Next morning Jimmy walked to school with "the little two," whistling as
he went. Lucy had tortured her hair into a "cue," and
"The happy wind upon her played,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid."
"I've got the snarling-est, flying-est hair," scolded she. "I never'll
braid it again as long as I live; so there!"
"Good!" cried Jimmy. "It has looked like fury ever since we came up
here."
Here Nate overtook the children. He had not been very social since the
accident, but seemed now to want to talk.
"How do you do, Jimmy?" he said: and Jimmy responded, "How d'ye do
yourself?"
The little girls ran on in advance, and Jimmy would have joined them,
but Nate said:---
"Hold on! What's your hurry?"
Jimmy turned then and saw that Nate was scowling and twisting his
watch-chain.
"I've got something to say to you--I mean papa wants me to say
something."
"Oh ho!"
"I don't see any need of it, but papa says I must."
Jimmy waited, curious to hear what was coming.
"Papa says I jollied you the other day."
"What's that?"
"Why, fooled you."
"So you did, Nate Pollard, and 'twas awful mean."
[Illustration]
"It wasn't either. What made you climb that ridge-pole? You needn't
have done it just because I did. But papa says I've got to--to--ask your
pardon."
"H'm! I should think you'd better! Tore my clothes to pieces. Smashed a
gold watch."
"You hadn't any business taking that watch."
There was a pause.
"Look here, Jimmy Dunlee, why don't you speak?"
"Haven't anything to say."
"Can't you say, 'I forgive you'?"
"Of course I can't. You never asked me."
"Well, I ask you now. James S. Dunlee, will--you--forgive me?"
"H'm! I suppose I'll have to," replied Jimmy, firing a pebble at nothing
in particular. "I forgive you all right because we've found the watch.
If we hadn't found it, I wouldn't! But don't you 'jolly' me again, Nate
Pollard, or you'll catch it!"
This did not sound very forgiving; but neither had Nate's remark sounded
very penitent. Nate smiled good-naturedly and seemed satisfied. The fact
was, he and Jimmy were both of them trying, after the manner of boys, to
hide their real feelings. Nate knew that his conduct had been very
shabby and contemptible, and he was ashamed of it, but did not like to
say so. Jimmy, for his part, was glad to make up, but did not wish to
seem too glad.
Then they each tried to think of something else to say. They were fully
agreed that they had talked long enough about their foolish quarrel and
would never allude to it again.
"Glad that watch has come," said Nate.
"So am I. It has come, but it won't _go_," said Jimmy. And they laughed
as if this were a great joke.
Next Jimmy inquired about "the colonel," and Nate asked: "What colonel?
Oh, you mean the mining engineer. He'll be here next week with his men."
By this time the boys were feeling so friendly that Jimmy asked Nate to
go with him before school next morning to see the knitting-woman's pets
and hear the blind canary sing.
"Do you suppose the magpie will be there?" returned Nate. "I want to
catch her some time and wring her old neck."
"Wish you would," said Jimmy. "Hello, there's Chicken Little crying
again. He's more of a baby than our Eddo."
Henry was crying now because Dave Blake had called him a coward. So
very, very unjust! He stood near the schoolhouse door, wiping his eyes
on his checked apron and saying:--
"I'll go tell the teacher, Dave Blake!"
"Well, go along and tell her then. Fie, for shame!"
Henry, a feeble, petted child, was always falling into trouble and
always threatening to tell the teacher. Kyzie considered him very
tiresome; but to-day when he came to her with his tale of woe, she
listened patiently, because she had done him a wrong and wished to atone
for it. She had "really and truly" suspected this simple child of a
crime! He would not take so much as a pin without leave; neither would
Joseph Rolfe. Yet in her heart she had been accusing these innocent
children of stealing her father's watch!
"Miserable me!" thought Kyzie. "I must be very good to both of them now,
to make up for my dreadful injustice!"
She went to Joe and sweetly offered to lend him her knife to whittle
his lead pencil. He looked surprised. He did not know she had ever
wronged him in her heart.
She wiped Henry's eyes on her own pocket handkerchief.
"Poor little cry-baby!" thought she. "I told my mother I would try to
make a man of him, and now I mean to begin."
She walked part of the way home with him that afternoon. He considered
it a great honor. She looked like a little girl, but her wish to help
the child made her feel quite grown-up and very wise.
"Henry," said she, "how nice you look when you are not crying. Why, now
you're smiling, and you look like a darling!"
He laughed.
"There! laugh again. I want to tell you something, Henry. You'd be a
great deal happier if you didn't cry so much; do you know it?"
