THE DREAD DAY DAWNS
It was broad daylight when Anson, in response to an angry call from
the bottom of the stairway, sat up in bed. Vaguely he realized that
in some dire way this glad morning proclaimed a day of doom, but his
drowsy senses were still leaping vast chasms of dreamland--striving
to slip from the control of saner reasoning and drift away with a
happy abandon of dire results to follow. What boy has not had the
same experience, even although he knew that a razor-strop, wielded by
a vigorous hand, would in all probability accomplish quickly what his
drowsy will had failed to accomplish? Anson was just dropping off
into the lulling arms of Morpheus when that extra sense, possessed by
all boys in a measure and by certain boys in particular, warned him
back to wakefulness and a realization of his danger.
He was out of bed and pulling his braces over his shoulders by the
time the heavy footsteps of his mother sounded at the top of the
stairs.
"You, Anse!" came Mrs. Wilson's voice. "Have I gotta limber you up
with the strap, after all?"
"Comin', Ma," responded Anse, sleepily.
"Well, you'd best come quick, then. You'll be gettin' enough hidin's
today--if that new teacher's any good--without me havin' to wear my
arm out on you 'fore breakfast."
Anson stood still, fumbling the buttons. So that was it! School!
He knew it was some awful catastrophe. Where was Billy? He glanced
across at the other bed. Billy was not in it. He went slowly
downstairs, washed himself, and went in to breakfast. Billy was not
there. His father was just getting up from the table.
"Where's Bill?" Anson asked him.
"Down feedin' his pets, most likely," answered his father as he went
out. A moment or two later Billy came in. The boys seated
themselves in their places and ate their breakfast in silence.
"Is our dinner up, Ma?" Billy asked, as he pushed back his chair.
Mrs. Wilson nodded. "It is. Two pieces of bread an' butter an' a
doughnut an' a tart fer each of you. Is it enough?"
"I guess so," Billy replied indifferently.
Anson eyed him suspiciously, then turned to his mother. "I wish't
you'd do our dinners up separate, Ma," he whined.
"Why?" asked Mrs. Wilson, in surprise.
"Well, 'cause Bill hogs it, that's why," complained Anson. "Last
time we had tarts I didn't get none. An' it's the same with pie an'
cake."
Mrs. Wilson gazed sternly at Billy. "Willium, do you take Anson's
tarts and pie?" she asked ominously.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Billy, promptly.
"There now!" exulted Anson, glancing triumphantly at his mother, who
sat staring and incredulous at the unabashed offender.
Billy looked gravely down at his accuser, then apprehensively at his
judge. As no immediate sentence seemed forthcoming he turned toward
the door.
"Stop!" Mrs. Wilson had risen suddenly from her chair and stood
pointing an accusing finger at Billy.
"You'll ketch it fer this, an' don't you ferget it," she stormed,
"an' if I ever hear of you gobblin' up Anson's share o' the lunch
ag'in, you young glutton, you'll go to school fer a month without any
lunch a'tall."
Billy turned. "I didn't say I ate Anson's pie an' cake, Ma," he said
gently. "I didn't take it 'cause I wanted it."
"Then why did you take it a'tall, I want'a know?"
"I took it 'cause I thought it was bad fer him. You see, Ma, Anse
suffers turrible from indigestion," Billy explained. "'Course maybe
you don't notice it same as I do, 'cause you don't sleep in the same
room with him. But Ma, he groans an' gasps all night--an' he has the
most awful dreams--now don't you Anse?" he asked, turning to his
brother.
Anson started to whimper. "I do have bad dreams," he confessed
miserably, "but pie an' tarts ain't to blame fer it."
"Silence, you!" Mrs. Wilson reached for the dinner-pail and
proceeded to extract from it one tart, one doughnut. "I guess maybe
your brother's right," she said grimly. "If that's the way you carry
on nights we'll hold you off pastry fer a while. Now then, grab that
pail and off to school with both o' you!"
Billy was outside first and waiting for Anson at the road gate when
he came down the path, dejectedly wiping his eyes and vowing
inaudible threats at the agent of his new woe.
"Now, then," said Billy as he came up, "maybe you'll begin to see
that it don't pay to blab so danged much."
"It was dirty mean of you," sniffled Anson. "You know how much I
like pie an' tarts; an' here I am havin' to lug yourn an' gettin'
none fer myself. Fer two cents I'd chuck this dinner-pail in the
crick."
"An' fer two cents I'd punch that crooked eye of yourn straight,"
cried Billy, his temper rising. "You'd best close your mouth while
the closin's good, an' if anythin' happens to that pail you're goin'
to hear from me."
