Janie was sixteen years old, but she looked as though she might be only
thirteen as she sat on the front seat of the little schoolhouse far up on
the mountainside of Kentucky. Her black hair was plastered tightly to her
head. Her calico dress was much too long and the sleeves were much too
short. Mother had made it long so that she might wear it for several
years, while the sleeves were short so that she might have no excuse for
not getting her hands in the dish water. Her bare feet were very dirty but
her face shone from its recent scrubbing.
This was a great day for Janie, for the missionary had once again come to
the schoolhouse. It had been three years since she was there before, and
all that time Janie had waited for her. So she had hurried with her work
in order that she might sit on the very front seat and hear every word.
Last time she had told much about the school many miles away and Janie had
said over and over to herself, "I shall go there; I shall go there." But
of course it was foolish to say so, for there wasn't any chance that she
ever could go. Why, there were seven brothers and sisters younger than
she, and she had to work all day long to help to get them enough to eat.
She could never go.
But she listened eagerly as the missionary told of all that was being done
in the little schoolhouses all about the mountains and of the need of
teachers to do the work.
"We like best to take a boy or girl from some hamlet and let them work
with us for several years and then send them back to their own homes to
serve there. I am wondering if there isn't a girl here who would like to
be the teacher here and help to make Round Creek what it ought to be. If
there is such a one, send them to us and we will do our best. If you will
pay $10 a term, we will do the rest."
Janie's little body was leaning far forward and her eyes were big with
excitement. She knew a girl that would like to go. But $10 a term! Why,
one dollar seemed big in their home. So she crept out into the darkness of
the night without saying a word to any one about her great, big longing.
But up in the loft of the log house she lay long after the rest went to
sleep trying to think of a way. Auntie was coming to stay with them in the
fall. If she could just get the ten dollars by that time, maybe she could
be spared for a term. That would help a little, anyway.
In the morning she loosened one of the boards of the woodshed. Beneath it
she placed a little tin can, and in the can she put the five pennies that
she owned. It was berry time and she thought she knew of a way to earn
some money that should be all her own. Near the mill, there were beautiful
pieces of bark. In the woods there were many rare ferns. She would make
some little baskets like she had made many times for the home, fill them
with ferns and try to sell them when she went into the town with the
berries. It meant getting up at four instead of five, but she could do
that. It meant getting the ferns when the rest of the children were
playing at lunch time--but that wasn't hard. And after her first day in
town she had fifty cents to put into the cup. Oh, how rich she felt!
An extra quart of berries here and there, some flowers sold from her
little garden patch on the hill, two little kittens sold instead of being
drowned--and so the money in the cup grew very, very slowly and no one
dreamed it was there. But her dream grew with the contents of the cup. She
could see herself all dressed in a neat dress going up the hill to the
school and the little children following her and calling her teacher.
But in August, George fell from the hay-mow and for days he lay there
white and still. Mother had done all she could and there was no money to
send for the doctor. Then it was that a little black-haired girl went out
in the shed and for the first time counted the money in the cup--one, two,
three, four, five, six, almost seven dollars. Long she looked at it. Then
she went into town to do the errand for her mother and five of the
precious dollars were counted into the hands of the doctor with the
repeated statement,
"Tell mother that you happened to be going by and just stopped, so all she
needs to pay you is a dollar, for she has that."
So mother never knew, nor did the sick boy know, of the sacrifice the girl
had made. Auntie came and went, and because it was winter the money in the
cup hardly increased one bit. Sometimes she was almost discouraged, but
then she would say to herself,
"Why, it took years and years for Abraham Lincoln to get to the White
House. It doesn't matter if it takes twenty years. I am going to get to
that schoolhouse. I will be a teacher."
She could crochet and she could embroider, so these helped a bit. She
planted more things in her own garden and the money from these was her
own. So again as the summer drew to a close, she knew there must be
several dollars in the cup--but she daren't count it, for if it should be
ten and still she couldn't go--oh, that would be worse than all!
It was five days before school was to open that there came a letter from
grandmother saying that she was coming to stay for the winter, and while
mother was happy over this, Janie asked if she might not be spared to go
to school. At first there was a firm "No" for an answer. But she begged so
hard to be allowed to go for only one term that she saw signs of relenting
in her mother's face. Then she ran to get the cup--and in it was nearly
nine dollars.
Where should she get the rest? Mother had none--yet she must have it.
There was only one way. She could sell Biddy, her pet hen whom she loved
so much. She would ask her brother to take her in the morning, for she
could never do it herself. So with tears in her eyes, she patted her pet
and put it into a box ready for the morning. Oh! ten dollars was such a
lot of money for a little girl to get!
It was thirty miles to the school, so she had only one day to get ready.
But she had few clothes and so it was an easy matter. She put them neatly
in a bundle and with a queer feeling underneath the little red dress, now
too short instead of too long, she started bright and early to walk the
thirty miles to school. Many times she turned to look back at the little
log cabin till it was hidden from her sight by a turn in the road. Then
somehow she felt very much alone in the world.
