builders. The logs were carefully chinked to keep out the cold, and the
three good-sized windows contained shining panes of glass. Inside, there
were backs to the rough benches. Desks, the amateur carpenters had felt
unable to cope with, but there was a little platform with a rude table
for the teacher. A large sheet-iron stove gave promise of warming the
farthest corners of the room.
It was all so far beyond Talitha’s most ambitious dreams that she sank
upon a seat and burst into tears. The men looked at her abashed.
“Law me, Tally,” expostulated Sam Coyle, “hit looks fairly ongrateful fer
you ter take on that-a-way.”
“Now shet up, Sam,” commanded the schoolmaster with his old authority.
“Tally’s jest as tickled as anybody, but hit’s all come so mighty sudden
she’s kerried plumb off her feet.”
“I should say I was!” laughed the girl, wiping her eyes. “I never
dreamed of such a thing.”
The next Monday morning Talitha sang all the way to school. The air was
frosty and a nipping wind reddened her cheeks and made her fingers
tingle, but she laughed a merry defiance at the cold. How warm and cosy
the new schoolhouse should be when the children came trooping in. A turn
in the worn footpath and there it stood before her, new and inviting,
beckoning her on. Some one had been there before her, for smoke came
from the chimney. The young teacher hastened her steps. The door was
unlocked and she entered. The place was empty but warm to the farthest
nook, and Talitha rubbed her eyes. There were familiar looking books on
the table and maps on the walls beside the wide stretches of blackboard.
There were pictures also, not just such as she would have chosen, but how
they brightened the place! “If hit’s picters Tally wants, why hit’s
picters she shall hev,” declared the storekeeper at the Settlement. And
forthwith he had gathered his accumulation of calendars, chromo
advertisements, and picture cards to beautify the schoolroom.
For a time Talitha’s heart was as light as a feather, then something
began to trouble her. Quite by accident she discovered that Si Quinn’s
funds were getting low. How little he could afford to replace the books
and maps which had been destroyed she did not imagine. She only knew
that he seemed to have grown paler and thinner each time she saw him. He
had a habit of dropping in at the school almost daily, and when a week
passed and he did not appear, Talitha called at the cabin.
She knocked, but there was no response and she opened the door with
misgiving. The old man was not there. She looked curiously around; the
remnants of a scanty meal were on the table, and with a sudden
inspiration she began to investigate the condition of his larder. The
girl stood amazed at the result. She knew he had not been able to
cultivate his little garden patch the past summer, but because of the
small sum he had earned for years in the Goose Creek school, Si Quinn had
been looked upon as a well-to-do man in the community.
Much troubled at her discovery, Talitha set her wits to work. The old
man was too proud, she knew, to accept any offers of assistance.
Suddenly a plan entered her head. Christmas was only three weeks
distant—that was her opportunity, only something must be done meanwhile.
Where could he have gone? The girl ran to the door and looked out.
There he was now coming along the creek path. She hurried out to meet
him.
“Howdy, Tally!” he called, a smile brightening the wan, haggard face.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” cried the girl. “I’m going to
take you home with me for supper and I know father and mother won’t hear
to your coming back to-night.”
The old schoolmaster needed little urging to accompany her, and he did
ample justice to the supper Talitha cooked with her own hands. The next
morning a drizzling sleet prevented him from leaving. It was almost a
week before he finally took his departure, and then it was to respond to
an urgent invitation from the Gooch family to visit them. The Shackleys
would also be offended if they were neglected, so before the rounds were
made, Si Quinn’s face lost its pallor and he was quite like himself
again.
One morning Pom Ethers, the wagoner, stopped at the schoolhouse with a
goodly sized wooden box. “Talitha Coyle” was painted on it in large
black letters. The children gathered around while the man, with much
curiosity, opened it.
“Laws-a-massy!” exclaimed Porn Ethers as the cover came off. “If they
ain’t all books! What’ll ye ever do with sech a heap of ’em, Tally?”
There were two dozen volumes in neat but cheap bindings; some new to the
young teacher, and others she had read over and over in the school
library at Bentville.
“Read and study them of course,” she answered. “They’re just what we’ve
needed all the time. Who could have sent them?”
“Hit beats me,” said the wagoner. “Thar ain’t nothin’ ter show whar they
come from; mebbe the schoolmaster can tell ye.”
Si Quinn did not seem to know who the unknown donor might be, although he
might have surmised, for the very next day he received a letter
containing five dollars wrapped in an unsigned epistle, stating that the
sender had found a place at good wages. After Christmas he was going to
school—working evenings for his keep.
