Question

I found my pupils very backward, indeed. Tom, though averse to every species of mental exertion, was not without abilities. Mary Ann could scarcely read a word. She was so careless and inattentive that I could hardly get on with her at all. However, by dint of great labor and patience, I managed to get something done in the morning, and then accompanied my young charge out into the garden and adjacent grounds for a little recreation before dinner. There we got along tolerably together, except that I found they had no notion of going with me. I must go with them, wherever they chose to lead me. I must run, walk, or stand, exactly as it suited their fancy. This, I thought, was reversing the order of things. I found it doubly disagreeable, as on this as well as subsequent occasions, they seemed to prefer the dirtiest places and the most dismal occupations. But there was no remedy. Either I must follow them, or keep entirely apart from them, and thus appear neglectful of my charge.
Today, they manifested an attachment to a well at the bottom of the lawn, where they persisted in dabbling with sticks and pebbles for above half an hour. I was in constant fear that their mother would see them from the window, and blame me for allowing them thus to draggle their clothes and wet their feet and hands, instead of taking exercise. However, no arguments, commands, or entreaties could draw them away. If she did not see them, someone else did—a gentleman on horseback had entered the gate and was proceeding up the road. At the distance of a few paces from us he paused, and calling to the children in a waspish penetrating tone, bade them "keep out of that water."
"Miss Grey," said he, "I suppose it is Miss Grey. I am surprised that you should allow them to dirty their clothes in that manner! Don't you see how Miss Bloomfield has soiled her frock? And that Master Bloomfield's socks are quite wet? And both are without gloves? Dear, dear! Let me request that in future you will keep them decent at least!" So saying, he turned away, and continued his ride up to the house. This was Mr. Bloomfield.

Answer 1

Mr. Bloomfield’s sudden appearance and his sharp admonition only added to my sense of frustration and helplessness in my role. It was clear that he held strong opinions about the children’s behavior and my responsibilities as their caretaker. The weight of his expectations hung heavily on me, like a cloud threatening rain, and I felt the sting of his words—each syllable a reminder of my inadequacies in the eyes of their family.

Still, I couldn't completely fault the children for their exuberance. In their innocent minds, the allure of the well—a shallow pool of glistening water collaborating with sunlit reflections—was far more enticing than the mundane structure of a lesson plan. To them, a stick was a wand, a pebble a treasure. If only they would channel some of that creative energy into their studies! Yet here I was, powerless to draw them from their watery pursuits, caught between the strict code of behavior dictated by their father and the untamed whims of childhood.

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. Perhaps it was not so much about enforcing discipline as it was about understanding. Maybe there was a lesson in this chaos, a chance to forge connections through play before I pushed them back to the constraints of learning. After all, how could I expect them to grasp the importance of education when the world around them was so vibrantly alive with opportunity for exploration and joy?

With resolve, I made a decision: I would allow them a few more minutes—just a few—to indulge in their playful antics. Afterward, I would gently guide them back to the garden for a more structured activity, perhaps a game that incorporated elements of what they needed to learn. There was wisdom, I thought, in adapting the method to the mind it was meant to nurture.

As I watched them, knees bent in playful concentration, splashes of water revealing their laughter, I drew nearer. “Tom, Mary Ann,” I called with a lightness I hoped would entice them—“how about we head back and see if we can transform this muddy mess into a story? Let’s write an adventure about brave explorers who found a hidden treasure!” Their faces brightened, and in that moment, I caught just a flicker of understanding—the joy of learning could tie itself to the joy of play. After all, even in muddy frocks and waterlogged socks, there was an unquenchable thirst for discovery. With that thought, I took the lead, ready to challenge their imaginations, if only they would follow.