on the circle, they began with a quiet play they call ‘Silent Greeting,’ and oh, Margery, they chose me to come in, of their own accord!  When I walked into the circle to greet that smallest Walker baby my heart beat like a trip-hammer, I was so afraid I should do something wrong, and they would never ask me in again.  Then we played ‘The Hen and Chickens,’ and afterward something about the birds in the greenwood; and one of the make-believe birds flew to me (I was a tree, you know, a whispering elm-tree), and built its nest in my branches, and then I smoothed its feathers and sang to it as the others had done, and it was like heaven!  After the play was over, we modeled clay birds; and just as we were making the tables tidy, Professor Hohlweg came in and asked Miss Denison to come into the large hall to play for the marching, as the music-teacher was absent.  Then what did Miss Denison do but turn to me and say, ’Miss Oliver, you get on so nicely with the children, would you mind telling them some little story for me?  I shall be gone only ten or fifteen minutes.’  Oh, Margery, it was awful!  I was more frightened than when I was asked to come into the circle; but the children clapped their hands and cried, ‘Yes, yes, tell us a story!’ I could only think of ‘The Hen that Hatched Ducks,’ but I sat down and began, and, as I talked, I took my clay bird and molded it into a hen, so that they would look at me whether they listened or not.  Of course, one of the big seven-year-old boys began to whisper and be restless, but I handed him a large lump of clay and asked him to make a nest and some eggs for my hen, and that soon absorbed his attention.  They listened so nicely,—­you can hardly believe how nicely they listened!  When I finished I looked at the clock.  It had been nine minutes, and I could n’t think what to do the other dreadful minutes till Miss Denison should come back.  At last my eye fell on the blackboard, and that gave me an idea.  I drew a hen’s beak and then a duck’s, a hen’s foot and then a duck’s, to show them the difference.  Just then Miss Denison came in softly, and I confess I was bursting with pride and delight.  There was the blackboard with the sketches, not very good ones, it is true, the clay hen and nest and eggs, and all the children sitting quietly in their wee red chairs.  And Miss Denison said, ’How charming of you to carry out the idea of the morning so nicely!  My dear little girl, you were made for this sort of thing, did you know it?’”

“Well, I should n’t think you had patience enough for any sort of teaching,” said Margery candidly.

“Neither did I suppose so myself, and I have n’t any patience to spare, that is, for boarders, or dishes, or beds; but I love children so dearly that they never try my patience as other things do.”

“You have had the play side of the kindergarten, Polly, while Miss Denison had the care.  There must be a work-a-day side to it; I’m sure Miss Denison very often looks tired to death.”