The schoolmaster smiled and nodded knowingly as he read it over and over
to himself, then laid the sheets on the flame in the wide fireplace and
watched them turn to ashes.
It took a great deal of scheming on Talitha’s part to bring her plans to
maturity. Billy Gooch was her right hand man, who could keep a secret
better than some of his elders. Her younger brothers, Rufe and Dock,
were too small to be of much service, while most of her other pupils
lived too far away to help her after school hours.
Christmas Eve there were to be exercises at the schoolhouse, which was to
be trimmed with evergreen and holly for the occasion. Talitha had heard
of Christmas trees, although she had never seen one, but they meant
candles, glittering trimmings, and little gifts far beyond the reach of
her small purse.
The schoolhouse looked like Santa Claus’ bower when the last decoration
was in place. From every available spot glowed the red berries of the
holly, with their shining green leaves against a background of pine and
fir. At last she was free to go. With one last look of satisfaction she
locked the door, and, accompanied by Billy and Sudie, took her way to the
old schoolmaster’s cabin. She did not see the faces peering excitedly
out at her from behind the pine thicket where, on that memorable night,
Jake Simcox had thought himself safe from detection.
Si Quinn had not finished his stay at the Shackleys, so the coast was
clear. The Saturday before Talitha, with the aid of Billy and his
sister, had given the cabin such a scrubbing as it had never known. The
fireplace was newly whitewashed and filled with odorous pine and balsam
boughs. There was also a huge pile of wood in one corner of the room.
Only the finishing touches were lacking to make the preparations complete
for the great surprise to be precipitated upon the schoolmaster, and in
these all his former patrons were to have a hand.
The children had brought their arms full of holly and pine, and now they
ran out for more while Talitha tried to give a festive air to the poor
little place. She smiled to herself as she did so, wondering meanwhile
what the old man would say to such “vanities”—as he would have called
them a year ago.
Presently there was a heavy step at the door, and Porn Ethers staggered
in, his arms weighted with bundles of all shapes and sizes. There was a
veritable Santa Claus twinkle in the grey eyes under the shaggy eyebrows.
“Thar’s a heap more things in the wagon, Tally. I couldn’t git hit
nearer’n the big rock, but I can pack ’em up easy ’nough, I reckon. Law,
but Si’ll think hit air Chris’mus fer sure! Thar’s three flitches of
bacon and a ham, and Mis’ Spurlock’s sent one of her puddin’s,”
enumerated the wagoner as he deposited the offerings upon the table.
“The Shackleys and the Twilligers hev fairly outdone theirselves. What
I’m afeard of is thet now the schoolmaster’ll be gittin’ the dyspepsy;
too much eatin’ air right down onhealthy—so I’ve heerd. But I’d be
willin’ ter take the resk if hit war me.” The grey eyes twinkled again.
Billy and Sudie came in with another armful of greens and hurried to Porn
Ethers’ assistance. In a comparatively short time the contents of the
wagon were neatly stowed away on the shelves, the bed made up with the
new blankets and blue coverlet, and the table set in Talitha’s most
approved fashion with some of the choicest goodies surrounding a large
bunch of holly.
“When the fire is burning and the candles lighted it’ll look real
Christmas-y,” decided the young teacher as the finishing touches were
completed. “I shall have to run ahead and see to that. How I wish
Martin were here to-night,” she sighed as she started homeward.
XI
CHRISTMAS DOINGS
THE dusk of Christmas Eve had gathered when Talitha set out for the
schoolhouse, leaving the rest of the family to follow later. The place
was already warm, but the candles must be lighted; the company would
gather at an early hour. Already there was the sound of wheels, the
tread of oxen on the wagon track, and the chatter of voices. Every man,
woman, and child in Goose Creek, able to hobble forth, would be present.
As she neared the place she saw that light already flamed from the
windows. Her steps quickened into a run; she reached the schoolhouse
quite breathless. The door was ajar. Talitha pushed it open and
entered. At first she was only aware that something very puzzling was
going on. She rubbed her eyes—they were dazed with the light—and looked
again.
On the platform was a Christmas tree, so tall that the flame of its
topmost candle barely escaped the ceiling. The twinkling lights, the
glittering tinsel, the toys, made it the most beautiful thing Talitha had
ever seen. Several people were moving about it lighting more candles and
hanging small, red stockings, with bulging sides, to the lower branches.
