A Bouquet for Miss Benson
Miss Benson was the kindest,sweetest,most beautiful person that ever walked the earth.She was my second-grade teacher,and I was going to marry her when I grew up--if she would wait.I would sit squirming in my seat for the entire morning to keep from raising my hand.I could not bear to miss one precious moment of her presence by leaving the room.
My hand was always the first to be raised,however ,when Miss Benson called for volunteers to clean the blackborads or to gather papers and bring them to her desk. That was the best chore of all. It made possible getting near enough to her to close out the others in the classroom. I would arrange and rebefore I would make my reluctant way back to my seat.
Early in the term, I started asking my mother to put an extra apple or peach in my lunch. I never quit worked up the courage to say it was for my teacher, as I never quite worked up the courage to hand my gift to her directly. Each day the gift found its way unobserved to the corner of her desk. And each day the reason was the same.
Miss Benson would come in and sit down. "Good morning,children."
"Good morning,Miss Benson,"we all said.
"Why,how nice!"She would pick up the gift of the day, then look around the room. "What thoughtful little boy or girl brought me this?"
No one claimed the honour, least of all me. I kept my head down, looking at my desk.
"Can it be that I have a secret admirer?"she would ask.
I would feel the red rising in my face. I was certain that everyone was looking at me, and I would sign with relief when Miss Benson put the fruit away and started the lesson.
I was almost always in trouble with Miss Benson--not because I wanted to be but because I wasn't paying attention.I spent a lot of time looking out the window, immersed in my thoughts.Miss benson and I stood at the dege of the clearing.my arm around her waist,holding her close. Suddenly the enraged elephant burst from the jungle and charged toward us. Cooly I raised my gun and shot him cleanly between the eyes. The wild beast slowly toppled to his side, his outstretched trunk resting on Miss Benson's dainty shoe. She clutched me with loving arms."Paul,my hero,you've saved my--fish!"
I woke with a start to find my heroine tapping my shoulder,"I said,Paul,how do you spell 'fish'?Maybe I should ask how you spell 'dream'?"
The entire class laughed and I felt a blush covering my face. I stayed after school to copy 25 time "I must not daydream."
The punishment was pure joy. We were alone together. I scribbled my way as slowly as I could through the task.
(to be continued)
