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International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Nov 12, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 43.

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Thistles.

Miss Edgerton's “High School for Young Ladies” was advertised to re-open on the 15th of September, as indeed it had done for forty years, except when the 15th came on Saturday or Sunday. Even a Friday fifteenth did not interfere with Miss Edgerton's rule, the High School being much too “high” to have any superstition about Friday.
This fifteenth of which I write happened on a Tuesday, and the dear old lady who had begun life as a teacher here in this very village of Lauderdale by teaching the mothers of all these girls, saw her school-room well filled on this first day of the session.
It was a little strange, of course, that in this advanced and advancing age an old lady of sixty should still hold the best patronage of Lauderdale. But if ever anybody in this world knew how to make things that were pure and of good report seem lovely too, it was Miss Edgerton. Session after session, the faults and foibles that are sure to be found among twenty-five girls, came under her clear-sighted notice; and year after year her tender grace, her ready tact, waged a marvellously successful battle with these enemies to good character.
Barely had a week of school days passed over the dark-haired and fair-haired lassies of this session, when Miss Edgerton made her first move in the battle.
She always made a point of being a great deal with her girls in their “off” hours, and no sacrifice of her own ease stood in her way, when she had a chance to draw the young hearts nearer to her.
It was really quite funny to see them pulling her around when it was time for the homeward walk; for it was held to be a great treat to have her escort them home, and, old lady as she was, she often humored them by walking three times the distance between the school building and her boarding-house, to see one and another home.
The High School was a little off from the edge of the town, and a charmingly shady and grassy lane led to the gate of its well-kept lawn.
As the whole school flocked townward, one afternoon in September, along the lane now bright with the changing leaves, with golden rod and asters, Miss Edgerton walked in their midst, but less gay and responsive than usual.
“I know what makes you so solemncholy to-day, Miss E.,” said a mischievous girl, giving her shawl a saucy pull; “but if you'll smile and look chirpy, I'll never spell separate with an ‘e’ in the middle any more!”
“Miss E.” (this was her school name) did smile, but rather gravely; and after the chatter and laughter that followed Essie's quiz had quieted, she said, “No, girls, I was just thinking how poor I was likely to be this session.”
“Poor”—what did the old lady mean? She had had a comfortable living all her life, and had enough and to spare, what could be the matter?
The girls were silent with surprise, and so Miss Edgerton had gained her first point,—their interested attention.
“You see,” she went on, “I have made myself a large missionary box, a very large one, and yet I fear not large enough; and I have resolved that every time one of my girls speaks harshly or uncharitably, I will drop a silver dime into it. I don't see very well how I can afford so many dimes; still I mean to do it this whole session, if I have to live on bread and water and go without a new frock.”
The silence with which the girls had listened to this surprising statement was broken when they saw a little twinkle in the teacher's eye.
“Oh, that's a joke”—“You're only hinting”—“You don't mean it,” cried one and another.
“Now, Miss E.,” said Essie, rather poutingly, “what is the great harm of criticising our neighbors a little? We're all willing to be pulled to pieces in our turn.”
Miss Edgerton stopped and pulled a pod from a tall prickly bush of purple thistle; its flowering days were over, seed-time had come, and the browned cup was packed full of light seeds, each one furnished with a white wing, ready for sailing. To the surprise of her young companions, the teacher leaned over the fence and with a single puff of breath blew the shining things over into the freshly plowed field.
“Have I done any harm, Essie?” she asked, gravely.
“I fancy Mr. Griffith will think so next spring,” answered the girl, more soberly than usual.
“Yet two whole seasons, a fall and a winter, will pass before he even knows the mischief I have done, unless I tell him, as I certainly shall. And all your idle words, if you allow the devil to tip them with seeds of envy, hatred, and uncharitableness, will sprout and grow and do damage somewhere. I am going to bring my box to school to-morrow.”
True to her word, the missionary box made its appearance; and Miss Edgerton carried out her plan, with this amendment, proposed by Essie, voted upon and carried by the whole school, that for every idle criticism, unkind in tone, the offender should drop her dime in on top of the teacher's.
I am compelled to say that the box grew very heavy as the days went by; but then you never saw girls so surprisingly careful about their idle words as these High School pupils who paid tribute for them to Miss Edgerton's missionary box!—Work at Home.