MISS VAN ZANDT.
GREAT was the amazement of all the school-girls to see Kit, neatly
dressed, and book in hand, walk into the schoolhouse Friday evening,
and seat herself among the children.
"There is Kit," whispered Ruth to Selina. "I wonder if she has run
away."
"I dare say she has. I know she said her uncle would not let her come."
"Well, for my part, I believe in children doing as they are told, about
going to meeting or any thing else. I wonder why she has not been in
school."
"Her aunt is worse," replied Selina. "Dr. Chase went up to see her this
morning. He told father she was in the last stage of consumption."
Never had the Friday evening services in the red schoolhouse district
been so well attended as they were this summer. Perhaps this increased
attendance might be partly owing to the fact that the red schoolhouse
had never before been so comfortable. Certainly it was much more
agreeable to spend an hour in a clean, well-aired, cool room, fresh and
fragrant with the smell of flowers and green leaves, than to pass the
same time in a hot, fusty apartment, unventilated since the afternoon
school session, with air heavy enough to have put hundred-eyed Argus
asleep. Miss Van Zandt's singing might also be an attraction. But
I am inclined to think there was more in the case than either, and
that a gracious influence was stirring the air, not only in the red
schoolhouse district, but in the whole parish of Oldham.
Kit had counted on a word with Miss Armstrong either before or after
the meeting, but neither she nor Mrs. Van Zandt was present. Mr.
Bassett opened the service, as usual, with a hymn: and some of the
elder people smiled at the earnestness with which the children joined
in the singing; and more than one turned to look at Kit, whose voice
sounded out beautifully clear and full of expression.
"Did you ever!" whispered Ruth. "Who ever would have guessed that poor
child had such a voice?"
Selina did not answer, but her face wore any thing but a pleased
expression.
The service went on as usual, except that more people spoke, and almost
every one of the children had a text, or a verse from some favorite
hymn. Miss Celia made a few remarks, in her silvery, tremulous voice.
They were very simple. She said she had been young, and now was old;
she had passed through many severe trials, some of which were well
known to her friends, and others only to her heavenly Father: but she
wished to say that in all of them she had been helped and comforted
by Divine Love. It was a support which had never failed her. She had
enjoyed it all her life, and she hoped the dear children and young
people present might be as happy in this respect as she had been.
That was all she said. It was commonplace enough, if such a subject can
ever be commonplace. But it was spoken with an expression of inward
conviction which sent it home to almost every heart present.
"Are there any more remarks?" asked Mr. Bassett.
There was a short silence; and then a clear little voice sounded from
the low bench in front, where the little children sat:—
"Please, Mr. Bassett, will you ask the people to pray for aunt Martha,
because she is very sick, and the doctor says she won't live but a
little while."
Everybody looked round in surprise. Kit had risen to her feet in her
earnestness, and stood with her shining eyes fixed on the good miller's
face, while the carnation color mantled beautifully in her cheeks. More
than one mother felt the tears very near her eyes as they rested on
the poor little motherless child, who stood so evidently thinking of
nothing but the request she had made. And more than one prayer went up
then and there on her behalf and that of the invalid.
There was the usual little pause for neighborly chat when the service
was over.
"Why, Kit! How did you come here?" asked Sarah.
"Uncle Phin let me come," answered Kit. "And only think, Sarah, he says
I may go to Sunday school!"
"How glad I am!" said Sarah, bending to kiss the face turned to her.
"But where have you been these two days?"
"I could not leave aunt Martha. She is very sick, and she likes to have
me sing and read to her."
"Is she sensible?"
"Yes, almost all the time now, though she isn't quite right. She thinks
I am her daughter, and she can't bear to have me away from her when she
is awake. But she isn't unhappy, as she used to be, and she prays a
great deal. But, Sarah, I wonder where Miss Armstrong is. I thought I
should see her this evening."
"I don't know, I am sure. Let us ask Selina.—Selina, where is Miss
Armstrong?"
"She has gone to New York with Mrs. Van Zandt. They had a telegram that
some friend of theirs is very low,—not expected to live. Miss Armstrong
thought she could not go at first. But Miss Van Zandt must needs offer
to teach the school while she was away, so she got ready, and started
off in Mrs. Van Zandt's carriage to catch the train at Oldbury."
"I don't see why you should speak so scornfully, Selina," said Faith.
"For my part, I think it is very kind of Miss Van Zandt."
"Well, I don't want to be going to school to a girl only two or three
years older than I am."
"What difference does her age make, so long as she knows more than we
do?" asked Faith very sensibly.
Selina made no reply.
"I'll tell you what it is, Selina, you will end by hating Miss Van
Zandt, if you don't mind," continued Faith earnestly. "I don't see how
you can feel so. What harm has she ever done to you?"
"I never said she had done me any harm," returned Selina. "I think she
puts herself forward, and makes herself ridiculous by taking so much on
herself. But as to hating, I never troubled myself enough about her to
do that." And yet Selina did hate Ida, and she knew it.
"Where is Patience to-night, Faith?" asked Mrs. Weston.
