Part 5

“There were several bad boys in school. The year before they had run the teacher out before the term was half over, and we had no more school that winter. When they heard that Truman was going to teach, they made all sorts of boasts about what they meant to do.

“Truman got along all right the first few weeks until the older boys, who had been working at a sawmill, started in. Nearly all of these boys were bigger than Truman, and Bud McGill, the leader, was a year older. He had broken up several schools and bragged that he would run Truman out in short order.

“From the day he started he did everything he could to make trouble. Because he had started to school late in the term he did not get the seat he wanted. One morning he came early and took this seat and refused to give it up when Truman asked him to. Truman couldn’t force him to give it up, because Bud was so much larger and stronger. All day long Bud sat there in the corner seat talking and laughing and throwing paper wads at girls—disturbing all the rest of us so we could not study. At dismissing time Truman told him to take his books with him and not come back to school until he could behave himself, but Bud walked out as bold as you please without a single book.

“I don’t know just how it would have come out if Bud’s father had not heard about the trouble. But he did, and he told Bud he would have to give up the seat unless he got the teacher’s permission to keep it.

“Bud said he’d get Truman’s permission all right.

“The next morning I went to school early with Truman because Charlie was sick and couldn’t go. As soon as we came in sight of the schoolhouse and saw a thick column of smoke rising from the chimney we knew something had happened, for Truman always built the fire himself.

“When we got within hearing distance, Bud McGill opened the door a tiny bit and called out to Truman, ‘Have I your say-so to keep the seat in the corner?’

“‘No, you haven’t,’ Truman said shortly, and Bud slammed the door in his face and bolted it. Bud’s plan was to keep Truman out of the schoolhouse until he agreed to Bud’s taking the seat he wanted. Then Truman could come in and take up books as usual, but if he did this he would be admitting that Bud was the real authority in the school and the other pupils would cease to respect him.

“As the children came to school Bud opened the door and let them in. They offered to let me in, too, but I wouldn’t go. Truman wanted me to go back home, but I wouldn’t do that either. Several of the boys stopped to talk to Truman and offered to help him. Bud’s crowd saw the boys talking to Truman and thought they were going to combine and try to enter the schoolhouse by force. Bud dared them to come ahead. He went so far as to say that if the teacher got in he would do whatever he said. But Truman urged the boys who were eager to help him to go on in and not make any trouble. He said it was his problem and he would have to settle it alone as best he could. So they went in, and Truman and I were left alone.

“Truman brought some kindling from the coal house and built a fire, and we stood around it to keep warm.

“‘I’ve got to get ahead of them some way,’ Truman said, as much to himself as to me. ‘I’ll have to beat them or I’m done for. And if I give up the school, that means no spring term at the academy. I’ve either got to outwit Bud and his crowd or give up the school.’ Just then a strong wind blew the smoke in our eyes and started them to smarting. This gave Truman an idea.

“‘I might smoke them out,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If I could only get to the roof, I could stuff this old coat down the chimney. You wait here, Sarah, while I look around for a ladder.’

“He strolled to the back of the building where there were no windows, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the house to look for a ladder that had been there. But the ladder was gone. He examined the walls of the schoolhouse, but they were smoothly weather-boarded and gave no foothold.

“He got an armful of kindling to build up the fire, and presently, though it wasn’t noon, we opened our lunch basket and ate our dinner. A cold wind had risen and the fire was getting low. Whatever Truman did must be done quickly, for the short winter afternoon would soon be over.

“I shivered and edged nearer to the fire.

“‘I wish I had Belle’s new cape,’ I said. ‘It would keep me good and warm. Did you see Belle’s new dolman and hat that she got while she was at Clayville yesterday, Truman?’ I asked idly, just for something to say.

“He didn’t answer me at once. Then, ‘Has anyone else seen them?’ he asked quietly. ‘I mean anyone else except our own folks.’

“‘No, not a soul,’ I said. ‘No one knows she even went to town.’

“Truman stared at me blankly. ‘I wonder if I could do it,’ he murmured.

