good original work." Mr. Crittenden warned me at the outset, "Keep an
eye out or they'll run over you." But I never had anything but
kindness from my pupils. I realized that cheerful, courteous requests
were wiser than commands, and sincere friendship more winning than
"Teachery" primness. I knew of an unpopular instructor who, being
annoyed by his pupils throwing a few peanuts at his desk, said, "Young
men, if you throw another peanut, I shall leave the room." A shower of
peanuts followed.

So, when I went to my largest class in the big chapel, and saw one of
my most interesting girls sitting on that immense Bible on the pulpit
looking at me in merry defiance, and kicking her heels against the
woodwork below, I did not appear to see her, and began the exercises,
hoping fervently that one of the detectives who were always on watch
might providentially appear. Before long I saw one come to the door,
look in with an amazed expression, only to bring two of the faculty to
release the young lady from her uneasy pre-eminence.

I hardly knew my own name at the Packer Institute. The students called
me "Canary," I suppose on account of my yellow hair and rather high
treble voice; Mr. Crittenden always spoke to me as Miss "Sunburn," and
when my laundry was returned, it was addressed to "Miss Lampoon."

Beecher was to me the clerical miracle of his age--a man of
extraordinary personal magnetism, with power to rouse laughter and
right away compel tears, I used to listen often to his marvellous
sermons. I can see him now as he went up the middle aisle in winter
wearing a clumsy overcoat, his face giving the impression of heavy,
coarse features, thick lips, a commonplace nose, eyes that lacked
expression, nothing to give any idea of the man as he would look after