Part 7

X SI QUINN REVEALS A SECRET

ONLY that one forenoon did Talitha hold school in the hollow. The very next day the weather took a turn, a cold wind blew up, and for more than a week a lowering sky gave promise of rain it failed to fulfil-except now and then in spiteful gusts. Her hopes, to which she had clung with a brave persistence, vanished with the sunshine.

She was greatly puzzled at the indifference her family displayed over the loss of the schoolhouse and its contents. Evidently the school must be discontinued until another year at least. It was getting too late in the season to hope for more than a few days—at a time—warm enough to hold the session out of doors. She had thought some place might be opened to her, but the cabins were small and already overcrowded. When she suggested that the children meet at her own home for a few hours each day, her parents decidedly objected. Even Dan Gooch seemed to forget his anxiety to have Billy and Sudie “git larnin’,” and, although she had offered to assist them with their lessons, along with her own brothers, they had not put in an appearance.

Now that her plans for helping the young people of Goose Creek had failed, Talitha felt more keenly than ever the disappointment of returning home. She took all the heaviest work of the household upon her strong, young shoulders. The spinning wheel whirred through the long afternoons which otherwise would have been dull and dreary enough. She had no heart to call on neighbours or kinfolk; they did not need her. Si Quinn had also lost all interest in school matters, or she had failed to meet his expectations. It was strange she had not known it before, and yet she had done her best.

She had time now to notice the change that had come over her father. Every morning he went off, his axe over his shoulder; such fore-handedness in getting the winter’s wood was unusual in him. When Martin was home it was he who saw that they did not lack for fuel when the cold weather came on.

At the end of the second week she received a letter from her brother. It was the first he had ever written her, for they had never been separated before. Talitha puzzled over its pages, growing more and more bewildered at their contents: “Si Quinn wrote me about the schoolhouse. Isn’t it great! Jake always was heady, he could work up that temper of his until he was worse than a hornet. I hope this’ll be a lesson he’ll remember. I’m just as proud of you as I can be. Everything has worked out for the best after all, hasn’t it? Gincy is studying like a whale. She was mightily disturbed when she heard you’d gone home on her account and I had all I could do to keep her from tagging along after you. But Gincy has a heap of good sense. She’s Miss Howard’s right hand man; I don’t get a sight of her except at meal times, but I can hear her voice on the high notes ’way above the rest come Harmonia nights.—Oh, Gincy’s making good, all right, and I’m glad as can be, but I do miss you awfully, sis—”

Talitha finished and then her eyes wandered back toward the beginning. “I don’t understand it one bit,” she thought. “Mart doesn’t seem to care at all that the schoolhouse burned. He writes as though it were almost a joke.” The tears rushed to Talitha’s eyes. “I’m going right over to the schoolmaster’s, maybe he can explain it,” she decided at last. “I do wonder what he wrote Martin.”

The girl snatched up her sunbonnet and hurried out of the door, the letter in her hand. Half-way to the old man’s cabin she met him hobbling cheerfully along by the aid of his crutch. The satisfied smile on his face brought Talitha’s grievance freshly to mind; she almost resented his unusually jovial greeting.

“Halloo, thar, Tally; you shore air lookin’ robustious—”

“Good-morning,” responded Talitha coldly. “I’ve just got a letter from Martin, and—and I’ve been wondering what you told him. He writes as though it wasn’t—well, he almost joked about the schoolhouse being burned.” The girl’s lips quivered.

“Law, now, did he?” considered the old man, evading the look of reproach in Talitha’s eyes. “I didn’t go fer to give him any sech idee. Hit war a powerful mean thing fer Jake Simcox ter do, and I aimed ter lay thet out plain ter Mart. S’pose you jest walk along with me ter the ruins. I thought a sight of thet old shack; hit’s whar I spent cornsiderable many years. I like ter think of you-all a set-tin’ on them benches. You war a powerful bouncin’ leetle gal, Tally, and I war an ill enough teacher, but I done the best I knowed then.”

Talitha’s anger had suddenly vanished. There was something pitiful in the schoolmaster’s fondness for recalling the past. After all, he felt the loss of the old place more deeply than he would have people think. “You mustn’t say that,” she insisted. “Of course you did the best you could, but I know just how you feel; I wish I’d done more when I had the chance.”