“‘Why I’m sure you could,’ I said, not in the least knowing what he was talking about, but eager to encourage him in any way I could.

“‘I’ll try it!’ he cried. ‘You go in, Sarah, and tell them I’ll be back in an hour.’ With that he started down the road, and I went in and gave them his message. Some of the boys hooted and laughed and said they might as well go home, but finally decided to wait.

“Less than an hour from the time Truman left some of the scholars impatiently watching the road for his return were surprised to see a lady approaching on horseback from the opposite direction. She got off her horse in front of the schoolhouse and looked helplessly around. Bud McGill dashed out and tied her horse to the fence. The girls said she must be a stranger, for none of them had ever seen her before.

“A plaid dolman of the newest style, trimmed with fringe, fell nearly to her knees, and she wore a wide black beaver hat with a thick veil and glasses. She walked with mincing steps to the door, daintily holding up her long black riding skirt. Just inside she turned to Bud.

“‘Are you the teacher?’ she asked softly.

“‘No, ma’am,’ Bud said politely, ‘the teacher is out just now. Won’t you have a chair?’

“The lady sat down at the teacher’s desk and began to fumble with her veil. One of the girls came forward and deftly removed the pins that held it in place. The veil slipped off, and there sat Truman dressed in sister Belle’s new clothes! There were shouts and shouts of laughter in which even Bud was forced to join. He came forward and offered Truman his hand.

“‘You beat,’ he said. He never made any more trouble and we had a good school the rest of the winter.

“See who gets to sleep first and we’ll have another story real, real soon.”

A WISH THAT CAME TRUE

“Grandma,” said Alice one evening when she and Bobby and Pink had come into Grandma’s room, “do you believe that if you look over your right shoulder at the new moon and make a wish that it will come true?”

“Naw,” jeered Bobby, “course not.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Grandma answered thoughtfully. “A wish made that way could come true. I made a wish once over a white horse and a red-haired girl that came true.”

“Tell us about it Grandma. Please tell us,” coaxed Alice.

Grandma found her knitting and began.

“The red-haired girl,” she said, “was Betty Bard, our preacher’s granddaughter. She had lived at the parsonage with her grandparents for nearly a year, and next to Annie Brierly she was my best friend. The white horse belonged to old Mrs. Orbison, who with several other women had come to help sister Belle quilt her ‘Rose of Sharon.’

“Betty and I were playing under the apple tree in the side yard. That is, we were trying to play. We couldn’t find any game we liked. We kept thinking that this might be our last afternoon together. You see, conference was to meet the next week, and Betty didn’t seem to think her grandfather would be sent back to preach on Redding circuit. I didn’t think so either. Redding circuit was very hard to please, and though Father never found fault with any of our preachers and always paid his tithes, still I knew that Brother Bard was not popular. Betty said it was because he did good by stealth and no one ever found it out.

“‘If I move away,’ said Betty as we sat under the apple tree talking that afternoon, ‘you may have my playhouse rock at school, Sarah, and all my dahlia roots, and the black kitten. The kitten’s name is Bad Boy because he jumps on the table when no one is looking. And you must be sure to dig the dahlias up before frost.’

“Just then Mrs. Orbison’s voice floated out through the open sitting-room window.

“‘It all depends on the sermon he preaches tomorrow,’ she said. ‘If they don’t like it, a letter goes to the Presiding Elder saying we will not tolerate Brother Bard another year and that in case he is sent back against our wishes we will not pay him anything.’

“I looked quickly at Betty to see if she had heard, and I knew by the flush on her cheeks that she had. I put my arm through hers and we walked slowly toward the front gate. It was then I made my wish. I looked at Mrs. Orbison’s white horse turned out to graze in the orchard across the road and at Betty’s red head, and I said to myself, ‘I wish for Betty not to move away.’ Out loud I said to Betty, ‘Can’t you tell your grandpa to preach a sermon they’ll like, Betty, so you won’t have to go away?’

“‘But how would he know what they’d like?’ she asked in a puzzled tone.

“‘Oh, just something pleasant,’ I answered cheerfully, ‘something nice and pleasant.’

