Part 4

By this time we were near the house, a white two-story building, with a broad veranda looking southward from the last low shelf of the hills, with an ample school-room in the rear, and grounds fitted up with arbors, rustic seats, swings, and all the paraphernalia of school life. The avenue by which we approached was lined with maples, and on our advance we passed clumps of lilacs and snowballs. But the house itself, with its heavy windows and flagged walk before the door, was just the same as before, Miss Grimshaw said. A few bunches of asters nodded their welcome, and the chrysanthemums on the borders stood as erect as though school-boys never passed them. We had reached the porch before Mr. Harlan saw us.

“And this is Marston Howe,” he said, after greeting Miss Grimshaw with marked kindness. “I am glad to see you, Marston; they tell me that you are fond of books, and determined to study. Is that so?”

“I shall do my best, sir,” was all that I could say, while it seemed that his eyes would look me through.

“It will be a long walk, Mr. Harlan,” Miss Grimshaw observed when she rose to leave. “I should have been glad on many accounts could Marston have boarded here; but for the present we could not arrange it so.”

“Oh, as for that matter, the walk will do him good; the harder one studies, the more exercise he should have. It will deprive him of companionship, save his books; but perhaps that will prove no loss. It is a delightful walk. I make the trip sometimes, and always return well paid for the trouble. I am only sorry I have so few pupils from your village. Frank Clavers boards here, and goes home on Friday.”

When Miss Grimshaw had gone, Mr. Harlan led the way into a large room where several boys and girls were studying. Taking his seat at the desk, he motioned me near him, and began questioning me closely in arithmetic and geography. When he had finished, he gave me a lesson in Latin grammar, and then seated me at his right hand, and by the side of another pupil, almost man grown, whom he called Lovell.

He then rung his desk-bell, and through the several doors came pupils from the recitation rooms; another touch of the bell, and others went out. There was no voice, no confusion; it was done with the order and precision of clock-work.

Twelve o’clock, and then such a buzz and whirr in the school-room I could neither see nor think. Soon Frank Clavers came with a noisy welcome, and led me out to see a new swing he had just been improvising, introducing me first to one and then to another.

“But you’ll know them soon enough, Marston. I only wish you boarded in the house; such capital times as we have. Fridays I go home. I am glad you are here to go with me.”

“But you do not walk, and I do all the time.”

“No matter. I have my pony sent down, and they can just as well send another. But say, whom do you sit with?”

“Mr. Harlan called him Lovell.”

“Lovell! why, he’s the very best scholar in school; poor though; going to be a minister;” and Frank ran on: “There goes the dinner-bell. What have you for dinner, Marston?”

“I shall take my dinner after I get home,” I answered.

“Too bad; I wish you would board here. Why not?”

“I’m too poor, Frank; I am glad to come on any terms.”

There was a sudden dropping of balls and jumping from swings, and a general scudding across the grounds. I walked around to the south side, and seated myself in an arbor heavily laden with vines.

It had seemed to me delightful to study Latin; but the grammar, now that I had it in my hand, was altogether a different thing. I thought of the mountain. We had gone to the top by the simple effort of one step at a time.

“We are all climbers,” Mr. Kirby had said. Studying Latin could be done in the same manner as we scaled the mountain, with one step at a time. Before I went home at night my lesson was recited.

“Very well for the first day,” said Mr. Harlan. “Perseverance and energy are all that is necessary. You like to study, and I trust you like to do what you do well. Make thorough work; understand what you go over. The great fault with our scholars is, they are superficial. It will require time to accomplish all you desire; but with the right effort it can be done. Make haste, but make haste slowly.”

Owing to my long walk, and my not having any recitation the first hour, Mr. Harlan did not oblige me to come in before ten; and I was also privileged to leave at three. This would give me some time to help Jennie; and for myself, I knew I should study better in Miss Grimshaw’s little back parlor than in the large school-room at Rockdale.