“Law, now, Tally, you’re jest a colt, as hit war, and thar’s plenty of chances comin’ fer you. Hit ain’t as if you war sech a broken-down hoss critter as I be.”

“But I can’t bear to give up the school!” cried the girl. “I’ve been trying so hard to think of some way, and nobody seems to have the least interest in it any more.”

“Don’t they now?” said Si Quinn with recovered cheerfulness. Then stopping suddenly, “’Pears ter me suthin’s been goin’ on up this a way.” They had come to where, through a cleared space among the trees, a blackened heap was visible—all that was left of the poor little schoolhouse.

But Talitha hardly noticed it. Something beyond had caught her eye—a substantial yet picturesque structure of logs, the rough bark still covering them and adding a beauty in harmony with the surroundings. The carefully laid chimney at one end was receiving the last finishing touches at the hands of a capable mason from the Settlement. A dozen men stood about watching him admiringly.

The old man saw Talitha’s eyes widen in amazement.

“Why, what is it?” she cried suddenly. “I don’t understand!”

“Well, well, honey,” chuckled Si Quinn, “I reckon thet’s the joke Mart writ you ’bout, and I declar’ if hit ain’t the biggest one I ever heerd tell on. Hit’s goin’ ter be all ready fer you ter begin school Monday, and nobody war goin’ ter say anythin’ ter you ’bout hit till thet time; but I see I jest had ter, you war frettin’ so.”

The new schoolhouse was a most pretentious affair in the eyes of its builders. The logs were carefully chinked to keep out the cold, and the three good-sized windows contained shining panes of glass. Inside, there were backs to the rough benches. Desks, the amateur carpenters had felt unable to cope with, but there was a little platform with a rude table for the teacher. A large sheet-iron stove gave promise of warming the farthest corners of the room.

It was all so far beyond Talitha’s most ambitious dreams that she sank upon a seat and burst into tears. The men looked at her abashed.

“Law me, Tally,” expostulated Sam Coyle, “hit looks fairly ongrateful fer you ter take on that-a-way.”

“Now shet up, Sam,” commanded the schoolmaster with his old authority. “Tally’s jest as tickled as anybody, but hit’s all come so mighty sudden she’s kerried plumb off her feet.”

“I should say I was!” laughed the girl, wiping her eyes. “I never dreamed of such a thing.”

The next Monday morning Talitha sang all the way to school. The air was frosty and a nipping wind reddened her cheeks and made her fingers tingle, but she laughed a merry defiance at the cold. How warm and cosy the new schoolhouse should be when the children came trooping in. A turn in the worn footpath and there it stood before her, new and inviting, beckoning her on. Some one had been there before her, for smoke came from the chimney. The young teacher hastened her steps. The door was unlocked and she entered. The place was empty but warm to the farthest nook, and Talitha rubbed her eyes. There were familiar looking books on the table and maps on the walls beside the wide stretches of blackboard. There were pictures also, not just such as she would have chosen, but how they brightened the place! “If hit’s picters Tally wants, why hit’s picters she shall hev,” declared the storekeeper at the Settlement. And forthwith he had gathered his accumulation of calendars, chromo advertisements, and picture cards to beautify the schoolroom.

For a time Talitha’s heart was as light as a feather, then something began to trouble her. Quite by accident she discovered that Si Quinn’s funds were getting low. How little he could afford to replace the books and maps which had been destroyed she did not imagine. She only knew that he seemed to have grown paler and thinner each time she saw him. He had a habit of dropping in at the school almost daily, and when a week passed and he did not appear, Talitha called at the cabin.

She knocked, but there was no response and she opened the door with misgiving. The old man was not there. She looked curiously around; the remnants of a scanty meal were on the table, and with a sudden inspiration she began to investigate the condition of his larder. The girl stood amazed at the result. She knew he had not been able to cultivate his little garden patch the past summer, but because of the small sum he had earned for years in the Goose Creek school, Si Quinn had been looked upon as a well-to-do man in the community.

