MR. OLIVER AND SARAH
The door into the next office stood open. Sarah walked in, that is,
she stepped just inside the doorway and stood there as though glued
to the floor. The thin, gray-haired man who was stooping over the
flat-topped desk, looking at a card file, glanced up at her and
smiled. This was the principal, Mr. Oliver.
"Good morning," he said. "Did you wish to see me?"
"No-o," stammered Sarah, "I didn't. But Miss Ames sent me."
Mr. Oliver sat down and pointed to a chair drawn up beside the desk.
"Suppose you come and sit down and tell me all about it," he
suggested.
His secretary in the next room stepped over and closed the
connecting door noiselessly as Sarah seated herself on the edge of
the chair and stared unhappily at the floor.
"If you're in Miss Ames' room, you are a fourth grader," said Mr.
Oliver pleasantly. "What is your name?"
"Sarah," the small girl whispered, "Sarah Willis."
"Oh, yes--then you're a sister of Doctor Willis," said the
principal. "And I know Rosemary, too. Isn't there another sister--a
little light-haired girl in one of the grades?"
"That's Shirley," answered Sarah, forgetting her errand for an
instant and looking Mr. Oliver in the face for the first time.
"She's in the first grade."
"Well, Sarah, what have you to tell me?" said the principal quietly.
"Why did Miss Ames send you to me?"
"I don't know where to begin," complained Sarah forlornly.
"Don't be afraid--there is nothing to be afraid of," said Mr.
Oliver. "Just tell me everything that has happened and I promise to
listen to you and believe you."
Sarah, as Doctor Hugh had discovered, was morally not very brave.
She was afraid of people and though the Willis will was as strong in
her as in any of the others, she would not come out openly and
demand her way. Rather Sarah would do as she pleased and shirk the
consequences wherever possible. The doctor had had several little
talks with her on this subject of fear and he was gradually teaching
her to acknowledge her mistakes and wrong doings and patiently
explaining at every opportunity the rules of fair play.
"It is both cowardly and contemptible to let someone else be blamed
for what you have done," he said once to her. "I understand that you
are not really a coward, Sarah--you have to fight an extra enemy
called Fear. So when you do wrong and see a chance to escape blame
and punishment and refuse to wriggle out, you are really braver than
the girl who isn't afraid to say she did it. And every time you
conquer Fear, Sarah, you've made the next conquest easier. You'll
find that is so."
So this morning, in the principal's office, Sarah remembered what
Doctor Hugh had said. She wanted dreadfully to retreat into one of
her obstinate, sulky silences, and refuse to answer questions. She
was afraid--afraid of a severe scolding and the disgrace of a public
expulsion. Her knees were wobbling, but she slipped to her feet and
stood facing Mr. Oliver bravely.
"If you're going to expel me," she said clearly, "tell Hilda French
I wanted her to have my pencil box."
And then the tears came.
She cried and cried and as she wept she told the story and though
drawings of leaves and paint boxes and middy blouse pockets and
snakes and paper weights seemed to be hopelessly mixed in her
sobbing conversation, Mr. Oliver, in some miraculous fashion, pieced
together the disconnected bits and declared that he understood
perfectly. He loaned Sarah his extra clean handkerchief on which to
dry her eyes, her own handkerchief being obviously employed, for she
had laid the pathetic remains of the dead snake on his desk, and
when she was more quiet he told her kindly that there was no
question of expulsion.
"I don't know where you ever got such an idea," he said, smiling a
little, and he looked so friendly and not at all angry, that Sarah
even managed a faint, watery smile in response. "Boys and girls are
never expelled from school except for very serious reasons. You've
made a little mistake, that's all and I'll show you where you were
wrong in just a minute. Sometimes we want our own way so much, we
can't see how we can be wrong."
Sarah blushed a little, but nodded honestly.
