School had settled down to real work by the opening of the new week.
Margaret knew her scholars and had gained a personal hold on most of
them already. There was enough novelty in her teaching to keep the
entire school in a pleasant state of excitement and wonder as to what
she would do next, and the word had gone out through all the country
round about that the new teacher had taken the school by storm. It was
not infrequent for men to turn out of their way on the trail to get a
glimpse of the school as they were passing, just to make sure the
reports were true. Rumor stated that the teacher was exceedingly pretty;
that she would take no nonsense, not even from the big boys; that she
never threatened nor punished, but that every one of the boys was her
devoted slave. There had been no uprising, and it almost seemed as if
that popular excitement was to be omitted this season, and school was to
sail along in an orderly and proper manner. In fact, the entire school
as well as the surrounding population were eagerly talking about the new
piano, which seemed really to be a coming fact. Not that there had been
anything done toward it yet, but the teacher had promised that just as
soon as every one was really studying hard and doing his best, she was
going to begin to get them ready for an entertainment to raise money for
that piano. They couldn't begin until everybody was in good working
order, because they didn't want to take the interest away from the real
business of school; but it was going to be a Shakespeare play, whatever
that was, and therefore of grave import. Some people talked learnedly
about Shakespeare and hinted of poetry; but the main part of the
community spoke the name joyously and familiarly and without awe, as if
it were milk and honey in their mouths. Why should they reverence
Shakespeare more than any one else?
Margaret had grown used to seeing a head appear suddenly at one of the
school-room windows and look long and frowningly first at her, then at
the school, and then back to her again, as if it were a nine days'
wonder. Whoever the visitor was, he would stand quietly, watching the
process of the hour as if he were at a play, and Margaret would turn and
smile pleasantly, then go right on with her work. The visitor would
generally take off a wide hat and wave it cordially, smile back a
curious, softened smile, and by and by he would mount his horse and pass
on reflectively down the trail, wishing he could be a boy and go back
again to school--such a school!
Oh, it was not all smooth, the way that Margaret walked. There were
hitches, and unpleasant days when nothing went right, and when some of
the girls got silly and rebellious, and the boys followed in their lead.
She had her trials like any teacher, skilful as she was, and not the
least of them became Rosa Rogers, the petted beauty, who presently
manifested a childish jealousy of her in her influence over the boys.
Noting this, Margaret went out of her way to win Rosa, but found it a
difficult matter.
Rosa was proud, selfish, and unprincipled. She never forgave any one who
frustrated her plans. She resented being made to study like the rest.
She had always compelled the teacher to let her do as she pleased and
still give her a good report. This she found she could not do with
Margaret, and for the first time in her career she was compelled to work
or fall behind. It presently became not a question of how the new
teacher was to manage the big boys and the bad boys of the Ashland Ridge
School, but how she was to prevent Rosa Rogers and a few girls who
followed her from upsetting all her plans. The trouble was, Rosa was
pretty and knew her power over the boys. If she chose she could put them
all in a state of insubordination, and this she chose very often during
those first few weeks.
But there was one visitor who did not confine himself to looking in at
the window.
One morning a fine black horse came galloping up to the school-house at
recess-time, and a well-set-up young man in wide sombrero and jaunty
leather trappings sprang off and came into the building. His shining
spurs caught the sunlight and flashed as he moved. He walked with the
air of one who regards himself of far more importance than all who may
be watching him. The boys in the yard stopped their ball-game, and the
girls huddled close in whispering groups and drew near to the door. He
was a young man from a ranch near the fort some thirty miles away, and
he had brought an invitation for the new school-teacher to come over to
dinner on Friday evening and stay until the following Monday morning.
The invitation was from his sister, the wife of a wealthy cattleman
whose home and hospitality were noted for miles around. She had heard of
the coming of the beautiful young teacher, and wanted to attach her to
her social circle.
The young man was deference itself to Margaret, openly admiring her as
he talked, and said the most gracious things to her; and then, while she
was answering the note, he smiled over at Rosa Rogers, who had slipped
into her seat and was studiously preparing her algebra with the book
upside down.
Margaret, looking up, caught Rosa's smiling glance and the tail end of a
look from the young man's eyes, and felt a passing wonder whether he had
ever met the girl before. Something in the boldness of his look made her
feel that he had not. Yet he was all smiles and deference to herself,
and his open admiration and pleasure that she was to come to help
brighten this lonely country, and that she was going to accept the
invitation, was really pleasant to the girl, for it was desolate being
tied down to only the Tanner household and the school, and she welcomed
any bit of social life.
The young man had light hair, combed very smooth, and light-blue eyes.
They were bolder and handsomer than the minister's, but the girl had a
feeling that they were the very same cold color. She wondered at her
comparison, for she liked the handsome young man, and in spite of
herself was a little flattered at the nice things he had said to her.
Nevertheless, when she remembered him afterward it was always with that
uncomfortable feeling that if he hadn't been so handsome and polished in
his appearance he would have seemed just a little bit like that
minister, and she couldn't for the life of her tell why.
After he was gone she looked back at Rosa, and there was a narrowing of
the girl's eyes and a frown of hate on her brows. Margaret turned with a
sigh back to her school problem--what to do with Rosa Rogers?
But Rosa did not stay in the school-house. She slipped out and walked
arm in arm with Amanda Bounds down the road.
Margaret went to the door and watched. Presently she saw the rider wheel
and come galloping back to the door. He had forgotten to tell her that
an escort would be sent to bring her as early on Friday afternoon as she
would be ready to leave the school, and he intimated that he hoped he
might be detailed for that pleasant duty.
Margaret looked into his face and warmed to his pleasant smile. How
could she have thought him like West? He touched his hat and rode away,
and a moment later she saw him draw rein beside Rosa and Amanda, and
presently dismount.
