CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A DEFIANT TEACHER

When Dixie entered the pleasant living-room of the little log cabin near the inn, she clasped her hands, and her eyes glowed with appreciation as she looked about.

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she breathed rapturously, “you’ve got books, haven’t you? I never did see so many books all in one room. Oh, please, may I touch them?”

Then it was that the young teacher remembered that the little girl had said that “Oliver Twist” and “Pilgrim’s Progress” were the only books that she had, and an almanac.

“Poor little story-hungry girl,” she thought, as she removed her hat and turned toward the child. “Of course you may touch them, dear. I’m going to make us some hot chocolate to drink, and you may browse around all that you wish. Choose any book that you like and I will help you read it. One of my reasons for asking you here to-day, Dixie, was to suggest that once or twice a week you come with me and let me tutor you in advanced reading. Then you can take the book home and give the same instruction to your brother, Ken. There is no reason why you two children, who are so unusually gifted, should be held back by one of little natural intelligence.”

Then Miss Bayley entered the lean-to which was also her kitchen, and humming to herself to endeavor to erase from her memory the unpleasant conflict with Jessica Archer, she filled the tiny teakettle, lighted the oil-stove, and prepared a few dainty sandwiches.

When she re-entered the living-room, her small guest sat on the window-seat, one long, spidery leg curled under her, and she held two books. The gold-brown eyes seemed to have sunshine in their depths as they looked up.

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she piped, “it was so hard to choose. It’s like when the spring flowers are in blossom and the valley-meadow is all blue and gold with them. There are so many, and they are all so lovely it’s hard to tell which ones to pick. I guess, though, that these two would be nice. This one says ‘Little Women’ on the cover, but that wouldn’t interest Ken so much, it being all about girls, but this one would, for, in the picture, there is a boat wrecked and animals swimming to the shore. I’m sure boys would like it.”

Miss Bayley nodded, beaming her pleasure. “You will like that one, too. My brother, Tim, and I read ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ through seven times when we were your age and Ken’s.”

Skipping over to the long, home-made bookshelf, the child replaced “Little Women,” and held lovingly the volume of her choice.

Then a cheerful humming in the kitchen announced that the teakettle was beginning to boil, and Miss Bayley went thither to complete preparations for the lunch.

While they were eating it, the young woman, who was little more than a girl herself, having graduated from a normal school when she was hardly twenty years of age,—and this was her first school,—smiled across at her small guest as she said: “Dearie, at recess you wanted to tell me something. What was it?”

__Dixie’s thin, freckled face became suddenly serious. “I’m going to tell you all about us, Miss Bayley,” she began, “then I guess you’ll better understand.”

And so the little mother of the Martins told to a most sympathetic and interested listener the drama which had recently been enacted in their log-cabin home.

“And, oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” the child said, “I never, never could have come to school again if my little sister had stayed away. She’s all the sister I’ve got to love. I couldn’t give up Ken or Baby Jim either, but—but I guess a girl needs another girl in a special way that boys can’t understand, don’t you, teacher?”

The young woman nodded emphatically, and there were tears close to her eyes. What a cruel, hard experience these children had been going through, and all alone.

“I do, indeed, Dixie,” she said. “There are so many tasks and pleasures and little confidences that only girls can share with each other, but I am glad that everything happened just as it did, for now Carol knows that her own home is best and she will be more content.”

But Dixie looked a bit troubled, and the young woman asked: “Dear, what is it? Was there something else that you wished to say?”

“Yes, teacher, Miss Bayley, it’s this. Next month is Carol’s birthday, and, oh, if only I could give her a blue silk dress I’d be the happiest! She loves pretty things and she’s never had anything silk.” Then eagerly, anxiously, “Miss Bayley, could I get a silk dress for two dollars and thirty cents?”

The young teacher hesitated not at all. “Of course you can, dear girl. That is, you can get the blue silk by the yard and then you can make the dress.”

The freckled face that at first had brightened, looked doleful again. The child shook her head as she said: “I couldn’t, teacher. I don’t know anything about how to put on patterns. Grandma Piggins did, and she made us the gingham dresses, but she made them button in front, and Carol wants buttons in the back.”

“And so she shall have them, dear. Of course you can’t use a pattern yet, but I will show you how.” Then, before the small girl could express her gratitude, the young teacher exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, little Miss Martin. To-morrow will be Saturday, and you and I will go to Genoa on the nine-o’clock stage, shall we? Then you may choose the silk and a pattern. I have some lace in my trunk that will do nicely for trimming. How would you like that?”

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, I’d love it! I’ve never been to Genoa but once.” Sudden tears in the child’s eyes assured Miss Bayley that the once had been a sad occasion, as indeed it had been, for with her father she and Ken had gone to select a coffin for their beautiful mother.

Desiring to change the thought of her little guest, Miss Bayley asked, “What color do you like best, Dixie?”

“I like the first green that comes on the trees down by the creek in spring. It’s like a fairy color with silver on it,” the little girl said.

Miss Bayley nodded. “That would make a pretty silk dress,” she remarked, “but I’d like you to have a cashmere dress, the same gold-brown as your eyes.”

“Me? Oh, I don’t need a new dress, Miss Bayley. I don’t mind buttons down the front the way Carol does.”

The young teacher laughed, saying, as she rose to clear the table, “We shall see what we shall see.”

Dixie was about to assist when the sound of wheels attracted her attention. “Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,”—the child seemed actually frightened,—“something dreadful must have happened. Here come all the Archers.”

There was a sudden firmness about Josephine Bayley’s pretty mouth, and an expression in her eyes that seemed to say, “Let them come.”