"Dr Everett, had you any special reason for telling me this?"
"For a time I hesitated, lest I might hurt you. But I felt that it
would be wrong to conceal from you anything that might affect your
sister's future."
"It is all in God's hands. I leave it there. But I will not have
Fidelia disturbed now, nor for years to come," repeated Eunice.
"But not for _many_ years, Eunice? Still, you are wise. If he were to
speak now, or soon, it would end all for him. Fidelia would be shocked
and offended for your sake. And indeed it would be wrong for other
reasons."
"We will leave it all, Dr Everett. We will not speak of this again.
Say to Justin,--if you say anything,--that he must wait."
"Eunice, will you let me say one thing more? I confess that I was hard
on Justin long ago. I did not know that you had set him free from his
promise, and I wrote to him, telling him that it would not be wise for
himself or pleasant for me that he should bring his wife to visit us at
that time, as he spoke of doing. I was hard on him. He did not write
for a long time, but he forgave me and wrote first. I thought then he
was not happy in his marriage. He told me something about it when he
came home last. His wife was the adopted daughter of our uncle--a
spoiled child, I fear. She loved him, and, I suppose, let him see it.
His uncle wished for the marriage, and `it did not seem to matter much,'
he said, which was wrong. And so it came to pass. He tried to make her
happy while she lived, he said. You are right, Eunice. Justin is a
better and a stronger man than his youth promised. Yes, it is right
that he should wait, though, waiting, he may lose the prize he covets.
Other eyes are on the child; but to speak now would be to lose her."
"We will not say anything more," said Eunice.
Indeed there was no chance to say anything more at that time. A
pleasant clamour had arisen in the front yard, where the young people
had been moving about quietly enough until Jabez came. Jabez had been
eating his Thanksgiving dinner at his grandfather's, with uncles aunts,
and cousins, as was the thing to do, and had enjoyed it all, it is to be
supposed. But that something was the matter Fidelia saw the moment he
came near.
"I have been to the office, and I have got the letters--one for Miss
Eunice, and one for you. I got one for myself too, and I wish I hadn't,
though that would not have helped me any."
"Who is the letter from?"
"And what is the trouble?"
"If it isn't a secret?" said several voices in chorus.
"It isn't a secret. My letter is from Mr Fuller. And the trouble is,
that he is not coming to Halsey this winter. Oh, yes, he's all right!
His uncle has died and left him some money, and he doesn't need to teach
this winter. But his uncle has put a spoke in _my_ wheel. I have a
good mind to go to Scranton on my own hook, and take my chance."
"But there may be as good a teacher as Mr Fuller here. You had better
wait and see."
"Not a chance of it. Unless you'll take the school Fidelia?"
Then came the merry uproar which had interrupted the conversation
within; and the laughter and chatter and noise increased till they were
called into the house by the mother. The "What is the trouble?" of Dr
Everett was answered by half a dozen voices at once. But it was Jabez
who made the matter clear to their elders.
"Mr Fuller isn't coming back this winter, and we all agree that Miss
Fidelia ought to teach our school. Know enough? I guess so! And as
for government--I should just like to see the first one try to make her
trouble in school. There wouldn't be any second time, I don't believe."
Jabez turned, quite fierce in looks, to the Everett boys, who, to tell
the truth, were neither the most studious nor the most submissive to
school discipline. Ned took refuge behind his father, and made believe
to be very much afraid. Dr Everett had his own thoughts about the
matter, but he did not commit himself that night. When he said it would
be worth while for the school committee to take the matter into
consideration, they all thought he was "only joking," as Ned said.
However, it came to pass that the school was offered to Fidelia. Jabez
had moved the doctor, and the doctor had moved the school committee. A
woman had never taught the winter school in Halsey before, but there was
no reason why a woman should not teach it this winter. Fidelia Marsh
had been the best scholar in the school when she attended it. She had
studied since at home, and she had been a year in Holyoke seminary. If
anything had been needed to turn the scale of opinion in her favour, it
was the suggestion made by Deacon Ainsworth, that being a woman they
could get her to teach five months for as little, may be for less, than
Mr Fuller or any other young man would expect for four months. It was
the deacon who was appointed to see Miss Fidelia; and Dr Everett went
with him "to help talk the matter over."