On and on she walked till at last, twenty miles from home, she came to the
home of an old neighbor and rested for the night. It was two in the
afternoon of the next day when she saw in the distance the large brick
building which she knew must be the school. She longed to run to it but
her feet were very sore and her body was very tired. So she trudged on
till she came to the office.
"Please, Miss, I have come to school. I can only stay one term but I came
anyway and here is the money. The missionary lady said you would do the
rest," and she handed her the precious money.
"And to whom did you write about entering?" said the lady kindly.
"To nobody. You see I didn't know I could come till Tuesday," said Janie.
"Well, I am so sorry," said the lady, "but you see we have all the girls
we can possibly take. So we can't have you this term. Perhaps you could
come next term if you leave your name now."
The whole world seemed to fall from under Janie's feet. She was here,
thirty miles from home. She had all the money--she had sold dear old
Biddy--yet she could not stay. Not a word did she answer. She just stood
and stared into space.
"I am very tired for I have walked thirty miles to get here. May I stay
just for to-night?" she asked, rolling the ten dollars carefully in her
big handkerchief.
"School doesn't open till to-morrow but we will tuck you in somewhere for
to-night. I am so sorry for you, but we just haven't a bit of room after
to-morrow. Sit down on the porch and rest yourself," said the lady.
She brought her a glass of milk and then left her alone with her thoughts.
How could she go home? Perhaps there would never come a time when she
could be spared again. Was there no way in which she could stay?
Ten minutes later, a little girl in a short red calico dress went down the
steps and along the street, looking for a doctor's sign. When she found
it, she rang the bell and asked for the doctor.
"Please, sir," she said, "I thought you might know some one who wanted a
girl to work for them. I want to go to school this term and I have earned
the money to come. And now that I am here, there is no place for me and I
must walk the thirty miles back. But I am willing to work. I will work for
nothing if only I can go to the school in the afternoon. Sir, I just must
be a teacher and I just must stay now and get started."
The doctor whistled a little tune before he answered. "And tell me how you
earned the money to come." Then he whistled another tune as she talked.
"Stay here to-night," he said. "I will find out at the school just how
much they will let you come in the afternoons. I am sure you can find work
enough, so don't worry."
And sure enough, he found a place for her and so she started with the rest
on the very first morning. She was radiantly happy till she heard a boy
say,
"Look at the red dress that is coming in! Better loan her a red
handkerchief to piece it down with."
Then she knew that she was different from the rest. Her shoes were coarse
and rough. Her hair looked, oh, so different. Her hands were red and big.
She was here where she had longed to come but oh, how unhappy she was! She
was almost ready to cry. Instead she shook her head proudly and said to
herself, "I will be a teacher. What do I care if they laugh?"
The lessons were very hard, for her preparation was not good; every minute
that she could spare she must spend on getting ready for the next day, so
she had little time to be lonely. But she still minded the fact that her
clothes were so very different. Many a good cry she had in the quiet of
her little room as she looked at the red dress laid out for the coming
day.
The term sped by and she was making good. Oh, if she could only stay! But
she had no money except the little that the good doctor had given her now
and then for doing errands for him. She could take her books home and
perhaps she could do it all by herself.
So she waited till almost the last day before she told the woman for whom
she worked that she was leaving.
"Why, girlie," she answered, "you have much more than ten dollars coming
from me. I have never paid you because the doctor told me you would ask
for it if you needed it. I will give it to you and then you can go and pay
your ten dollars. I wouldn't have you go home for anything."
Clasping her precious money in her hand, she flew up the stairs. Here was
a letter from her brother also. What a happy day! Eagerly she opened it
and read,
"Mother is counting on your coming home for we need your help badly. The
cow has died and we are without milk till we can get another. Mother
thinks she must spare you at home and let you work out to earn money."
Oh! Oh! She was needed! She must take the money she had earned to help to
buy a cow and again she must forget school. So she went again to her
mistress, told her story and began to prepare for the long walk. She went
to the school, borrowed the books, and promised them she would surely come
again. Then she went again to the old doctor who had been so kind to her.
He listened thoughtfully as she told him of her new plans which still had
not changed her vision of being a teacher.
"I will come back, even though it be after four or five years. I will
come," she said, and she rose to go.
Then the doctor turned to his desk and took from it the picture of a
girl.
"That was my little girl," he said. "She, too, wanted to be a teacher and
she was in this very school when sickness and death came. When you came to
me that first morning and said, 'I just must be a teacher,' I could hear
her say to me, 'Help her.' So I did what you asked me to do--got you a
place to work for nothing though I knew you were to be paid. I have
watched you work, I have watched you suffer because of the red dress; I
have watched you try to do your duty at the sacrifice of yourself. And now
that you have done all that you can, I am ready to do the rest. Send the
money that you have earned to your mother to help to buy the cow. Come to
live here and be my office girl. The money that you earn can go to your
mother for I will do for you what I would have done for her and I will do
it for her sake and because you have shown me that you are worth while.
You _shall_ be a teacher."
So Janie lived in the home of her new friend. There was help on her
lessons, the old red dress went back to the little home in the hills to be
worn by some one whom it would fit and in her new, pretty things she could
see more plainly--Janie, the teacher.