"Well, you see, as soon as you found out that Miss Ames didn't like
snakes in her class room, you should have stopped right there," said
Mr. Oliver decidedly. "You disobeyed Miss Ames and all this trouble
came from that. If she said her class room was no place for snakes
and mice--you brought mice one day, didn't you?--that should have
settled the question for you."
"But how will the children ever learn about snakes?" asked Sarah
earnestly.
"They'll learn, if they are interested," answered Mr. Oliver. "You
can't force anyone to adopt your likes and dislikes, you know,
Sarah. Rosemary may like to sew and you may say you 'hate' to touch
a needle, but do you make yourself into an ardent needlewoman,
simply because Rosemary enjoys sewing? Don't you see? I'm afraid
you'll have to give Miss Ames and me your promise that you will not
bring any more snakes, alive or dead, or any other animal to
school."
Sarah promised slowly, her eyes on the dead snake.
"He was such a lovely specimen," she mourned. "I s'pose maybe he was
valuable."
"I tell you what to do, Sarah," said Mr. Oliver quickly. "You don't
know Mr. Martin, do you? He teaches biology in the high school and
I must take you up to his room some day and let you see the
'specimens' he has. He has a menagerie that fills one side of a
large room. Whenever you find something you can't resist, you bring
it here to me in the office and I'll turn it over to Mr. Martin. In
that way your class room won't be upset and Mr. Martin will likely
gain some valuable additions to his collection. Don't you think that
is a good plan?"
Sarah said she thought it was, and then, as the noon bell rang
throughout the building, Mr. Oliver shook hands with her and told
her that if she ever needed advice or help to come directly to him.
He promised, too, to speak to Miss Ames and tell her that no more
snakes or other lively "specimens" would be brought into her room by
Sarah. He opened the door for her and she was free.
She sped along the corridors, her snake in her hand again, but it
was a far happier Sarah than the little girl who had walked slowly
through them an hour and a half ago. Up to the lunch room dashed
this Sarah, and startled Rosemary who was opening the lunch box at
their corner table by her demand, "I have to bury a snake--will you
come help me?"
Of course she had to tell what had happened that morning, and
Rosemary and Shirley agreed that Mr. Oliver was "just as nice as
nice could be."
"Though I do hope, Sarah, this will teach you to let snakes alone,"
said Rosemary in the elder-sister tone she rarely used. "You
frightened Aunt Trudy into fits and now you've upset a whole class.
No, don't show me that ugly little snake--I'm sorry he is dead
because you are, but I don't want to see him; I couldn't eat a bit
of lunch. Come on, and eat your sandwiches and then we will go down
and bury him somewhere on the play-ground."
That night at dinner Rosemary had an announcement to make. Her eyes
shining like stars and her face glowing, she declared that she had
been appointed to plan and serve the dinner to be given by the
grammar school teachers for the Institute visitors.
"Institute is the second week in November," bubbled Rosemary, "and
there will be about ten visiting teachers from the towns within
twenty-five miles. Miss Parsons says I'm the best cook in the class
though Bessie Kent is older than I am and Fannie Mears had cooking
last year."
"But can you cook a dinner?" asked Doctor Hugh. "Seems to me that's
a pretty large order for a class of young girls and with visitors
expected, too."
"Oh, we know just what to do," said Rosemary confidently. "I have to
make out the menu and submit it to Miss Parsons by Friday of this
week. And then I have to choose the girls I want to help me cook,
and those to set and wait on the tables--this year we're going to
have small tables instead of one large one. And we girls are to do
every bit of the work ourselves!"
Aunt Trudy and Winnie beamed on Rosemary, sure that she would do
well whatever she undertook, while Sarah demanded to know who the
waitresses were to be.
"Well, Nina Edmonds for one," said Rosemary and the doctor frowned
involuntarily. Although Nina seldom came to the house and he knew
that Rosemary saw little of her outside of school, he could not help
but see that her influence continued to be remarkably strong.
