THE GEOGRAPHY SCHOOL
After supper Miss Calder professed herself very much fatigued; so Liza
showed her at once to the best room, and Doctor Garde, before setting
out on a night-ride, carried her trunk into it.
This gorgeous apartment was situated on the ground floor, opening
directly from the sitting-room; and as the rest of the family slept
up-stairs, the timid lady felt an unacknowledged chill running down her
spine. She considered that she had come into a wild and uncivilized
region, and remembered the brigand-like workmen at the Furnace who
seemed to regard her with curiosity.
“Are you not afraid, alone with the children, when Doctor Garde is
gone?” she asked Liza, while laying out her toilet-set.
“Oh no, I never think of such a thing. Mother and me lived here alone
so long. They say it is unsafe over in the Harris neighborhood. But
nobody ever tried to break into this house.”
A screech-owl screamed, and Miss Calder shuddered. These spinster
ladies were very polite to each other, but they really stood in social
opposition.
“She’s used to fine living, and she’ll think this is no place to bring
up the children,” was Liza’s secret fear.
“The children seem healthy and happy enough,” was Miss Calder’s silent
comment, “but they never will learn manners here. Maurice must be
roused, and reminded of his duty to them.”
There was a fireplace in the spare bedroom, now filled with asparagus
and roses set in a huge blue pitcher. The toilet-stand was covered
with ruffled dimity. The bed-valance was also of ruffled dimity, and a
mountain of feather-beds, dressed in the best linen and showiest quilts
the house afforded, offered Miss Calder repose. Liza had once been to
Fredericktown, and she flattered herself she knew how town-folks fixed
their company rooms. A chest on legs and a brass-knobbed bureau stood
in opposite corners. The flowered bowl and pitcher would be eagerly
seized by china-fanciers in these days. A long gilt-framed glass, with
a gaudy landscape at the top of it, was shrouded in gauze, like the
face of a Turkish wife. On each paper blind was represented a colossal
vase of flowers, so gorgeous that real roses were put almost out of
countenance by them. And the chairs were all wooden seats instead of
split-bottom, and had gilding on their backs. On the wall was a framed
certificate of Liza’s church-membership; and the plaster-of-Paris
images of a cat and a parrot ornamented opposite ends of the mantel,
while “Little Samuel” knelt pacifically between them.
“There’s no lock on the door that opens on to the porch,” bustled Liza,
“but you needn’t be afraid. Nobody could open that door without waking
you.”
Miss Calder saw this door with cold perspiration, and thought of her
cozy upper chamber at home, and her two bell-ropes which on the instant
would arouse Maria and the man.
But she smiled as pleasantly as possible, while thinking, “My nerves
will not bear such a strain long.”
Liza wished her good-night, and went to put the baby to bed, and attend
to her milking.
The cows were at the lower bars, waiting in content. Night had not
fairly set in, for twilight lingers so long among the hills. There was
dead blackness up the pine slopes, but an afterglow along the valley.
Bluebell sat on the fence watching these bovine mothers. She had called
them from the other side of the run, with long intonations: “Su-kee;
Pi-dey! Ro-see! Su-ukee!” Pidey’s bell had tinkled accompaniment,
recording their progress on the way. Now it dingled down the opposite
hill with such a clamor that Bluebell could fancy the knock-kneed trot
of both cows; and now it thumped as they plunged into the run; then it
wandered along, pausing over some very sweet bunch of grass, jerking at
a mouthful of sweet-briar, and finally coming to the bars in perfect
marching time: “_te-ding_, _te-ding_, _te-ding_, _a-ding_, _ding_.”
Bluebell had never heard an organ or an orchestra. She thought that
cow-bell in the dim landscape, with echoes coming back from the hills,
the most softening music in the world. The sound brought with it a
smell of roses, of grass after rain, and clover.
But another sound now attracted her ear, and she turned on the fence.
Ballie was neighing at the upper bars. The doctor had one foot in the
stirrup and was rising to his seat when his daughter’s voice burst out
in appeal:
“Oh, father, won’t you please take me to g’ography school?”
She clung panting to the fence. “The whole school’s goin’, and it’s
only to Harris’s chapel!”
He felt very tender toward his children this evening, though he thought
himself always too indulgent.
“But I haven’t time to take out the buggy now.”
“Can’t I ride behind you, father? I’m all dressed up ’cept my Sunday
flat.”
“Well, run and get it then, I can leave you at the chapel, and pick you
up when I come back. Tell Liza to pin a shawl around you.”
Bluebell was presently climbing to a seat behind the Arabian’s saddle,
and holding around her father as they trotted away. Her mother’s
black-silk, heavily fringed shawl was pinned tightly under her chin. It
must be confessed that Liza had not seen her wrapped. Liza was with the
baby, and Bluebell knew she would put the horrible old broche around
her--a wrap beautiful in its time, but now as old as Liza’s self, and
much the worse for wear. So the damsel knocked hastily at Miss Calder’s
door, to gain access to the chest within.
