The children in Valley Grove School had an insatiable curiosity concerning unfamiliar things, which annoyed Miss Freeman, their teacher, exceedingly. She was a city woman, with no idea of the restricted lives her pupils lived. They were crudely inquisitive, coming from homes which were morally wholesome, but uncultured or even boorish in manners. Miss Freeman was anxious to help them, but was very young and not well prepared. She went home every week-end, and every day the carrier left a letter for her at the schoolhouse. She wore pretty clothes, which the little girls admired greatly. One day Maggie Linton touched the silken sweater which they all liked so much, and then Erna wondered how it felt to wear such a garment; and the result was that Ollie Bain put on sweater, hat and gloves, and was turning around in a small circle of admiring femininity when Miss Freeman came into the hall. “Why, you naughty girls!” she exclaimed. “You mustn’t touch other people’s things. Take them off, Ollie. You may look at them, but you mustn’t handle them; hasn’t your mother taught you that? Look how dirty your hands are, Ollie. I’ll have to have my gloves cleaned.” She was not angry, for she liked the children and had a good disposition. But she failed to _use_ the girls’ curiosity, and she failed to generalize the principles that teach children when curiosity may be satisfied and when it must be controlled. “Teacher, why do you get a letter every day, and who writes it?” Carl Voegling asked the question one rainy recess, while all the other children stood at ecstatic attention to hear what the answer would be. “Carl, that’s not any of your business, and you are not to ask me personal questions,” Miss Freeman answered. The children saw her cheeks grow pink, and, having been brought up to think it legitimate fun to tease people, they continued slyly to refer to the letters throughout the year. [Sidenote: Watching Mail] One day, the teacher came into the hall to find George Funk examining the envelope of the letter that had come that morning. She was very angry this time, and told George, a boy of twelve, to stay in at recess for a week. She thought she had come just in time to prevent his opening and reading the letter, and told him that after this she would keep her mail in the desk, since she could not trust her pupils out of her sight. George had not really meant to read the letter, and feeling that her remarks were unjust, became very sullen. When the week was almost up, Miss Freeman herself had an impulse of curiosity. “Why did you want to read my letter, George?” she asked. “I didn’t want to read your letter,” he answered. “I just wanted to see the postmark.” “But what good would that do you?” “Well, I wanted to know where it was from.” “But why? You know I like you, George,” in a sudden rush of compunction at the hurt, sullen look on George’s face; “do tell me, why did you want to know where it was from?”