That reflection relieved the tension somewhat, and I thought it wise
to meditate a bit. Here am I; yonder is the colt. I want him; he
doesn't want me. He will not come to me; so I must go to him. Then,
what? Oh, yes, native interests--that's it, native interests. I'm
much obliged to Professor James for reminding me. Now, just what are
the native interests of a colt? Why, oats, of course. So, I must
return to the barn and get a pail of oats. An empty pail might do
once, but never again. So I must have oats in my pail. Either a
colt or a boy becomes shy after he has once been deceived. The boy
who fails to get oats in the classroom to-day, will shy off from the
teacher to-morrow. He will not even accept her statement that there
is oats in the pail, for yesterday the pail was empty--nothing but
sound.
But even with pail and oats I had to go to the colt, getting my shoes
soiled and my clothes torn, but there was no other way. I must begin
where the colt (or boy) is, as the book on pedagogy says. I wanted
to stay on the hill where everything was agreeable, but that wouldn't
get the colt.
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