, an’ we’re pore; 
but I must speak out for Mr. Jim—I 
must! Don’t turn him out, folks, f’r 
he’s done mo’ f’r us than eveh any¬ 
one done in the world!” 
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. 
Peterson. 
“I mean,” said Raymond, “that when 
Mr. Jim began talking school to us, we 
was a pore no-’count lot without any 
learnin’, with nothin’ to talk about 
except our wrongs, an’ our enemies, and 
the meanness of the Iowa folks. You 
see we didn’t understand you-all. An’ 
now, we done got hope from this school. 
We’re goin’ to make good in the world. 
We’re getting education. We’re all 
learnin’ to use books. My little sister 
will be as good as anybody, if you’ll 
just let Mr. Jim alone in this school— 
as good as anyone. An’ I’ll he’p pap 
get a farm, and we’ll work, and think, 
an’ be happy!” 
CHAPTER IX 
JENNIE ARRANGES A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
T he great party magnates who made 
up the tickets from governor down 
to the lowest county office, doubtless re¬ 
garded the little political plum shaken 
off into the apron of Miss Jennie Wood¬ 
ruff of the Woodruff District, as the 
very smallest of all the plums on the 
tree; but there is something which tends 
to puff one up in the mere fact of having 
received the votes of the people for any 
office. Jennie was a sensible country 
girl. But she did feel some little sense 
of increased importance as she drove 
her father’s little runabout over the 
smooth earth roads, in the crisp De¬ 
cember weather. 
The weather itself was stimulating, 
and she was making rapid progress in 
the management of the little ca^ which 
her father had offered to lend her for 
use in visiting the one hundred or more 
rural schools soon to come under her 
supervision. 
Mr. Haakon Peterson was phleg¬ 
matically conscious that she made 
rather an agreeable picture as she 
stopped her car alongside his top buggy 
to talk with him. She had bright blue 
eyes, fluffy brown hair, a complexion 
whipped pink by the breeze, and she 
smiled at him ingratiatingly. 
“Don’t you think father is lovely?” 
said she. “He is going to let me use 
the runabout when I visit the schools.” 
“That will be good,” said Haakon. 
“It will save you lots of time. I hope 
you make the county pay for the gaso¬ 
line.” 
“I haven’t thought about that,” said 
Jennie. “Everybody’s been so nice to 
me—I want to give as well as receive.” 
“Why,” said Haakon, “you will yust 
begin to receive when your salary be¬ 
gins in Yanuary.” 
“Oh, no!” said Jennie. “I’ve received 
muph more than that now! You don’t 
know how proud I feel. So many nice 
men I_ never knew before, and all my 
old friends like you working for me, 
just as if I amounted to something.” 
“And you don’t know how proud I 
feel,” said Haakon, “to have in county 
office a little girl I used to hold on my 
lap.” 
I 
I N early times, when Haakon was a 
flat-capped immigrant boy, he had 
earned the initial payment on his first 
eighty acres of prairie land as a hired 
man on Colonel Woodruff’s farm. Now 
he was a rather richer man than the 
colonel, and not a little proud of his 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED 
J IM IRWIN’S school is going 
strong, but the community, 
which elected him teacher to 
break a deadlock, is scandalized 
by his “notions.” The children, 
however, flock to help him judge 
seed corn, work out problems 
drawn from everyday farm life 
and argue about different breeds 
of dairy cattle. Firmest among 
his adherents are Newton Bron¬ 
son, former village problem, and 
Raymond Simms, the misunder¬ 
stood mountain boy. Against him 
are pitted the school board and 
public opinion, while Jennie 
Woodruff, his old sweetheart, has 
gon6 over to the enemy since Jim 
showed lukewarm enthusiasm on 
her election as county superin¬ 
tendent, an office she holds be¬ 
cause of political favor. 
ascent to affluence. He was a mild- 
spoken, soft-voiced Scandinavian, quite 
completely Americanized, and pos¬ 
sessed of that aptitude for local poli¬ 
tics which makes so good a citizen of 
the Norwegian and Swede. His influ¬ 
ence was always worth fifty to sixty 
Scandinavian votes in any county elec¬ 
tion. He was a good party man and 
conscious, of being entitled to his voice 
in party matters. This seemed to him 
an opportunity for exerting a bit of 
political influence. 
“Yennie,” said he, “this man Yim 
Irwin needs to be lined up.” 
“Lined up! What do you mean?” 
“The way he is doing in the school,” 
said Haakon, “is all wrong. If you 
can’t line him up, he will make you 
trouble. We must look ahead. Every¬ 
body has friends, and Yim Irwin has 
his. If you have trouble with him, his 
friends will be against you'when we 
{Continued on page 628) 