Much troubled at her discovery, Talitha set her wits to work. The old man was too proud, she knew, to accept any offers of assistance. Suddenly a plan entered her head. Christmas was only three weeks distant—that was her opportunity, only something must be done meanwhile. Where could he have gone? The girl ran to the door and looked out. There he was now coming along the creek path. She hurried out to meet him.

“Howdy, Tally!” he called, a smile brightening the wan, haggard face.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” cried the girl. “I’m going to take you home with me for supper and I know father and mother won’t hear to your coming back to-night.”

The old schoolmaster needed little urging to accompany her, and he did ample justice to the supper Talitha cooked with her own hands. The next morning a drizzling sleet prevented him from leaving. It was almost a week before he finally took his departure, and then it was to respond to an urgent invitation from the Gooch family to visit them. The Shackleys would also be offended if they were neglected, so before the rounds were made, Si Quinn’s face lost its pallor and he was quite like himself again.

One morning Pom Ethers, the wagoner, stopped at the schoolhouse with a goodly sized wooden box. “Talitha Coyle” was painted on it in large black letters. The children gathered around while the man, with much curiosity, opened it.

“Laws-a-massy!” exclaimed Porn Ethers as the cover came off. “If they ain’t all books! What’ll ye ever do with sech a heap of ’em, Tally?” There were two dozen volumes in neat but cheap bindings; some new to the young teacher, and others she had read over and over in the school library at Bentville.

“Read and study them of course,” she answered. “They’re just what we’ve needed all the time. Who could have sent them?”

“Hit beats me,” said the wagoner. “Thar ain’t nothin’ ter show whar they come from; mebbe the schoolmaster can tell ye.”

Si Quinn did not seem to know who the unknown donor might be, although he might have surmised, for the very next day he received a letter containing five dollars wrapped in an unsigned epistle, stating that the sender had found a place at good wages. After Christmas he was going to school—working evenings for his keep.

The schoolmaster smiled and nodded knowingly as he read it over and over to himself, then laid the sheets on the flame in the wide fireplace and watched them turn to ashes.

It took a great deal of scheming on Talitha’s part to bring her plans to maturity. Billy Gooch was her right hand man, who could keep a secret better than some of his elders. Her younger brothers, Rufe and Dock, were too small to be of much service, while most of her other pupils lived too far away to help her after school hours.

Christmas Eve there were to be exercises at the schoolhouse, which was to be trimmed with evergreen and holly for the occasion. Talitha had heard of Christmas trees, although she had never seen one, but they meant candles, glittering trimmings, and little gifts far beyond the reach of her small purse.

The schoolhouse looked like Santa Claus’ bower when the last decoration was in place. From every available spot glowed the red berries of the holly, with their shining green leaves against a background of pine and fir. At last she was free to go. With one last look of satisfaction she locked the door, and, accompanied by Billy and Sudie, took her way to the old schoolmaster’s cabin. She did not see the faces peering excitedly out at her from behind the pine thicket where, on that memorable night, Jake Simcox had thought himself safe from detection.

Si Quinn had not finished his stay at the Shackleys, so the coast was clear. The Saturday before Talitha, with the aid of Billy and his sister, had given the cabin such a scrubbing as it had never known. The fireplace was newly whitewashed and filled with odorous pine and balsam boughs. There was also a huge pile of wood in one corner of the room. Only the finishing touches were lacking to make the preparations complete for the great surprise to be precipitated upon the schoolmaster, and in these all his former patrons were to have a hand.

The children had brought their arms full of holly and pine, and now they ran out for more while Talitha tried to give a festive air to the poor little place. She smiled to herself as she did so, wondering meanwhile what the old man would say to such “vanities”—as he would have called them a year ago.

Presently there was a heavy step at the door, and Porn Ethers staggered in, his arms weighted with bundles of all shapes and sizes. There was a veritable Santa Claus twinkle in the grey eyes under the shaggy eyebrows.

“Thar’s a heap more things in the wagon, Tally. I couldn’t git hit nearer’n the big rock, but I can pack ’em up easy ’nough, I reckon. Law, but Si’ll think hit air Chris’mus fer sure! Thar’s three flitches of bacon and a ham, and Mis’ Spurlock’s sent one of her puddin’s,” enumerated the wagoner as he deposited the offerings upon the table. “The Shackleys and the Twilligers hev fairly outdone theirselves. What I’m afeard of is thet now the schoolmaster’ll be gittin’ the dyspepsy; too much eatin’ air right down onhealthy—so I’ve heerd. But I’d be willin’ ter take the resk if hit war me.” The grey eyes twinkled again.

