Harby could bear； and she herself could not。
Though she did not give in； she never succeeded。 Her class
was getting in worse condition； she knew herself less and less
secure in teaching it。 Ought she to withdraw and go home again？
Ought she to say she had e to the wrong place； and so retire？
Her very life was at test。
She went on doggedly； blindly； waiting for a crisis。 Mr。
Harby had now begun to persecute her。 Her dread and hatred of
him grew and loomed larger and larger。 She was afraid he was
going to bully her and destroy her。 He began to persecute her
because she could not keep her class in proper condition；
because her class was the weak link in the chain which made up
the school。
One of the offences was that her class was noisy and
disturbed Mr。 Harby； as he took Standard Seven at the other end
of the room。 She was taking position on a certain morning；
walking in among the scholars。 Some of the boys had dirty ears
and necks； their clothing smelled unpleasantly； but she could
ignore it。 She corrected the writing as she went。
〃When you say 'their fur is brown'； how do you write
'their'？〃 she asked。
There was a little pause； the boys were always jeeringly
backward in answering。 They had begun to jeer at her authority
altogether。
〃Please； miss； their〃； spelled a lad； loudly； with a note
of mockery。
At that moment Mr。 Harby was passing。
〃Stand up； Hill！〃 he called； in a big voice。
Everybody started。 Ursula watched the boy。 He was evidently
poor； and rather cunning。 A stiff bit of hair stood straight off
his forehead； the rest fitted close to his meagre head。 He was
pale and colourless。
〃Who told you to call out？〃 thundered Mr。 Harby。
The boy looked up and down； with a guilty air； and a cunning；
cynical reserve。
〃Please； sir； I was answering；〃 he replied； with the same
humble insolence。
〃Go to my desk。〃
The boy set off down the room； the big black jacket hanging
in dejected folds about him； his thin legs； rather knocked at
the knees； going already with the pauper's crawl； his feet in
their big boots scarcely lifted。 Ursula watched him in his
crawling； slinking progress down the room。 He was one of her
boys！ When he got to the desk； he looked round； half furtively；
with a sort of cunning grin and a pathetic leer at the big boys
in Standard VII。 Then； pitiable； pale； in his dejected garments；
he lounged under the menace of the headmaster's desk； with one
thin leg crooked at the knee and the foot struck out sideways
his hands in the lowhanging pockets of his man's jacket。
Ursula tried to get her attention back to the class。 The boy
gave her a little horror； and she was at the same time hot with
pity for him。 She felt she wanted to scream。 She was responsible
for the boy's punishment。 Mr。 Harby was looking at her
handwriting on the board。 He turned to the class。
〃Pens down。〃
The children put down their pens and looked up。
〃Fold arms。〃
They pushed back their books and folded arms。
Ursula； stuck among the back forms； could not extricate
herself。
〃What is your position about？〃 asked the
headmaster。 Every hand shot up。 〃The 〃 stuttered
some voice in its eagerness to answer。
〃I wouldn't advise you to call out；〃 said Mr。 Harby。 He would
have a pleasant voice； full and musical； but for the detestable
menace that always tailed in it。 He stood unmoved； his eyes
twinkling under his bushy black eyebrows； watching the class。
There was something fascinating in him； as he stood； and again
she wanted to scream。 She was all jarred； she did not know what
she felt。
〃Well； Alice？〃 he said。
〃The rabbit；〃 piped a girl's voice。
〃A very easy subject for Standard Five。〃
Ursula felt a slight shame of inpetence。 She was exposed
before the class。 And she was tormented by the contradictoriness
of everything。 Mr。 Harby stood so strong； and so male； with his
black brows and clear forehead； the heavy jaw； the big；
overhanging moustache： such a man； with strength and male power；
and a certain blind； native beauty。 She might have liked him as
a man。 And here he stood in some other capacity； bullying over
such a trifle as a boy's speaking out without permission。 Yet he
was not a little； fussy man。 He seemed to have some cruel；
stubborn； evil spirit； he was imprisoned in a task too small and
petty for him； which yet； in a servile acquiescence； he would
fulfil； because he had to earn his living。 He had no finer
control over himself； only this blind； dogged； wholesale will。
He would keep the job going； since he must。 And this job was to
make the children spell the word 〃caution〃 correctly； and put a
capital letter after a fullstop。 So at this he hammered with
his suppressed hatred； always suppressing himself； till he was
beside himself。 Ursula suffered； bitterly as he stood； short and
handsome and powerful； teaching her class。 It seemed such a
miserable thing for him to be doing。 He had a decent； powerful；
rude soul。 What did he care about the position on 〃The
Rabbit〃？ Yet his will kept him there before the class； threshing
the trivial subject。 It was habit with him now； to be so little