"She isn't very well, and she had so much to do she thought she
couldn't come. I wanted her to let me do up the work, but she wouldn't."
"That is a pity," said Mrs. Weston. "It would have done her good.—Come,
Selina; we must be going."
The children were early at the schoolhouse next morning, eager to see
their new teacher, whom they were all prepared to like.
"Who do you think came to Bible class with me last night?" said Agnes
as she joined the group of older girls. "No less a person than Milly
Richmond."
"Milly Richmond!" exclaimed Selina. "I don't believe it. She laughs at
the very idea."
"She came, for all that. We sat close by the door, and went away the
very first minute we could."
"But how did it happen?"
"Well, I asked her. You see, Milly and I have never been very good
friends," said Agnes with some embarrassment; "and I think perhaps
I have been hard upon her, so I have been trying to make up. I did
not believe she would come to the service: but I remembered what Dr.
Madison said about charity at home, and I thought there would be no
harm in trying. So I asked her, as I said, and she asked me if I really
meant it.
"'Of course,' I said.
"And then she said, well, she did not mind for once, only she would
like to sit by the door, because it was so warm."
"How did she like it?" asked Sarah.
"I asked her, and she said she didn't know, herself; she should have to
think about it. And after that, she never said another word all the way
home."
"Is it true, Agnes, that you are going to be confirmed next time the
Bishop comes?" asked Faith.
"Quite true," answered Agnes.
"I should think you were pretty young to take such a step," remarked
Ruth. "Why don't you wait till you are older?"
"Why should I?" asked Agnes. "I am fifteen, and I don't think I shall
know my own mind any better if I wait till I am twenty or forty."
"Perhaps you would not know it as well," observed Sarah.
"If you think it so nice in Agnes, why don't you come forward
yourself?" asked Selina with something of a sneer,—an expression which
was becoming so habitual to her that it threatened to spoil her pretty
face.
"I mean to," said Sarah briefly. She paused a moment, and then added
with an evident effort, "And, girls, I want to say something: I want to
ask your pardon, and especially yours, Selina, for all the sharp and
hateful things I have said. I know that is my besetting sin, as Mr.
Bassett said last night, and I am going to try and do better; so I hope
you will all forgive me."
The girls looked at each other in amazement. Sarah was a very proud
girl, and such an acknowledgment had a double force coming from her.
"I am sure I do, if there is any thing to forgive, though I never laid
up any thing against you," said Faith. "You are so nice in other ways
that I never minded your sharp speeches."
"And you, Selina?"
"Oh, I forgive you, of course, since you ask me, though I do think you
have treated me shamefully," said Selina coldly. "I only hope your
goodness will last, that's all."
And Selina turned and went into the schoolhouse.
"That's a queer kind of forgiveness," said Faith. "I think Selina is
queer, anyhow."
"Oh, well, never mind," said Sarah. "I have been aggravating to her,
I know. Here comes Miss Van Zandt. Doesn't she look pretty in her
brown-linen dress and blue ribbons? We must do all we can to help her,
girls. I don't suppose she has ever taught before."
But those of the school—they were very few—who were inclined to take
liberties with their young teacher, soon found that they had reckoned
without their host. Miss Van Zandt had a ready wit and a quick eye,
besides a fund of imperturbable good-nature. In the geography class,
she delighted the girls by her descriptions of places she had seen in
England, and promised next day to bring some photographs of cathedrals
and of natural scenery.
"Of what place were we just speaking?" asked Ida, turning to Selina,
who was making an elaborate display of taking no interest in the lesson.
"I don't know," replied Selina: "I was not listening."
"Next," said Miss Van Zandt.
"York," was the instant answer.
And to Selina's infinite disgust, and the amusement of the other girls,
Ruth Jewsbury went above her.
"I don't think that is fair, Miss Van Zandt," said Selina. "I knew the
answer."
"I dare say you did; but you said yourself, you were not paying
attention. Next: For what is Newcastle noted?"
And that was all Selina gained by her manœuvre.
When noon-time came, Ida requested the elder girls to remain for a few
minutes.
"I have a few words to say to you, young ladies," said she. "As you
know, I have taken the place of my friend Miss Armstrong for a little
time, in order that the school may not be closed while she is away.
I have not much experience, at least in a day-school; and it is very
likely that I may make some mistakes. What I have to ask is, that you
older girls who are the leaders in the school, will help me by throwing
your influence upon the side of law and order. Little girls are apt to
follow the lead of large girls; and, if the children see you desirous
to maintain the character of the school during your teacher's absence,
they will do the same. Not that I have any thing to complain of," she
hastened to add: "on the contrary, you have all been very kind to me."
"I don't see how we could be any thing else," said Sarah. "I don't
think you will have any trouble with the children, Miss Van Zandt: they
are good little things."
"I don't believe I shall have any trouble with anybody," said Miss Van
Zandt. "Does any one know where Kitty is?"
"I suppose she is at home," answered Sarah. "Her aunt is very sick.
Dr. Chase says she can only live a few days. And she has taken such a
fancy to Kit, she cannot bear her out of sight. She thinks Kit is her
daughter."
