"Give it a try, Beanie," Mrs. Pidgeon said. "You can do it."
Beanie stood and read the definition of cajole slowly to the class. " To persuade someone to do something by flattery or gentle argument, especially after a reasonable objection."
"So your mother had a reasonable objection, Gooney Bird?" Mrs. Pidgeon asked.
"Yes. She is a terrible cook and her cupcakes are always lopsided, and also she has to go to China on Thursday."
"And so you tried to persuade her with flattery?"
"Yes, I told her that she was a wonderful cook and I had heard a rumor that she might be invited to be chef at the White House, and probably it would be good practice for her, being room mother."
"And that didn't work?" Mrs. Pidgeon was laughing.
"No, she said that if I were Pinocchio, my nose would be three feet long."
Gooney Bird scowled. "She meant I was lying, of course, but you all know that I never ever lie."
All of the children nodded. They knew that everything Gooney Bird said was absolutely true.
"I really had heard that rumor. I said it to myself and heard myself saying it. So it was absolutely true.
"But she said no, thank you, she did not want to be room mother, especially if she was going to work at the White House, because she wouldn't have time."
Mrs. Pidgeon pointed to the word on the board. CAJOLE.
In small handwriting she wrote its definition next to it.
"Children," she said, "tonight, please try to cajole your mothers.
"We really, really need a room mother," she said with a sigh.
***
There was a brief knock on the classroom door, and then, without waiting for a reply to the knock, Mr. Leroy appeared. The children gasped. The principal! Usually he was only a voice on the intercom. But here he was, in person, wearing a dark blue suit and his UNICEF necktie, standing right in front of the second grade.
"Just checking in," he said cheerfully. "I was wondering if—"
Mrs. Pidgeon shook her head. "Afraid not," she said. "Not yet."
"Hmm." Mr. Leroy looked concerned. "Well," he said, "keep me posted."
He turned to leave, then stopped and said, "I like your shirt, Gooney Bird Greene."
"Thank you. Read my back." Gooney Bird turned around.
He read it and smiled. "A very fine admonition," he said. "Love your mother. Yes, indeed." Then he left the room.
"Class," said Mrs. Pidgeon, who was already writing ADMONITION on the board, "get out your dictionaries."
4.
Gooney Bird and the Room Mother
Not a single mom wanted to be room mother. Not one.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Pidgeon said with a sigh. She looked at the board, where the word CAJOLE was carefully printed near the end of the word list, just above ADMONITION. "I guess cajoling doesn't always work."
"Well," said Tricia from her desk, "we learned a new word, anyway. That's always a good thing."
Mrs. Pidgeon nodded. "True," she said. "And you know, class, they say that if you use a new word three times, it is yours forever."
"Who says that?" asked Beanie.
"I don't know," Mrs. Pidgeon replied. "They."
Barry Tuckerman stood, suddenly, beside his desk. "Cajole, cajole, cajole," he said loudly. "Now it is mine forever. No one else is allowed to say it."
"That isn't exactly what I meant, Barry. You do not own the word. We may all use it. And in fact, class, I wish you would all try a little more cajoling at home. This is the only class in Watertower Elementary School that does not have a room mother yet. Mr. Leroy is becoming a little impatient about it.
"Now, though, I think we ought to start our preparations for the Thanksgiving pageant. The Muriel—I mean the mural—is coming along well. But we have a song to learn, and costumes to make, and I have to select the cast."
"I already have a cast!" Ben called out, holding up his arm. Ben had fallen from his bike a month earlier and broken his wrist. All of the children, and Mrs. Pidgeon, and even the principal, Mr. Leroy, had signed their names on the cast, using different colored markers. The names were faded now, and the cast itself, which had once been white, was gray and dirty, with bits of string like dental floss dangling from it.
Keiko wrinkled her nose and said, "Your cast smells bad, Ben."
"I know," Ben said, making a face. "But next week the doctor takes it off."
"Your arm will be all skinny and wrinkled inside it when they take it off," Barry Tuckerman told him. "My cousin had a cast on his arm and his arm died inside the cast."
"Is that true, Mrs. Pidgeon?" Ben asked nervously.
"Your arm is probably dead already. Probably green," Barry added.
Ben's face began to pucker up. "My arm is dead? Green? he wailed.
"Children, children," Mrs. Pidgeon said. "No, Ben, your arm will be fine. Besides, I'm talking about a different kind of cast. We need a cast of characters for the pageant. We need Pilgrims and Native Americans. We also need a turkey, and, let me see, some succotash, and a pumpkin pie. But the food items don't have to be human beings."
"I want to be Squanto!" Gooney Bird said. "I love Squanto. He was always absolutely right smack in the middle of everything."
"Squanto's a boy!" Barry called loudly. "Only a boy can be Squanto! Right, Mrs. Pidgeon?"
"Actually," Mrs. Pidgeon said, "I've already made a list. So put your hands down, everyone."
She read the list aloud. There were twenty-two children in the classroom, and each was on the list. Eleven Pilgrims. Eleven Native Americans.
"But who is Squanto?" the children asked.
Mrs. Pidgeon looked around the class. Now every child, not just Gooney Bird and Barry, was waving an arm in the air, volunteering eagerly to be Squanto.
"I haven't decided that yet," Mrs. Pidgeon said. "But I have an idea."
She went to the board, to the list of words.
REWARD, she wrote. "You all know what a reward is," Mrs. Pidgeon said.
"Money!" shouted Ben. "A thousand dollars if you catch a criminal!"
"Well," Mrs. Pidgeon said, "it could be that. But a reward doesn't have to be about criminals. Let's look it up."