AN IDEAL TEACHER
"He who has the truth at his heart need never fear the want of
persuasion on his tongue."—RUSKIN.
"THE doctor wishes to see Miss Hume in his study at four o'clock this
afternoon."
That was the message given to Audrey one morning, just a month after
she had arrived at Horsborough College. She was looking a very
different girl now from what she did when she left London.
Colour was in her cheeks, brightness in her eyes, and vigour and energy
in every movement. With her characteristic thoroughness, she had thrown
herself wholeheartedly into her work, and was adored by all the small
boys, as well as by some of the big ones. Of Dr. Vernon she saw little,
and if by chance she came across him, she had very few words to say to
him. She found Miss Vernon's speech very true about the boys' world
in which she would have to live. And she also found, if her outlook
was very broad in some ways, it was very narrow in others. She grew a
little impatient of hearing the doctor's praises sung. The two young
married women vied with one another in entertaining him, and their
pride when he dined or walked and talked with them seemed very small
and childish to the independent Audrey.
Mrs. Ross was a pretty little gushing creature, who expected and
received much admiration from her friends. Audrey and she did not take
to each other from the first. Mrs. Tate, whose husband was the senior
master, was stiff in her manner, and a little given to patronising
Audrey, who, of course, resented such treatment, and kept away from her
in consequence. Miss Vernon and Mrs. Bonar were her great friends, and
she wanted no others.
Yet, before she had been there a fortnight, she was beset by much
attention from two or three of the younger masters, especially one in
particular—a young fellow from Oxford, who was the master in literature
and a very able man. He would saunter up to her in the playground,
accompany her sometimes when she was walking out with the boys, and
hold long conversations with her in the library, of which he was
custodian.
At first, Audrey had been very grateful to him for recommending her
various books to read. She had enjoyed talking over with him English
literature in general, and had thankfully learnt a great deal from him
on several subjects. But she grew rather tired of him before long, and
was more anxious than he was to cut short their interview.
A chance word from Mrs. Ross had brought the hot blood to her cheeks.
They were looking on at a football match, and Mr. Oates had just left
her side to obey a summons from the doctor. Mrs. Ross turned to one of
the other masters with a little laugh.
"That effort will fail; it is like separating a needle from a magnet.
If I were the doctor, I would not show my hand so soon, for I am sure
it will die a natural death. Mr. Oates is such a very impressionable
youth."
Audrey had moved away, controlling her indignation. Now, as she was
crossing the square to the doctor's house, she wondered if she was to
be rebuked for her intimacy with him.
Her lip curled in scorn at it.
"Life in a boys' school is petty," she said to herself.
And it was in this frame of mind that she greeted the doctor.
As he drew forward a chair for her close to the fire, she seemed to see
herself in that same chair on the occasion of her first interview with
him; the remembrance of her humiliation then brought an aggressive note
into her tone.
"I was told you wished to see me," she said.
Dr. Vernon smiled as he seated himself opposite to her.
"I assure you it is not an unusual thing for me to wish to see any one
of my staff. As a matter-of-fact, I always like the heads of the houses
to come and report themselves once a month; it gives us an opportunity
of talking over any difficulties that may have occurred. My sister
tells me she did mention this to you."
"I believe she did," said Audrey, a little ashamed of herself. "But
really, I have nothing to say. I have had no difficulties. Life seems
almost too easy for me now."
He glanced at her, and could hardly believe that this bright, radiant
girl was the same who had stood looking like a white wraith as she
defied him in that shabby little back parlour in London.
"That was one of the things I wished to ask you," Dr. Vernon said,
"whether you like your work and are happy with us. You were to give it
a trial, you know."
Audrey's face sobered.
"Yes," she replied. "I like it. I suppose I ought to ask if I suit?"
"I hear you manage everything admirably. Perhaps, if anything, your
reins are a little too slack?"
Audrey looked up quickly.
"Is that what Mrs. Bonar feels?"
"It is what 'I' feel."
The quick colour rushed into her cheeks.
He went on:
"Two of your small boys scaled the wall of my private garden yesterday
in play hours, and they invaded Jenkins's forcing-house. He discovered
them before they had abstracted any of his fruit, and let them off. How
was it they were not in their own playground? I think you generally
supervise their games?"
"Yes," said Audrey, looking up at him frankly. "It was my fault. I
took a library book out into the playground. They were all kicking a
football about, and I did not miss the absentees till we were going in.
But I was told about it by the culprits themselves, and I think if you
heard me lecture them, you wouldn't think me so slack. Have you any
other instance of my loose reins?"
"I was told you let two of your small boys walk into Bulton. I have had
to place it out of bounds—did you not know this?"
"I did not think our house was included in that order."