They passed on in silence until the hardwood grove came in sight.
Here Billy paused. "You go on, Anse," he said. "I'm goin' over to
the menagerie fer a look over things. An' see here." He grabbed his
brother's shoulder and swung him about. "I'm goin' to tell you
something an' if you so much as peep it to Ma I'm goin' to pass the
word to Ringdo an Croaker that they're free to do what they like to
you; see?"
Anson shuddered. "Aw, who's goin' to peep?' he returned.
"All right then. Now listen. This mornin' I tied my Sunday clothes
up an' throwed 'em out our winder. Then I got up an' sneaked 'em
over to the menagerie. I'm goin' to wear 'em to school. Never you
mind why, it's none of your business. When I blow into school this
mornin' dressed to kill I don't want you to look too darned
surprised, that's all. Now if you'll keep your mouth shut tight
about that I promise not to let my witch-coon an' witch-crow eat you
while you sleep; an' I'll tell you what else I'll do, I'll give you
my tart an' my doughnut. Is it a bargain?"
Anson nodded eagerly.
"All hunky. Now you move along, an' if you happen to meet Fatty
Watland, er Maurice, er any other boys, don't you let on a word about
this."
"I won't," promised Anson. "Cross my heart, Bill."
Billy ducked into the path through the grove and Anson resumed his
reluctant pace toward the Valley School. On the bridge across Levee
creek he came up with Elgin Scraff. Elgin was standing with his arms
on the bridge rail, looking dejectedly down into the water.
"Hello," Anson accosted. "Goin' to school?"
Elgin lifted his head slowly. "Yep, you?"
Anson nodded and set the dinner-pail down on the bridge.
"Where's Bill?"
"He'll be along soon. Here he comes now; no 'taint neither, it's
Fatty Watland. Wonder where he's been up that way?"
Watland came puffing up, his round face red and perspiring. "Gee!"
he panted, "I've been all the way to the store. Had to get some
sulphur fer Ma. She found a wood-tick that old Sport scratched off
him on the floor, an' she swears it's a bed-bug; an' now she's goin'
to burn this sulphur in all the rooms."
A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I
sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur."
"Come on," said Elgin, "let's move on down to the sehoolhouse." Side
by side the three passed on up the hill and down into the valley.
The sehoolhouse stood with a wide sloping green before it and a
tangle of second growth forest behind it. It was not an old
building, but had the appearance of senile old age. Its coat of
cheap terra-cotta paint had cracked into many wrinkles; its windows
looked dully out like the lustreless eyes of an old, old man. The
ante-room roof had been blown off by a winter's gale and replaced
inaccurately, so that it set awry, jaunty and defiant, challenging
the world. Its door hung on one hinge, leaning sleepily against a
knife-scarred wall. A rail fence ran about the yard which was filled
to choking with a rank growth of smart-weed. In one corner of the
yard was a well with a faded blue pump holding the faded red arm of a
handle toward the skies, as though evoking high heaven to bear
witness that it was never intended to lead such a lonely and useless
existence.
The boys approached the building slowly and as they neared its sombre
portals silence fell upon them. They opened the creaking gate and
entered the building much after the manner of heroes who must stand
blindfolded against a wall and wait the word "Fire!" They had to go
through with it, that was all.
The building held all the unmistakable odors of a school room. The
smell of chalk dust, mouldy bread crusts, mice, dirty slates and
musty books rose up to smite the arrivals. Four rows of pine seats,
blackened with ink-daubs and deeply scarred by pocket-knives, ran the
entire length of the building. A big box stove stood in the centre
of the room, its wavering pipe supported by wires from the ceiling.
Walter Watland looked about for a good place in which to conceal his
package of sulphur and decided that in the empty stove he had
discovered the place of all places. So, while Anson and Elgin were
investigating the teacher's desk and picking out their seats, he
proceeded to hide his sulphur in the stove's black depths. Then he
went outside with his companions to await the coming of the new
teacher.
Scarcely had the three seated themselves on the top rail of the yard
fence than from all directions other pupils of the Settlement began
to arrive. Sand Sharkers, sullen and defiant, holding themselves
apart, came in one big group.
Jim Scroggie entered the school yard with his sister by his side. He
paused a moment to let his eyes stray to the faces of the three
hopefuls on the fence, conjecturing with a boy's intuition that in
this trio he saw some of the ring-leaders of the school. Jim wore a
smart tweed coat and knickerbockers, and a shirt of grey flannel with
a soft silk tie. His sister, Lou, was dressed daintily in white,
with soft blue collar that matched the glorious depths of her eyes.
