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go round the class。 She sent to Mr。 Harby for more。 He came in
person。
〃Not enough pens； Miss Brangwen？〃 he said； with the smile and
calm of exceeding rage against her。
〃No； we are six short；〃 she said； quaking。
〃Oh； how is that？〃 he said； menacingly。 Then； looking over
the class； he asked：
〃How many are there here to…day？〃
〃Fifty…two；〃 said Ursula； but he did not take any notice；
counting for himself。
〃Fifty…two；〃 he said。 〃And how many pens are there；
Staples？〃
Ursula was now silent。 He would not heed her if she answered；
since he had addressed the monitor。
〃That's a very curious thing；〃 said Mr。 Harby； looking over
the silent class with a slight grin of fury。 All the childish
faces looked up at him blank and exposed。
〃A few days ago there were sixty pens for this
class……now there are forty…eight。 What is forty…eight from
sixty； Williams？〃 There was a sinister suspense in the question。
A thin； ferret…faced boy in a sailor suit started up
exaggeratedly。
〃Please； sir！〃 he said。 Then a slow； sly grin came over his
face。 He did not know。 There was a tense silence。 The boy
dropped his head。 Then he looked up again； a little cunning
triumph in his eyes。 〃Twelve；〃 he said。
〃I would advise you to attend；〃 said the headmaster
dangerously。 The boy sat down。
〃Forty…eight from sixty is twelve： so there are twelve pens
to account for。 Have you looked for them； Staples？〃
〃Yes； sir。〃
〃Then look again。〃
The scene dragged on。 Two pens were found： ten were missing。
Then the storm burst。
〃Am I to have you thieving； besides your dirt and bad work
and bad behaviour？〃 the headmaster began。 〃Not content with
being the worst…behaved and dirtiest class in the school； you
are thieves into the bargain； are you？ It is a very funny thing！
Pens don't melt into the air： pens are not in the habit of
mizzling away into nothing。 What has bee of them then？ They
must be somewhere。 What has bee of them？ For they must be
found； and found by Standard Five。 They were lost by Standard
Five； and they must be found。〃
Ursula stood and listened； her heart hard and cold。 She was
so much upset； that she felt almost mad。 Something in her
tempted her to turn on the headmaster and tell him to stop；
about the miserable pens。 But she did not。 She could not。
After every session； morning and evening； she had the pens
counted。 Still they were missing。 And pencils and india…rubbers
disappeared。 She kept the class staying behind； till the things
were found。 But as soon as Mr。 Harby had gone out of the room；
the boys began to jump about and shout； and at last they bolted
in a body from the school。
This was drawing near a crisis。 She could not tell Mr。 Harby
because； while he would punish the class； he would make her the
cause of the punishment； and her class would pay her back with
disobedience and derision。 Already there was a deadly hostility
grown up between her and the children。 After keeping in the
class； at evening； to finish some work； she would find boys
dodging behind her； calling after her： 〃Brangwen；
Brangwen……Proud…acre。〃
When she went into Ilkeston of a Saturday morning with
Gudrun； she heard again the voices yelling after her：
〃Brangwen； Brangwen。〃
She pretended to take no notice； but she coloured with shame
at being held up to derision in the public street。 She； Ursula
Brangwen of Cossethay； could not escape from the Standard Five
teacher which she was。 In vain she went out to buy ribbon for
her hat。 They called after her； the boys she tried to teach。
And one evening； as she went from the edge of the town into
the country； stones came flying at her。 Then the passion of
shame and anger surpassed her。 She walked on unheeding； beside
herself。 Because of the darkness she could not see who were
those that threw。 But she did not want to know。
Only in her soul a change took place。 Never more； and never
more would she give herself as individual to her class。 Never
would she； Ursula Brangwen； the girl she was； the person she
was； e into contact with those boys。 She would be Standard
Five teacher； as far away personally from her class as if she
had never set foot in St。 Philip's school。 She would just
obliterate them all； and keep herself apart； take them as
scholars only。
So her face grew more and more shut； and over her flayed；
exposed soul of a young girl who had gone open and warm to give
herself to the children； there set a hard； insentient thing；
that worked mechanically according to a system imposed。
It seemed she scarcely saw her class the next day。 She could