"You are included in every order. And in any case, your youngsters are
too small to go off alone."
"I think," said Audrey meditatively, "that too much independence is
better for boys than too little. If they are restricted too much, they
will break out sooner or later."
"But," said Dr. Vernon quickly and sharply, "as you are not the
principal of this college, your thoughts must not be put into action.
It is your place to obey school orders implicitly and unhesitatingly."
"Oh, I know. Our little kingdom is absolutely an autocratic one."
Her brows were knitted as she spoke—and there was absolute silence for
a moment. Then Dr. Vernon said in a different tone:
"What do you think of our library? You are a great reader, are you
not? If I can be of any help to you about books, I shall be very glad.
Perhaps I could lend you some?"
Audrey gave a quick glance at his well-stocked book-cases, and replied:
"No, thank you. I haven't come nearly to an end yet in the library."
Then she rose from her seat.
"I see," Dr. Vernon said with a little smile, "that you will have
nothing to do with me at present. And perhaps you are acting wisely.
Only, may I make this request—that you treat all my masters as you
treat me? It will be best for all concerned if you do."
Audrey's hot blood rushed into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily.
"Good afternoon," was all she said.
But she left the room with the air of an offended queen, and Dr. Vernon
smiled again, and then sighed as the door closed upon her.
And Audrey walked back to her house in a tumult of indignation.
"I will not be dictated to by him! I am not a school-girl. His position
does not give him absolute power over my movements! Oh, how proud and
touchy I am! And, though I hate his rebukes, I have myself to thank for
it. I can't be too careful with these wretched young men! I declare I
feel inclined to cut and run from it all!"
Naturally impulsive, she burst into the drawing-room, and found Miss
Vernon and Mrs. Bonar enjoying a chat together. Their sudden silence as
she entered made her say, with an embarrassed laugh:
"I am sure you are talking about me."
"Yes," said Miss Vernon, "we are. Have you just left the doctor?"
"Yes. I have received his scolding and am trying to digest it."
"My dear," said Mrs. Bonar, "I am sure that is one thing that the
doctor never does. He speaks out, of course, but the art of scolding is
not his."
Miss Vernon immediately whipped out her pocketbook.
"That's very good, Mrs. Bonar, and very true. Everard cannot scold. You
know, I am making notes about him now. I am coming to his biography. Of
course, this is quite between ourselves. He would be angry if he knew,
but the whole of my researches of the Vernon family is only leading
up to him. I always think I shall see Everard an archbishop before I
die. And any little characteristic that outsiders note in him will be
valuable to me. If you come to think of it—" here Miss Vernon leant
back in her chair, poising her pencil between her fingers and looking
across at Audrey with a thoughtful smile—"scolding or nagging is a lack
of concentration, and a sign of a weak nature. Women scold, men hardly
ever. They use a few decided words to express their displeasure, and
let the subject drop."
"Then," said Audrey, laughing, "the doctor has expressed his
displeasure. And I came out of his room feeling very angry with him,
but now I feel rather angry with myself."
"I never interfere with school matters," said Miss Vernon a little
loftily, "but I want you to come to tea with me to-morrow afternoon,
Miss Hume. I won't take a refusal, for I know you have no good excuse
to get out of it."
"Why do you think I shall want to refuse?"
"Because you have been less in our house than any other member of our
staff, and because you may be afraid of meeting my brother."
"That I shall 'never' be."
Audrey held her head high, and the light of battle was in her eyes.
Miss Vernon laughed.
"I used to have a hot temper when I was a girl, so I can sympathise
with you. It is in our family. Everard has it still. You will come,
then, to-morrow?"
"Thank you, I will."
Then Miss Vernon took her departure, and as she went out of the door,
she patted Audrey affectionately on the shoulder.
"I am very fond of you, Miss Hume, so you must not mind my teasing.
And I do think I was born without that very feminine trait of
inquisitiveness, so I shall not want to know why the doctor offended
you, or anything about your interview. And I give you my word for
it that he will have forgotten all about it himself to-morrow. He
interviews so many every day. You are only a unit, after all. Good-bye,
my dear."
"Only a unit," Audrey repeated to herself as she stood at her bedroom
window later that day, looking out upon a moonlit, frosty scene in the
garden below. "How big I seem to myself! And how very small to everyone
else! I'm just part of the school here—a bit of the machinery that
makes the wheels go round. Oh, why do I feel so dissatisfied to-night?
I will write to Pauline. That always makes me feel good."
Miss Vernon was entertaining some of the elder boys the next afternoon,
and one or two friends from the neighbourhood. Dr. Vernon did not
appear, but Miss Vernon kept Audrey after her guests had departed, and
it was then that he walked into the room. He shook hands with Audrey
rather absently, then turned to his sister:
"Was Archie Wren with you this afternoon?"
