THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT.
“A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling,
Handsome as Hercules ere his first labor,
With a brow of thought beyond his years,
When in repose, till his eye kindles up
In answering yours.”
WERNER.
“Behind a darker hour ascends.”
MARMION.
The minister had discovered Sophie Churchill’s vocation by the subtle
sympathy that existed between the instructress and the pupil, in the
little scene he had witnessed. He was not backward in improving his
discovery.
“We are very much in need of a parish-school, Miss Churchill,” said he
one evening as he sat with her. “I do not mean by that a free-school,
but a school for the instruction of the younger children connected with
the congregation. I have conversed with several of my parishioners, and
they all favor the plan of establishing one. The circumstances of the
surrounding neighborhood point to Heath Hall as its locality, and to the
young lady of Heath Hall as its mistress. This has also been named and
approved, and I come on the part of the vestry, who will resolve
themselves into a board of school trustees, to lay the subject before
you for consideration. What do you think of it, Miss Churchill?”
“Oh, if I were only fit for it!”
“You are the most proper person for it that I know. The faculty of
teaching is a natural gift, like painting or poetry, and it is _your_
gift; you can infuse into the mind of a tolerably intelligent child all
your own knowledge, and not only so, but if you possess the faculty in
its perfection, as I think you do, you can arouse the mind of a dull
child, and inspire that of a darkened one with intelligence.”
“But I am really _so_ ignorant.”
“That is a matter of secondary importance—knowledge can be acquired. You
possess the first requisite, that which never _can_ be acquired, the
natural adaptation for the profession. Why, Sophie, I have known men of
the finest talents and the highest attainments in science and
literature, fine classical and mathematical scholars, who could not for
the soul of them convey into a child’s mind the reason why you sometimes
borrow ten and carry one in the rule of subtraction; and I have known
such men at the head of large academies, or filling professors’ chairs
in colleges, advanced to their post of responsibility upon account of
their vast acquirements in knowledge and their unimpeachable morality.
Now this would seem to be all that is required, yet people never take
into account the attractions a profession should have for its votary. So
these men of unimpeachable morality and unexcelled intelligence pass
their time and spend their energies in beating the air, while their
pupils are unimproved, except, perhaps, by the instruction of others.”
“That is strange,” said Sophie.
“You think it is. So a musical genius of acute ear wonders, until he
understands how another of no ear can sing out of tune.”
“I can certainly teach easily and quickly everything that I know
thoroughly, and some things that I do not know thoroughly, for sometimes
when trying to explain to little Hagar a subject whose boundaries are
indistinct to me, a gleam of light breaks into my mind, and all is clear
to my vision—clear to its fullest extent, and my little pupil, at the
end of her lesson, knows more than her teacher did at its commencement.”
“Yes, and yet you, Sophie, stand merely upon the threshold of the temple
of knowledge, and can do what some of the high priests of the altar
would fail in attempting. Thus a teacher’s efficiency should be judged
not by his own reputation for natural intelligence or acquired
knowledge, but by his ability to convey the same to his pupils, to be
tested by the actual progress of his pupils. If people would only follow
the natural bent of their faculties, how much swindling, cheating,
idleness, humbuggery, hypocrisy, _misery_ would be saved; had _I_ done
so how much—”
He stopped and bit his lip.
“Your pupils at first will be the youngest children of the congregation
who are old enough to attend school. While instructing them you will be
cultivating your own mind and adding to your stores of information; in
this latter part of the plan I shall assist you, Miss Churchill. It will
give me pleasure to be your teacher, for though I have no particular
vocation for the profession, yet as it is so much easier to teach a
grown person than a child, for in the former case the pupil meets one
more than half way, and in the latter case one has to go _all_ the way
and charm the pupil _out and on_, I shall have no great trouble with
you. And by next year you will be able to take a more advanced class of
young ladies.”
Then with Sophie he explored the ruinous apartments on the other side of
the hall, selected the old disused drawing-room as the future
school-room, and saying that he would send carpenters and plasterers
over in the morning, he withdrew.
The next morning a carpenter, a plasterer, and a glazier came, and they
came every day for a fortnight, and at the end of that time the boarded
up, close, dark old drawing-room looked large, lightsome, and clean. In
another week the school furniture arrived—a nice little mahogany desk
for the teacher, and a dozen stained and varnished pine forms for the
pupils.
And now behold Sophie Churchill in her favorite sober brown silk dress,
with her smoothly braided brown hair, seated at her desk presiding over
her school, her large soft brown eyes floating serenely over the scene.
Now no more ennui, now quickly fled the day, now pleasantly passed the
week—the month. Is it a wonder that Sophie cherished in her heart a warm
sentiment of gratitude towards the man who had wrought this favorable
change in her life? The circle of her existence was vastly enlarged.
