The day passed. Four o'clock came. In order that all might reach home for supper, there was no staying, except 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 blackboards 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," "viability," "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 before them, a gaunt shabby-looking revolutionist at the bar of settled usage and fixed public opinion. Mrs. Haakon Peterson was a tall blonde woman who, when she spoke betrayed 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." She was slow-spoken and dignified, and Jim felt an instinctive respect for her personality. Mrs. Bronson 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 most 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, without 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," suggested Mrs. Bonner. "I hear you've the scholars here at all hours, Jim." Jim 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. Bonner, "to be burning the district's fuel, and wearing out the school's property out of hours like that--not that it's anny of my business," she interposed, hastily, as if she had been diverted 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--corn and wheat, and hogs and the like, instead of the learnin' schools was made to teach." "Schools were made to prepare children for life, weren't they, Mrs. Bonner?"