“‘I’ll tell him what Mrs. Orbison said,’ she promised before she went home, ‘and he can do what he thinks best.’

“We stopped at the parsonage the next morning to take Betty into the surrey with us because her grandma seldom went to meeting, not being very strong. I could hardly wait till Betty and I got around a corner of the church to ourselves.

“‘What did your grandpa say?’ I asked eagerly.

“‘He said he’d do his duty as he saw it, and grandma said he stayed up all night. She crept downstairs three times to beg him to come to bed.’

“This did not sound very encouraging, but when I heard the text I breathed a sigh of relief. It was, ‘Now if Timotheus come, see that he may be with you without fear, for he worketh the work of the Lord as I also do.’ I didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded like a safe text, and I became so interested in watching a robin hopping on the window sill that I did not notice what Preacher Bard was saying until I felt Betty straighten up and clutch my hand.

“I looked around to see what had happened, and I knew in a minute that he had not preached a sermon to please them. Amazement, indignation, surprise, showed plainly in the upturned faces. I won’t try to tell you what was in that sermon, only this—that, in the hope of making things easier for his successor, Reverend Bard had undertaken in a kindly way to open the eyes of the Mt. Zion people to some of their faults. They had found fault with all the preachers. Now he pointed out a few of their own shortcomings, and they didn’t like it—no, indeed, not a bit.

“When it was over, the congregation poured out of the church, filled the little yard, and overflowed into the graveyard beyond. No one offered to leave. They stood around in groups—whispering, shaking their heads gravely, pressing their lips in grim lines.

“As soon as the preacher left for his afternoon appointment the storm broke. No one paid any attention to Betty as she stood at the horseblock with me waiting for Father to come round with the surrey. Everybody talked at once.

“‘He doesn’t preach the straight gospel—he tells too many tales.’

“‘He doesn’t visit enough.’

“‘He favors pouring, when we’ve always stood for immersion.’

“These remarks and many others Betty and I heard as we waited there for Father. Betty must have stood it just as long as she possibly could. Then suddenly she jerked away from me and climbed to the horseblock. I can see her now—her red hair flying in the breeze, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed.

“‘My grandfather’s the best man in the world,’ she cried, and stamped her foot angrily. ‘He’s the best man in the world, I tell you. I don’t care what you say, he’s the best man in the world,’ and she crumpled down in a little sobbing heap.

“Father came up then and, putting an arm around Betty, he said, ‘Let us pray,’ and everybody bowed his head and Father prayed. He prayed a long time, and at the last there were lots of ‘Amens’ and ‘Praise the Lords’ just as in big meeting.

“The second Father finished, an old man stepped out in front and said in a halting way that he would like every one to know that when his cow died in the winter Preacher Bard had bought him another. That started things. A young man said the preacher had sat up with him every other night for six weeks when he had typhoid fever. A boy said the preacher had bought him school books, and the Widow Spears said he had given her twenty dollars when her house burned. An old lady told how he read one afternoon a week to her husband who was blind, and so on and on and on. Everybody wanted to tell something good about Preacher Bard.

“Before the meeting broke up a big donation party was planned for Monday night, and Mother got Mrs. Bard to let Betty come home with us so she wouldn’t give it away. Monday was a busy day. While the women baked and cooked for the party, the men raised money to put a new roof on the parsonage, to buy a suit of clothes for Brother Bard, a black silk dress for Mrs. Bard, so stiff it would stand alone, and a blue delaine for Betty.

“How we surprised the Bards that night when we all went in, and what a good time we had! But the best part was when Deacon Orbison, who had been opposed to the preacher from the first, got up on a chair and made a speech. He said it seemed to him Redding circuit could not afford to lose a man like Reverend Bard, that his salary and benevolences had been made up in full, and that a letter would be sent the Presiding Elder asking that he be returned for another year. He was returned, and Betty and I sat together at school that winter, so you see I got my wish.

“Well, well, if it isn’t bedtime for three little children I know. Pass the apples, Bobby, please, and next time I’ll tell you—well, I just don’t know what I shall tell you next time, but I’ll have something for you.”

