"THE BLUEBIRD--FOR HAPPINESS"
Could it be possible that Janice Day had alighted from Walky Dexter's
old carryall at the little grocery store for still another purpose? It
was waning afternoon, yet she did not immediately make her way homeward.
Mrs. Beaseley lived almost across the street from Hopewell Drugg's
store, and Nelson Haley, the principal of Polktown's graded school,
boarded with the widow. Janice ran in to see her "just for a moment."
Therefore, it could scarcely be counted strange that the young school
principal should have caught the girl in Mrs. Beaseley's bright kitchen
when he came home with his satchel of books and papers.
"There! I do declare for't!" ejaculated the widow, who was a rather
lugubrious woman living in what she believed to be the remembrance of
"her sainted Charles."
"There! I do declare for't! I git to talkin' and I forgit how the
time flies. That's what my poor Charles uster say--he had _that_ fault
to find with me, poor soul. I couldn't never seem to git the vittles
on the table on time when I was young.
"I was mindin' to make you a shortcake for your supper to-night, Mr.
Haley, out o' some o' them peaches I canned last Fall! But it's so
late----"
"You needn't hurry supper on my account, Mrs. Beaseley," said Nelson,
cheerily, and without removing his gloves. "I find I've to go downtown
again on an errand. I'll not be back for an hour."
Janice was smiling merrily at him from the doorway.
Mrs. Beaseley began to bustle about. "That'll give me just time to
toss up the shortcake," she proclaimed. "Good-bye, Janice. Come
again. Mr. Haley'll like to walk along with you, I know."
Mrs. Beaseley was blind to what most people, in Polktown knew--that
Janice and the schoolteacher were the very closest of friends. Only
their years--at least, only Janice's youth--precluded an announced
engagement between them.
"Wait until I can come home and get a square look at this phenomenal
young man whom you have found in Polktown," Daddy had written, and
Janice would not dream of going against her father's expressed wish.
Besides, Nelson Haley was a poor young man, with his own way to make in
the world. His work in the Polktown school had attracted the attention
of the faculty of a college not far away, and he had already been
invited to join the teaching staff of that institution.
Janice had been the young man's inspiration when he had first come to
Polktown, a raw college graduate, bent only on "teaching for a living"
and on earning his salary as easily as possible. Awakened by his
desire to stand well in the estimation of the serious-minded
girl--eager to "make good" with her--Nelson Haley had put his shoulder
to the wheel, and the result was Polktown's fine new graded school,
with the young man himself at the head of it.
Nelson was good looking--extremely good looking, indeed. He was light,
not dark like Janice, and he was muscular and sturdy without being at
all fleshy. The girl was proud of him--he was always so well-dressed,
so gentlemanly, and carried himself with such an assured air. Daddy
was bound to be pleased with a young man like Nelson Haley, once he
should see the schoolteacher!
In his companionship now, Janice rather lost sight of the troubles that
had come upon her of late. Nelson told her of his school plans as they
strolled down High Street.
"And I fancy these lectures and readings the School Committee are
arranging will be a good thing," the young man said. "We'll slip a
little extra information to the boys and girls of Polktown without
their suspecting it."
"Sugar-coated pills?" laughed Janice.
"Yes. The old system of pounding knowledge into the infant cranium
isn't in vogue any more."
"Poor things!" murmured Janice Day, from the lofty rung of the
scholastic ladder she had attained. "Poor things! I don't blame them
for wondering: 'What's the use?' Marty wonders now, old as he is.
There is such a lot to learn in the world!"
They talked of other things, too, and it was the appearance of Jim
Narnay weaving a crooked trail across High Street toward the rear of
the Inn that brought back to the girl's mind the weight of new trouble
that had settled upon it.
"Oh, dear! there's that poor creature," murmured Janice. "And I
haven't been to see how his family is."
"Who--Jim Narnay's family?" asked Nelson.
"Yes."
"You'd better keep away from such people, Janice," the young man said
urgently.
"Why?"
"You don't want to mix with such folk, my dear," repeated the young
man, shaking his head. "What good can it do? The fellow is a drunken
rascal and not worth striving to do anything for."
"But his family? The poor little children?" said Janice, softly.
"If you give them money, Jim'll drink it up."
"I believe that," admitted Janice. "So I won't give them money. But I
can buy things for them that they need. And the poor little baby is
sick. That cunning Sophie told me so."