Miss Eunice and Dr Everett had not waited for the assistance of Deacon
Ainsworth before they talked the matter over, however; and after a good
deal of anxious consideration they agreed to leave the decision to
Fidelia herself, as to whether she would teach the school or not. To
her it did not seem so very grave a matter.
"I might try it," said she; "only, if I fail, I will never be able to
hold up my head in Halsey again."
But she had no thought of failing. After the weary time of depression
through which she had been passing, it was real pleasure to throw
herself into the work she had undertaken. The fact that she knew every
boy and girl in the place, and that some of the elder ones among her
pupils had been her schoolmates only a few years ago, made the teaching
and even the government of the school easier in some respects than they
would have been to a stranger. For she knew all their weak points both
in scholarship and in temper--"their easily besetting sins," as the
deacon called them--and she could guide and restrain them accordingly,
better than a stranger might have done, and she did succeed well with
them all.
But she might have had some trouble in governing the bright, eager
little men and women committed to her care, many of whom were in the
habit of assuming a share of family government at home, if she had not
been "well backed," as Jabez called it. Of this backing Jabez did his
share, both by precept and example. The respectful deference of his
behaviour to the teacher, and the strict obedience he rendered, both in
spirit and in letter, to the school rules, some of which were meant
chiefly for the guidance of small boys who needed "line upon line,"
helped her greatly, though, in observing him, Fidelia had sometimes much
difficulty in preserving her gravity before the rest of her pupils.
He helped her in other ways too. When Master Vanburen Swift, the son of
one of the few rich men in Halsey, had been more than usually
troublesome in school, and had answered Jabez's mild expostulation by
demanding to be told "who Fidelia Marsh was, anyway?" his sled was
forthwith taken possession of and impounded for the space of twenty-four
hours. As it was after the first heavy fall of snow, and the long hill
"just splendid" for coasting, it was a severe punishment, and all the
more so that it was gravely suggested to his companions that loyalty to
their teacher forbade the loan of any one's sled to the bad boy who
would not do his duty. Of course the boy complained to his father, and
his father complained to various people--to the school committee and the
teacher--to Deacon Ainsworth, and to Jabez himself. Jabez acknowledged
his part in the transaction, and promised not to repeat it--till the
next time. But the next time never came. Young Van, as the boys called
him, had had his lesson.
Other people helped also. School committees, from time immemorial, have
acknowledged it to be their duty to visit the schools under their care,
in order to encourage both teacher and pupils; but the duty had been
rather neglected in Halsey. They did visit the school this winter,
however. So did the minister, so did Dr Everett; and altogether it was
agreed that, as a teacher, Fidelia Marsh might be considered a success.
Work went on wonderfully well day by day, and there were now and then
evening spelling schools, conducted in the usual energetic manner, and
there were "speaking pieces," and "they did considerable more singing,
first and last, than was generally done in schools," Deacon Ainsworth
remarked in the course of a little speech he made one day when he came
with the rest. He left his hearers in doubt of his entire approval of
so much singing; but he declared himself "satisfied on the whole," which
was encouraging.
Everything went smoothly. The scholars learned their lessons well, and
they learned also some things not in the text-books. For Fidelia threw
herself into her work with an earnestness and skill which could not but
win from the bright scholars and the well-disposed among her pupils a
cheerful response; but she did none of them more good than she received
herself.
Not only was she able to throw off the sadness and depression which had
fallen upon her when she had been told of the state of her sister's
health, but she advanced a good many steps towards real womanhood.
Before the winter was over, the neighbours "expected that there was
considerable more in Fidelia Marsh than folks had generally thought,"
and gave themselves leave to hope that the softness of Miss Eunice in
bringing her up had not altogether spoiled her. She was going to do
some good work in the world, it was owned, if the work she was doing in
Halsey was a fair sample.
And Fidelia herself began to think this possible.
"I like it, Eunice. I feel that I can teach those things that I know
well. And, when I have learned more, I hope I shall be successful in
higher teaching."
"If there is any teaching higher, in the best sense, than the teaching
of the little children," replied her sister. "Remember, it is easier to
bend the twig than the tall sapling; and what you teach them out of
their school-books makes but a small part of what they must learn from
you."
