More than one instance of the power of story-telling to develop
attentiveness comes to my mind, but the most prominent in memory is a
rather recent incident, in which the actors were boys and girls far past
the child-stage of docility.
I had been asked to tell stories to about sixty boys and girls of a club;
the president warned me in her invitation that the children were
exceptionally undisciplined, but my previous experiences with similar
gatherings led me to interpret her words with a moderation which left me
totally unready for the reality. When I faced my audience, I saw a
squirming jumble of faces, backs of heads, and the various members of many
small bodies,--not a person in the room was paying the slightest attention
to me; the president's introduction could scarcely be said to succeed in
interrupting the interchange of social amenities which was in progress,
and which looked delusively like a free fight. I came as near stage
fright in the first minutes of that occasion as it is comfortable to be,
and if it had not been impossible to run away I think I should not have
remained. But I began, with as funny a tale as I knew, following the safe
plan of not speaking very loudly, and aiming my effort at the nearest
children. As I went on, a very few faces held intelligently to mine; the
majority answered only fitfully; and not a few of my hearers conversed
with their neighbours as if I were non-existent.
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