Returning home, I had just reached the point where the narrow white line of a brook became visible, when Jennie bounded up the pathway, her round cheeks all aglow, her blue sun-bonnet thrown back, and the sunshine playing with the loose meshes of her hair. She could hardly steady her voice, so eager was she to know of the day.

“Tell me all about it, brother. Miss Grimshaw said Rockdale was such a lovely place. Oh, I am sure it cannot be more beautiful there than it is here. Are there any little girls that go to the school? Did you see any to-day; and are there any so small as I am?”

“I did not see any so small as you are, Jennie.”

“Oh dear, I do so wish I could go with you. Don’t you think I could walk easily?”

“Not every day, Jennie; and besides, we are going to study in the evening, you know; and what I learn at school I will teach you at home.”

“Will you? Oh, that is so good;” and she clung to my hand, this little sister that my mother had said I must love and care for. Then she drew me down to the brook, its waters leaping over the stones with a gurgling music, like the trill of a laughing child; the sunshine glinting through the pines and climbing up the bank to our feet.

It was a scene of peculiar beauty, and dear Jennie enjoyed it with a keen relish. I tried, but could not enter into the same sense of enjoyment. To tell the truth, I was weary, perhaps hungry, and my new book did not seem to me quite as easy as I expected to find it.

Then I recollected that, in climbing the mountain, the object was not accomplished by one effort, but by a succession of continued struggles. It was by pressing through the undergrowth, catching hold of the cliff, going around the rocks, creeping where it was impossible to walk, yet advancing steadily all the time, that the ascent was made. Mr. Kirby had told me it would be just so in my studies; and I looked above me into the bright blue sky, and thought of the prayer offered in that jewelled dell--the prayer that I might be led by God’s Spirit, guarded and guided by his grace, and that a path might open for me. It had opened thus far; and was not this in answer to Mr. Kirby’s prayer and my mother’s supplications? and again I resolved to use my time wisely.

The oak grows stronger by the very winds that toss its boughs; so the heart, from the burdens that apparently weigh it down, gathers new power to soar above the mists of gloom and discontent.

“You have not noticed my book,” I said at length, holding out my Latin grammar; “and besides, you forget that I have not been to dinner.”

“It is so pleasant here, brother; don’t it rest you?” and her arms were twined about my neck.

“Yes; but my lesson for to-morrow will require all my time,” I answered.

“Mr. Willett came to see us to-day,” said Jennie as we went home. “He spoke kindly of you, and said he supposed you would not want to come back after you had been to the academy; but if you did, there would be a place for you; and he told Miss Grimshaw that if you needed books, he would get them for you. He said a good deal more.”

“Perhaps he would rather you would not repeat it all. Did he know that you heard?”

“Oh yes. It is not wrong to tell what he said before me, is it?”

“Perhaps not; but Mr. Kirby said that we should not fall into the habit of repeating what people say, unless necessary to do so; that in this way much scandal is floated about, which, had it not been repeated, would have died out immediately.”

“Oh, brother, I did not mean to say any thing wrong.”

“Neither have you, Jennie. I thought at first you probably overheard him. There is surely no harm in repeating to me simply what he said before you, especially when he spoke so kindly.”

That night there was a happy meeting in Miss Grimshaw’s back parlor. Mrs. Jeffries came down with her first instalment of eatables on my account; and she met us so warmly, taking Jennie on her knee, and asking me all the little minutiæ of school life.

“You think you will like, then?” and she played with my hair in a motherly way.

“The only fear is, that I shall have to stop before I have half accomplished my desire.”

“One step at a time,” said Miss Grimshaw, while Jennie was so tired with her long walk and the unusual excitement of the day, that she went to sleep with her head on my shoulder, in the very effort of trying to master a new lesson.

Friday came, and true to his promise, Frank Clavers ordered two horses in the room of one. It was a glorious afternoon, and as we leaped into the saddle, I felt a pride in being able to rein in and manage my horse handsomely. He was a fine-spirited animal, that Esquire Clavers kept for his own use. It was to oblige Frank, of course, that I was permitted this little indulgence.

