_GOING TO SCHOOL._
IT was a good many days before I recovered my spirits after the shock
which poor Bose's death had given me.
I suppose I was an odd child. I remember hearing father say that with
nine children out of ten one could tell pretty well what they would
do, but I was the tenth, of whom there was no saying how I would take
anything. The truth was I had got a great shock which threatened
seriously to affect my health. I moped about and could not eat, and
every little thing made me cry, which was very uncommon with me.
I could not bear to see a dog, and I hated the very sight of good,
kind-hearted John Schneider, who had killed Bose. He was one of the
Hessian soldiers employed by the English government, and at the
conclusion of the war, instead of returning home, he concluded to
remain in this country, bought a little piece of land, and settled down
to earn his living by farming and shoe-making.
Father and mother talked the matter over, and it was finally decided
that it would be best for me to go to school. I hardly know how it
happened that my schooling had been put off so long, for most of the
children began at five, and some a good deal younger. I had lost no
time, however. Jeanne taught me my letters, and she or mother used to
hear me read every day that winter, so that by spring I could manage
words of two syllables pretty well. The summer school was to open the
next Monday, and it was decided that I should go.
Accordingly, upon Monday morning I set off; walking demurely by
Jeanne's side, my mind divided between joy and awe. I had been at the
school as a visitor once or twice, and I had always retained a vast
admiration for Miss Temperance Hutchinson, the teacher, ever since
the memorable day that she diverted me from my trouble in church by
lending me her fan; but then there were the strange girls and boys, of
whom I stood a good deal in fear, for I was a shy child and but little
used to mix with children of my own age. On the whole, however, I
think the joy was the stronger. I remember I was dressed in a dark-red
pressed flannel petticoat—home-made, of course, but by no means coarse
or ugly—a short gown made of a bit of "new" chintz—a circumstance of
which I was rather proud—and a blue checked linen apron. I carried a
bag containing my spelling-book, my thread and thimble, and a square of
patch-work ready basted, also an apple to be eaten in recess. Jeanne
had a similar bag, and carried besides a basket containing our lunch of
bread and butter, cheese, and dough-nuts, for we lived too far from the
school-house to permit us to return home at noon.
As we came in sight of the school-house, and I saw the large and noisy
group of children assembled about the door, my heart sunk considerably,
and I dare say that I squeezed Jeanne's hand very tight, for I remember
her saying, "Don't be scared, Olive; they won't hurt you."
"I am not scared," I answered, promptly enough; but I rather think
I would have given a good deal to be safely at home. However, I was
determined to put a good face on the matter, and did not tremble much
when Jeanne led me up to Miss Tempy, who welcomed me kindly, and
calling a pretty little girl about my own age told me that I should sit
beside her.
"Cannot Olive sit with me to-day, Miss Tempy?" asked Jeanne, answering
the imploring look that I turned toward her with an encouraging glance.
"She is very shy."
Though Miss Tempy could be firm, and even stern, as I soon found out,
she knew how to be gentle and yielding on occasion; so she answered,
graciously,—
"Yes, she may do so—till recess at least. After that I will see about
it."
This concession confirmed my previous notion of Miss Tempy's goodness;
and being now seated at my ease, I began to look about me. I remember
as if I had seen it yesterday the appearance of the school-room. It
was rather a large, low room, with beams running across the ceiling.
Almost the whole of one end was taken up by an immense fire-place with
a brick hearth capable of receiving a quarter of a cord of wood at
once. There was no fire now, however, and the space was occupied by a
large broken-handled pitcher filled with green branches. This was a
fancy of Miss Tempy's, who liked to have everything neat and pretty
about her. The other three sides were taken up by long desks fixed to
the wall, having a shelf underneath to hold books. Before these desks
stood benches without backs, for the convenience of having the scholars
face inward or outward, according as they were writing, studying, or
reciting. These desks and benches belonged exclusively to the writing
scholars. Inside of these stood another somewhat lower set of benches,
and still another, these last being low enough to accommodate the "a,
b, c" class. The teacher's chair and table stood in the middle of the
room, the latter accommodating an ink-stand, a large work-basket, two
or three books, and a ruler—all Miss Tempy's private property—and a
small hand-bell. Here also was placed an object which we little ones
at least regarded with peculiar veneration—namely, a silver watch
which had been given to Miss Tempy's father by the great general Wolfe
himself.
