like to try it？〃
〃I should love to；〃 said Ursula。
Her own dinner seemed coarse and ugly beside this savoury；
clean dish。
〃I've never eaten vegetarian things；〃 she said。 〃But I should
think they can be good。〃
〃I'm not really a vegetarian；〃 said Maggie； 〃I don't like to
bring meat to school。〃
〃No；〃 said Ursula； 〃I don't think I do either。〃
And again her soul rang an answer to a new refinement； a new
liberty。 If all vegetarian things were as nice as this； she
would be glad to escape the slight uncleanness of meat。
〃How good！〃 she cried。
〃Yes；〃 said Miss Schofield； and she proceeded to tell her the
receipt。 The two girls passed on to talk about themselves。
Ursula told all about the High School； and about her
matriculation； bragging a little。 She felt so poor here； in this
ugly place。 Miss Schofield listened with brooding； handsome
face； rather gloomy。
〃Couldn't you have got to some better place than this？〃 she
asked at length。
〃I didn't know what it was like；〃 said Ursula；
doubtfully。
〃Ah！〃 said Miss Schofield； and she turned aside her head with
a bitter motion。
〃Is it as horrid as it seems？〃 asked Ursula； frowning
lightly； in fear。
〃It is；〃 said Miss Schofield； bitterly。 〃Ha！it is
hateful！〃
Ursula's heart sank； seeing even Miss Schofield in the deadly
bondage。
〃It is Mr。 Harby；〃 said Maggie Schofield； breaking forth。
〃I don't think I could live again in the big
roomMr。 Brunt's voice and Mr。
Harbyah〃
She turned aside her head with a deep hurt。 Some things she
could not bear。
〃Is Mr。 Harby really horrid？〃 asked Ursula； venturing into
her own dread。
〃He！why； he's just a bully；〃 said Miss Schofield；
raising her shamed dark eyes； that flamed with tortured
contempt。 〃He's not bad as long as you keep in with him； and
refer to him； and do everything in his waybutit's
all so mean！ It's just a question of fighting on both
sidesand those great louts〃
She spoke with difficulty and with increased bitterness。 She
had evidently suffered。 Her soul was raw with ignominy。 Ursula
suffered in response。
〃But why is it so horrid？〃 she asked； helplessly。
〃You can't do anything；〃 said Miss Schofield。 〃He's
against you on one side and he sets the children against you on
the other。 The children are simply awful。 You've got to
make them do everything。 Everything； everything has got
to e out of you。 Whatever they learn； you've got to force it
into themand that's how it is。〃
Ursula felt her heart fail inside her。 Why must she grasp all
this； why must she force learning on fiftyfive reluctant
children； having all the time an ugly； rude jealousy behind her；
ready to throw her to the mercy of the herd of children； who
would like to rend her as a weaker representative of authority。
A great dread of her task possessed her。 She saw Mr。 Brunt； Miss
Harby； Miss Schofield； all the schoolteachers； drudging
unwillingly at the graceless task of pelling many children
into one disciplined； mechanical set； reducing the whole set to
an automatic state of obedience and attention； and then of
manding their acceptance of various pieces of knowledge。 The
first great task was to reduce sixty children to one state of
mind； or being。 This state must be produced automatically；
through the will of the teacher； and the will of the whole
school authority； imposed upon the will of the children。 The
point was that the headmaster and the teachers should have one
will in authority； which should bring the will of the children
into accord。 But the headmaster was narrow and exclusive。 The
will of the teachers could not agree with his； their separate
wills refused to be so subordinated。 So there was a state of
anarchy； leaving the final judgment to the children themselves；
which authority should exist。
So there existed a set of separate wills； each straining
itself to the utmost to exert its own authority。 Children will
never naturally acquiesce to sitting in a class and submitting
to knowledge。 They must be pelled by a stronger； wiser will。
Against which will they must always strive to revolt。 So that
the first great effort of every teacher of a large class must be
to bring the will of the children into accordance with his own
will。 And this he can only do by an abnegation of his personal
self； and an application of a system of laws； for the purpose of
achieving a certain calculable result； the imparting of certain
knowledge。 Whereas Ursula thought she was going to bee the
first wise teacher by making the whole business personal； and
using no pulsion。 She believed entirely in her own
personality。