only feel her will； and what she would have of this class which
she must grasp into subjection。 It was no good； any more； to
appeal； to play upon the better feelings of the class。 Her
swift…working soul realized this。
She； as teacher； must bring them all as scholars； into
subjection。 And this she was going to do。 All else she would
forsake。 She had bee hard and impersonal； almost avengeful on
herself as well as on them； since the stone throwing。 She did
not want to be a person； to be herself any more； after such
humiliation。 She would assert herself for mastery； be only
teacher。 She was set now。 She was going to fight and subdue。
She knew by now her enemies in the class。 The one she hated
most was Williams。 He was a sort of defective； not bad enough to
be so classed。 He could read with fluency； and had plenty of
cunning intelligence。 But he could not keep still。 And he had a
kind of sickness very repulsive to a sensitive girl； something
cunning and etiolated and degenerate。 Once he had thrown an
ink…well at her； in one of his mad little rages。 Twice he had
run home out of class。 He was a well…known character。
And he grinned up his sleeve at this girl…teacher； sometimes
hanging round her to fawn on her。 But this made her dislike him
more。 He had a kind of leech…like power。
From one of the children she took a supple cane； and this she
determined to use when real occasion came。 One morning； at
position； she said to the boy Williams：
〃Why have you made this blot？〃
〃Please； miss； it fell off my pen；〃 he whined out； in the
mocking voice that he was so clever in using。 The boys near
snorted with laughter。 For Williams was an actor； he could
tickle the feelings of his hearers subtly。 Particularly he could
tickle the children with him into ridiculing his teacher； or
indeed； any authority of which he was not afraid。 He had that
peculiar gaol instinct。
〃Then you must stay in and finish another page of
position；〃 said the teacher。
This was against her usual sense of justice； and the boy
resented it derisively。 At twelve o'clock she caught him
slinking out。
〃Williams； sit down；〃 she said。
And there she sat； and there he sat； alone； opposite to her；
on the back desk； looking up at her with his furtive eyes every
minute。
〃Please； miss； I've got to go an errand；〃 he called out
insolently。
〃Bring me your book；〃 said Ursula。
The boy came out； flapping his book along the desks。 He had
not written a line。
〃Go back and do the writing you have to do；〃 said Ursula。 And
she sat at her desk； trying to correct books。 She was trembling
and upset。 And for an hour the miserable boy writhed and grinned
in his seat。 At the end of that time he had done five lines。
〃As it is so late now；〃 said Ursula； 〃you will finish the
rest this evening。〃
The boy kicked his way insolently down the passage。
The afternoon came again。 Williams was there； glancing at
her； and her heart beat thick； for she knew it was a fight
between them。 She watched him。
During the geography lesson； as she was pointing to the map
with her cane； the boy continually ducked his whitish head under
the desk； and attracted the attention of other boys。
〃Williams；〃 she said； gathering her courage； for it was
critical now to speak to him； 〃what are you doing？〃
He lifted his face； the sore…rimmed eyes half smiling。 There
was something intrinsically indecent about him。 Ursula shrank
away。
〃Nothing；〃 he replied； feeling a triumph。
〃What are you doing？〃 she repeated； her heart…beat
suffocating her。
〃Nothing；〃 replied the boy； insolently； aggrieved； ic。
〃If I speak to you again； you must go down to Mr。 Harby；〃 she
said。
But this boy was a match even for Mr。 Harby。 He was so
persistent； so cringing； and flexible； he howled so when he was
hurt； that the master hated more the teacher who sent him than
he hated the boy himself。 For of the boy he was sick of the
sight。 Which Williams knew。 He grinned visibly。
Ursula turned to the map again； to go on with the geography
lesson。 But there was a little ferment in the class。 Williams'
spirit infected them all。 She heard a scuffle； and then she
trembled inwardly。 If they all turned on her this time； she was
beaten。
〃Please； miss〃 called a voice in distress。
She turned round。 One of the boys she liked was ruefully
holding out a torn celluloid collar。 She heard the plaint；
feeling futile。
〃Go in front； Wright；〃 she said。
She was trembling in every fibre。 A big； sullen boy； not bad
but very difficult； slouched out to the front。 She went on with
the lesson； aware that Williams was making