JOE’S INFARE

“I think tonight I’ll tell you about my brother Joe’s infare,” said Grandma one evening when Bobby and Alice and Pink had come to her room for their usual good-night story. “But first,” she went on, before the children had time to ask any questions, “I’d better tell you what an infare was. It was a sort of wedding reception which took place at the bridegroom’s home, usually the day after the wedding. It was the faring or going of the bride into her husband’s home and was celebrated with great rejoicing and a big feast.

“Joe had married Sally Garvin, who lived four miles from us by the road but only two miles through the fields. They had been married the day before, and we were to have the infare.

“Mother and the girls and Nanny Dodds had baked and cooked for a solid week. And before that they had cleaned the house from top to bottom, and we had mowed and raked and swept the big front yard and the orchard across the road and the pasture lot by the house. Now the great day had arrived.

“Stanley had gone in our surrey to drive the bridal couple home, and Truman and the girls had ridden horseback to meet them. Charlie had brought Hunter, Stanley’s colt, down to the barn lot so he could go with them. But Mother was afraid to have him ride the colt, not knowing that he practiced riding him every day in the pasture field.

“From my lookout on the rail of the front portico I saw the first of the guests come over the top of two-mile hill. There was a number of young men and girls on horseback, followed by our surrey with Stanley driving. On the back seat I knew the bride and groom sat.

“I waited for nothing more. I jumped down and rushed off to the kitchen to tell Mother. Mother gave Nanny some instructions about the dinner, slipped off the big gingham apron that covered her gray silk dress, patted her hair before the mirror in the hall, and, taking Father’s arm, went down the path between the rows of bachelor’s buttons, foxglove, Canterbury bells, and ribbon grass to welcome her first daughter-in-law.

“When Sally and Joe had left Sally’s home, a number of friends and relatives had started with them. These had been added to all along the way by other friends, so that there was quite a crowd of folks when they reached our house, besides lots of people who had already come.

“As soon as Mother and Father had greeted Sally, Belle and Aggie hurried her upstairs to the spare chamber to put on her wedding dress. Sally was little, with pink cheeks, and brown curls which she wore caught at the top of her head and hanging down her back very much as the little girls wear their hair now, only the young ladies of that day wore a high-backed comb instead of a ribbon. She wore a new gray alpaca trimmed in narrow silk fluting, very pretty, but nothing like what the wedding dress would be. The wedding dress had been made in Clayville, and Belle and Aggie and everybody else were eager to see it.

“Joe brought up the telescope which held Sally’s things and went back downstairs. The girls were going to help Sally dress, and I kept as much out of sight as possible so I could see and yet not be seen.

“‘Open it up, Aggie, please,’ said Sally, pointing to the telescope, ‘and lay my dress on the bed. I do hope it’s not wrinkled.’

“Aggie lifted the telescope from the floor to a chair.

“‘My goodness, but it’s heavy!’ she cried. ‘What in the world is in it, Sally?’

“Sally turned from the mirror.

“‘Heavy?’ she said surprised. ‘Why, there’s hardly anything in it. I packed it myself. I wanted to be sure my dress wouldn’t be wrinkled, so I just put in the dress and a few other things to do until tomorrow.’

“Aggie rapidly unbuckled the straps and lifted up the lid. Sally gave a smothered cry and caught Belle’s arm.

“‘Somebody has made a mistake,’ she gasped. ‘It is the wrong telescope!’ and she threw herself across the bed and burst into tears.

“The telescope was packed tight full with towels, pillow slips, tablecloths, and sheets and was to have been brought over the next day with the rest of Sally’s things. In the excitement of leaving, some one had carried it down and placed it in the surrey instead of the one containing the wedding dress.

“‘You look awfully sweet in this little gray dress, Sally,’ Aggie tried to console her. But it was no use, for Sally knew quite well that waiting downstairs were girls in dresses that looked much more bridelike than the gray alpaca. To be outshone at one’s own infare—well, it was no wonder she cried!