Did her eyes deceive her? Was one of them—yes, it was really Martin, and
there was Miss Howard, and Abner, and Gincy!
The latter rushed forward and caught Talitha in her arms. “We’ve been
planning for it ever so long; I was determined to come home with the boys
and surprise you,” laughed Gincy with a hug. “Then we coaxed Miss Howard
to come too, and when the Bentville folks heard about the school and what
you’d done, they wanted to help, so there’s something on the tree for
every pupil.”
“Hello, Tally,” Abner interrupted excitedly. “This is a dandy
schoolhouse! I should think you’d be awfully ’bliged to Jake Simcox for
burnin’ that old shack—”
“Sh!” Talitha held up a warning finger, for a crowd was flocking in at
the door. Foremost were the Shackleys with Si Quinn. At first the
company looked about bewildered, then their tongues suddenly loosened and
the din was deafening.
“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Ann Bills, with a violent poke of her
elbow in her husband’s ribs, “jest look at thet pine, will ye, all rigged
out with poppets and sech. Whar d’ye s’pose Tally got all thet plunder?”
“I reckon hit war packed all the way from Bentville,” Shad Bills answered
shrewdly. “Thar’s Miss Howard over yon—and—I’m blest if hit ain’t Mart
and Abner lightin’ them candles! The young-uns hev come back fer
Chris’mus, Ann—” But his wife did not hear, her keen eyes had spied
Gincy, and she was already elbowing her way through the crowd in a
masterful fashion.
Half-dazed, the aged schoolmaster glanced around; it was all very
strange—and beautiful, too. His faded old eyes winked and blinked at the
unaccustomed twinkle and glitter. It almost took his breath and he
dropped trembling, into a seat. How could Talitha have thought of all
this! Did they have such things at Bentville? All the years of his
teaching he had never once dreamed of celebrating Christmas in this
fashion. He eyed the tree—what he could see of it over the heads of the
crowd—with all a child’s delight. How shining and stately it looked!
Its tallest candle glittered like a star, while those among the holly and
pine, around the room, shone back bravely as though they were not to be
outdone. And how the folks chattered!
Talitha slipped away to find Martin. She wanted to meet him alone,
although that seemed an impossibility, but she darted around the tree and
caught him tucking away a parcel under the branches at the base. How
tall and manly he looked.
“Oh, Tally!” he exclaimed, beaming at her. “Did we surprise you?” He
stooped and kissed her.
Talitha only nodded; she could not trust her voice.
“I can see now why you came back, Tally,” Martin began, but he did not
finish, for the two were suddenly besieged by Abner and Gincy and dragged
before the surprised company who had not yet discovered Martin.
It was quite a few minutes before the excited audience settled into
quiet, and then it was as decorous and interested as one could wish.
Miss Howard could hardly have presided with more dignity than did
Talitha, and the exercises went off better than either could have
believed possible with those alluring gifts before the children’s eyes.
The dialogue between the Twilliger twins went smoothly without prompting.
The youngest Dodd boy—small for his ten years and one of the brightest
pupils—recited “The Night Before Christmas” like a general, and received
long and vociferous applause, as did also the song by little Polly
Suttle. Billy Gooch came in for a large share of approval at his
rendering of Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg; there was a marching drill
in which Rufe Coyle beat the time on an old drum of his grandfather—who
had been through the war. The vigorous rat-a-tat-tat set the men’s
restless feet tapping to the great delight of the children. The
exercises were at last concluded with the singing of the “Star Spangled
Banner” by the school, the younger pupils waving small flags through the
chorus.
At the close of the song, Miss Howard, with the aid of Martin and Abner,
began to distribute the gifts from the tree. Minta Bills was the first
name called, but the child failed to understand and hung back timidly.
“Don’t ye hear Miss Howard callin’ ye? Go ’long, honey,” coaxed her
father, giving the child a gentle push. He did not comprehend just what
was wanted, but the young woman from Bentville must be obeyed.
“Minty! whar’s yer raisin’?” reproved Ann Bills, turning sharply to her
granddaughter. Minta edged shyly toward the tree, and Miss Howard put a
stocking full of candy and a small but gaily dressed doll into her arms,
watching the look of astonishment and delight grow in her face. At the
sight of the latter all the mother instinct was aroused, and she stumbled
back to her father, hugging her precious burden close. All Goose Creek
watched her. The big blue eyes were fastened on the doll, and the long
yellow curls fashioned a sort of halo for the sweet, childish face.