Miss Tempy, having consulted the watch, rang her bell, and the scholars
came into the room in a very orderly manner, and took their seats
according to their rank. The Testaments being produced and the places
found, the boys and girls read each a verse. I remember the chapter
that morning was the eighth of Matthew. When all had read, Miss Tempy
finished the chapter and made a short prayer, and then school was begun.
I do not know that I remember the exact order of exercises, only
that the oldest class read first in a reader called the "Third Part"
—of what I don't know to this day; I suppose of some series of
school-books. It was made up of selections from different English
writers, papers from the "Rambler" and "Spectator," some scenes of
Shakespeare, and other poetical extracts. Doubtless it contained many
things far above the comprehension of its readers and altogether
foreign to their experience, but at least it had the advantage of
showing the boys and girls who used it that there were other worlds
than the little one in which they lived, and also in many cases of
waking up a degree of curiosity concerning the books from which these
extracts were taken. The lesson this morning was the "Vision of Mirza,"
to which I listened eagerly, and was quite grieved when the lecture
came to an end. I had no time to think about the matter, for the moment
the class was dismissed Miss Tempy called me to her side, and opening
the spelling-book and pointing with her scissors to the first column of
"ba, be," etc., asked me what that was.
Was there ever such an affront? I, that could spell "baker," and even
such hard words as "abase" and "abate," to be set to read in "ba!" My
eyes fairly filled with tears, and I felt my face grow crimson. Nor was
the matter mended by Miss Tempy's saying in the kindest tone,—
"Oh, you must not be frightened; I am sure you can tell what 'ba'
spells."
I should have burst out crying in another minute had not Jeanne
interposed. She had been watching my first lesson with great anxiety,
and now spoke up in my behalf:
"Please, Miss Tempy, Olive can spell in two syllables and read in easy
reading."
"Oh, ho! That alters the case," said Miss Tempy; and she turned over to
the first reading-lesson, which consisted of such sentences as this:
"No man may put off the law of God. My joy is in his law all the day."
My wounded pride being thus healed, I acquitted myself very well, to
my own satisfaction, and still more to my sister's. Miss Tempy gave me
a spelling-lesson to learn, and I retired to my seat very well pleased
with my first experience. I studied diligently till recess, after which
I was called up to spell.
"Very good!" said Miss Tempy, when the lesson was finished. "But now
you must go to your own seat. Sally Millar and Jane Hyde will make room
for you."
I knew Jane Hyde, who lived near us, and was not sorry to have her
for a neighbour. She moved obligingly and welcomed me with a pleasant
smile, but Sally Millar's lip curled with contempt, and she whispered
as I took my place.
"Why don't she sit with the babies, where she belongs?"
"What did you say, Sally?" asked Miss Tempy, mildly, but at the same
time placing her hand on the ruler which lay on the table.
Sarah did not answer at first; but on the question being repeated with
a little more emphasis, she replied, sulkily enough,—
"I didn't say nothing."
"Is there no room for Olive?" was the next question.
Sarah did not reply in words, but she moved to accommodate me, which
she had declined to do before.
"Very well," said Miss Tempy. "If you are crowded, Sarah, you can take
that stool by the door."
Sarah did not answer; but taking advantage of a moment when Miss
Tempy's back was turned, she whispered to me,—
"See if I don't pay you off, miss."
I did not answer except by a glance as full of contempt as her own, and
taking out my patch-work began to sew very busily, though my attention
was considerably diverted from my work by what went on around me.
