On Sunday the church bells of Hillsboro rang out across the ripening
fields with a grave and holy sound, and again at evening knocked
faintly, with quiet sorrow, at doors where children watched for the
first star, to make their wishes. Night came, and to the croaking of
frogs, the moon rose over Barly Hill. In the early morning the grass,
still wet with dew, chilled the bare toes of urchins on their way to
school where, until four o'clock, the tranquil voice of Mr. Jeminy
disputed with the hum of bees, and the far off clink of the
blacksmith's forge in the village.
At four o'clock Mr. Jeminy, with a sigh, gathered his books together.
He sighed because he was old, and because the day's work was done. He
arose from his seat, and taking up his stick, passed out between the
benches and went slowly down the road.
It was a warm spring day; the air was drowsy and filled with the scent
of flowers. A thrush sang in the woods, where Mr. Jeminy heard before
him the light voices of children. He thought: "How happy they are."
And he smiled at his own fancies which, like himself, were timid and
kind.
But gradually, as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, he grew sad.
It seemed to him as if the world, strange and contrary during the day,
were again as it used to be when he was young.
When he crossed the wooden bridge over Barly Water, the minnows,
frightened, fled away in shoals. Mr. Jeminy turned down toward the
village, where he had an errand to attend to. As his footsteps died
away, the minnows swam back again, as though nothing had happened.
One, larger than the rest, found a piece of bread which had fallen into
the water. "This is my bread," he said, and gazed angrily at his
friends, who were trying to bite him. "I deserve this bread," he added.
Old Mr. Frye kept the general store in Hillsboro, and ran the post
office. It was easy to see that he was an honest man; he kept his shop
tidy, and was sour to everybody. Through his square spectacles he saw
his neighbors in the form of fruits, vegetables, stick pins, and pieces
of calico. Of Mr. Jeminy he used to say: "Sweet apples, but small,
very small; small and sweet."
"Yes," said Farmer Barly, "but just tell me, who wants small apples?"
Mr. Frye nodded his head. "Ah, that's it," he agreed.
At that moment Mr. Jeminy himself entered the store. "I'd like to buy
a pencil," he said. "The pencil I have in mind," he explained, "is
soft, and writes easily, but has no eraser."
"There you are," said the storekeeper; "that's five cents."
"I used to pay four," said Mr. Jeminy, looking for the extra penny.
"Well, perhaps you did," said Mr. Frye, "but prices are very high now."
And he moved away to register the sale.
Farmer Barly, who was a member of the school board, cleared his throat,
and blew on his nose. "Hem," he remarked. "Good-day."
"Good-day," said Mr. Jeminy politely, and went out of the store with
his pencil. Left to themselves, Mr. Frye and Mr. Barly began to
discuss him. "Jeminy is growing old," said Mr. Frye, with a shake of
his head.
Mr. Barly, although stupid, liked to be direct. "I was brought up on
plus and minus," he said, "and I've yet to meet the man who can get the
better of me. Now what do you think of that, Mr. Frye?"
Mr. Frye looked up, down, and around; then he began to polish his
spectacles. But he only said, "There's some good in that."
"There is indeed," said Mr. Barly, closing one eye, and nodding his
head a number of times. "There is indeed. But those days are over,
Mr. Frye. When I was a child I had the fear of God put into me. It
was put into me with a birch rod. But nowadays, Mr. Frye, the children
neglect their sums, and grow up wild as nettles. I don't know what
they're learning nowadays."