Ann Bills’ hard mouth twitched and she gave Minta a kindly pat as she
bent over to view the gift at closer range. “Hit do beat all,” she told
her son in an audible whisper. “Thet thar poppet fairly looks like a
human.”
For a few minutes Minta was the envy of the school, but it was soon
discovered that none of the pupils had been overlooked—that even their
teacher had been remembered with enough “store goods” for a new gown, the
package Martin was hiding under the branches.
“I declare, if I didn’t forget all about the schoolmaster,” Martin
whispered to Talitha. “I’m so sorry—”
“Oh!” his sister gave a start. “And I did too. Martin, I’m going right
over to speak to Enoch Shackley, and in ten minutes you must follow me.
Just slip away without any one seeing you; I’ll be waiting outside.”
Halfway across the room Talitha was waylaid by a tall, black-eyed girl
with a conspicuous pompadour. “I reckon you don’t know me, I ’lowed you
wouldn’t—at first sight, anyway, but I war on the train the mornin’ you
come from Bentville and you told me ’bout Gincy’s goin’ ter school. I
didn’t find out your name, but when I heerd ’bout a gal comin’ back here
to Goose Creek to teach school I pieced hit all together and I knew hit
war you.”
“This is Piny Twilliger?” inquired Talitha politely.
“You’re jest right. I’ve had a powerful fine time, and I’ve been
a-tellin’ Gincy thet I’m goin’ ter Bentville too, next term. I’ve
changed my mind ’bout gittin’ larnin’.”
Talitha made her escape as soon as possible, although Piny would have
liked to prolong the conversation. With a whispered word in Enoch
Shackley’s ear she slipped out of the door unnoticed.
XII
GOOSE CREEK PLOTS AGAINST THE SCHOOLMASTER
“HIT air gittin’ powerful late,” admonished Enoch Shackley, rounding up
the last of his brood. “I can take you-uns along ter your place,” he
said to the schoolmaster. “I reckon you’re honin’ ter git home.”
The old man’s face suddenly fell. Never within his memory had he spent
so festive an evening, and now to go from it to his cold, comfortless
cabin. The blacksmith observed the look with an unfeeling smile, and
attempted to hasten his offspring’s preparations for departure.
“Hurry up thar, chil’ren. Law me, your teacher’s gone ’fore this. She’s
glad ’nough ter git shet o’ you fer one spell, I reckon.”
It certainly was a mystery where Talitha and Martin had so suddenly
disappeared. Even Abner and Gincy looked puzzled, finally accepting Mr.
Shackley’s offer—made with a knowing twinkle of the eye—of a “couple of
cheers” in his wagon.
The company flocked out of the schoolhouse with their perforated tin
lanterns like a swarm of fireflies dodging hither and thither among the
trees. Saddle horses were mounted, and the patient oxen again yoked to
the wagons filled with chairs.
Strange to say, many of the folks were taking the same road—following a
short distance behind the Shackleys. The sound of their voices and the
twinkling lights in the rear at any other time would have aroused Si
Quinn’s curiosity, at least. Now he was too much occupied with the
thought of his own failures and the future which loomed before him more
dismal than ever. Lost in revery he failed to notice when the oxen
stopped at the footpath leading up to his cabin, until the blacksmith’s
voice roused him.
“Here you air, Si! Jest let me ketch a holt of you. Middlin’ dampish,
ain’t hit? I ’low Abner better go ’long with the lantern. I’ll wait fer
him.”
Had the two looked around as they slowly climbed the slope, they would
have seen the shadowy company following at a little distance.
“I’ll stop and start a fire for you,” offered Abner, with a great feeling
of pity for the old man who leaned heavily on his strong, young arm. “If
you haven’t been home for a week it ain’t a fit place for you to go
into.”
“Thar won’t be a live coal,” panted the schoolmaster.
“I’ve matches in my pocket, but it’ll take a considerable spell to drive
out the cold and damp.” The boy eyed the dim outlines of the cabin with
misgiving. It looked gloomy and unhomelike as possible.
Once at the door—guiltless of fastenings—Si Quinn drew a long, reluctant
sigh.
His hand on the latch, Abner heard sounds of feet close by. He looked
around; there were strange, moving shadows on the path. He was not
slow-witted; it was Christmas Eve and a suspicion of something flashed
across his mind. One glimpse of the already lighted room and he turned,
helped the old man in, and hastily closed the door just as there came a
tugging at his coat. A score of Goose Creek folks were behind him.
“Oh, what did he say?” whispered Talitha excitedly.
