Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1876 — KIM’S LAST WHIPPING. [ARTICLE]

KIM’S LAST WHIPPING.

There was once a wretched little unpainted school-house, that stood in a sandbank all summer and in a snow-bank all winter, waiting for a strong north wind to blow it over. “ Say, what will you sell that schoolhouse for?” asked a traveler of a little boy who stood on one foot on the rickety doorstep. “For a bunch of matches,” answered the little boy, as quick as thought. The man laughed, and rode on. The boy' was Kimball Price, the rogue ot the town of Skoodac, District Number Three, and the try-patience of his teachers. He was a handsome lad, ten years old. I don’t mean that he was always ten; but that was his age when Miss Pentecost whipped him, and there is where our story begins. Now, Miss Pentecost taught the school that summer at District Number Three. She liked Kim—everybody liked him; but that was no reason why he should be allowed to tie the girls together by the hair —they wore long braids in those days—or fire paper-balls, or eat choke-berries, or stick pins in the benches to make the A B C scholars cry “ O!” when they were not saying their letters. Miss Pentecost never winked at naughtiness; and, as whippings were fashionable at that period, she whipped Kim three times a week. It was considered the most direct way of reaching the conscience. But Kim never could remember a whipping more than a day and a half, or at the longest three days, and Miss Pentecost began to grow discouraged. Must Kim always go on doing mischief, and neglecting his lessons—a boy who could learn so well if he chose She knew his mother—a poor widow, with a large family of children—and she was sure Mrs. Price could not afford to send Kim to school merely to play. “ What can I say or do to? make an impression on that child?” thought Miss Pentecost, one day, as she tied the strings of her gingham “log cabin” under her chin, and stepped out of the school-house. J ust then she caught these words, spoken by Kim with great energy, and a flourish of fists: “ Tell you it’s true, Bob Whiting; for if mother says it’s so, it’s so if it ain’t so!”

Miss Pentecost laughed all to herself, and- passed on through the sand-bank into the dusty road. When she had gone as. far as the big willow she laughed again. “ I like to hear a boy talk so about his mother, even if it is nonsense. Kim is an affectionate little fellow, and I shouldn’t wonder if he was a pretty good son. Any way, I’ve got an idea, and I mean to try it, and see how it will work.” Next day was the time for one of Kim’s regular whippings. He had been more trying than Usual, and Miss Pentecost sent Bob Whiting out for a remarkably strong birch stick, which could express her feelings better than the old one, which stood in'tlie corner. She spent some time in trimming the new twig, though she was careful to leave a few little knots ron it, which would give emphasis to the blows. “ I don’t think I ever saw a better birch stick,” said she, admiringly. “Now, Kimball, you may take off your jacket.” He was so used to taking it off that he always kept half the buttons unfastened to save time.

Miss Pentecost gave him an unusually hard whipping; and after it he cried till he could hardly see out of his eyes. He thought that w r as enough, and it was what the boys call a “square thing;” but at night, as he was running out of the schoolhouse, whistling, Miss Pentecost called him up to her desk. “ Well, Kimball, I’ve whipped youhard to-day —very hard.” Kim thought there w T as no doubt about that. “ Yes’m,” responded he, meekly. “ Look at this stick. Didn’t I take pains to get a good one?” "Yes’m,” said Kim; but he did not gaze at the stick as if he loved it. “Do you know, Kimball, it is very hard work to whip you? It lames my arm and it hurts mv feelings. Really, I can’t afford to do "it day after day for nothing.” Kim looked up in surprise. This was a new view of the matter. “ You understand me, Kimball ? I can’t afford to do it for nothing any more. There's not another boy in school I’ve whipped so often as you; and this time I must be paid for it. Don’t you think that’s fair?”- “ Yes’m,” said Kim, in intense amazement, his eyes as black and shining as watermelon seeds.