"Well, Miss Dunlee,"--Kyzie liked extremely to be called Miss
Dunlee,--"well, Miss Dunlee, you see, the boys keep a-plaguing me. And
when they plague me I have to cry."
"Oh, fie, don't you do it! If I were a little black-eyed boy about your
age I'd laugh, and I'd say to those boys: 'You needn't try to plague me;
you just can't do it. The more you try, the more I'll laugh.'"
Henry's eyes opened wide in surprise, and he laughed before he knew it.
"There! that's the way, Henry. If you do that they'll stop right off.
There's no fun in plaguing a little boy that laughs."
Henry laughed again and threw back his shoulders. Why, this was
something new. This wasn't the way his mamma talked to him. She always
said, "Mamma's boy is sick and mustn't be plagued."
"Another thing," went on the little girl, pleased to see that her words
had had some effect; "whatever else you may do, Henry, _don't_ 'run and
tell,' Do you suppose George Washington ever crept along to his teacher,
rubbing his eyes this way on his jacket sleeve, and said 'Miss
Dunlee--ah, the boys have been a-making fun of me--ah! They called me
names, they did!'"
Henry dropped his chin into his neck.
"Never mind! You're a good little boy, after all. _You_ wouldn't steal
anything, would you, Henry?"
This sudden question was naturally rather startling. He had no answer
ready.
"Oh, I know you wouldn't! But sometimes little _birds_ steal. Did you
hear that a magpie stole a watch the other day?"
"Yes, I heard."
"Well, here's some candy for you, Henry."
The boy held out his hand eagerly, though looking rather bewildered. Was
the candy given because George Washington didn't "run and tell"? Or
because magpies steal watches?
"Now, good night, Henry, and don't forget what: I've been saying to
you."
Henry walked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, but enjoying the candy
nevertheless. If his pretty teacher didn't want him to tell tales, he
wouldn't do it any more. He would act just like George Washington; and
then how would the big boys feel?
He did not forget his resolve. Next morning when Dave Blake ran out his
tongue at him and Joe Rolfe said, "Got any chickens to sell?" he laughed
with all his might, just to see how it would seem. Both the boys stared;
they didn't understand it. "Hello, Chicken Little, what's the matter
with you?"
Henry could see the eyes of his young teacher twinkling from between the
slats of the window-blinds, and he spoke up with a courage quite
unheard-of:--
"Nothing's the matter with _me!_"
"Hear that chicken," cried Joe Rolfe. "He's beginning to crow!"
Henry felt the tears starting; but as Miss Katharine at that moment
opened the blind far enough to shake her finger at him privately he
thought better of it, and faltered out:--
"See here, boys, I like to be called Chicken Little first rate! Say it
again. Say it fi-ive thousand times if you want to!"
"Oh, you're too willing," said Joe. "We'll try it some other time when
you get over being so willing!"
The bell rang; it sounded to Henry like a peal of joy. He walked in in
triumph, and as he passed by the little teacher she patted him on the
head. She did not need to wipe his eyes with her handkerchief, there
were no tears to be seen. He was not a brave boy yet by any means, but
he had made a beginning; yes, that very morning he had made a beginning.
"Don't you tease Henry Small any more, I don't like it at all," said
Katharine to Joseph Rolfe.
And then she slipped a paper of choice candy into Joe's hand, charging
him "not to eat it in school, now remember." It was a queer thing to do;
but then this was a queer school; and besides Kyzie had her own reasons
for thinking she ought to be very kind to Joe.
"How silly I was to suspect those little boys! I'm afraid I never shall
have much judgment. Still, on the whole, I believe I'm doing pretty
well," thought she, looking proudly at Henry Small's bright face, and
remembering too how Mr. Pollard had told her that very morning that his
son Nate was learning more arithmetic at her little school than he had
ever learned in the city schools. "Oh, I'm so glad," mused the little
teacher.
Mrs. Dunlee thought Kyzie did not get time enough for play. And just now
the little girl was unusually busy. They were talking at home of the new
entertainment to be given for Jimmy-boy's benefit, and she was to act a
part in it as well as Edith. It was "Jimmy's play," but Jimmy was not to
appear in it at all. Kyzie and Edith together were to print the tickets
with a pen. The white pasteboard had been cut into strips for this
purpose; but as it was not decided yet whether the play would be
enacted on the tailings or in the schoolhouse, the young printers had
got no farther than to print these words very neatly at the bottom of
the tickets:
"ADMIT THE BEARER."