She smiled now, and the three on the fence immediately underwent a
change of heart. Elgin Scraff was the first to slide down and
approach the new boy in a spirit of fellowship.
"Hello," he said genially. "I've got a crackin' good seat. You kin
set with me if you like."
Jim shook his head. "Promised Billy Wilson I'd sit with him," he
said. "Kin you tell me where he's goin' to sit?"
Elgin was about to answer when he caught a gasp from the watchers on
the road. "Teacher's comin'!" went forth the cry.
Down the hill came a thin, rangy bay horse, astride which, an open
book in his hand, sat Mr. G. G. Johnston. As he drew up in front of
the gate he closed the book and turned his frowning eyes on the
building. Utterly ignoring the awed, watching faces he shook his
head grimly and, looking to neither right nor left, rode in through
the open gate. Not until he had unbridled his horse and turned him
loose to seek a breakfast as best he knew how, while he investigated
the school's interior, did the boys and girls outside give way to
their feelings.
Then Maurice Keeler whistled. "Whew! Ain't he the old human
icicle?" he asked.
"You bet!" came the spontaneous answer.
"Gosh," cried Elgin Scraff, "there goes the bell! Come on everybody;
let's get our medicine."
Just as the boys and girls were settling down in their seats and Jim
Scroggie was glancing anxiously doorward Billy strode in. He was
resplendent in his Sunday best and wore a wild thorn blossom in his
button hole. He glanced quickly about the room and caught the glint
and sunlight for which he hungered--a smile from the lips of Lou
Scroggie. Then he seized Jack LaRose by the scruff of the neck,
jerked him from the seat near the door and motioned Jim Scroggie
over. "We'll set here," he whispered. "It's close to the outside in
case we have to make a quick get-away."
The new teacher paid no attention to the little scrimmage between
LaRose and Billy. He stood on the platform, tall, spare,
hard-featured and stern, and let his black eyes bore into the souls
of the pupils, one after the other. Not until the silence of
suspense was almost unbearable did he speak; then clearing his throat
he gave forth in stern tones the following edict:
"Boys and girls, I am your teacher. I shall expect you to obey me
implicitly. If you do not, I shall punish you. I am here to teach
you; you are here to learn and profit from my teaching. I have heard
bad reports of most of you, but for the present I shall refrain from
mentioning any names. When in the school-room you will be allowed to
address me as 'Sir.' Outside the school-room you will not address me
in any manner whatsoever."
He paused to survey the rows of uplifted faces and let his words sink
home. Then lifting a long hickory pointer from his desk, and holding
it much as a conjuror might hold his wand, he gripped the edge of the
desk with one bony hand and leaning forward, said:
"Boys and girls, from what has been told me I surmise that my
predecessor has spoiled you. I do not censure him; undoubtedly he
worked according to his lights. I have been twenty years a teacher.
I am your superior in strength, wisdom and intellect; and this I want
you always to keep in mind. I shall tolerate neither familiarity nor
disobedience. You will do well to obey me without question and do,
worthily, the tasks I set for you. I believe in administering
punishment to wrong-doers, severe punishment. It is not my purpose
to deceive either you or the ratepayers of this school; therefore, I
will admit that I like neither this district nor its people. That,
however, will not prevent me from fulfilling my duty to the best of
my ability."
He ceased speaking and drew himself up slowly, pursing his stern
lips. "That is all I have to say for the time being," he said. "We
shall endeavor to air this building, after which we will form
classes. Will the fat boy with the rumpled hair and dirty neck, the
one who is whispering to the boy behind him, be good enough to step
forward?"
All eyes switched from the teacher to Fatty Watland. Fatty, his face
very red, rose slowly and stood before the frowning Mr. Johnston.
"What is your name, boy?" asked the teacher.
"Walter Watland."
"Walter Watland--what?"
"That's all. Jest Walter Watland."
Mr. Johnston frowned darkly. "Walter Watland--what?" he repeated.
"Sir," prompted a voice from the back seat.
"Walter Watland, sir," panted Fatty, glimpsing the light in the nick
of time.
"Very well, Walter, you may go home and get a pail of water. My
experience with school wells," glancing out of the window to the blue
pump, "has been that during the holidays they become a veritable
death trap for frogs, mice and other vermin."
Walter moved quickly to execute the order. Mr. Johnston addressed
the rest of the pupils. "School is now dismissed until we raise the
windows and air the room."