The important day arrived when I was to begin school-life at the Village
Academy, the day I had so long looked forward to with pleasant
anticipations. The teacher who had taught the Fulton Academy for several
years was a gentleman of high culture, and of sound judgment. Teaching
with him was a loved life-work. He had been left an orphan at an early
age, and had, by his own exertions, obtained the education which enabled
him to occupy a position of influence and respectability, consequently,
he was all the better able to sympathize and assist studious pupils who
laboured against many discouragements to obtain an education. Instead of
regarding the pupils under his charge as only objects for correction and
reproof, he treated them as reasonable beings, and laboured diligently
to develop their better natures, as well as their intellectual powers.
When I entered the school-room, and Mr. Oswald made some enquiries
regarding my studies, and other matters, I looked in his clear honest,
but withal searching eyes, and felt certain I had found a friend in my
teacher. My ideas at the time, of my new home as well as my school, will
I presume be best expressed by transcribing the copy of a letter,
written to Charley Gray about this time. I lately found it among, some
old papers. It reads thus:
Fulton, Oct. 25th, 18--
Dear Charley,
As I cannot possibly see you, I will do the next best by writing to you
in answer to your kind and very welcome letter, which came to hand two
days since. I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to
begin; but if I intend to finish I must make a beginning in some way.
I will first endeavour to tell you something about my home. You know I
feared Uncle Nathan might be like Farmer Judson; but never were two more
unlike; he never scolds or frets, and, although he is not a great
talker, somehow or other when he does talk I always like to listen to
what he says. I am sure you would like Uncle Nathan, and if you could
pay a visit to his farm he would not drive you off as Mr. Judson did. My
grandma and aunt live with my uncle. Grandma is a very old woman, but
she looks happy and contented as she sits day after day in her large
arm-chair, dividing her time between her knitting work and reading in
the large-print Bible which always lies close to her hand; sometimes she
says it tries her eyes to read, and then I wish you could see how pleased
she seems when I offer to read to her.
You remember the day Charley, when we were at school at dear old
Elmwood, when we were out at recess and that poor old beggar-man who
was nearly blind passed the play-ground, and dropped his cane into the
ditch. Some of the thoughtless boys set up a laugh, but you left your
play and ran and picked up the cane and placed it in his hand; and the
old man patted your head and said "I know you will make a good man, my
lad, if you live to grow up, for there is always good in the boy who
pays respect to the aged and helpless." The master who saw it all from
the open window did not forget to reprove the boys who laughed at the
poor old man, while at the same time he warmly commended your kind act,
"Take my word for it boys," said he "an act of kindness, or any mark of
respect to the old and feeble, will always leave a feeling of happiness
in your own hearts;" and I know now that our teacher told the truth.
Sometimes grandmother calls me to read to her when I am busy with study
or play, and at first I do not feel inclined to go, but I always do, and
I feel more than paid when I finish reading and she says, "thank you,
Walter, you are a good boy to remember poor old grandma and I hope if
you live to be old, and your eyes grow dim like mine, some one will be
as kind to you as you are to me." I don't know how it is, Charley, but
some how I always feel happier after reading to grandma Adams. Aunt
Lucinda is Uncle Nathan's sister, you know; she keeps house; she is a
real go-a-head sort of woman, and a great worker; she is older than
Uncle Nathan, but, between you and I, I don't think she cares to hear
that spoken of, but it's no harm for me to tell you. She is so different
in her ways from your mother and mine that at first I hardly knew what
to make of her. She has a queer way of snapping people up short if she
isn't just suited. For a long time I was afraid Aunt Lucinda would never
like me, she seemed to have such a horror of boys--may be that's the
reason she never got married. I have begun to think lately that I am
gaining in her good opinion and I am very glad of it. After all she is
kind-hearted, for all her queer ways; I could get along better if she
wasn't so distressingly neat and particular about the house. I tell you
if you lived with my Aunt, you'd have to remember always to wipe your
feet on the door-mat before coming into the house; if you did happen to
forget Aunt Lucinda would sharpen up your memory, depend upon it. When
I first came here I really believe she thought I should burn either the
house or barn, perhaps both, or commit some other enormity; but as no
such occurrence has as yet taken place, she begins to think, I believe,
that I am not so bad as I might be. In fact I heard her tell Uncle
Nathan the other day, that she "would be real sorry if I was to go away,
I was such a help about the house, and so careful to keep the chores all
done up," that was a great deal for Aunt Lucinda to say in my favor; and
I was so pleased when I heard her that I wished there was more chores to
do than there are although I sometimes think there are quite enough
already. But it is time I was telling you something about my school. I
attend the Academy over at Fulton, the small village which is about two
miles from Uncle Nathan's farm. The Academy is the only thing here which
reminds me of Elmwood. It is a large building, two stories in height,
painted white, and the grounds around it are thickly set with many
different kinds of shade-trees. The upper story of the building is used
as a Public Hall while the lower one is appropriated to the school.