“ Well, Kimball, I think it’s worth at least twenty-five cents; and I don’k want you to come to school to-morrow without bringing me the money. Tell your mother al>out it, and tell her if you don’t bring it I shall have to send you home for it. Good night, Kimball, and remember what 1 say.” “ Yes'in.” i “ What did she do to you this time?” asked Joe Fuller, who had been waiting outside. “Oh, go Tong, now; she didn't do anything to me,’’ replied Kim, sheepishly. “Come, let’s run down to the pond and catch blood-suckers.” Next morning about school-time Kim stale along into the shed kitchen, and hung about the cheese-tub, where his mother was cutting curd. “Why don’t you start for school? You’ll be late, my son.” “The mistress whipped me yesterday,” muttered Kim, helping himself to a lump of curd. “Did she? Well, I’ve no doubt you deserved it. There, run along, and see if you can’t be a better boy to-day.” “ But, mother ” “Weli, what?” “ Why, you see the mistress ” “ Well, speak it out, sonny. I’m in a hurry.” “ Why, you see, mother, the mistress wants twenty-five cents for whipping me.” “ Twenty-five cents ?’’ “She says it lamed her arm,” said Kim, hanging his head. “ She says she can’t do it for nothing, and if I don’t bring it she’ll have to send me home.” Mrs. Price looked down at the curlyhaired culprit with a twinkle of fun inlier eves—she had black eyes, very much like Kim’s. ,“ Well, sonny, go get my purse out of tire end cupboard. If lam poor it shan’t be said I don’t do all I can for my children’s education.” Kim brought the purse—a red worsted one, with steel rings. “ Yes, here is a silver quarter, with the pillars on it. We are out of gingerbread and I was going to spend it for molasses; but never mind. I don’t blame Miss Pentecost. I know it was hard to whip you, and she deserves the money.” “ Thank you, Kimball,” said Miss Pentecost,' in a low voice, when she received thtybright, new quarter. “ Didn’t your mother think I deserved it ?” “ Yes’m,” replied the boy, sinking into the hollow place in his neck. “ I thought she would. Well, now, my dear, I shall carry this quarter home, arid keep it, and next time I whip you you must bring me another. Do you under J " stand?” Kim scowled down at his little bare toes, and tried to stick them into a crack in the floor. Whyy-this was getting serious! Would tirewoman keep on crying quarters forever? It was perfectly ruinous. His mother had had all she could do to support the family before; but what would become of them now ? “You may take your seat,” added Miss Pentecost, still in a low tone, so that no one could hear, but with a smile that exasperated poor Kim. “It is dreadful that you will be naughty; but then, you see, the more I whip you the more money I shall get; and perhaps before the summer is out I shall have enough to buy a new dress.” “No, you don’t,” thought Kim, shutting his teeth together. “Catch me letting my mother buy a dress for you! Why, we’ve got to go without gingerbread to-day. You don’t get another chance to whip me for one while, ma’am —now, you see!” To avoid a whipping it was necessary to study; for Kim was a boy that must be busy at something. He saw Bob Whiting go to .sleep and longed to drop a tame cherry into his mouth. He saw Joe Fuller sauntering down the aisle, looking straight before him, and it was the “cutest chance” to trip him up; but Kim resisted these allurements and fifty more and got his geography lesson so well that Miss Pentecost patted him on the head, and said, “ That’s my good boy”—which would have been delightful if he could have forgotten that gingerbread! Next day he tried studying again and rose to the head of his spelling-class. “ Why, I haven’t had a whipping since Tuesday,” thought he Saturday noon, as he ran home with the silver medal on his neck.

After that he seemed somehow to fall into the habit of studying. Studying is a habit, let me tell you, just as much as playing, though 1 suppose it is rather narder to acquire. The little fellow’s will was aroused, and that was precisely what he needed. In short, Kim had had his last whipping from Miss Pentecost, or anybody else, and instead of being her most troublesome boy he became the best scholar in school. “ I sha’n’t be able to buy that dress after all,” said she, the night before she left Skoodac; “but, Kim, dear, I know you are glad.” “ Yes’m,” replied Kim, meeting her eye with a smile. “And I’ll keep the quarter to remember you by. Your mother says she wishes me to.” “Yes’m.” ' “ Kimball Price is now one of the wealthiest and most respected men of his native State. “And that man,” said ’Squire Hathaway, in his Fourth of July oration, “ was educated over here at Skoodac, boys, in that little black school-house that is so poor and miserable that when it took fire a few years ago it wouldn’t burn down.” Mr. Kimball Price returned from Europe last May with his wife, and I heard, Mrs. Hathaway say—she was once Miss Pentecost-Qhat he thought her last whipping made a man of him. “He wanted that old quarter of a dollar,” said Mrs. Hathaway, laughing; “ but 1 couldn't bear to part with it; so he cut it in two, and we’ve each of us got half.” — Sophie May, in Wide Awake.