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Updated: May 14, 2025
"No, dear chil'run; but grasp hold, every one, the ropes, the cawds, the shawt chil'run reaching up shawtly, the long chil'run the more longly." Few understood his words, but they quietly caught the idea, and yielded themselves eagerly to his arranging hand. The highest grasp was Claude's. There was a little empty space under it, and then one only of Sidonie's hands, timid, smooth, and brown.
My chil'run and fellow-citizen' of Gran' Point', he is nominated for George Washington, the father of his country! Sir, ah you not a relation?" "I really can't tell you," said the writer, with a calm smile. "I've always been too busy to look it up." He finished his signature as he talked. Bonaventure bent over it. "Tar-box.
"Name any class, exclusively at random, and you shall see with what promptness and quietude the chil'run shall take each one their exactly co'ect places." "Oh, I understand. You want me to designate" "Any class! at yo' caprice." "Well, if you have third class in geography." "Or spelling?" cried Bonaventure, a momentary look of dismay giving place to fresh enthusiasm. "Yes spell I meant spelling."
Sidonie, once more the school's queen-flower, sat calm, with just a trace of tears adding a subtle something to her beauty. "Chil'run, beloved chil'run," said Bonaventure, standing once more by his desk, "yo' school-teacher has the blame of the sole mistake; and, sir, gladly, oh, gladly, sir, would he always have the blame rather than any of his beloved school-chil'run!
With very earnest tenderness it was done, some grave word of inspiration going before each caress; but when at last he said, "To-morrow, dear chil'run, the school-bell shall ring in Gran' Point'!" and turned to finish with Sidonie she was gone.
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