About half of her pupils, she decided, were worthy of the affection she
had bestowed upon them. The remainder were ungrateful, incorrigible
hoodlums. There had been times when Ruth wondered if the task of
teaching was worth while.

A good teacher must not be vindictive; and Ruth was trying her best to
keep alive the spark of mercy and compassion that threatened to burn
itself out.

Despite her apparent calm--the outward sign of cold self-control--Ruth's
face revealed indications of the terrific struggle that was going on
within her. Her face was pale, and though her eyes seemed to smile,
there was a gleam far back in them that suggested thoughts of force,
instant, vicious. Also there was wrath in them--wrath that threatened to
break with volcanic fury.

The girl was of medium height, and yet she seemed to be almost tall as
she stood on the platform. She was erect, her head was held high. She
was slender, with a gracefully rounded figure, but as she stood there,
her muscles straining, her chest swelling with the passion she was
trying to suppress, she must have appeared Amazonic to the culprits
whose crimes had goaded her to thoughts of corporal punishment.

It was not difficult to single out the culprits. There were two, and
they sat defiantly in their seats, sneering their contempt of the
teacher's wrath, advertising their entire disregard for the restraining
influence of rules.

Both were boys. The larger, freckle-faced, with an uptilted nose and
belligerent eyes, was fully as tall as Ruth. He was broad and muscular,