"Yes, if I were good--like you," said Fidelia gravely.
But she did try to be faithful in all her teaching. To do their work
well and honestly, to hate a lie, to live by the "golden rule," and to
remember everywhere and always, "Thou God seest me!" was the sum of her
moral teaching as given to the school. Now and then a word was spoken
quietly to one and another who seemed to need it, which went deeper than
that, though Fidelia was not sure that she had a right to urge on others
the duty and privilege of living up to the teaching and spirit of the
Gospel, when she was not sure that she was so living herself.
But she came to surer and happier knowledge as the months went on. In
her troubled moments, before she came home, she had said to herself that
she needed Eunice, and she was right. And now she had Eunice, and her
sweet words, dropped only now and then, did her good, and her beautiful
life day by day did more. Her full content in that which God's will had
assigned to her, though it had brought loss and pain in the past, and
involved now a daily expectation of death, wrought, with higher teaching
still, to bring Fidelia to clearer light and stronger faith than she had
ever yet enjoyed. And with these came first submission, and then joy in
God's will, for them both. But this came later, when her school-keeping
days were over; and to the end, so greatly to be desired, Jabez helped a
little, as well as Eunice.
For three whole months school life had gone on "without a hitch," as
Jabez said triumphantly, and the pupils and teacher together were
beginning to discuss the propriety of giving a little time to special
preparation for the closing examination, when something happened. A
thaw came--a sudden fall of warm rain, which lasted a day and a night,
and covered the ice on the mill-pond with water, and the neighbouring
meadows as well. And then the frost came again strong and sharp, making
mill-pond and meadows sheets of shining silver; and for once everything
happened just right, for it was full moon, with clear skies--the
brightest of moonlight.
Of course every scholar in the school was bound to be on the ice, and a
great many besides; and Jabez and a few others voted themselves into the
office of a safety committee to see to the rest, to keep the naughty
ones out of mischief and the heedless ones out of danger. There were
not skates enough in the town of Halsey for half who were there, but
there were a good many pairs, and there were sleds, and those who had
neither skates nor sleds could slide on their own feet; and all expected
a good time, and most of them had it.
Fidelia was not there the first night, but, yielding to entreaty, she
came the second night, and enjoyed it as well as any of them all. But
she was not there on the third night, when something happened. No one
else ought to have been there, for the frost had gone, and there was
water over the ice on some parts of the pond. The meadow ice was safe
enough, but on the pond, where the water was not, the ice was like
glass, and thinner than they knew.
Especially was this the case where the weir brook fell into the pond, a
little below the bridge, at the place where the boys had taken their
sleds to "coast" down the hill and over the sloping bank with an impetus
which sent them flying over to the other side of the pond. Young Van,
preferring to-night his sled to his skates, was there with the rest, and
either through bravado or want of skill, steered, or let his sled take
its own way, to the open water where the brook came in. A cry from his
companions came too late to warn him, but it warned the others at a
distance that some one was in danger; and several were on the spot in a
minute or two, and among the rest Jabez.
"Who is it? Young Van? Yes, he is just the fellow for such a job,"
said he, taking off his skates and plunging into the water where the
boy's sled was floating, the ice cracking and crumbling beneath his feet
as he ran. The water was not very deep, and young Van, gasping and
shivering with terror and cold, was passed over to the hands waiting for
him.
"And I say, you boys, keep back. The ice at the edge is none too strong
to bear the half of you. Be off home, or your mothers will be here
before you know it. I mean to go the other way, if I can, and save a
journey."
All this time Jabez was struggling, and always into deeper water, with
the ice that would not bear his weight when he let himself rest upon it.
He could land easily on the other side, he knew, but then he must go
home by the bridge, a good half-mile and more, which he did not care to
do. He struggled awhile, cheered by the voices of his companions; but
he had to give it up at last, as he owned afterwards he should have done
at first; and he was chilled to the bone before he reached home.
The next day young Van was at school--"as smart as ever," the boys
declared--and so was Jabez, but Jabez was not as smart as ever. He
shivered and burned alternately till noon, and then he went home; and
that was the last that was seen of Jabez in the school that winter.