CHAPTER V.

IN SCHOOL AND OUT.

The dazzlingly white school-house opposite Captain Thompson’s mansion was not used for the public school, which, under the state law, was necessarily kept in operation at least four months in the year, and for whose support the people of Cleverly were taxed. That institution was situated at a point nearer the fore side, a short distance from the main street, and was in rather a dilapidated condition. In those days country people had not that pride in handsome and commodious school-houses which is now eminently a characteristic of New England villages; and this crazy edifice was likely to serve the purpose for which it had been erected, years and years before, until it should crumble to pieces with age or be swept into a pile of kindling-wood by the fury of a March gale.

Captain Thompson, as a member of the school committee, had endeavored many times to have the old shell supplanted by a better building, or at least placed on a more secure footing; but in vain. His associates--Messrs. Pennywise and Poundfoolish--strictly opposed reconstruction in any form.

“It was good enough for us; and what was good enough for us is good enough for our young ones,” was not a very sound argument; but, as it satisfied the majority, the captain was obliged to give way. He then carried the matter before the town meeting, with no better success. There was a strong opposition to any measure he brought forward for the improvement of the school estate. Not even a bundle of shingles or a pound of nails could be had for repairs. The “good-enough” argument prevailed here; and the captain was vanquished.

Then his obstinacy asserted itself. He withdrew from the school committee, bought the land opposite his house, took men from his shipyard, hired all the carpenters he could find, and in less than two months had a very neat and commodious school-house of his own. This he leased to Rufus Drinkwater, the best teacher the public school ever had,--a man generally esteemed by the good folks of Cleverly,--and commenced a warfare against the ancient establishment. Drinkwater’s term opened a month earlier than the public, the charge for tuition was very low, and the captain gave notice that he was prepared to pay the bills, if children wanted to come to “my school,” and parents felt unable to incur further expense for schooling than that to which they were subjected by the state tax.

The committee-men laughed when they saw “Thompson’s Folly,” as they styled the new edifice, going up. But when they saw the children going in,--and a very respectable procession they made,--and looked into their almost deserted quarters, they groaned in spirit, forgot the dignity of office, and railed in unbecoming terms at the “underhand tricks” of their successful opponent.

There was a satisfied look upon the captain’s face as he stepped into the road Monday morning, followed by his man-of-all-work. About the door of the school-house were gathered a dozen or so of young people, awaiting the appearance of the teacher. It was only half past eight; and this assembly at so early an hour gave promise of a successful opening.

“Well, well, little folks, this looks well, this looks well,” said the great man, good humoredly, as he entered the circle. “‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm,’ and its the early chicks that pick up the largest crumbs at the bountiful table of learning.”

The “chicks” looked a little crestfallen as the captain passed among them, patting a head here, and chucking a chin there; for to boys and girls ranging from ten to fifteen years of age, these babyish appellations and familiarities are not cordially welcome.

“Phil, unlock the door.--Everything’s in order, nice and clean; and be sure you keep it so, little folks.”

“And mind, darlin’s, it’s the captain that’s done it all,” put in Phil, as he unlocked the door. “Niver be ungrateful, for it is a warm heart has the captain, though he doesn’t always show it in his face.”

“Come, come, Phil, none of that,” cried the captain, a flash of “ugliness” springing to his face to give color to Phil’s remark. “Mind your own business, and open the door.”

“There yez are,” said Phil, throwing open the door. “In wid yez, and have a raal foine frolic afore the schoolmasther comes. Howld on a bit. Three cheers for yer binefacthor--Captain Thompson. Now: one, two, three, and away you go!”

Phil led off with a cheer, in which the young people heartily joined. The captain turned down the hill, followed by Phil and the continued cheers of the scholars, who, once started, were not contented with anything short of three times three, though whether the thought of their benefactor or the sound of their own voices contributed more to their enthusiasm, would have been no hard matter to decide.

The captain, evidently impressed with the idea that the young Sleepers were to be driven to school like unruly cattle, was armed with his whip, and, that there might be no defeat of his project, had furnished Phil with a stout stick, and bade him keep a sharp eye on the youngsters until they were safe in the school-house. Phil followed meekly, with his weapon under his arm and a broad grin on his face, for the comicality of the situation highly delighted the warm-hearted Hibernian, with whom the young people were such favorites that, had they meditated an escape, he would have managed, by some native blunder, to aid, and not impede, their attempt.

To the utter astonishment of the captain, when they reached the house, a transformation had been accomplished. On a block in the yard sat Teddy, with a clean face, smoothly-brushed hair, clothes well patched, to be sure, but without a rent, and, strangest of all, shoes and stockings on his feet. Becky sat in the doorway, with an open book in her lap, hair well brushed and curled, frock mended, clean apron, polished shoes, and white stockings. All this was the work of Hulda Prime. Either in gratitude to Mrs. Thompson, who had quickly returned the purloined goodies, with the request that the children be made presentable, or from a desire to astonish her enemy, Hulda had risen at an early hour, aroused the sleepers, washed, brushed, and mended with an energy that surprised even the dreamy mother, and, after a lesson in good behaviour, had set her charge out to dry, until the arrival of the captain.