Every Friday evening a horse and side-saddle would be sent by some one
of her patrons to convey her to their house, where she was ever warmly
welcomed, a loved and honored guest, to remain until Monday morning
recalled her to her school duties. Once or twice during the week Emily
May would accompany Gusty to school, and remain all day assisting Sophie
at her labor. Nearly every evening now the pastor came, and gave her
lessons in Greek and mathematics. Sophie felt so little “vocation” for
these severe studies that nothing but the implacable will of her
minister could have kept her to it. Worse than anything in her
experience she dreaded his frown and his sure and stern rebuke when she
had not accomplished her task—worse than anything except the steady
searching gaze of his coldly brilliant green-grey eyes. _This_ froze the
blood in her heart. And yet she felt grateful towards him; she blamed
herself for her antipathy—her reason assured her that the _fault_ was
not in _him_, but the _folly_ in _herself_. Her reason approved the
pastor, the philosopher, the teacher—her instincts shrank from the man.
With all this there was sometimes something strangely fascinating for
her, even in his coldness, hardness, and harshness—a feeling, that if
some element, she knew not what, were absent from his character, she
might then meet his friendship—that something in utter discord with her
own soul—that something that, speaking through his green-grey eyes,
chilled and repelled her. Affairs were in this state when one Friday
morning, early in June, Master Gusty May, on entering the school-room,
marched up to the teacher’s desk with an air of importance, and handed
her a note. It was from Mrs. May, and ran thus:—
“Dearest Sophie, do return with Gusty this evening. I have sent a
pillion, and you can ride behind him. There are to be grand doings at
Grove Cottage this evening. Kitty is beating eggs; and I am stoning
raisins—all this in honor of the expected arrival of Lieutenant
Augustus H. Wilde, United States Navy. My dear brother Gusty, his ship
has arrived at the Navy Yard at Norfolk—he has received his promotion,
and writes that he will be with me this evening. Wear your _new_ brown
silk dress, Sophie, for I want you to make a conquest of Master Gusty,
Senior, so that we can keep him here while he is on shore. And I want
_him_ to cut the minister out, _too_, although the whole country says
it will be such a ‘marvellous proper’ match—that is, between you and
the minister. Come.
EMILY.”
There was another horse and side-saddle brought by another pupil to
carry Sophie home with him that evening, but when school was dismissed,
Master Gusty (junior, as we must call him now) marched up to the bringer
of the rival nag, and told the “fellow” that Miss Churchill was going
home with _him_, and that he had better carry his “beast” back again.
During their ride to the Grove, Gusty informed Miss Churchill that he
was named after his uncle, Augustus Wilde, that the latter was just made
a lieutenant, and that he was going to try to procure a midshipman’s
warrant for _him_ when he was a little bigger. They arrived at the Grove
at sunset. Lieutenant Wilde was already there, and came out gallantly to
lift Sophie from her horse—she had never seen him before, and as he came
from the cottage door down the long grape-vine covered walk to the gate
where her horse stood, she thought he was strikingly like his sister,
the same silky black hair, the same dark grey eyes—he approached,
addressed her freely and cheerfully as his sister’s familiar friend, and
in lifting her off the pillion their eyes met—their _eyes_ met, their
_souls_ met. The soul more or less plainly speaks through the eyes, and
I believe that ever the truest, purest, strongest, and most lasting love
begins with the first meeting of the eyes, in a sort of mutual
recognition. Involuntarily his voice softened to its lowest, sweetest
tones in addressing her, and tenderly, most tenderly he arranged her
riding habit as he stood her on the ground, and then drawing her arm
through his own, he gently led her up the grape walk to the house. Emily
received her at the door with a hearty kiss, and telling her that she
looked unusually charming, led her into the house. The pastor was
within, of course. Emily’s parlor glittered with its clean, sober,
drab-colored glory. The evening passed delightfully, between Emily’s
music, Sophie’s songs, and the young lieutenant’s sea-stories,
anecdotes, and adventures. The pastor alone was silent and moody. Never
had Sophie Churchill passed so delightful an evening. With strangers
generally, Sophie was as shy as the wild fawn of her native woods, and
her large eyes would startle and dilate if she was addressed by any one,
yet now those wild shy eyes were ever roving after another pair. As yet
she was utterly unconscious of this truantism. At last they met that
other pair, and she—_blushed, and looked down? No!_ That belongs to a
more sophisticated, a more conventional being than our wild fawn of the
Heath. No—a glad, innocent, unconscious smile broke over her face. There
was one present who watched her with a dark and lowering brow. Happily
Sophie did not perceive the evil eye glowering under it. The evening
closed. She retired to rest with an elevated and happy heart. She and
Emily slept together in the same old room—the minister occupied his own
chamber alone, for Emily did not like to thrust her brother in upon him.
So after everybody was gone to rest, Emily prepared a sofa bed in the
parlor for her brother.
“Emily! Emily! she is charming, charming!” said the young man, as his
sister stooped to receive his good night kiss.
“That she is, Gusty! Charming! and I am glad you find her so.
Good-night.”
“He loves you, darling—he loves you _dearly_, _sweet_ darling,” said
Emily, hugging her friend to her bosom, “and I am so glad.”