"GRANDMA GRAYMOUSE"
"Hoopty-Doo!" shouted Jimmy, alighting on the piazza on all fours. "A
little girl like that keep school!"
"Well, she is going to," returned Edith, looking up from the picture she
was drawing of a cherub in the clouds, "she's going to; and Mr.
Templeton says the Castle Cliff people are as pleased as they can be."
"I heard what he said," struck in Nate. "He said they jumped at it like
a dolphin at a silver spoon."
"He's always talking about that dolphin and that silver spoon," laughed
Edith. "If I knew how a dolphin looks, I'd draw one and give it to him
just for fun. But mamma, you don't expect me to go to school to that
little girl; now do you?"
"Certainly not, Edith; oh, no."
"Must _I_ go to Grandmother Graymouse?" whined Jimmy, "She's only my
sister. And I came up here to play."
"Play all you like, my son. No one will ask you to go school."
"But _I_ really want to go," said Nate. "I wouldn't miss it for
anything. A girl's school like that will be larks. Only four hours
anyway, two in the forenoon and two in the afternoon. Time enough left
for play."
"H'm, if that's all, let's go," cried Jimmy. "We can leave off any time
we get tired of it."
Kyzie heard this as she was crossing the hall.
"Why, boys," she said, "you don't live in Castle Cliff! It's the Castle
Cliff children I'm going to teach--the little ones, you know."
"But papa said if you'd show me about my arithmetic--" began Nate.
"Perhaps I don't know so much as you do, Nate. But if you go you'll be
good, won't you--you and Jimmy both?"
She spoke with some concern. "For if you're naughty, the other boys will
think they can be naughty too; and I shan't know what in the world to do
with them."
"Oh, we'll sit up as straight as ninepins; we'll show 'em how city boys
behave," said Nate, making a bow to Kyzie.
He could be a perfect little gentleman when he chose. He liked to tease
Jimmy, younger than himself, but had always been polite to Kyzie. Still
Kyzie did not altogether like the thought of having a boy of twelve for
a pupil. What if he should laugh at her behind his slate?
Here Barbara and Lucy appeared upon the veranda, holding Edith's new
kitty between them.
"We're going. We'll sit together and cut out paper dolls and eat figs
under the seat," declared Lucy, never doubting that this would be
pleasing news to the young teacher.
Before Kyzie had time to say, "Why, Lucy!" little Eddo ran up the steps
to ask in haste:--
"Where's Lucy going? I fink I'll go too."
Kyzie could bear no more. She ran and hid in the hammock and cried. They
all thought she was to have a sort of play-school; did they? They were
going just for fun. She must talk to mamma. Mamma thought the school was
foolish business; but mamma always knew what ought to be done, and how
to help do it. Or if mamma ever felt puzzled, there was papa to go
to,--papa, who could not possibly make a mistake. Between them they
would see that their eldest daughter was treated fairly.
Monday morning came. Kyzie's courage had revived. Eddo would be kept at
home; Lucy and Bab had been informed that they were not to cut paper
dolls, though they might write on their slates. All that they thought of
just now, the dear "little two," was of dressing to "look exactly
alike." As Bab had learned once for all that her hair would not curl,
she spent half an hour that morning braiding her auntie's ringlets down
her back, and tying the cue with a pink ribbon like her own. But for all
the little barber could do the flaxen cue would not lie flat. It was an
old story, but very provoking.
"Oh dear," wailed Lucy, "'most school-time and my hair is all _over_ my
head!"
It did look wild. You could almost fancy it was angry because it had
not been allowed to curl after its own graceful fashion.
The "little two" started off in good season, hoping not to be seen by
Eddo; but he espied them from the window, and they heard him calling
till his baby voice was lost in the distance:--
"You ought to not leave me! You ought to not leave m-e-e!"
"He wants to go everywhere big people go."
"Yes," responded Bab. "Such babies think they are as old as anybody. Oh,
see that Mexican dog, how straight his tail stands up!"
"Like your hair," sighed Lucy. "If my hair would only be straight like
that!"
And neither of them smiled at this droll remark.
"But there's one thing we must remember, Bab. I'm glad I thought of it.
We must say, 'Miss' to Kyzie."
"Miss what?"
"Miss Dunlee. If we forget it, she'll feel dreadfully." And then they
began to hum a tune and keep step to the music. They often did this as
they walked.
Kyzie had gone on before them. Her father was with her, but she had the
key in her hand and opened the schoolhouse door. They walked in
together, and Kyzie locked the door behind them, for several children
were waiting about who must not enter till the bell rang.
The schoolhouse floor was very clean; the new teacher herself had swept
it. On the walls were large wreaths of holly, which had been left over
from last Christmas, when the Sunday-school had had a celebration here.
At one end of the room was a raised platform with a large desk on it.
On the wall over the desk was a motto made of red pepper berries, only
the words were so close together that you could not make them out unless
you knew beforehand what they were.
"That means, 'Christ is risen,'" explained Kyzie. "It looks dreadfully,
but they didn't want it taken down, I'll make another by and by."
There were blackboards on three sides of the room; quite clean they
looked now. The desks and benches were rude ones of black oak, and had
been hacked by jack-knives. Kyzie regretted this, but supposed the boys
had not been taught any better. There was only one chair in the room, a
large armed chair for the little teacher, and it stood solemnly on the
platform before the desk.
"You see, papa, I've brought a big blank-book to write the names in. The
pen and inkstand belong here. Ahem, I begin to tremble," said she, and
looked at her mother's watch which she wore in her belt. "It's five
minutes of nine."
"Oh, you'll do famously," said Mr. Dunlee. "And now, daughter, I'll wish
you good-by and the very best luck in the world."
"Good-by, papa," said Kyzie, and locked the door after him. "I wish I'd
asked him to stay till I called them in and took their names. Papa is so
dignified that it would have been a great help. My, I feel as if I
weren't more than six years old!"