Bud rang the bell just then, and Margaret went back to her desk with a
lingering look at the three figures in the distance. It was full half an
hour before Rosa came in, with Amanda looking scared behind her; and
troubled Margaret watched the sly look in the girl's eyes and wondered
what she ought to do about it. As Rosa was passing out of the door after
school she called her to the desk.
"You were late in coming in after recess, Rosa," said Margaret, gently.
"Have you any excuse?"
"I was talking to a friend," said Rosa, with a toss of her head which
said, as plainly as words could have done, "I don't intend to give an
excuse."
"Were you talking to the gentleman who was here?"
"Well, if I was, what is that to you, Miss Earle?" said Rosa, haughtily.
"Did you think you could have all the men and boys to yourself?"
"Rosa," said Margaret, trying to speak calmly, but her voice trembling
with suppressed indignation, "don't talk that way to me. Child, did you
ever meet Mr. Forsythe before?"
"I'm not a child, and it's none of your business!" flouted Rosa,
angrily, and she twitched away and flung herself out of the
school-house.
Margaret, trembling from the disagreeable encounter, stood at the window
and watched the girl going down the road, and felt for the moment that
she would rather give up her school and go back home than face the
situation. She knew in her heart that this girl, once an enemy, would be
a bitter one, and this her last move had been a most unfortunate one,
coming out, as it did, with Rosa in the lead. She could, of course,
complain to Rosa's family, or to the school-board, but such was not the
policy she had chosen. She wanted to be able to settle her own
difficulties. It seemed strange that she could not reach this one
girl--who was in a way the key to the situation. Perhaps the play would
be able to help her. She spent a long time that evening going over the
different plays in her library, and finally, with a look of apology
toward a little photographed head of Shakespeare, she decided on
"Midsummer-Night's Dream." What if it was away above the heads of them
all, wouldn't a few get something from it? And wasn't it better to take
a great thing and try to make her scholars and a few of the community
understand it, rather than to take a silly little play that would not
amount to anything in the end? Of course, they couldn't do it well; that
went without saying. Of course it would be away beyond them all, but at
least it would be a study of something great for her pupils, and she
could meantime teach them a little about Shakespeare and perhaps help
some of them to learn to love his plays and study them.
The play she had selected was one in which she herself had acted the
part of Puck, and she knew it by heart. She felt reasonably sure that
she could help some of the more adaptable scholars to interpret their
parts, and, at least, it would be good for them just as a study in
literature. As for the audience, they would not be critics. Perhaps they
would not even be able to comprehend the meaning of the play, but they
would come and they would listen, and the experiment was one worth
trying.
Carefully she went over the parts, trying to find the one which she
thought would best fit Rosa Rogers, and please her as well, because it
gave her opportunity to display her beauty and charm. She really was a
pretty girl, and would do well. Margaret wondered whether she were
altogether right in attempting to win the girl through her vanity, and
yet what other weak place was there in which to storm the silly little
citadel of her soul?
And so the work of assigning parts and learning them began that very
week, though no one was allowed a part until his work for the day had
all been handed in.
At noon Margaret made one more attempt with Rosa Rogers. She drew her to
a seat beside her and put aside as much as possible her own remembrance
of the girl's disagreeable actions and impudent words.
"Rosa," she said, and her voice was very gentle, "I want to have a
little talk with you. You seem to feel that you and I are enemies, and I
don't want you to have that attitude. I hoped we'd be the best of
friends. You see, there isn't any other way for us to work well
together. And I want to explain why I spoke to you as I did yesterday.
It was not, as you hinted, that I want to keep all my acquaintances to
myself. I have no desire to do that. It was because I feel responsible
for the girls and boys in my care, and I was troubled lest perhaps you
had been foolish--"
Margaret paused. She could see by the bright hardness of the girl's eyes
that she was accomplishing nothing. Rosa evidently did not believe her.
"Well, Rosa," she said, suddenly, putting an impulsive, kindly hand on
the girl's arm, "suppose we forget it this time, put it all away, and be
friends. Let's learn to understand each other if we can, but in the
mean time I want to talk to you about the play."
And then, indeed, Rosa's hard manner broke, and she looked up with
interest, albeit there was some suspicion in the glance. She wanted to
be in that play with all her heart; she wanted the very showiest part in
it, too; and she meant to have it, although she had a strong suspicion
that the teacher would want to keep that part for herself, whatever it
was.
But Margaret had been wise. She had decided to take time and explain the
play to her, and then let her choose her own part. She wisely judged
that Rosa would do better in the part in which her interest centered,
and perhaps the choice would help her to understand her pupil better.
And so for an hour she patiently stayed after school and went over the
play, explaining it carefully, and it seemed at one time as though Rosa
was about to choose to be Puck, because with quick perception she caught
the importance of that character; but when she learned that the costume
must be a quiet hood and skirt of green and brown she scorned it, and
chose, at last, to be Titania, queen of the fairies. So, with a sigh of
relief, and a keen insight into the shallow nature, Margaret began to
teach the girl some of the fairy steps, and found her quick and eager to
learn. In the first lesson Rosa forgot for a little while her animosity
and became almost as one of the other pupils. The play was going to
prove a great means of bringing them all together.
Before Friday afternoon came the parts had all been assigned and the
plans for the entertainment were well under way.
Jed and Timothy had been as good as their word about giving the teacher
riding-lessons, each vying with the other to bring a horse and make her
ride at noon hour, and she had already had several good lessons and a
long ride or two in company with both her teachers.
The thirty-mile ride for Friday, then, was not such an undertaking as it
might otherwise have been, and Margaret looked forward to it with
eagerness.