"Goodness, Janice!" laughed Nelson, yet with some small vexation. "I
see there's no use in opposing your charitable instincts. But I really
wish you would not get acquainted with every rag-tag and bob-tail in
town. First those Trimminses--and now these Narnays!"
Janice laughed at this. "Why, they can't hurt me, Nelson. And perhaps
I might do them good."
"You cannot handle charcoal without getting some of the smut on your
fingers," Nelson declared, dogmatically.
"But they are not charcoal. They are just some of God's unfortunates,"
added the young girl, gently. "It is not Sophie's fault that her
father drinks. And maybe it isn't altogether _his_ fault."
"What arrant nonsense!" exclaimed Nelson, with some exasperation. "It
always irritates me when I hear these old topers excused. A man should
be able to take a glass of wine or beer or spirits--or let it alone."
"Yes, indeed, Nelson," agreed Janice, demurely. "He _ought_ to."
The young man glanced sharply into her rather serious countenance. He
suspected that she was not agreeing with him, after all, very strongly.
Finally he laughed, and the spark of mischief immediately danced in
Janice Day's hazel eyes.
"That is just where the trouble lies, Nelson, with drinking
intoxicating things. People should be able to drink or not, as they
feel inclined. But alcohol is insidious. Why! you teach that in your
own classes, Nelson Haley!"
"Got me there," admitted the young school principal, with a laugh.
Then he became sober again, and added: "But _I_ can take a drink or
leave it alone if I wish."
"Oh, Nelson! You _don't_ use alcoholic beverages, do you?" cried
Janice, quite shocked. "Oh! you _don't_, do you?"
"My, my! See what a little fire-cracker it is!" laughed Nelson. "Did
I say I was in the habit of going into Lem Parraday's bar and spending
my month's salary in fiery waters?"
"Oh, but Nelson! You don't _approve_ of the use of liquor, do you?"
"I'm not sure that I do," returned the young man, more gravely. "And
yet I believe in every person having perfect freedom in that as well as
other matters."
"Anarchism!" cried Janice, yet rather seriously, too, although her lips
smiled.
"I know the taste of all sorts of beverages," the young man said. "I
was in with rather a sporty bunch at college, for a while. But I knew
I could not afford to keep up that pace, so I cut it out."
"Oh, Nelson!" Janice murmured. "It's too bad!"
"Why, it never hurt me," answered the young schoolmaster. "It never
could hurt me. A gentleman eats temperately and drinks temperately.
Of course, I would not go into the Lake View Inn and call for a drink,
now that I am teaching school here. My example would be bad for the
boys. And I fancy the School Committee would have something to say
about it, too," and he laughed again, lightly.
They had turned into Hillside Avenue and the way was deserted save for
themselves. The warm glow of sunset lingered about them. Lights
twinkling in the kitchens as they went along announced the preparation
of the evening meal.
Janice clasped her hands over Nelson's arm confidingly and looked
earnestly up into his face.
"Nelson!" she said softly, "don't even _think_ about drinking anything
intoxicating. I should be afraid for you. I should worry about the
hold it might get upon you----"
"As it has on Jim Narnay?" interrupted the young man, laughing.
"No," said Janice, still gravely. "You would never be like him, I am
sure------"
"Nor will drink ever affect me in any way--no fear! I know what I am
about. I have a will of my own, I should hope. I can control my
appetites and desires. And I should certainly never allow such a
foolish habit as tippling to get a strangle hold on me."
"Of course, I know you won't," agreed Janice.
"I thank goodness I'm not a man of habit, in any case," continued
Nelson, proudly. "One of our college professors has said: 'There is
only one thing worse than a bad habit--and that's a good habit.' It is
true. No man can be a well-rounded and perfectly poised man, if he is
hampered by habits of any kind. Habits narrow the mind and contract
one's usefulness in the world----"
"Oh, Nelson!" excitedly interrupted Janice. "See the bluebird! The
first I have seen this Spring. The dear, little, pretty thing!"
"Good-_night_!" exploded the school teacher, with a burst of laughter.
"My little homily is put out of business. A bluebird, indeed!"
"But the bluebird is so pretty--and so welcome in Spring. See! there
he goes." Then she added softly, still clinging to Nelson's arm:
"'The bluebird--for happiness.'"