"But _I_ may. Lots of things have been done that were never done
before. And mighty surprisin' things, too!"
[Illustration: "I WANT TO KNOW HOW THE EARTH LOOKS WHEN YOU ARE
STANDING ON THE MOON"--_Page 119_]
There was no denying this. So Ruth, for want of words, merely gazed
upon him in sorrow and disapproval, as any Conservative might gaze
upon any Radical. Before she could frame a speech to fit the look the
orator again rushed on. He spoke rapidly and with feeling. The drowsy
eyes became wider open. His hands with the gray mittens moved freely in
the snowy air. To Ruth it was a sudden transformation of a prospective
ignoramus into an inspired orator. In a higher, thinner voice he
demanded: "What makes one kind of electricity do what another kind
can't? And if men are so smart, why didn't they use electricity
thousands of years ago instead of just now? The air has always been
full of it."
This was an interesting question. But the Guardian Angel had no answer
ready.
"And what makes light travel so fast? Why, just think of it, a hundred
and fifty thousand miles in one second! And heat. There's lots to
learn about heat. Why do folks burn wood and coal in winter instead
of storing up heat in summer when there's too much of it. They keep
ice all summer. And why not keep heat all winter? And just look at
sunshine! Why not keep some overnight to read by? I could do it if I
was a man."
The orator paused to get his breath.
"But, Cyrus, perhaps you can learn all those things later."
"But I want to know 'em now. Not the things I've just been reciting,
the climate of Texas, the crops of New South Wales and the population
of Wurtemburg. Hoh! I could be a teacher myself and tell things
everybody knows already. Teachers are no smarter than anybody else. I
asked her why some families, like the Herricks, have all boys and other
families all girls."
"What did she say?"
"She just couldn't tell me. And she didn't like it when I asked her why
God, who knows everything, should do foolish things."
"Oh, Cyrus!"
"Well, he makes warm days in April to start things going, then sends a
sudden frost and nips the blossoms and kills the crops. Any fool farmer
knows better than that."
Ruth frowned. "You should not say such things." But the orator ignored
the rebuke. "Instead of telling me about the wrecks and ruins and the
treasures and the forests at the bottom of the ocean, teacher tells me
how many bales of cotton and barrels of molasses come from Alabama.
Why, Ruthy, at the Island of St. Helena the ocean is nearly six miles
deep!"
"But, Cyrus, nobody really knows just what lies at the bottom of the
ocean."
"Hoh! That's just it. Teacher stuffs us with things everybody knows.
All the easy things. Any cow or any hen can know 'em. I want the other
things. If she's a teacher she ought to know about the bottom of the
sea. She ought to tell us about Atlantis. There's be some fun in that."
"Atlantis?"
"Yes. That was the big island out in the Atlantic Ocean that suddenly
disappeared. It sank to the bottom of the sea. Don't you remember?"
Ruth was honest and slowly shook her head. Yet she knew that her
position as mentor, spiritual guide and good example became weaker
should the ignoramus she was rebuking display more learning than
herself.
But Cyrus was too much absorbed in the bigness of his subject to think
of himself or other trifles. "Why, Ruthy, it was a whole kingdom,
this island--a continent. It was covered with beautiful temples, whole
cities and lots of people. And all of a sudden--nobody knows why--it
disappeared beneath the waves! And now, to-day, down at the bottom of
the ocean those cities and those marble temples are still standing!"
[Illustration: "AND NOW, TODAY, DOWN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN, THOSE
CITIES AND THOSE MARBLE TEMPLES ARE STILL STANDING"--_Page 123_]
"Where was this island?"
"Off to the west of Spain, and Africa. People think the Azores and the
Canary Islands are the tops of mountains of that sunken country."
Ruth said nothing, but the enchanting eyes spoke plainly of surprise
and wonder. "When did that happen?"
"Way back in ancient times; before Greece began."
The enthusiasm of Cyrus produced its effect on Ruth, and the earnest
eyes of Ruth had their usual effect on Cyrus. He laid one of his hands,
in its gray worsted mitten, against the Guardian Angel's chest. "And,
Ruthy, just think of those white marble temples! Just think of the
streets and houses! Think of all the statues and the helmets, shields
and swords and spears all lying around down there at the bottom of the
ocean! Think of all the ornaments in gold and silver! And think, that
in those great white cities with all their treasure, coral and sea
plants grow instead of trees! And the only living things are fishes
swimming in and out among the statues and the monuments, the palaces,
the forums and the amphitheaters."
The orator drew a long breath, then in a lower tone: "I'd give anything
to spend a day in that place."
Little batches of snow had gathered on the heads and shoulders of
the two children. For a moment they stood in silence, Ruth gazing
thoughtfully at Cyrus, Cyrus gazing in anger and contempt toward the
school house.
At this point there came a sudden change in the Guardian Angel's
manner. She realized the necessity for different tactics. Familiar
with Cyrus's astonishing cleverness in argument she suspected that he
was justifying his own guilt by this dazzling display of wisdom. Then
came a swift transformation in the irresistible eyes, from sympathy to
rebuke.
"Stop," she said.
Cyrus stopped--midway in a sentence.
"Those reasons you can tell to teacher. They are no excuse for being a
lazy boy; I shall tell your father unless you do better."
Then she turned and walked away, striking her cold hands together for
warmth. Cyrus followed, treading the narrow path in the snow made by
horse's feet.
But shivering Zac, who had good excuse for shivering after his long
wait on the windy porch, ran joyfully ahead. He had borne with patience
this long delay. Cyrus picked up a handful of snow and molded it into
a ball. As they were passing the store he caught Ruth by a sleeve and
pointed to a boy more than a hundred feet away. The boy was stooping
over a sled.
"What'll you bet I can't hit Luther from here?"
Now Cyrus was a surprisingly good shot. He seemed able to hit whatever
he fired at, and from unbelievable distances. His surprising accuracy
in this direction had made him pitcher on the village nine. But Ruth,
remembering her rôle as Guardian Angel, merely turned about and started
on again in dignified silence. But from the corners of her eyes she
watched the unsuspecting Luther, for she knew the missile would reach
its mark. Her silent prophecy was correct. Through the snowy air the
missile flew. It landed, with force, on the victim's back, just below
his neck. He straightened up and looked about. Then with a shout of
defiance he scooped a handful of snow, quickly rolled it into a ball
and sent it toward the enemy. Here the unexpected happened. The snow
ball, thrown in a hurry, would have missed Cyrus by a yard or more
even had Fate allowed it to go its way. But Deacon Phineas Whitlock
intervened. This stern old puritan of ferocious aspect, of iron will
and despotic temper, the terror of children and of all other habitual
sinners, was just passing Cyrus in solemn dignity, toward the store.
The snowy sphere forwarded by Luther landed full upon the deacon's
mouth. And, as the deacon's mouth happened to be partly open at the
time--from his habit of preaching to himself--he received within it a
portion of the missile as it smashed and spread about his face. Swiftly
he wiped his face with the back of a hand. His temper was a hot one.
Luther knew it, and he grabbed the rope to his sled and disappeared
down the hill behind the store, with a velocity no elderly deacon could
hope to attain. Spluttering and wiping snow from his mouth and nose he
turned threatening eyes on Cyrus. In a voice between a gasp and a shout
of rage he demanded:
"Who is that boy? Who is he? What's his name?"