I don't think any teacher in these days is kept so constantly busy as
Miss Tempy used to be. There were no steel pens or copperplate copies,
and consequently the scholars all wrote with quills, which required
constant mending, and from written copies, which the teacher must
supply. Then all the girls brought their sewing to school. Miss Tempy
was renowned for her skill in all that pertained to the needle. No
lace stitches were too fine, no patterns too intricate, for her keen
eyes and skilful fingers, and she could teach the mystery of marking
in all the known forms of the alphabet. If she had any favourites, it
was certainly among those who were skilful with their needles, and she
was said to show considerable partiality to my sister Jeanne on that
account.
But she was an excellent teacher in every respect. I do not know that
I have ever met with a better. She commanded to a remarkable degree
the love and respect of those under her care. I never knew more than
two or three who did not like her, and they were among the worst and
lowest with whom she had to deal. She had several times taught the
winter school when a suitable master could not be procured, and it was
remarkable that, though a frail little woman, she kept better order
among the big boys and girls who attended at that season than any
master had ever been able to do.
You would have supposed that, her school-duties over, Miss Tempy might
have considered herself entitled to rest, but nobody in the whole town
was more ready with neighbourly service to the sick and the afflicted;
and amid all her other employments she had found time to teach poor
Elnathan Crum to read, write, and cipher, and many of her evening hours
were spent in beguiling the sick boy of his weariness by reading aloud
to him. The Cruets thought her perfect, and I suppose she was really as
nearly so as poor feeble mortals ever become in this life.
I must not dwell too long on this part of my history. Suffice it to
say that I was soon quite at my ease in the school, and able to go by
myself whenever Jeanne was detained at home to help mother. Before
the end of the summer I was promoted to the Testament class; for in
those days the New Testament was used in all the schools as a regular
class-book. This plan had its advantages and its drawbacks; for if; on
the one hand, we gained a very familiar acquaintance with the text of
Scripture, there was danger, on the other, that this very familiarity
might destroy some of our regard for the same. I was also placed in a
spelling-class composed, for the most part, of girls older than myself;
where I kept my place at the head for a fair share of the time.
My first downfall in the class was connected with a lesson which I
never forgot. I had been at the head of the class for more than a
week, and was straining every nerve to keep my position, carrying home
my book, and even studying on my way to school. One day, however—one
dreadful day—I missed—missed a word which I knew perfectly well; and
Jenny Hyde went above me. This was bad enough, but it was not all; for
owing to the disturbance of my spirit, I missed again, and actually
went down two places.
Here was a misfortune. I returned to my place crying and declining to
be comforted; and when noon came, I refused to either go out or eat my
luncheon. Jeanne was trying in vain to persuade me, when Miss Tempy
said gently,—
"Run away, Jeanne; I wish to talk with Olive myself."
The teacher's lightest word was law, and Jeanne had no choice but to
obey; so she went away, and I prepared myself to resist Miss Tempy's
comfortings as I had done those of my sister.
"Olive," said Miss Tempy, rather severely, "don't you know that you are
showing a very wrong spirit?"
I looked up in such amazement that I quite forgot to cry. To be blamed
for my grief was the very last thing I expected.
"You are very selfish," proceeded Miss Tempy. "Don't you think the
other children like to be at the head as well as you? Why should you
wish to have the best place all the time?"
This was an entirely new view of the matter, and I did not know what to
say to it. Miss Tempy followed up her advantage:
"Only this morning you were reading in the New Testament that we are
not to desire the highest places, but it seems you cannot be suited
with any other. You pretend to love Jenny Hyde very much, but you could
not cry any more if she were dead than you do because she is a little
better off than yourself."
"I—I didn't mean that," I stammered.
"What did you mean?" asked Miss Tempy, severely.
But in truth I was not prepared to say what I meant. In my own heart
I had thought I was doing a very fine thing in thus grieving over my
downfall, but Miss Tempy had opened my eyes and made me feel very small
indeed.
"Now," continued Miss Tempy, "I advise you to stop crying, wash your
face, and eat your dinner; and when Jenny comes back this afternoon,
tell her you are sorry you were so cross to her."
For I forgot to say that I had utterly refused to speak to Jenny when
school was out.
Very much humbled, I obeyed. Jenny was a gentle-spirited little thing,
and we were soon as good friends as ever; but the lesson was one I
never forgot.