H. B. M. Tasker

“ Tommy’s fat cheeks bulged more than ever as he shut his lips firmly.
“The prize will be”—Miss Sanderson paused impressively and each boy held his breath—“a year’s subscription to St. Nicholas. I expect each pupil, even the youngest, to write an original composition, not to exceed two hundred words, and to present the same at my desk on September first next; and in order to stimulate your powers of observation, and to keep you in touch with nature study, I shall ask you to write a composition on an apple.” ”

“ The teacher held it up high—but the hand was unsteady, for a trembling child with all his heart in his brown eyes and an agony of disappointment in his chubby face was awaiting her sentence of doom.
The teacher read slowly: “You are the nicest teacher in the bunch. ”

“ Tommy atkins.”
The class giggled and the teacher smiled, but her eyes were dim with tears.
“The English is faulty and the spelling poor; but the workmanship is good and your composition is certainly original.”
Tommy breathed again, and went soberly to his seat.
And when a committee of the teachers read the boys’ effusions, and compared Tommy’s originality, painstaking effort, and loving heart with sheets of commonplace statements,—such as, “An apple is good to eat,” “Apples grow on trees,” etc., etc.,— it was unanimously decided that Tommy Atkins should receive the prize. ”