"Nina's an awful chump," declared Sarah who cordially disliked her
and was in turn, disliked by Nina.
"She is not!" flared Rosemary. "And, Aunt Trudy she has the
loveliest blue velvet dress. She says she can wear it under her
apron and then, after dinner when we take our aprons off, she will
look all right. Couldn't I wear my new brown velvet that night?"
"Why I don't know," replied Aunt Trudy uncertainly. "I don't think
it would be very suitable, dear. What do you think, Hugh?"
"Don't know anything about clothes," he said shortly.
"You only want to wear it because Nina Edmonds is going to wear a
velvet dress," commented Sarah shrewdly.
"It will be awfully hot," said Shirley with unexpected wisdom.
"Well, I'm going to wear it, if Aunt Trudy doesn't say not to,"
announced Rosemary, her chin in the air. "Though I'd give anything
if I had some high heeled pumps to make me look taller. Honestly,
Hugh, I'm about the only girl in our class who doesn't wear 'em."
He smiled at her pleasantly, but there was no yielding in his voice.
"When you're sixteen, if you still want them, I'll have nothing to
say," he said. "Mother has said you are not to wear them until then,
you know, and if I had my way no woman, sixteen or sixty, should
teeter about in silly anguish. I can't help it if the girls are
skipping five years, Rosemary; as I've often reminded you, the
calendar says you are still a little girl."
Rosemary pouted a little, but she did not dare argue, the subject of
high heeled shoes having been long one of her secret sorrows. She
knew from experience that her brother would never consent to the
purchase of a pair and though she mentioned them from time to time,
it was without hope of converting him to her opinion.
She was in her room that night, collecting her cooking notes and
recipes, in preparation for making out the important menu, when
Winnie peeped in. The brown velvet dress lay on Rosemary's bed where
she had spread it, the better to admire its charms. It was a new
frock and so far she had worn it only twice. Simply made, with a
square neck and a touch of ivory colored lace in the form of a
vestee and at the bottom of the sleeves, it was the most becoming
dress Rosemary had ever had. She knew it, too.
"There's just one thing I want to say to you, Rosemary," announced
Winnie earnestly, "and that's this: you have got to make up your
mind which is the more important--this dinner or your dress. Because
cooking a good dinner takes all the brains a cook has--I ought to
know. You can't be thinking about whether you're going to get a
spot on your frock or whether the last hook is caught or left open.
And if you're too warm, as you will be in a velvet dress in that hot
kitchen and you all excited anyway, or if your feet hurt you, you're
not going to be able to give your attention to what you are cooking.
And I may not know much about teachers, but I imagine they're like
anybody else--when they're hungry, a brown velvet dress won't make
up to them for soggy potatoes and underdone meat. Miss Parsons is
banking on you--likely as not she's told the teachers you're the
best cook in the class, and if you serve up a poor dinner, do you
suppose looking at your velvet dress is going to make her glad she
trusted you? Of course you can suit yourself, and I'm not trying to
influence you, because you're old enough to--"
Rosemary rushed at her and hugged her warmly.
"You're a dear, darling Winnie!" she cried affectionately. "I'll
stop thinking about what I'm going to wear this minute, and go to
work on what I'm going to cook. Miss Parsons hates fussy clothes,
anyway, and I'll wear my white linen under my apron and be
comfortable. Hugh thinks I'm silly to wear the velvet, I know he
does."
"The velvet will keep," said Winnie tersely, "and I'll do up your
white linen for you so that it will look like new."
But, left alone, Rosemary could not resist trying on the brown
frock. She pinned her hair high, pushing it into a tower-effect with
the aid of combs, and added a long string of red beads that almost
touched the floor.
"I look so nice this way," she told the reflection in the glass,
naïvely. "Why isn't it ever sensible to wear your best clothes when
you expect to be busy?"
And that is a question older folk than Rosemary have asked, but,
unlike her, they have learned the answer.