Riding was the only thing perhaps that I could do well, and this I had learned at Mr. Jeffries’, and I knew that here I was superior to the other boys. So with a questionable pride I cantered round the grounds, and raised my cap as I passed the young ladies at the window. I enjoyed, as I never had done before, the idea of doing something well; and I have since learned, what I did not know then, that skill in horsemanship is considered by all no mean accomplishment.

“That was handsomely done,” said Frank. “Pray where did you learn to ride so well?”

“You never knew perhaps that I lived two years with Mr. Jeffries. My business was to assist in the stable. It was there I learned to ride.”

What a race we had down the street, and how Frank’s gay laugh resounded through the valley.

“This is something to look forward to, Marston,” said he as we reined up at his own door. “I have never seen Hunter carry himself better. It’s all because you know how to ride. Next week we’ll have just such another ride. It’s glorious.”

“I have enjoyed it intensely,” I answered, while a secret sense of shame crept over me at the idea of being puffed up because I could ride, when in my books I knew so very little; and for that evening I studied harder because of my foolishness.

VI.

Autumn had run up her banner of red and gold, and under the spreading folds I had walked every day to Rockdale, and as steadily as the week came round rode home with Frank Clavers on Friday, until Hunter came to know me quite as well as his master. Still, after the first ride, I had never felt the same degree of satisfaction. To ride well no longer seemed to me such a desirable acquisition. To master my Latin as readily was now my ambition, and to this I bent all my energies.

As the winter deepened, the walk to Rockdale proved as bleak as before it had been delightful, and the north winds, sweeping down through the mountain gorges, made my cheeks and ears tingle. Still I could not afford to lose a day. Frank was to stay three years, and then four more in college; but Frank Clavers’ father was rich, and I was dependent upon my own toil.

As I looked forward, for the first time one night I yielded to despondency; my book closed, and my head fell forward on the casement. Far above, the bright stars were shining. It was His hand that sustained them. He prescribed their courses, and kept them within their limits; and although I did not understand how, I still felt that his watch and care was over me; and with this feeling came strength.

Looking back, as we did in going up the mountain, I could feel that I had accomplished much; and still it was so little of what I craved. I needed to be again reminded that it was by one step at a time that the summit was reached; and that, had I stood at the foot of the mountain and attempted to leap up by a few great efforts, it would never have been done.

My class-mates were boys accustomed to school life, and still I knew that some of them hardly looked in their books till they came to recite. At first I thought Mr. Harlan was to blame; they came to study, and they ought to be made to do so. Still, I have since found it is not an easy matter to compel pupils to do what they do not wish to do, what they will not do cheerfully. Doubtless he did all that he could to incite them to study; and this failing, he allowed them to drift on, hoping perhaps they would in time wake up to the responsibility of wisely improving their time and opportunities.

Another advantage I had gained at Mr. Jeffries’ was to be seen in my declamation. To stimulate my memory, I had learned nearly the whole of my English Reader by heart, and these lessons I had been in the habit of repeating to the servants in the kitchen, and sometimes, if I had a moment’s leisure, to myself in the stable. It was in the latter place that Mr. Jeffries had surprised me, the mention of which he often made, sure of a laugh at my expense, and over which I grew extremely sensitive. As declamation was a regular weekly exercise in school, I soon found that the habit had been of great use to me; not only could I readily commit to memory, but there was no feeling of timidity, and I could speak before others without a thought of myself, leaving me free to profit by the suggestions of my teacher.

Prominent in the memory of those days is my long daily walk, with its frequent concomitants of deep snows, leaden skies, and bitter winds. One day when the cold was at its height, Miss Grimshaw went to the door with me, and urged me not to think of going to Rockdale. I had just begun to translate, and one of my sentences troubled me till rest seemed impossible; I must go. Neither could I look for a ride, as grandma suggested. Action was necessary; and buttoning my coat closely, I told her I could easily go, the sun would soon make an impression. “It is not half as severe as some days last week.”

Accordingly I started; but before I left the village I was obliged to stop repeating my lesson aloud; my teeth chattered and my ears were tingling. I tried to run, but the stiff frozen snow would not allow of this extra effort. A half mile from town I met Dr. Graham.