Becky had taken the matter very coolly. When told she was going to school that day, she said,--

“Why, Teddy and I were going up to the Basin to-day.”

“Yes, rafting,” said Teddy. “It’s plaguy mean to spoil a fellow’s fun.”

“No matter,” replied Becky, with a knowing nod of the head; “guess we’ll go after school, any way.”

When thoroughly scoured and adorned, she took a large book, and sat in the doorway, where the captain found her.

“Well, young ones, what is it--peace or war? Will you go to school quietly, or must we drive you?” said the captain, when he had recovered from his surprise.

“You won’t drive us, captain,” said Becky, looking up, with a smile. “It would be too hard work. We’re going quietly--ain’t we, Teddy?”

“Yes, if we’re let alone. Ain’t going to be lugged like a calf to the slaughter-house, any way,” grumbled Teddy.

“You’d better,” growled the captain. “I ain’t forgot your capers in my orchard. I’m just itching to pay off that score. But I’ll call it square if you give me no trouble now.”

“All right, captain,” replied Becky; “We’ll go. I’ve been preparing myself for torture in this blessed book.”

“What book’s that--the Bible, hey?” said the captain.

“It’s ‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs,’ captain; but I can’t find anything about school in it.”

“Pshaw!” said the captain; “let such books alone. Come, stir your stumps, or you’ll be late. Now, recollect, if you give me any trouble--”

“Cap’n Thompson, you needn’t be afraid of them young ones; they won’t eat you!” cried Aunt Hulda, sticking her head out of the kitchen doorway. “If you and that big Irish lubber can’t handle ’em, better call on the committee; they’ll help you.”

The taunt was so bitter that the captain raised his whip; but, recollecting the sex of his opponent, he turned away, with a muttered “Hang it!” and strode into the road. Teddy and Becky followed, and Phil brought up the rear. The march schoolward was devoid of stirring incidents. Occasionally Becky, annoyed at the strict guard kept over them, would dart to the side of the road. The captain and Phil would run after her, only to find her picking a flower, or cutting a switch. The captain would stalk on again, and the captives would exchange mischievous glances, while Phil would grow red in the face with suppressed laughter.

The captain had consumed more time than he intended in mustering his recruits; and it was past nine o’clock when he reached the school-house. His “chicks,” having exhausted their stock of cheers, had filed into the school-room, and not averse to Phil’s recommendation, had indulged in a noisy but good-humored frolic, in which they were joined by some twenty later arrivals. They were in the midst of an animated game of tag, when three distinct raps upon the teacher’s desk made them aware of the presence of a stranger. In an instant there was profound silence in the room, and all eyes were turned upon the new-comer. He was a young man, of medium height, broad-shouldered and full-chested, every movement of his person showing in its powerful grace the effects of physical culture and out-door exercise. His face was equally powerful; piercing black eyes, browned skin, and a determined lock of the under jaw, showed a strong will and a daring spirit. Yet an occasional comical quiver about his eyes, and a lifting of his slight moustache by a half smile, and a genial glow of good humor which beamed through its sternness, as the ruddy cheek glowed under the brown coating, gave token of the nobility of power, by its kinship to gentleness and good humor. To all this were added a high forehead and an abundance of short, curly locks, so that the person of the stranger was not only calculated to command respect, but admiration as well.

“My young friends,” said he, “I bear a message from your teacher. He was taken suddenly ill last Friday night; he is somewhat better this morning, we think, but unable to be here with you. He has asked me to take his place, and wishes you to be patient with one who is a new hand at keeping school. That’s myself,” with a smile. “Will you take me?”

“O, yes, sir!” “Yes, sir!” in full chorus.

“Very well. I think we can agree. Take your places--boys on the left, girls on the right, as usual.”

There were three rows of forms on each side, for the scholars, with a broad open space between; there was a platform at the farther end, for recitations; the teacher’s desk faced this, on a corresponding platform at the left of the door, and behind his desk was a blackboard affixed to the wall. The room was lighted by three windows on each side, and one at the farther end.

The scholars quickly took their places, and Mr. Drinkwater’s substitute seated himself at the desk, opened the record book, and commenced calling the names of the scholars of the last term in alphabetical order. He was among the D’s, had reached the name of Hosea Davis, when the door was thrown open, and Captain Thompson stalked into the room, followed by Becky and Teddy.

“Here Drinkwater, here’s a couple of eels that want training.”

The substitute raised his head quickly.

“Harry Thompson!”

“Yes, sir, Harry Thompson,” said the stranger, rising. “I hope I see you well, sir.”

The captain did not look well. He turned pale, and stared at his son as though he could not believe his eyes.

“Wh-wh-what does this mean? Why are you here? Where’s Drinkwater?”

“Mr. Drinkwater is ill, sir; taken suddenly last Friday. I have been stopping with him for a few days, and he requested me to open his school to-day.”

