The snow lay deep--and still it fell.
On a low stone wall by the roadside Ruth Heywood sat in solemn
meditation. With melancholy eyes she watched the door of the little red
school house a hundred yards away. On the porch of that school house
shivered Zac, also waiting. He, too, kept his eyes on the door, but he
had no intention of rebuking the prisoner--should he ever appear. Why
try to improve an already perfect thing?
Above Ruth's head the North Wind, moaning through the leafless branches
of the maples, played dirge-like airs. Now, late in the afternoon, the
darkening sky seemed bearing down upon the snow-covered earth. And
Ruth's thoughts were all in harmony with the world about her. There was
reason for a joyless face. More experienced women than Ruth had found
sorrow and defeat in acting as guardian angel to erring males.
Other children had gone home. Cyrus was being held in punishment. And
the punishment was just. The Guardian Angel disliked this business, but
Cyrus had no mother, aunt or sister, and his father, being only a man,
did not realize the situation. Therefore, it seemed clear to Ruth that
she was the chosen instrument by which Cyrus was to be rescued from a
career of shame and failure.
At last the boy appeared. Zac bounced with joy, stirring the snowy air
with cries of welcome. And Cyrus, glad as any other prisoner to be
again at liberty, came running after.
Ruth walked out into the road and stood before him. As he stopped there
was a smile on his face, the old familiar smile of the guilty, who
hope to soften the face of Justice. But Justice was not beguiled. On
the face of the Guardian Angel came no returning smile. Instead, with
accusing eyes, she slowly shook her head.
"Cyrus, you ought to be ashamed."
"Why?"
"You know very well why. You are bad, very bad, and teacher was right
to keep you after school and punish you."
Cyrus gave up smiling. He reached forth and toyed with one of the horn
buttons on the Guardian Angel's coat. "I don't think I am bad just
because I hate that geography."
"It's your duty to learn it whether you hate it or not. You will grow
up an ignorant, good-for-nothing man unless you study your lessons.
Everybody knows that. You ought to go straight home and tell your
father you have been kept after school. Just tell him all about it.
Will you?"
There was a puckering of the boy's mouth, but no answer.
"If you were stupid, and couldn't learn if you tried, it would be
different, but you are just perverse and--and bad. If you don't do
better I shall just go and tell your father myself."
"Oh, Ruthy! You wouldn't do that!" And he let go the button and took a
backward step, as one who shrinks from a faithless friend.
"But it's for your own good, Drowsy. And, besides, teacher will tell
him if I don't."
"I s'pose she would."
"You don't want to grow up and know less than anybody else--even less
than school children?"