At this point I was called from the room, but I learned that each member of the class promised to do his duty by Ward and Frank if they remained in the class. I learned that these boys were told by Mr. Norton that their class voted to retain them. The boys promised to try to do their duty. Mr. Norton told them that boys reported that they had a good time when they talked with him in his office. He was glad they had a good time, he also enjoyed it; but now that they had given their word of honor to try to do their duty, he thought he ought to have evidence that there had been more than a good time. "What shall we do, Mr. Norton?" "Anything you like." The boys conferred, then wrote and signed a promise, which they gave their principal and asked him to read to their mates that they might know that they were in earnest. After this they were returned to their room, which is in charge of an apprentice or practice teacher.
A few days after I visited the class and found Frank and Ward doing well. Later they relapsed somewhat. During this relapse I met Mr. Norton and reported it to him. He smiled hopefully and said: "Young persons do not move steadily toward the desired haven; they drift, adverse winds sweep over them; in fact, their progress is very similar to that of adults. I do not ask how far on the way my pupils are, but which way they are tending. Frank and Ward are tending toward the haven. I will see them, ask them how they are doing, encourage where I can, remind them of their promissory note in my pocket, warn them if I must. We are on the up-grade. Character-building is a slow process; have you not found it so in your own case?" "Yes," was my reply. "But, Mr. Norton, why do children so hate to go into that room, so hate to vote to have their mates go there when they frankly say it is for the good of the pupils who go, and for the class relieved for a time of their presence?"
"Because they are coming to appreciate character, to admire the person who can govern himself. They see a difference between the men in prison who do not use whisky because they can not get it, and the men outside who do not use it because they will not. They are feeling the dignity of freedom and the responsibility that accompanies it. They look upon their class-room as a place where the pupil is free—free to do his own choosing. When he shows by persistent wrong-doing that he can not be trusted to choose, he goes to 'that room' where another chooses for him and enforces his choice, if need be, by the use of the rod. The more strength for right choice the pupils get, the more reluctant they are to vote their mates destitute of power or determination to choose wisely, which they do when they banish them to that room."