"Yes. He's a nice boy—one of my favourites."
"I am very glad. I was afraid he was elsewhere."
Miss Vernon did not ask him to explain himself, but Audrey knew that
several of the elder boys had lately been giving their principal
trouble by slipping off to Bulton, the neighbouring town. It had been
put out of bounds, owing to the misconduct of an unruly set who had had
friction with a grammar school there. But as the shops in it were a
great attraction to the boys, they resented being kept away from it.
"You may be quite certain," said Miss Vernon, with one of her decided
little nods, "that Archie will do nothing to cause you anxiety. I'm a
pretty keen student of faces, and those particular grey eyes with dark
eyelashes and eyebrows always belong to a frank, fine nature. The only
other person with such eyes is Miss Hume, and if you look at them,
you are perfectly certain that you can trust her, and that honour,
frankness, and fearlessness are her chief characteristics."
"Oh, Miss Vernon, spare my blushes," exclaimed Audrey, laughing. "You
quite take my breath away."
Dr. Vernon smiled.
"Your character won't suffer in my sister's hands."
And just for a moment, he glanced at Audrey's expressive grey eyes.
She rose to go, but Miss Vernon stopped her.
"I have promised Mrs. Bonar an old-fashioned recipe for open wounds.
She would like it for her surgery. Wait a few minutes. It is in a book
of my mother's, upstairs."
She left the room. Dr. Vernon stood on the hearth-rug warming himself
at the fire. Then he suddenly turned to Audrey.
"I felt I had missed my opportunity yesterday. I am glad to have
another given me. Will you listen to me for a minute or two?"
"Certainly," said Audrey gravely.
Dr. Vernon was silent for a moment, then he spoke in a low, intense
tone.
"I do not know much about you, Miss Hume, but I want you to do for
your small boys what your mother did for me. No one knows better than
a schoolmaster how important it is to have a good influence brought to
bear upon boys in their earliest years. You know the oft-repeated adage:
"'Give me a child till seven years, and I will make the man.'
"I don't doubt that your influence is on the side of right and honour.
But Miss Hume, I want something more than this—I want their young lives
to be brought into touch with God. Habits of prayer and faith and trust
are a man's safeguards through life. He may leave them for a time, but
they have a strong magnetic power, and will surely draw him back at
a later period. I would not dare to say that you could give them the
touch of life in their souls. This, we know, can only be done by God
alone. But you have your opportunities of teaching them, and winning
them, and—may I say?—of bringing them to the arms of the Saviour for
the blessing they need. I want the foundations of their creed to be
laid in the preparatory school before they come into the more public
atmosphere of schoolboy life. It is a grand work for anyone to put
their hand to, and I long that it should be thoroughly done. Will you
co-operate with me in this?"
Audrey sat still with her hands clasped in her lap. She did not look up
or move, but her soul was stirred within her.
And Miss Vernon's entrance kept her silent.
She took the recipe, said good-bye, and departed.
Dr. Vernon accompanied her to the hall door.
Then, for an instant before she went down the broad steps, she looked
up at him.
"I will give you my answer later," was all she said.
She had little time for thinking till she went to bed that night. Mrs.
Bonar had insisted upon her having a small fire, as the weather had set
in very cold. So, wrapping her dressing-gown about her, she sat down to
enjoy the firelight.
"What a shallow fool I am!" was her soliloquy. "What an ignorant,
self-satisfied, conceited creature! I have actually plumed myself
upon my capabilities as teacher and trainer to these children! I
have thought myself quite adequate to my position, and am perfectly
complacent and satisfied as to the way I work. And all the time I might
have known that I could never reach Dr. Vernon's ideal. I am utterly
unfit for the work he wishes me to do. I can't be a hypocrite. I can't
teach them what I have not grasped myself. I can only teach them the
form of religion, and what good will that do a boy? Yes, I can teach
them habits of prayer, I suppose, but unless I go farther than that of
what use am I? I always told Pauline I had not reached the kernel, only
touched the husk. What is my own creed, I wonder? What do I believe
with all my heart and soul?"
Her head sank into her hands. For a moment, she was grappling alone
in the dark after the facts of eternity. And very soon a passionate,
desperate prayer rose from her lips and soul:
"O God, teach me myself, that I may teach them. I know nothing of Thee
yet, and till to-night, I have known nothing of myself. Take me in
hand, and make me what I ought to be."
For in the depths of her despair came the words that she had heard in
the doctor's sermon upon her first Sunday here:
"Without Me ye can do nothing!"
For the first time in her life, Audrey realised that she had been
weighed in the balance and found wanting, and that not only by Dr.
Vernon, but by her Creator and her God.
It was past midnight when she roused herself and crept into bed.