Billy and Sudie came in with another armful of greens and hurried to Porn Ethers’ assistance. In a comparatively short time the contents of the wagon were neatly stowed away on the shelves, the bed made up with the new blankets and blue coverlet, and the table set in Talitha’s most approved fashion with some of the choicest goodies surrounding a large bunch of holly.

“When the fire is burning and the candles lighted it’ll look real Christmas-y,” decided the young teacher as the finishing touches were completed. “I shall have to run ahead and see to that. How I wish Martin were here to-night,” she sighed as she started homeward.

XI CHRISTMAS DOINGS

THE dusk of Christmas Eve had gathered when Talitha set out for the schoolhouse, leaving the rest of the family to follow later. The place was already warm, but the candles must be lighted; the company would gather at an early hour. Already there was the sound of wheels, the tread of oxen on the wagon track, and the chatter of voices. Every man, woman, and child in Goose Creek, able to hobble forth, would be present.

As she neared the place she saw that light already flamed from the windows. Her steps quickened into a run; she reached the schoolhouse quite breathless. The door was ajar. Talitha pushed it open and entered. At first she was only aware that something very puzzling was going on. She rubbed her eyes—they were dazed with the light—and looked again.

On the platform was a Christmas tree, so tall that the flame of its topmost candle barely escaped the ceiling. The twinkling lights, the glittering tinsel, the toys, made it the most beautiful thing Talitha had ever seen. Several people were moving about it lighting more candles and hanging small, red stockings, with bulging sides, to the lower branches. Did her eyes deceive her? Was one of them—yes, it was really Martin, and there was Miss Howard, and Abner, and Gincy!

The latter rushed forward and caught Talitha in her arms. “We’ve been planning for it ever so long; I was determined to come home with the boys and surprise you,” laughed Gincy with a hug. “Then we coaxed Miss Howard to come too, and when the Bentville folks heard about the school and what you’d done, they wanted to help, so there’s something on the tree for every pupil.”

“Hello, Tally,” Abner interrupted excitedly. “This is a dandy schoolhouse! I should think you’d be awfully ’bliged to Jake Simcox for burnin’ that old shack—”

“Sh!” Talitha held up a warning finger, for a crowd was flocking in at the door. Foremost were the Shackleys with Si Quinn. At first the company looked about bewildered, then their tongues suddenly loosened and the din was deafening.

“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Ann Bills, with a violent poke of her elbow in her husband’s ribs, “jest look at thet pine, will ye, all rigged out with poppets and sech. Whar d’ye s’pose Tally got all thet plunder?”

“I reckon hit war packed all the way from Bentville,” Shad Bills answered shrewdly. “Thar’s Miss Howard over yon—and—I’m blest if hit ain’t Mart and Abner lightin’ them candles! The young-uns hev come back fer Chris’mus, Ann—” But his wife did not hear, her keen eyes had spied Gincy, and she was already elbowing her way through the crowd in a masterful fashion.

Half-dazed, the aged schoolmaster glanced around; it was all very strange—and beautiful, too. His faded old eyes winked and blinked at the unaccustomed twinkle and glitter. It almost took his breath and he dropped trembling, into a seat. How could Talitha have thought of all this! Did they have such things at Bentville? All the years of his teaching he had never once dreamed of celebrating Christmas in this fashion. He eyed the tree—what he could see of it over the heads of the crowd—with all a child’s delight. How shining and stately it looked! Its tallest candle glittered like a star, while those among the holly and pine, around the room, shone back bravely as though they were not to be outdone. And how the folks chattered!

Talitha slipped away to find Martin. She wanted to meet him alone, although that seemed an impossibility, but she darted around the tree and caught him tucking away a parcel under the branches at the base. How tall and manly he looked.

“Oh, Tally!” he exclaimed, beaming at her. “Did we surprise you?” He stooped and kissed her.

Talitha only nodded; she could not trust her voice.

