Chapter 16

THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

In the old brown school-house, overshadowed by apple-trees and sheltered on the west by a long steep hill, where the acorns and wild grapes grew, Mary Howard taught her little flock of twenty-five, coaxing some, urging others, and teaching them all by her kind words and winsome ways to love her as they had never before loved an instructor.

When first she was proposed as a teacher in Rice Corner, Widow Perkins, and a few others who had no children to send, held up their hands in amazement, wondering "what the world was comin' to, and if the committee man, Mr. Knight, s'posed they was goin' to be rid over rough-shod by a town pauper; but she couldn't get a _stifficut_, for the Orthodox minister wouldn't give her one; and if he did, the Unitarian minister wouldn't!"

Accordingly, when it was known that the ordeal had been passed, and that Mary had in her possession a piece of paper about three inches square, authorizing her to teach a common district school, this worthy conclave concluded that "either every body had lost their senses, or else Miss Mason, who was present at the examination, had sat by and whispered in her ear the answers to all hard questions." "In all my born days I never seen any thing like it," said the widow, as she distributed her green tea, sweetened with brown sugar, to a party of ladies, which she was entertaining "But you'll see, she won't keep her time more'n half out.--Sally Ann, pass them nutcakes.--Nobody's goin' to send their children to a pauper. There's Miss Bradley says she'll take her'n out the first time they get licked.--Have some more sass, Miss Dodge. I want it eat up, for I believe it's a workin',--but I telled her that warn't the trouble; Mary's too softly to hurt a miskeeter. And so young too. It's government she'll lack in.--If any body'll have a piece of this dried apple pie, I'll cut it."

Of course, nobody wanted a piece, and one of the ladies, continuing the conversation, said she supposed Mary would of course board with Mrs. Mason. The tea-pot lid, which chanced to be off, went on with a jerk, and with the air of a much injured woman the widow replied: "Wall, I can tell her this much, it's no desirable job to board the school-marm, though any body can see that's all made her so anxious for Mary to have the school. She's short on't, and wants a little money. Do any on you know how much she charges?"

Nobody knew, but a good many "guessed she didn't charge any thing," and the widow, rising from the table and telling Sally Ann to "rense the sass dishes, and pour it in the vinegar bottle," led her guests back to the best room, saying, "a dollar and ninepence (her usual price) was next to nothing, but she'd warrant Miss Mason had more'n that"

Fortunately, Mary knew nothing of Mrs. Perkins's displeasure, and never dreamed that any feeling existed towards her, save that of perfect friendship. Since we last saw her, she had grown into a fine, healthy-looking girl. Her face and figure were round and full, and her complexion, though still rather pale, was clear as marble, contrasting well with her dark brown hair and eyes, which no longer seemed unnaturally large. Still she was not beautiful, it is true, and yet Billy was not far from right when he called her the finest looking girl in Chicopee; and it was for this reason, perhaps, that Mrs. Campbell watched her with so much jealousy.

Every possible pains had been taken with Ella's education. The best teachers had been hired to instruct her, and she was now at a fashionable seminary, but still she did not possess one half the ease and gracefulness of manner, which seemed natural to her sister. Since the day of that memorable visit, the two girls had seen but little of each other. Ella would not forgive Mrs. Mason for praising Mary, nor forgive Mary for being praised; and as Mrs. Campbell, too pretended to feel insulted, the intercourse between the families gradually ceased; and oftentimes when Ella met her sister, she merely acknowledged her presence by a nod, or a simple "how d'ye do?"

When she heard that Mary was to be a teacher, she said "she was glad, for it was more respectable than going into a factory, or working out." Mrs. Campbell, too, felt in duty bound to express her pleasure, adding, that "she hoped Mary would give satisfaction, but 'twas extremely doubtful, she was _so_ young, and possessed of so little dignity!"