“He hadn’t got that far,” grinned Abner in sudden comprehension.
“Let’s give three cheers for the schoolmaster,” suggested Martin.
Such a demonstration was new to the mountain people who had not been to
Bentville, but they listened with appreciation and joined in most lustily
when it ended with: “A Merry Christmas! Wish You a Merry Christmas!”
And then the company quietly dispersed.
“We made a power o’ racket,” said Dan Gooch as later he entered his own
cabin. “But I’d like ter hev seen how the old man looked when he war
fairly inside. We did a toler’ble job, chinkin’ up them crannies. You’d
never hev suspected what the place war like,” he chuckled.
As more than one of the company around the little old cabin that night
had surmised, the schoolmaster’s face, as he gazed about the room—only a
few days ago as cheerless as it could well be—was worth seeing. The pine
boughs in the fireplace crackled and snapped merrily as the flames leaped
upward and sent a delightful glow through the place. A half-dozen
candles twinkled out from bunches of holly and pine. The bed with its
warm, new covering was like a gay flower plot; shelves and table bore
unmistakable evidences of Christmas cheer.
The faded eyes grew misty as they caught sight of a card on the shelf
above the fireplace. It bore, in large letters: “A Merry Christmas from
the Goose Creek Folks.”
The old man’s knees suddenly weakened and he dropped into a chair. He
heard the cheering and tried to rise and open the door, but he could not
summon strength. As the last echo of “Merry Christmas” died away across
the mountains with the sound of retreating footsteps, the tears trickled
down his cheeks. It was the happiest hour of his whole life. His poor
efforts had been appreciated after all; he was not to be forgotten in his
old age.
Until a much later hour than usual lights shone from the little homes
about Goose Creek. The young people had loitered along the way from the
schoolhouse, there was so much to talk over. Miss Howard was to stay all
night with Gincy. The Coyle and Gooch families were to spend Christmas
at the home of the former. It was to be a great day for the two
households, and Talitha’s head was awhirl with excitement. She had
unselfishly worked hard to bring happiness to others, and the greatest
surprise had come to her. She was going back to Bentville the day after
Christmas, with Miss Howard, and Martin, and the rest. Gincy, hawk-eyed
where her friend was concerned, had rushed to the dean when she
discovered that two of the students were to leave, and engaged a place
for Talitha. Piney Twilliger had been fortunate enough to secure the
other.
Sam Coyle made no objection, he was secretly bubbling over with pride at
his daughter’s success. There could be no more school that winter;
besides, he was beginning to feel that an education was something to be
really desired.
By dawn on Christmas day two households at least were astir. The air was
unusually mild with the fresh smell of a recent shower. The sun rose and
beamed down with the warmth of May. By the time the Coyle family had
breakfasted, Gincy and Abner were on hand to assist in the preparations.
The loom, warping bars, spinning wheel, and a rude chest were turned out
of doors to make place for the expected guests.
“We’re real lucky to have such weather,” said Talitha. “I don’t know how
we would ever have managed with the table if we couldn’t have cleared
things away. As it is there won’t be room enough for the children—”
“I’ll knock something together that’ll be nearer their size,” comforted
Martin.
“Good boy,” smiled his sister, much relieved. “I was thinking of setting
them in a row on the floor. That wouldn’t be very Christmas-y, would it?
But a table of their own will pleasure them mightily.” Talitha hustled
back into the cabin; there was an unusual amount of work for even her
capable hands. Besides assisting in the preparation of so elaborate a
meal, her belongings were to be made ready for her departure early on the
morrow. It was too late in the season to risk further delay. Any day
now, winter might rush upon the mountains with icy wind and sleet or a
blinding snowstorm, making the rough roads altogether impassable.
“This air a weather breeder,” observed Sam Coyle pessimistically. “I’d
feel a sight easier if you-uns hed a-started this mornin’.”
“An’ miss their Chris’mus turkey,” reproved his wife. “Jest be thankful
hit air fine ’nough ter turn things out’n doors, ’though Tally ’lows now,
hit would hev pleasured the comp’ny more ter hev set the table ’long of
them pines.”
“Hit air not so much ’count whar hit’s set as what’s set on hit,”
retorted Sam jovially. “Thet air the main thing; the scener-y hain’t
needed ter give me an appetite. The smell o’ them turkeys air gone to my
stummick a’ready, an’ I reckon I sh’ll hev ter take ter the crick ter git
out’n reach of hit if the dinner’s later’n common.”