efficiency pocket; another a discipline pocket; another a pocket for
methods; another for professional spirit; another for loyalty to all
the folks who are in need of loyalty, and so on. I really do not
know all the labels. When I was examined for a license to teach they
counted my pockets, and, finding I had the requisite nineteen, they
bestowed upon me the coveted document with something approaching
_eclat_. In my teaching I become so bewildered ransacking these
pockets, trying to find something that will bear some resemblance to
the label, that I come near forgetting the boys and girls. But they
are very nice and polite about it, and seem to feel sorry that I must
look after all my pockets when I'd so much rather be teaching.

Out in the willow thicket I can go right on with my work without so
much care or perplexity. Why, I don't need to do any talking out
there, and so have time to do some thinking. But here I do so much
talking that neither I nor my pupils have any chance for thinking. I
know it is not the right way, but, somehow, I keep on doing it. I
think it must be a bad habit, but I don't do it when I am grubbing
willows. I seem to get to the bottom of things out there without
talking, and I can't make out why I don't do the same here in the
school. Out there I do things; in here I say things. I do wonder if
there is any forgiveness for a schoolmaster who uses so many words
and gets such meagre results.

And then the words I use here are such ponderous things. They are
not the sort of human, flesh-and-blood words that I use when talking
to neighbor John as we sit on top of the rail fence. These all seem
so like words in a book, as if I had rehearsed them in advance. It
may be just the town atmosphere, but, whatever it is, I do wish I
could talk to these children about decimals in the same sort of words