Jeminy lay in bed, watching, through
his window, the branches of an oak tree, which is last of all to leaf.
When he finally arose, the morning was already bright and hot; the
rooms were swept; all was in order.
Later in the day he followed Mrs. Grumble to the schoolhouse, carrying
a pail, soap, a scrubbing brush, and a broom. After Mr. Jeminy had
filled the pail with water at the school pump, Mrs. Grumble got down on
her knees, and began to scrub the floor. The schoolmaster went ahead
with the broom. "Sweep in all the corners," she said. "For," she
added, "it's in the corners one finds everything." As she spoke, the
brush, under her freckled hands, pushed forward a wave of soapy water,
edged with foam, like the sea.
Mr. Jeminy swept up and down with a sort of solemn joy; he even took
pride in the little mountain of brown dirt he had collected with his
broom, and watched it leap across the threshold with regret. He would
have liked to keep it. . . . Then he could have said, "Well, at least,
I took all this dirt from under the desks.
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