Unfortunately, Widow Perkins's red cottage stood directly opposite the school-house; and as the widow belonged to that stirring few who always "wash the breakfast dishes, and make the beds before any one is up in the house," she had ample leisure to watch and report the proceedings of the new teacher. Now Mrs. Perkins's clock was like its mistress, always half an hour in advance of the true time and Mary had scarcely taught a week ere Mr. Knight, "the committee man," was duly hailed in the street, and told that the 'school-marm wanted lookin' to, for she didn't begin no mornin' till half-past nine, nor no afternoon till half past one! "Besides that," she added, "I think she gives 'em too long a play spell. Any ways, seem's ef some on em was out o'door the hull time."

Mr. Knight had too much good sense to heed the widow's complaints, and he merely replied, "I'm glad on't. Five hours is enough to keep little shavers cramped up in the house,--glad on't."

The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making disturbance, finally gave up the strife, contenting herself with quizzing the older girls, and asking them if Mary could do all the hard sums in Arithmetic, or whether she took them home for Mrs. Mason to solve! Old leathern-bound Daboll, too, was brought to light, and its most difficult problems selected and sent to Mary, who, being an excellent mathematician, worked them all out to the widow's astonishment. But when it was known that quill pens had been discarded, and steel ones substituted in their place, Mrs. Perkins again looked askance, declaring that Mary couldn't make a quill pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Ann was sent across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which "Miss Howard" was politely requested "to fix, as ma wanted to write some letters."

Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had never made a pen in her life; and the next Sabbath the widow's leghorn was missed from its accustomed pew in the Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it was ascertained that "she couldn't in conscience hear a man preach who would give a 'stifficut' to a girl that didn't know how to make a pen!"

In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary was contented and happy. She knew that her pupils loved her and that the greater part of the district were satisfied, so she greeted the widow with her pleasantest smile, and by always being particularly polite to Sally Ann, finally overcame their prejudices to a considerable extent.

One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Perkins was seated by her front window engaged in "stitching shoes," a very common employment in some parts of New England, her attention was suddenly diverted by a tall, stylish-looking young man, who, driving his handsome horse and buggy under the shadow of the apple-trees, alighted and entered into conversation with a group of little girls who were taking their usual recess. Mrs. Perkins's curiosity was roused, and Sally Ann was called to see who the stranger was. But for a wonder, Sally Ann didn't know, though she "guessed the hoss was one of the East Chicopee livery."

"He's talkin' to Liddy Knight," said she, at the same time holding back the curtain, and stepping aside so as not to be visible herself.

"Try if you can hear what he's sayin," whispered Mrs. Perkins; but a class of boys in the school-house just then struck into the multiplication table, thus effectually drowning any thing which Sally Ann might otherwise have heard.

"I know them children will split their throats. Can't they hold up a minute," exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly annoyed at being thus prevented from overhearing a conversation, the nature of which she could not even guess.

But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story we will for her benefit repeat what the young man was saying to Lydia Knight, who being nearest to him was the first one addressed.

"You have a nice place for your school-house and play-grounds."

"Yes, sir," answered Lydia, twirling her sun-bonnet and taking up a small round stone between her naked toes.

"Do you like to go to school?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you a good teacher?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is her name?"

"Miss Howard,--Mary Howard, and she lives with Miss Mason."

"Mary Howard,--that's a pretty name,--is she pretty too?"

"Not so dreadful," chimed in Susan Bradley. "She licked brother Tim to-day, and I don't think she's much pretty."

This speech quickly called out the opinion of the other girls as follows:

"He ought to be licked, for he stole a knife and then lied about it; and Miss Howard is real pretty, and you needn't say she ain't, Susan Bradley."

"Yes, indeed, she's pretty," rejoined a second. "Such handsome eyes, and little white hands."

"What color are her eyes?" asked the stranger, to which two replied, "blue," and three more said "black;" while Lydia Knight, who was the oldest of the group, finally settled the question by saying, that "they sometimes looked blue; but if she was real pleased, or sorry either, they turned black!"

The stranger smiled and said, "Tell me more about her. Does she ever scold, or has she too pretty a mouth for that?"

"No, she never scolds," said Delia Frost, "and she's got the nicest, whitest teeth, and I guess she knows it, too for she shows them a great deal."

"She's real white, too," rejoined Lydia Knight, "though pa says she used to be yaller as saffron."

Here there was a gentle rap upon the window, and the girls starting off, exclaimed, "There, we must go in."