“He’s no business to do anything of the kind. This is my school; and I won’t have it.”

The captain was getting angry.

“I understood him to say that the school-house was leased to him, and that he was expected to get a substitute when unable to attend himself.”

“So he is; but not you, sir, not you. I don’t want any of your teaching. S’pose you’ll teach these young ones to disobey their fathers, and run off. No, sir. You are at liberty. I’ll teach myself.”

“That is a point you must settle with Mr. Drinkwater,” said the young man, quietly. “I have taken command here, and, without meaning to be disrespectful, propose to hold my position until relieved by Mr. Drinkwater.”

The captain absolutely foamed with rage.

“You’re an impudent puppy. You’ve no business here, no business in the place. You’ve disgraced yourself. After what I’ve done for you, too!” And the captain went into particulars as to what he had done, commencing a long way back in the young man’s history, and without giving his son a chance to speak, growing louder and fiercer as his tongue flew the faster. He was suddenly brought to a stop by a roar of laughter from the children. He turned to them in amazement, but not by him was their merriment caused.

While the captain was giving vent to his troubles, Miss Becky had stepped upon the platform, picked up a crayon, and commenced operations on the blackboard. As she proceeded, all eyes, with the exception of those belonging to the captain and his son, were fastened upon her; and the completion of her picture had brought forth the interrupting roar.

Becky had one talent which had long been hid; she had a genius for drawing; but never before had this peculiar talent been paraded for public inspection.

But here, as skillfully executed as chalk would allow, was a drawing representing “Old Uncle Ned” at full gallop, Becky seated upon his back, and the captain in full pursuit--so well done, that the captain, following the direction of all eyes, instantly recognized it. Incensed he made a dart at Becky; but the nimble artist dodged him, and fled to the farther end of the room. This produced another roar from the scholars. The captain checked his pursuit, turned about, and fled from the room, banging the door behind him.

Harry Thompson rapped the desk, and commanded silence.

“Miss Becky Sleeper, remove that drawing from the blackboard at once,” he said sternly.

Becky looked up at him with a mischievous smile, which instantly disappeared, as she met his eye. She meekly obeyed, and the picture vanished.

“Now, take your place. You, too, Master Teddy.”

Teddy went over among the boys, and Becky followed him. Another roar from the scholars.

“Silence!” from the teacher. “Miss Becky, you will take your place among the girls, where you belong.”

Becky went the whole length of the room, scowling at the girls, who had laughed at her blunder, and took a seat by the window.

Harry concluded his record by affixing the names of Teddy and Becky, who were the only new scholars.

“The exercises will be very short this morning, and there will be but one session. I shall only call upon you to read; that concluded, you will be dismissed for the day.”

He then commenced with the boy nearest him, calling upon them separately to read--first a boy, then a girl, in regular succession. They made their own selections, and with varied success. There were some good readers, none very bad, until they reached Teddy. He stepped upon the platform, and read “Casabianca” somewhat in this style:--

“‘The boy stood on the--b-u-r-n-i-n-g--burning deck, Whence--whence--whence all butim had sled--no, fled; The flames that lit the batil wreck Shine--shown--show--round him o’er the dead;’”

which, of course, excited a laugh. It was now Becky’s turn, and she was called. She did not move. She could read no better than Teddy, and she was determined not to be laughed at.

“Becky Sleeper, take the platform!” said the teacher, in a stern voice.

“I won’t--there! I didn’t come to school to you: Mr. Drinkwater’s my teacher.”

Harry Thompson stepped from his desk. The lower jaw came up with an ominous snap. He went to where Becky sat kicking the form before her, and looked down at her. She appeared so little, that his anger at her sauciness vanished at once.

“Becky, you and I will have a private session after school. You will read to me then, I think, for old acquaintance’s sake,” he said, with a smile, and returned to his desk. “I am very much obliged to you all for your attention. School is dismissed. Becky Sleeper will remain.”

There was a rush for out doors, and the school-room was quickly cleared of all but Becky and the teacher. Teddy had lingered a moment to exchange a word with Becky, in which “the Basin,” and “wait outside,” might be distinguished, and then had taken his leave.

“Now, Becky, let me hear you read.”

Becky arose, but instead of stepping to the platform, marched straight for the door. But not quite fast enough, for Harry stepped before her, closed the door, and locked it.

“Becky,” said he, “the first duty to be learned in school is obedience to the teacher. Go to the platform!”

Becky looked up at him with defiance in her glance.

“Harry Thompson, you’re just as mean as you can be. You let those boys and girls laugh at Teddy and now you want to laugh at me. I won’t read.”

“Go to the platform.”

Becky turned and went to the platform, and farther yet; she threw up the window, and jumped upon the sill, and all very quickly. Harry saw her intention at once.

“Becky, Becky, don’t do that,” he cried, running towards her. “It’s ten feet. You’ll break your neck.”

“Don’t care. I won’t read;” and she leaped. There was a rustling and tearing among the foliage beneath the window; but when Harry reached it, Becky was invisible.