“It is too cold to go to Rockdale to-day, Marston;” and he opened his buffalo robes and offered me a seat.

“Thank you, Dr. Graham,” I answered as well as my chattering teeth would allow, “it wont be any worse; I can get there.” Again he tried to turn me; but no, I must recite my lesson, and I needed explanations; I felt that I could not wait another day.

On I went, the wind rushing and roaring through the leafless branches of the trees. I rubbed my ears with my mittens, while my feet were so numb I could hardly walk. Midway I began to fear that I should actually perish. Should I go back, or should I go on? I glanced at the mountain, with the proud consciousness that I had been to the top. “Never give up,” Mr. Kirby said. It was my duty to go to school. I had started; I would go.

I gave one glance at the marble column of the waterfall, with its sculptured ridges and diamond points, the feathery spray caught up and congealed, standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, more beautiful than art could ever hope to imitate. It was worth a great effort to look upon such a winter picture and I sprang forward with renewed energy, trying to forget my numbed feet and frozen fingers.

It was harder than I had imagined, however. All the tales I have since read of suffering on account of cold, seem only a dim outline of what I then experienced. As I left the hollow I met Philip Allen with his wood-sled. He had a small load, and was going home as fast as he could goad on his oxen.

“I never saw such a day as this,” said Philip; “you had better get on to the sled.”

“I should freeze standing still,” I answered. “I must go on now;” and I began to feel sorry that I had started. It was indeed a terrible day. My father had fallen in the snow. What if it should be my fate too?

“Never give up,” said I to myself, and I felt that I should like to have Mr. Kirby know that I was trying. At length I became aware of a new sensation stealing over me: it was with difficulty I could put one foot before the other; the beauty was fading out of the sky; I only wished to lie down in the snow. I forgot that I was going to school; strange shapes floated round me, while strains of sweet music soothed and quieted me. I was no longer cold, but, lapped in a delicious dream, seemed to be floating towards a palace of dazzling splendor.

The next that I remember, I was in a nice warm room. It was not the school-room, although Mr. and Mrs. Harlan stood beside me. My coat was off, and the good woman was rubbing my hands in her own. Then I saw there were others present, and that not only my hands, but my whole body had been rubbed vigorously. I was suffering a terrible stinging pain.

“Drink this,” said Mrs. Harlan, as a bowl of hot tea was handed me; “it will help you to get warm.” More to please her than from any other feeling, I drained it off, and ere long felt a genial glow through all my members.

Seeing that the danger was over, Mr. Harlan went to the school-room; and at noon all the boys and some of the girls crowded around me. Such a crying and shaking of hands! And then I learned how near to death I had come.

Jerry, the Irish man of all work, had seen me stagger along, and finally fall. His kind Irish heart told him at once it was the cold, and springing down the road, he carried me in his arms to the kitchen, from which Mrs. Harlan had me taken at once to her own room.

“To think of your coming to school such a day, when we that live in the house can hardly study at all,” said Henry Alden. Robert Lovell, however, said, “I can understand it: you could not have stayed at home, had you tried. I went one winter nearly as far; but it was not so cold; neither was the snow so deep as this winter.”

I recited my lesson in Mrs. Harlan’s room; and it seemed to me Mr. Harlan was never so kind before. He gave me all the explanations that I needed, and in such a manner that I understood perfectly.

“I trust we shall not have another such a day; but if we do, you must not expose yourself in this way again. Promise me;” and he took both my hands. “It is too great a risk.”

“If you say so,” I answered; “but I shall not like to stay at home.”

“You will study, and I shall not mark you as absent without cause.”

As I was taking my books and making ready to start for home, Mr. Harlan said,

“Jerry will take you home in his sleigh; he has an errand down, and it wont trouble him at all.”

Mrs. Harlan brought out a pair of fur mittens and slipped over mine, and got me a large grey shawl that protected me entirely.