So that she was in a very deep mess。 In the first place she
was offering to a class a relationship which only one or two of
the children were sensitive enough to appreciate； so that the
mass were left outsiders； therefore against her。 Secondly； she
was placing herself in passive antagonism to the one fixed
authority of Mr。 Harby； so that the scholars could more safely
harry her。 She did not know； but her instinct gradually warned
her。 She was tortured by the voice of Mr。 Brunt。 On it went；
jarring； harsh； full of hate； but so monotonous； it nearly drove
her mad： always the same set； harsh monotony。 The man was bee
a mechanism working on and on and on。 But the personal man was
in subdued friction all the time。 It was horribleall
hate！ Must she be like this？ She could feel the ghastly
necessity。 She must bee the sameput away the personal
self； bee an instrument； an abstraction； working upon a
certain material； the class； to achieve a set purpose of making
them know so much each day。 And she could not submit。 Yet
gradually she felt the invincible iron closing upon her。 The sun
was being blocked out。 Often when she went out at playtime and
saw a luminous blue sky with changing clouds； it seemed just a
fantasy； like a piece of painted scenery。 Her heart was so black
and tangled in the teaching； her personal self was shut in
prison； abolished； she was subjugate to a bad； destructive will。
How then could the sky be shining？ There was no sky； there was
no luminous atmosphere of outofdoors。 Only the inside of the
school was realhard； concrete； real and vicious。
She would not yet； hoe her。
She always said。 〃It is not a permanency； it will e to an
end。〃 She could always see herself beyond the place； see the
time when she had left it。 On Sundays and on holidays； when she
was away at Cossethay or in the woods where the beechleaves
were fallen； she could think of St。 Philip's Church School； and
by an effort of will put it in the picture as a dirty little
lowsquatting building that made a very tiny mound under the
sky； while the great beechwoods spread immense about her； and
the afternoon was spacious and wonderful。 Moreover the children；
the scholars； they were insignificant little objects far away；
oh； far away。 And what power had they over her free soul？ A
fleeting thought of them； as she kicked her way through the
beechleaves； and they were gone。 But her will was tense against
them all the time。
All the while； they pursued her。 She had never had such a
passionate love of the beautiful things about her。 Sitting on
top of the tramcar； at evening； sometimes school was swept away
as she saw a magnificent sky settling down。 And her breast； her
very hands； clamoured for the lovely flare of sunset。 It was
poignant almost to agony； her reaching for it。 She almost cried
aloud seeing the sundown so lovely。
For she was held away。 It was no matter how she said to
herself that school existed no more once she had left it。 It
existed。 It was within her like a dark weight； controlling her
movement。 It was in vain the highspirited； proud young girl
flung off the school and its association with her。 She was Miss
Brangwen； she was Standard Five teacher； she had her most
important being in her work now。
Constantly haunting her； like a darkness hovering over her
heart and threatening to swoop down over it at every moment； was
the sense that somehow； somehow she was brought down。 Bitterly
she denied unto herself that she was really a schoolteacher。
Leave that to the Violet Harbys。 She herself would stand clear
of the accusation。 It was in vain she denied it。
Within herself some recording hand seemed to point
mechanically to a negation。 She was incapable of fulfilling her
task。 She could never for a moment escape from the fatal weight
of the knowledge。
And so she felt inferior to Violet Harby。 Miss Harby was a
splendid teacher。 She could keep order and inflict knowledge on
a class with remarkable efficiency。 It was no good Ursula's
protesting to herself that she was infinitely； infinitely the
superior of Violet Harby。 She knew that Violet Harby succeeded
where she failed； and this in a task which was almost a test of
her。 She felt something all the time wearing upon her； wearing
her down。 She went about in these first weeks trying to deny it；
to say she was free as ever。 She tried not to feel at a
disadvantage before Miss Harby； tried to keep up the effect of
her own superiority。 But a great weight was on her； which Violet
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