Miss Melissa opened it with some hesitation lest it were an early
housebreaker. She had on a flowered dressing-gown and was brushing out
her puffs.
“I only want to get my shawl out of the chest,” said the little girl,
and she hurried to lift the heavy lid.
“Are you going out, my dear?”
“Father’s goin’ to take me to g’ography school.”
“To geography school?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m to ride behind him on Ballie, and he’ll leave me at
the door, and call for me when he comes back. It will be such fun!”
Miss Melissa looked as if she hardly thought so. Her inward comment
was, “Dear me! how negligent and ignorant of a mother’s duty a man is!”
Bluebell dragged out the heavy embroidered black shawl, and ran with
it. The silk apron was not attainable; but this royal garment and her
“flat” were more than she had hoped for. The “flat” was a brown crimped
straw with flopping brim, tied under the chin--a head-covering for
Sunday.
It was quite an adventure to be going towards that unknown delight of
geography school, behind on Ballie, who, though kind, curvetted and
begged to know why _she_ was asked to do double duty like any old hack.
They rode by the skirts of the pines, and down a knotty, steep wagon
road, over the bridge of the run to the cross-roads. Lights from
various cabins twinkled along their way. The horse’s hoofs struck the
county thoroughfare which led past the school-house, but paused at a
small white building, and here Bluebell alighted. Her mind had been too
busy for talk, and her young, grave father, occupied also, whistled
under his breath all the way. It made her feel sad to hear father
whistle so--it was like the far-off sigh of the pines.
“I’ll stop for you,” he said as he cantered off.
Harris’s chapel was lighted; and through its two open doors you could
see it was crowded. Its gable-end was towards the road, and a flight
of wooden steps led up to each door. Bluebell entered on the “women’s
side.” No kind of meeting could be held in the building which would
make it proper for these doors to be used indiscriminately. All the men
and boys entered at one door, all the women and girls at the other; a
certain partition in the benches separated the house into two sides,
one of which was composed of bonnets, and the other of bare heads
having the hair cropped around the ears.
But never had the chapel presented so enjoyable a sight to Bluebell’s
eyes as now. She liked the nine-o’clock Sunday-school, and even the
sermon, though the minister always pounded and the echoes of his voice
made your ears ache; but when the windows were open such pleasant air
came in, the children looked so nice in their Sunday clothes, and
their mothers so peaceful, and even ugly old Mr. Harris seemed quite
pleasant, when he started the singing, keeping time with his foot, and
rolling out cheerfully:
“Come, let us anew
Our journey pursue,
Roll round with the year,
And never stand still
Till the Master appear.”
But to-night the whitewashed walls glistened under tallow candles stuck
in tin sockets at regular intervals around them, besides those lights
in the great chandeliers made of cross-pieces of wood pierced with
holes. At the pulpit-end of the room, large maps covered the wall;
and below them stood Mr. Runnels with a long pointer in his hand. The
seats seemed filled to overflowing with everybody for miles around,
as Bluebell tiptoed up the aisle. The flat flopped and the fringed
shawl trailed. Some one put out a hand and pulled her, and she found
Perintha Pancost had squeezed a seat for her, which she thankfully
took, settling her little blushing face into the mass. She found Mandy
Willey on the other side of her. Mandy Willey had on the black-silk
apron, and her white sun-bonnet. She had also a pocketful of fresh
mountain-tea, which she divided with the other girls.
“What did you wear your flat for?” whispered Perintha disparagingly.
“Take it off!” Her school bonnet lay in her lap, and she looked
comfortable.
“I sha’n’t do it,” whispered back Bluebell with some asperity.
“My maw has an old shawl like that,” added Perintha, fingering the
fringe.
“Your maw!” retorted Bluebell, stung by the implied stricture when she
thought herself looking her grandest. She concentrated all her scorn on
the soft diminutive. “_I’d_ say mother!”
“Humph!” snuffed Perintha.
“Miss Calder’s come,” continued Bluebell in a dignified fashion. “She’s
a town-lady. She brought me a doll with real hair that you can comb
out, like mine.”
“I don’t care if she has,” retorted Perintha. “My cousin in Frederick
has two dolls nearly as big as I am, and _both_ of them has hair!”
So they might have gone on, trying to outshine each other in lustre
borrowed from their friends and relatives, much as grown people do, had
not Mr. Runnels now claimed everybody’s attention. He gave a brief,
plain lecture on the divisions of the earth’s surface. Then selecting
the map of North America, he requested the best singers to take their
places on front seats. Old Mr. Harris, who had come to keep a proper
check on proceedings, felt touched and complimented by this appeal.
He always led church singing; so, tiptoeing officiously about, he
weeded out a laughing girl here and an awkward young man there, in some
other place a middle-aged farmer who was noted for bass, or a matronly
shrill-voiced sister who responded with reluctance, and placed them in
array, himself at the head, good-naturedly ready to lend his influence
to education.
