“Henry, I noticed the collie snapping at one of the little girls today, and I think we shall have to ask him to stay at home after this. But he is such a bright little fellow we shall miss him. Don’t you think it would be fine for the children to take his picture before he goes? How would you like to get him into a good position when the drawing period comes and let the children use him for a model?” Henry was proud to have his pet honored, stood by him patiently while the children drew, and made no further insistence that he should come to school. ILLUSTRATION 2 (HIGH SCHOOL) [Sidenote: A Live Mouse] A practical joke loses all of its point when nobody is annoyed or made ridiculous by it. A teacher who tactfully makes himself seem one of a group who is deriving benefit from an experiment, wins the respect of his students. Such a teacher was the high school instructor in science, whose attention was directed to a mischievous pupil, by a girl’s seemingly nervous fear of this fun-loving boy. Cautious investigation revealed the fact that a living mouse was in the wide-mouthed bottle which protruded from the joker’s pocket. This principal told the boy that it would be instructive fun to let the mouse loose in the building and see what the timid little thing would do, but that such a course of action would endanger the future safety of books, lunches, etc., left in the building. He, therefore, advised that, at the coming recess, all who did not fear the mouse, form a large circle in the school yard and that the mouse be let loose in the center of the circle. And that all observe closely just what the little animal did. At recess, the principal himself joined the circle, asking the boys to notice carefully whether or not the mouse would change his course to avoid a shouting student. After the mouse was experimented upon and killed the mischief-maker began to wonder why it was that he was glad that he had not annoyed the principal with the mouse, as he had intended to do. CASE 89 (EIGHTH GRADE) [Sidenote: Teasing Rhymes] “Hey Diddle Diddle! Parts his hair in the middle!” This was the couplet that greeted John Fraser as he entered his eighth grade room one September noon. Above the couplet was a portrait of himself, the style of his hair indicated very clearly. He erased the decorations hastily, but said nothing about it. He was very young, however, and the thoughtless disrespect shown him hurt sadly. A day or two passed, during which he noticed the covert amusement at his faultlessly pressed clothes, his punctilious manners, his careful grooming, all new and strange to the crude little town in the Southwest in which he taught. Then, one noon, he entered the room from the playground to find a rough cartoon on the board, labeled, “Mr. Fraser pressing his pants to make creases at 2 a.m.” The pupils were vastly entertained by it.