The Rainbow

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 torture-place.

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 forgive 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 forgotten, 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?