“Belle suggested that Stanley or Truman go back for the wedding dress, but Sally objected to this. She said people would laugh at her and never forget that she had gone to her infare and left her wedding dress at home.

“Suddenly a thought came to me. Hunter was still in the barn lot. Charlie could ride him, and he went like a streak. It was only two miles through the fields to Sally’s home. I never stopped to think that Mother would be frightened if she knew Charlie was on Hunter, or that Father would probably forbid it, or that Charlie might ruin his new Sunday suit. I slipped out of the room and went in search of Charlie. I found him out front pitching horseshoes, and in no time at all he was off to Sally’s home without a soul knowing about it. Then I went upstairs to tell the girls what I had done.

“They were not very hopeful. It didn’t seem possible that Sally could stay upstairs till Charlie got back with the dress, but she said she would wait a little while anyway. She got up and bathed her face, and Belle and Aggie went down to entertain the guests. Belle started several games, such as ‘Strip-the-Willow’ and ‘Copenhagen,’ and Aggie played the piano.

“I was everywhere—in the kitchen begging Nanny to hold the dinner back as long as she could (I had let her into the secret), on the hill behind the house watching for Charlie, and in the spare chamber trying to cheer Sally up, for at the end of an hour there was no sign of Charlie.

“What could have happened? He had said he could make it in less than an hour. He had been gone an hour and twenty minutes! People were wondering why Sally did not appear. They had lost interest in the games and were dropping out and sauntering toward the house. Aggie had played everything she knew over and over. Belle had run up to tell Sally she would have to put on the gray dress and come right down, but Sally had coaxed for five minutes more. Belle went back and started the folks singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ The five minutes were up and Sally was putting on the gray alpaca dress when Charlie came.

“The people who had begun to wonder what was keeping the bride forgot about it when Sally came down and stood with Joe to receive their good wishes and congratulations. Her dress was heavy cream-colored silk with tiny pink rosebuds scattered all over it, and the full skirt was ruffled clear to the waist. The round neck and elbow sleeves were finished with filmy white ruching, and she wore white satin slippers. With her pink cheeks and shiny brown curls I thought she was the very prettiest bride any one ever saw.

“When they had gone into the dining room, where Annie Brierly and some other little girls were waving peach switches over the tables to keep the flies and bees away and Sally was saying who should sit at the bride’s table, Charlie told me what had kept him. He had found the Garvins’ house locked up and had had to climb in a window to get the telescope. The dog had seen him as he had gotten in and wouldn’t let him come out until Charlie had fed him and made friends with him.

“Then some one called us and said that Sally wanted Charlie and me to sit at the bride’s table. No one could have been more surprised than we were, for we hadn’t expected to eat till the third table at the very soonest, and here we were invited to sit at the bride’s table and have our pick of the choicest food!

“There! I hear Mother calling. Good night, good night, good night.”

PUMPKIN SEED

“Well, well,” said Grandma one evening when Bobby and Alice and Pink asked for a story. “I wonder if I can think of anything tonight.” She found her knitting and went on in a puzzled tone. “I thought of something today to tell you about. Let me see, what was it? Oh, I remember now. It was the pumpkin pie at dinner that set me thinking about the pumpkin seed that Father gave brother Charlie and me to plant.”

“It was in the spring. The fish were biting fine, and one afternoon Charlie and I were all ready to go down to the deep hole under the willows to fish. Charlie had cut new poles and hunted up hooks and lines, and I had packed a lunch, for you do get awfully hungry sitting on the creek bank all afternoon. We were out behind the barn digging bait when Father came around the corner and saw us.

“‘I’ve just been looking for you children,’ he said. ‘I want you to take these pumpkin seeds down to the cornfield in the bottom and plant them.’ Then, seeing our fishing tackle, he added, ‘It won’t take long, and when you finish you may go fishing.’

“Of course Charlie and I were disappointed. We hadn’t been fishing that year yet. It had been a late spring, with lots of rain, and on the bright days there had been so many things that we could do around the house and garden that we couldn’t be spared to go fishing. And now, with everything all ready, to give it up even for an hour or two was a trial.