“You need not return them,” said the sweet-voiced woman; “I have been looking all winter for somebody that needed them.” She shook me warmly by the hand, and Mr. Harlan saw me down to the sleigh.

“No right effort is ever lost, Marston; you aim to do what you do well and faithfully, and God will open a path for you when he sees that you can do something better, depend upon it, my son. Thank him for sparing your life, and devote it to his service.”

The buffalo robe was nicely tucked around me, and the grey shawl pulled over my head; and feeling for my books, to make sure that I had them, we started.

“Niver saw the like of such a day,” said Jerry. “If I had not seen you in the morning-- It was about ten you fell.” Again I shuddered, and thought of my poor dead father, as near our home as I was to the academy; and in that blinding storm we failed to see him.

The next day was Saturday; and as I sat in Miss Grimshaw’s back room, petted a little more than usual by Jennie and grandma, I thought of Mr. Harlan’s words, “No right effort is ever lost.” And it seemed that I could hear again Mr. Kirby’s voice, “Whatever you do, do well, and God will open a path to something better.” Since then they have come to me often in characters of light, to brighten my darkest hours. They have helped me labor on. When my heart was sore with heaviness, they have aided me in adhering to the right in despite of ridicule and temptation.

“No right effort is ever lost.” “Do what you do well, and God will open a path to you, when he sees that you can do something better.” Bind the sentiment to your heart, if you are a patient climber, and take courage. But I had not yet found the way to the Source of all strength, nor learned the secret of the only true and noble life.

At the close of the term, in February, we had an examination. This was new to me, and caused me no little uneasiness. I had never been through with such a day, and as a matter of course I felt not a little frightened at the idea of being questioned before such a crowd as the boys told me always came. Mr. and Mrs. Harlan were very kind and patient teachers, and I was so fresh and new in my studies, that I trembled in view of the blunders I felt sure I should make before strangers and critics.

“All Terryville will be here,” said Henry Alden; “but then you need not mind: you are the best one we have in arithmetic, and history too; and as for your Latin, why you are only a beginner; they wont expect much; and in declamation you know you will take the lead.”

“But I have never spoken before so many.”

“That’s nothing; you’ll get accustomed to it in a few times. We don’t mind it a feather. It a’n’t half of them that know.”

The day came. Miss Grimshaw and Jennie rode with Mr. Willett in a nice sleigh, with a double set of bells. Then there was Mr. Farnham and Mr. Wentworth, ministers from Terryville, with Dr. Graham and Dr. Stiles, and several grey-haired men with gold-bowed glasses and ivory-headed canes, and with books in their hands, evidently ready to criticize closely.

“That’s the way they always do,” said Henry; “but if you could peep over their shoulders, ten chances to one their books are wrong side up.”

Calm and composed, Henry Alden made his comments. He was an amiable, kindly-disposed lad, but caring nothing for study. Still he managed to get along, and examination-days had no terrors for him. His easy, nonchalant air surprised me, and still more the light opinion he had formed of the learning of some of the visitors.

Around the sides of the room sat the ladies from Terryville; but to me there was no face that looked kinder than Miss Grimshaw’s, no beauty that began to equal my little sister Jennie’s.

At eleven o’clock the class that had finished arithmetic were called. I felt the blood rushing over me at fever heat, my fingers tingling, and my cheeks burning. Mr. Farnham questioned us, giving examples to each. The first sum he gave me was in interest, the second in the cube root. I did not tremble from fear that I could not do the examples, as I knew perfectly well there was not a sum in the book I could not do; but I wanted to do it easily, handsomely, and in order. I gave a quick glance to Jennie, and the calm expression of the sweet face swept away all trepidation. I crossed the platform, and took up the crayon. Never was I more collected; I forgot there were others in the room; I only saw Jennie, and I knew by the expression of her quiet face that she expected me to do well. She would be disappointed if I failed. I would not fail. There was no reason why I should.

The example was on the board, and I stood with pointer in hand ready for explanation. Contrary to my expectation, my voice did not tremble; and when I finished, I was prouder than I have ever been since.

Then followed algebra, as far as we had gone.