JESS by S. Jennie Smith

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 16, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 16.

JESS

By S. Jennie Smith

BY S. JENNIE SMITH.

Great, dark eyes, an unruly mop of hair, a plain gingham dress, and shoes that were neat and strong, but in no manner fancy—this partly describes Jess as I saw her on the front stoop of a brick house playing school with a number of other children. Jess was not the teacher, but she seemed to be the teacher’s ready assistant, for she arranged the scholars in their seats, hunted up books enough to go around, and then helped the babies of the class to sit still while the opening exercises were gone through with. The car ahead of the one that I was in had run off the track, bringing ours to a standstill right near the spot where the children were playing, so I passed the time pleasantly watching the progress of the school.

“Celle Brown will take a bad mark for getting up,” said the teacher, looking sternly at a very little girl.

“O, she’s such a wee bit of a thing, Miss Bardeen! You’ll excuse her this time, won’t you?”

Jess put her arms around the child as she spoke, and the caresses, added to the tender words, soothed the wounded feelings of the little one.

“Well, this time, then, but she mustn’t get up again,” was the softened reply.

“Our new teacher’s coming to-morrow,” remarked another girl; “I wonder if she will be kind?”

“Mama says that teachers are always kind to good children, but I’m just as anxious to see her as I can be.”

“I’m going to get to school early in the morning so as to see her first.”

“I can’t do that,” said Jess, “because I help mama with the dishes before I go.”

“Scholars, stop talking,” commanded Miss Bardeen.

At that moment another small girl appeared on the scene and looked wistfully on the group.

“Suppose we let her play,” coaxed Jess.

“There ain’t enough books,” argued Miss Bardeen.

“She can have mine,” said Jess; “I can look on Jennie’s.”

“Very well; come on, then, Kate Broderick, but I do hate scholars to come in at this hour.”

So Kate smilingly took her place in the

class. Then two little sisters made a disturbance by attempting to play a game.

“Please, Miss Bardeen, may I sit between Alice and Sarah Miller?” Jess asked aloud; and in a tone meant to be a whisper, but which I plainly heard, she added, “They don’t know that they mustn’t play together in school, and it’s the best thing to do.”

“All right.”

So quiet was again restored, only to be broken this time by myself. Finding that the cars were not likely to go for several minutes yet, I thought perhaps I could walk the rest of the distance. Therefore, I left the car, and, going up to the children, inquired, “Can any of you tell me where Miss Hastings lives?”

Miss Bardeen turned very politely to me, and answered: “Right at the corner of Willow Street. It’s on your left, and is a large white house.”

“Thank you, but how am I to know Willow Street? Shall I find the name anywhere?”

“Would you like me to go with you and show you?” asked Jess timidly. “It might save you some trouble.”

I thanked the little girl for her offer, the young teacher excused her, and we started down the street. On our way we passed a good-sized brick building.

“Is that your schoolhouse?” I inquired.

“Yes, ma’am; it’s a very nice school, too, and in our class we’re expecting a new teacher to-morrow.”

“It does look like a pleasant place. Are the scholars as pleasant as the building?”

“I think so,” the child answered readily; “all those children you saw on that stoop go to that school, except, of course, the babies. There’s Ida Bardeen—the one that’s playing teacher—she is a very nice girl, and smart, too—smart as can be. And Sally Mill, she never misses her lessons. Then Josie Matthews can do her arithmetic like anything, and Susie Williams is a beautiful reader. Altogether, we have a pretty nice set of children in this neighborhood. I think the new teacher will like them; don’t you?”

“Probably she will,” I answered; “but are none of them naughty?”

“Well, not to say real bad,” she said slowly, as if she wished to speak the truth without talking against her companions; “of course, some have faults, but they mean to be good.”

“And how about Jess?”

The child looked up in surprise at the mention of her name. She was not aware that I had been an audience of one at the opening of school. At last she replied—

“Mama says that I’m only a commonplace little girl that can’t do anything extra well, so I must make up for it by being very good.”

“And are you good?”

“I try to be,” she answered softly, “but sometimes it’s hard, though.”

We had reached the large white house, and as I turned to go in, I said, “It was very kind of you, dear, to walk all this way with me, and to reward you I’m going to tell you a secret: I am the new teacher.”

An expression of mingled astonishment and delight came into the child’s face, and then she said, “I am so glad.” Just before going she remarked, somewhat bashfully, as if she stood a little more in awe of me now that she knew I was the teacher, “I think you will like our school children.”

“Very likely I shall,” I answered; but one thing I knew, I was sure to like Jess, with her kind heart, her contented disposition, and the way she had of speaking a good word for everybody. Sally’s perfect lessons, Ida’s brightness, and Josie Matthew’s skill at arithmetic, would certainly delight any teacher, but what were they to be compared with the peace that was sure to reign where dear, commonplace little Jess came with her sweet influence?—N. Y. Observer.