"May I go too?" asked the stranger, following them to the door.

The girls looked at each other, then at him, then at each other again, and at last Lydia said, "I don't care, but I guess Miss Howard will be ashamed, for 'twas Suke Bradley's turn to sweep the school-house this noon-time, and she wouldn't do it, 'cause Tim got licked."

"Never mind the school-house," returned the stranger, "but introduce me as Mr. Stuart."

Lydia had never introduced any body in her life, and following her companions to her seat, she left Mr. Stuart standing in the doorway. With her usual politeness, Mary came forward and received the stranger, who gave his name as Mr. Stuart, saying, "he felt much interested in common schools, and therefore had ventured to call."

Offering the seat of honor, viz., the splint-bottomed chair, Mary resumed her usual duties, occasionally casting a look of curiosity at the stranger, whose eyes seemed constantly upon her. It was rather warm that day, and when Mary returned from her dinner, Widow Perkins was greatly shocked at seeing her attired in a light pink muslin dress, the short sleeves of which showed to good advantage her round white arms. A narrow velvet ribbon confined by a small brooch, and a black silk apron, completed her toilet, with the exception of a tiny locket, which was suspended from her neck by a slender gold chain. This last ornament, immediately riveted Mr. Stuart's attention, and from some strange cause sent the color quickly to his face. After a time, as if to ascertain whether it were really a locket, or a watch, he asked "if Miss Howard could tell him the hour."

"Certainly sir," said she, and stepping to the desk and consulting a silver time-piece about the size of a dining plate, she told him that it was half-past three.

He nodded, and seemed very much interested in two little boys who sat near him, engaged in the laudable employment of seeing which could snap spittle the farthest and the best.

Just then there was a movement at the door, and a new visitor appeared in the person of Mrs. Perkins, who, with her large feather fan and flounced gingham dress, entered smiling and bowing, and saying "she had been trying all summer to visit the school."

Mr. Stuart immediately arose and offered his chair, but there was something in his manner which led Mary to suppose that an introduction was not at all desired, so she omitted it, greatly to the chagrin of the widow, who, declining the proffered seat, squeezed herself between Lydia Knight and another girl, upsetting the inkstand of the one, and causing the other to make a curious character out of the letter "X" she chanced to be writing.

"Liddy, Liddy," she whispered, "who is that man?"

But Lydia was too much engrossed with her spoiled apron to answer this question, and she replied with, "Marm may I g'wout; I've spilt the ink all over my apron."

Permission, of course, was granted, and as the girl who sat next knew nothing of the stranger, Mrs. Perkins began to think she might just as well have staid at home and finished her shoes. "But," thought she, "may-be I shall find out after school."

Fortune, however, was against the widow, for scarcely was her feather fan in full play, when Sally Ann came under the window, and punching her back with a long stick, told her in a loud whisper, that "she must come right home, for Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly had just come from the cars."

Accordingly, Mrs. Perkins, smoothing down her gingham flounces, and drawing on her cotton gloves, arose to go, asking Mary as she passed, "if that was an acquaintance of hers."

Mary shook her head, and the widow, more puzzled than ever, took her leave.

When school was out, Mr. Stuart, who seemed in no haste whatever, entered into a lively discussion with Mary concerning schools and books, adroitly managing to draw her out upon all the leading topics of the day. At last the conversation turned upon flowers; and when Mary chanced to mention Mrs. Mason's beautiful garden, he instantly expressed a great desire to see it, and finally offered to accompany Mary home, provided she had no objections. She could not, of course, say no, and the Widow Perkins, who, besides attending to "Uncle Jim" and "Aunt Dolly," still found time to watch the school-house, came very near letting her buttermilk biscuit burn to a cinder, when she saw the young man walking down the road with Mary. Arrived at Mrs. Mason's, the stranger managed to make himself so agreeable, that Mrs. Mason invited him to stay to tea,--an invitation which he readily accepted. Whoever he was, he seemed to understand exactly how to find out whatever he wished to know; and before tea was over, he had learned of Mary's intention to attend the academy in Wilbraham, the next autumn.