"Poor woman!" said Miss Van Zandt. "Well, girls, I don't know that I
have any more to say, and I am keeping you from your dinners. I hope
and believe that we shall have a very pleasant report to make to Miss
Armstrong when she comes home."
"How long will she be gone?" asked Faith.
"The time is uncertain, because it depends upon her friend's
health,—probably not more than ten days, possibly two weeks."
"And are you going to teach the school all that time?" asked Selina
with an emphasis on the "you."
"I fully intend to do so at present," answered Miss Van Zandt, not in
the least ruffled. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing; only, if Miss Armstrong is going to be away so long, I
should suppose the trustees would engage some grown-up person to take
charge of the school."
The girls looked at each other in indignant amazement as Selina gave
vent to this piece of impertinence, but Miss Van Zandt only smiled.
"How much taller would you like me to be?" she asked, erecting her
beautiful figure to its full height. "If the trustees get any one much
more grown-up, they will have to raise the roof or lower the floor.
Pray, how old are you, Selina?"
"She is fifteen," said Agnes, as Selina did not answer.
"Exactly, and I am nineteen. You seem to feel tolerably grown-up
yourself, I think; and so you see, I have a right to feel four years
more grown-up than you are."
"Please, Mith Dan Want, ma says will 'oo tome to dinner, because ith's
all weady," said a small child, inserting a curly black head into a
crack in the door.
"Thank you, my dear; but who is ma?" asked Ida.
"It is Emma Bassett," said Faith. "What a shame of me! Mrs. Bassett
called me this morning, and told me to be sure to tell Miss Van Zandt
to come to dinner; and I forgot it."
"Well, ith's all weady," said the curly head; "and there's chewy-pie."
"Indeed! Then I must certainly come, and some of you must eat the lunch
Aggy put up for me. There are some nice bananas in the basket, girls,
if you like them."
"Well, Selina, I do hope you feel better," said Ruth Jewsbury. "You
have made a nice figure of yourself, I must say. I should think you
would be ashamed."
Selina was surprised and vexed; for Ruth had hitherto been somewhat
rebellious to Miss Armstrong, and she had looked to her for support in
her attempt to put down Miss Van Zandt.
"She didn't make much by it, anyway," said Faith, "only to turn the
laugh on herself."
"Selina, what does make you act so?" asked Agnes seriously. "I should
think you might be pleased at having such a pleasant young lady for a
teacher, instead of some one like—Miss Priscilla Davis, for instance."
"Dear me! What did I do?" asked Selina. "One would think I had murdered
some one, at the very least."
"You tried to insult Miss Van Zandt, and only succeeded in making
yourself ridiculous,—that's what you did.—Didn't she, girls?"
"That was what it came to," answered Agnes, "but I don't think she will
make much by it.—Come, Selina; do think better of it. I don't see why
we should not have a very good time with Miss Van Zandt, if we all turn
to and support her. I am sure nothing could be nicer than her ways this
morning. And how interesting she made the geography class!"
"Oh, yes, of course. It is all Miss Van Zandt now, and dear Miss
Armstrong is nobody and nowhere," said Selina. "Last week you thought
there was nobody like Miss Armstrong."
"And I think so now," returned Agnes. "I have a right to, for she is
the best friend I ever had, except my mother. I never could pay her
for what she has done for me, if I were to live a hundred years. But
I think the best way I can show my love for her in her absence is to
respect and help her friend who has taken her place."
"Agnes talks like a book, and she is right," said Ruth. "I never was so
wonderfully fond of Miss Armstrong as some of you,—as Selina was when
she first came, for instance,—but I think she is an excellent teacher;
and, as for Miss Van Zandt, think she is lovely."
"Yes, because she let you go up in the geography class,—a thing you
never did before," retorted Selina. "Oh, well, I don't propose to have
any words about it," she added loftily. "You can all flatter and bow
down to Miss Van Zandt as much as you please, for all me. I shall not,
that's all."
And certainly Selina kept her word by doing all in her power to make
Ida's work as disagreeable as possible.
Ida tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance, but it did no good.
Selina denied having done any thing wrong. And when one instance after
another of disrespect and disobedience was brought home to her, she
burst into tears, declared that every one was against her because she
was an orphan, and because she would not pretend to be religious. She
was in every one's way, nobody loved her, and she wished she was dead.
Much perplexed, Ida sought a private interview with Mrs. Weston, and
laid the case before her.
"I don't think I have been unjust to Selina," said she. "She is the
only one I have any trouble with. But really, she is so disrespectful
that I do not know what to do with her."
"I can understand it," said Mrs. Weston, sighing. "Selina is very
trying when she takes one of her perverse fits, and I hardly know how
to manage her myself. It is not fair, however, that you should be
troubled with her. And I think I will keep her at home for the present."
"That seems a pity," remarked Ida. "Perhaps if you were to talk to her—"
"I fear that would do no good; she seems only to resent it. But I will
consult her father, and see what he thinks it best to do."
The result of the consultation was, that Selina found herself taken out
of school, and set to work about the house and dairy. The change was
not at all to her taste. But she was too proud to complain, and took
great pains to show that she did not care.