and vulgar； out of place。 She saw the shamefulness of his
position； felt the fettered wickedness in him which would blaze
out into evil rage in the long run； so that he was like a
persistent； strong creature tethered。 It was really intolerable。
The jarring was torture to her。 She looked over the silent；
attentive class that seemed to have crystallized into order and
rigid； neutral form。 This he had it in his power to do； to
crystallize the children into hard； mute fragments； fixed under
his will： his brute will； which fixed them by sheer force。
She too must learn to subdue them to her will： she must。 For
it was her duty； since the school was such。 He had crystallized
the class into order。 But to see him； a strong； powerful man；
using all his power for such a purpose； seemed almost horrible。
There was something hideous about it。 The strange； genial light
in his eye was really vicious； and ugly； his smile was one of
torture。 He could not be impersonal。 He could not have a clear；
pure purpose； he could only exercise his own brute will。 He did
not believe in the least in the education he kept inflicting
year after year upon the children。 So he must bully； only bully；
even while it tortured his strong； wholesome nature with shame
like a spur always galling。 He was so blind and ugly and out of
place。 Ursula could not bear it as he stood there。 The whole
situation was wrong and ugly。
The lesson was finished； Mr。 Harby went away。 At the far end
of the room she heard the whistle and the thud of the cane。 Her
heart stood still within her。 She could not bear it； no； she
could not bear it when the boy was beaten。 It made her sick。 She
felt that she must go out of this school； this tortureplace。
And she hated the schoolmaster； thoroughly and finally。 The
brute； had he no shame？ He should never be allowed to continue
the atrocity of this bullying cruelty。 Then Hill came crawling
back； blubbering piteously。 There was something desolate about
this blubbering that nearly broke her heart。 For after all； if
she had kept her class in proper discipline； this would never
have happened； Hill would never have called out and been
caned。
She began the arithmetic lesson。 But she was distracted。 The
boy Hill sat away on the back desk； huddled up； blubbering and
sucking his hand。 It was a long time。 She dared not go near； nor
speak to him。 She felt ashamed before him。 And she felt she
could not five the boy for being the huddled； blubbering
object； all wet and snivelled； which he was。
She went on correcting the sums。 But there were too many
children。 She could not get round the class。 And Hill was on her
conscience。 At last he had stopped crying； and sat bunched over
his hands； playing quietly。 Then he looked up at her。 His face
was dirty with tears； his eyes had a curious washed look； like
the sky after rain； a sort of wanness。 He bore no malice。 He had
already fotten； and was waiting to be restored to the normal
position。
〃Go on with your work； Hill；〃 she said。
The children were playing over their arithmetic； and； she
knew； cheating thoroughly。 She wrote another sum on the
blackboard。 She could not get round the class。 She went again to
the front to watch。 Some were ready。 Some were not。 What was she
to do？
At last it was time for recreation。 She gave the order to
cease working； and in some way or other got her class out of the
room。 Then she faced the disorderly litter of blotted；
uncorrected books； of broken rulers and chewed pens。 And her
heart sank in sickness。 The misery was getting deeper。
The trouble went on and on； day after day。 She had always
piles of books to mark； myriads of errors to correct； a
heartwearying task that she loathed。 And the work got worse and
worse。 When she tried to flatter herself that the position
grew more alive； more interesting； she had to see that the
handwriting grew more and more slovenly； the books more filthy
and disgraceful。 She tried what she could； but it was of no use。
But she was not going to take it seriously。 Why should she？ Why
should she say to herself； that it mattered； if she failed to
teach a class to write perfectly neatly？ Why should she take the
blame unto herself？
Pay day came； and she received four pounds two shillings and
one penny。 She was very proud that day。 She had never had so
much money before。 And she had earned it all herself。 She sat on
the top of the tramcar fingering the gold and fearing she might
lose it。 She felt so established and strong； because of it。 And
when she got home she said to her mother：
〃It is pay day today； mother。〃
〃Ay；〃 said her mother； coolly。
Then Ursula put down fifty shillings on the table。
〃That is my board；〃 she said。
〃Ay；〃 said her mother； letting it lie。
Ursula was hurt。 Yet she had paid her scot。 She was free。 She
paid for what she had。 There remained moreover thirtytwo
shillings of her own。 She would not spend any； she who was
naturally a spendthrift； because she could not bear to damage
her fine gold。
She had a standing ground now apart from her parents。 She was
somet