"Excuse me for making a suggestion," said he, "but why not go to Mt. Holyoke? Do you not think the system of education there a most excellent one?"

Mary glanced at Mrs. Mason, who replied, that "she believed they did not care to take a pupil at South Hadley for a less period than a year; and as Mary was entirely dependent upon herself, she could not at present afford that length of time."

"That does make a difference," returned Mr. Stuart "but I hope she will not give up Mt. Holyoke entirely, as I should prefer it to Wilbraham."

Tea being over, Mr. Stuart arose to go; and Mary, as she accompanied him to the door, could not forbear asking how he liked Mrs. Mason's garden, which he had forgotten even to look at!

Blushing deeply, he replied, "I suppose Miss Howard has learned ere this, that there are in the world things fairer and more attractive than flowers, but I will look at them when I come again;" then politely bidding her good night, he walked away, leaving Mary and Mrs. Mason to wonder,--the one what he came there for, and the other whether he would ever come again. The widow, too, wondered and fidgeted, as the sun went down behind the long hill, and still under the apple-tree the gray pony stood.

"It beats all nater what's kept him so long," said she, when he at last appeared, and, unfastening, his horse, drove off at a furious rate; "but if I live I'll know all about it to-morrow;" and with this consolatory remark she returned to the best room, and for the remainder of the evening devoted herself to the entertainment of Uncle Jim and his wife Aunt Dolly.

That evening, Mr. Knight, who had been to the Post Office, called at Mrs. Mason's, bringing with him a letter which bore the Boston postmark. Passing it to Mary, he winked at Mrs. Mason, saying, "I kinder guess how all this writin' works will end; but hain't there been a young chap to see the school?"

"Yes; how did you know it," returned Mrs. Mason, while Mary blushed more deeply than she did when Billy's letter was handed her.

"Why, you see," answered Mr. Knight, "I was about at the foot of the Blanchard hill, when I see a buggy comin' like Jehu. Just as it got agin me it kinder slackened, and the fore wheel ran off smack and scissors."

"Was he hurt?" quickly asked Mary.

"Not a bit on't," said Mr. Knight, "but he was scared some, I guess. I got out and helped him, and when he heard I's from Rice Corner, he said he'd been into school. Then he asked forty-'leven questions about you, and jest as I was settin' you up high, who should come a canterin' up with their long-tailed gowns, and hats like men, but Ella Campbell, and a great white-eyed pucker that came home with her from school. Either Ella's horse was scary, or she did it a purpose, for the minit she got near, it began to rare and she would have fell off, if that man hadn't catched it by the bit, and held her on with t'other hand. I allus was the most sanguinary of men, (Mr. Knight was never so far wrong in his life,) and I was buildin' castles about him, and our little school-marm, when Ella came along, and I gin it up, for I see that he was took, and she did look handsome with her curls a flyin'. Wall, as I wasn't of no more use, I whipped up old Charlotte and come on."

"When did Ella return?" asked Mary, who had not before heard of her sister's arrival.

"I don't know," said Mr. Knight. "The first I see of her she was cuttin' through the streets on the dead run; but I mustn't stay here, gabbin', so good night, Miss Mason,--good night, Mary, hope you've got good news in that are letter."

The moment he was gone, Mary ran up to her room, to read her letter, from which we give the following extract.

"You must have forgotten George Moreland, or you would have mentioned him to me. I like him very much indeed, and yet I could not help feeling a little jealous, when he manifested so much interest in you. Sometimes, Mary, I think that for a brother I am getting too selfish, and do not wish any one to like you except myself, but I surely need not feel so towards George, the best friend I have in Boston. He is very kind, lending me books, and has even offered to use his influence in getting me a situation in one of the best law offices in the city."

After reading this letter, Mary sat for a long time, thinking of George Moreland,--of the time when she first knew him,--of all that William Bender had been to her since,--and wondering, as girls sometimes will, which she liked the best. Billy, unquestionably, had the strongest claim to her love, but could he have known how much satisfaction she felt in thinking that George still remembered and felt interested in her, he would have had some reason for fearing, as he occasionally did, that she would never be to him aught save a sister.