Then Mr. Runnels turned to the old schoolmaster who sat smiling and
prominent on a chair brought down from the high pulpit, and begged that
the school-children might be brought forward. Upon this, Mr. Pitzer
tiptoed along the aisles, summoning this one and that one of his flock
and ranging them behind the front row, where the heads of some scarcely
reached above the high backs of the seats. Bluebell felt important and
excited, and regretted having left behind her Noah’s Ark book, which
she had proposed to herself as a text-book to the maps. Perintha and
Mandy forgot to munch mountain-tea. Little Joe Hall sat beside the
master, on the men’s side, the master secretly proud of this boy’s
quick mind and alert manner, though pretending to be oblivious to them
lest parents of other children present might say he “showed partiality.”
The geography-teacher explained the map, and old Mr. Harris was the
first to go up and “point out” different countries. He made mistakes
and chirped pleasantly over them, but encouraged one or two blushing
girls to follow him, and a lumbering boy who was so frightened when
the pointer was placed in his hand that he could not tell land from
water.
Then little Joe Hall stepped forward and covered himself all over
with glory; he had the countries so thoroughly by heart that nobody
could puzzle him, though John Tegarden confusedly called for “Russian
Central.” The master smiled furtively around while he took off his
glasses and rubbed them.
But now the beauty of a geography school came into full play. The
improvised orchestra was instructed to lift up its voice and sing off
the map while Mr. Runnels indicated each country with the pointer. The
melody was a sort of chant, but it was a lively chant, and every rustic
took it up with enjoyment:
“Greenland, a desolate and barren region,
Greenland, a desolate and barren region!
“Russian America, New Archangel,
Russian America, New Archangel.
“British America has no capital,
British America has no capital.
“United States, Washington,
The government’s republican:
United States, Washington,
The government’s republican.
“Mexico, Mexico city,
Mexico, Mexico city.
“Central America, New Guatemala,
Central America, New Guatemala.”
It sounded so wonderfully learned. These geographical names were
caught up with gusto by everybody in the house except a few quiet old
folks who respected “good learning,” but felt that their day was too
far advanced to attempt it. In short, the geography-teacher and his
method made an excellent impression; and when he called a recess that
“signers” might come forward and enroll themselves in his classes, as
future lessons would be given with closed doors, a majority of all
present were put upon his lists. Even Mr. Pitzer joined the adult
class; not that he had anything to learn in the science of geography;
but he said he always liked to throw his influence on the right side.
“Ain’t your paw going to send you?” inquired Perintha of Bluebell.
Perintha was promenading with the air of a proprietress, just because
the geography-teacher boarded at her house!
“Course he is,” exclaimed Doctor Garde’s little girl, anxious for his
return; “he always wants me to learn everything I can.”
She stood on a bench and stretched up to one of the high windows to
peer in the direction he had taken. The boys and girls trooped in and
out enjoying their recess; the elderly people gathered in groups; and
she felt quite left out and behind the fashion, until little Joe Hall
called her attention.
“Bluebell Garde, your father wants you.”
“Where is he?” she asked, scrambling down.
“He’s up there talking to Mr. Runnels. I guess he’s signin’ for you.”
He had enrolled her name and paid the fee, in an absent way, but he did
not seem greatly impressed by the smiling geography-teacher.
“The children’s class will meet on Saturday afternoons,” said Mr.
Runnels. “Your little girl seems to have a wonderful mind. She has
learned the map of North America already.”
He said this, drawing his breath over his teeth and bowing in a way
which made Bluebell uncomfortable, “it seemed so affected”--she had
heard Liza speak of “affected people” with such condemnation that they
seemed next door to criminals. The young father looked down at her,
possibly flattered by this tribute to his child’s talents.
“She needs holding back instead of urging forward,” he said briefly;
and taking her hand, he nodded adieu to Mr. Runnels.
“Can’t I stay till it’s out, father?” begged Bluebell, trotting by his
side as he stalked out, his old patients right and left greeting him.
No. He had another call to make on the way home, and had no time for
the geography school.
So she was obliged to console herself, as they cantered along, with
rehearsing the chant which meant in her ears a triplet of gruesome
sounding names for one country:
“Greenland, a des-o-late and barren region!”
They drew up at Ridenour’s gate. Her father went in, with his
black-leather medicine-cases called “pill-bags” over his arm, merely
throwing the Arabian’s bridle over a post. Bluebell crept forward
into the saddle, and began to stroke the mare’s soft neck. She put her
foot into the strap above the stirrup and took a firm seat, imagining
herself flying at full gallop. It would have frightened Miss Melissa
beyond expression to see her in this unprotected, perilous plight.
Suddenly the flat did flop with violence, and she found herself
clinging with all her might to the plunging Arabian’s mane.
“I want you!” said the rough voice of a man, appearing through the
darkness.