There is about an equal number of boys and girls attending this term.
By-the-bye, Charley, when I first entered the school I was very much
afraid that my own attainments would seem very little compared with
those of my then unknown companions, but I have got rid of that fear
now, I am in the class next the highest and am eagerly looking forward
to the day, which I hope is not far distant, when I shall stand in the
first ranks in Fulton Academy. There are two teachers. Mr. Oswald, the
head master, and Mr. Lawrence, who is quite a young man, is the
assistant teacher. This same assistant is very pompous in his manner,
and when Mr. Oswald is not present, he is disposed to act something
of the tyrant. He has red hair, which I believe is a matter of much
annoyance to him, for he is uncommonly vain regarding his personal
appearance. Knowing this, some of the boys delight in playing off jokes
upon him. One day last week, Mr. Lawrence was leaning over a desk,
working out a difficult example in Arithmetic, directly behind him was
Ned Stanton, the most mirthful and fun-loving boy in the whole school.
Ned took a match from his pocket and, first giving me a sly nudge to
look, held it close to Mr. Lawrence's head, making believe to light it
by his red curling locks. The act was so sudden and withal so comic that
I burst out laughing before I thought where I was. Mr. Oswald raised his
eyes just in time to see Ned holding the match, I expected the fellow
was in for a punishment for sure; but will you believe me when I tell
you that Mr. Oswald actually laughed himself. He tried hard to put on
a stern look, and said "I think Edward you had best attend to your
ciphering." The assistant was so busily occupied that he saw nor heard
nothing of it all, till he raised his head, and seeing many of the
scholars trying to conceal their laughter, and even observing an
expression of quiet mirth on Mr. Oswald's face, he looked from one to
another with such a ludicrous manner of enquiry and astonishment it made
the matter still worse. But, whatever Mr. Lawrence may lack in any way,
is more than made up to us in Mr. Oswald. He is past thirty years of
age, he is married, and has a little boy and girl who attend school.
The little boy is very nice, and if I wasn't afraid you would laugh at
me I would say that I think Rose Oswald the handsomest girl I ever saw,
and I have said it after all, laugh or no laugh. Mr. Oswald is very
highly learned, but when we meet with him, somehow or other, the space
between us and that tall, learned, and somewhat grave looking man, seems
annihilated. I believe it is his kindness which does this. Like all
schools there are both good and bad scholars here; some of them practice
much deceit with the teachers, and will sometimes even conceal their
books when in the class, and recite from them, to save study; I _never_
do this, Charley, for I know it is wrong, and I know you wouldn't do it
either. But the small space left warns me that I must bring my long
letter to a close. Write soon, and tell me how you are getting along,
and all about your school, and every thing else that you think may
interest me. I have made some companions here but you needn't fear my
forgetting you, for I have met with no one who, to me, can quite fill
the place of Charley Gray. With much affection I remain,
Your sincere Friend,
WALTER HARLAND.
P.S. Write soon, and don't forget to write a long letter.
W.H.