“I can see now why you came back, Tally,” Martin began, but he did not finish, for the two were suddenly besieged by Abner and Gincy and dragged before the surprised company who had not yet discovered Martin.

It was quite a few minutes before the excited audience settled into quiet, and then it was as decorous and interested as one could wish. Miss Howard could hardly have presided with more dignity than did Talitha, and the exercises went off better than either could have believed possible with those alluring gifts before the children’s eyes.

The dialogue between the Twilliger twins went smoothly without prompting. The youngest Dodd boy—small for his ten years and one of the brightest pupils—recited “The Night Before Christmas” like a general, and received long and vociferous applause, as did also the song by little Polly Suttle. Billy Gooch came in for a large share of approval at his rendering of Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg; there was a marching drill in which Rufe Coyle beat the time on an old drum of his grandfather—who had been through the war. The vigorous rat-a-tat-tat set the men’s restless feet tapping to the great delight of the children. The exercises were at last concluded with the singing of the “Star Spangled Banner” by the school, the younger pupils waving small flags through the chorus.

At the close of the song, Miss Howard, with the aid of Martin and Abner, began to distribute the gifts from the tree. Minta Bills was the first name called, but the child failed to understand and hung back timidly.

“Don’t ye hear Miss Howard callin’ ye? Go ’long, honey,” coaxed her father, giving the child a gentle push. He did not comprehend just what was wanted, but the young woman from Bentville must be obeyed.

“Minty! whar’s yer raisin’?” reproved Ann Bills, turning sharply to her granddaughter. Minta edged shyly toward the tree, and Miss Howard put a stocking full of candy and a small but gaily dressed doll into her arms, watching the look of astonishment and delight grow in her face. At the sight of the latter all the mother instinct was aroused, and she stumbled back to her father, hugging her precious burden close. All Goose Creek watched her. The big blue eyes were fastened on the doll, and the long yellow curls fashioned a sort of halo for the sweet, childish face.

Ann Bills’ hard mouth twitched and she gave Minta a kindly pat as she bent over to view the gift at closer range. “Hit do beat all,” she told her son in an audible whisper. “Thet thar poppet fairly looks like a human.”

For a few minutes Minta was the envy of the school, but it was soon discovered that none of the pupils had been overlooked—that even their teacher had been remembered with enough “store goods” for a new gown, the package Martin was hiding under the branches.

“I declare, if I didn’t forget all about the schoolmaster,” Martin whispered to Talitha. “I’m so sorry—”

“Oh!” his sister gave a start. “And I did too. Martin, I’m going right over to speak to Enoch Shackley, and in ten minutes you must follow me. Just slip away without any one seeing you; I’ll be waiting outside.”

Halfway across the room Talitha was waylaid by a tall, black-eyed girl with a conspicuous pompadour. “I reckon you don’t know me, I ’lowed you wouldn’t—at first sight, anyway, but I war on the train the mornin’ you come from Bentville and you told me ’bout Gincy’s goin’ ter school. I didn’t find out your name, but when I heerd ’bout a gal comin’ back here to Goose Creek to teach school I pieced hit all together and I knew hit war you.”

“This is Piny Twilliger?” inquired Talitha politely.

“You’re jest right. I’ve had a powerful fine time, and I’ve been a-tellin’ Gincy thet I’m goin’ ter Bentville too, next term. I’ve changed my mind ’bout gittin’ larnin’.”

Talitha made her escape as soon as possible, although Piny would have liked to prolong the conversation. With a whispered word in Enoch Shackley’s ear she slipped out of the door unnoticed.

XII GOOSE CREEK PLOTS AGAINST THE SCHOOLMASTER

“HIT air gittin’ powerful late,” admonished Enoch Shackley, rounding up the last of his brood. “I can take you-uns along ter your place,” he said to the schoolmaster. “I reckon you’re honin’ ter git home.”

The old man’s face suddenly fell. Never within his memory had he spent so festive an evening, and now to go from it to his cold, comfortless cabin. The blacksmith observed the look with an unfeeling smile, and attempted to hasten his offspring’s preparations for departure.

“Hurry up thar, chil’ren. Law me, your teacher’s gone ’fore this. She’s glad ’nough ter git shet o’ you fer one spell, I reckon.”