TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
--Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
--Bold text has been enclosed in equal signs: =bold text=.
THE BELIEVING YEARS
[Illustration: LOGO]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO
SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE BELIEVING YEARS
BY
EDMUND LESTER PEARSON
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1911
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1911.
_Norwood Press_
_J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co._
_Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
To
EDMUND CARLTON PEARSON
(1841-1897)
"E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,
In simpleness and gentleness and honor and clean mirth."
NOTE
A number of the incidents described in this book have been used in a
series of stories published in _The Outlook_. To The Outlook Company my
thanks are due for their courteous permission to retell these stories
in an altered form.
E. L. P.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MR. COLBURN 1
II. THE OLD TOWN 12
III. MAGIC 26
IV. NAPOLEON JONES 40
V. A RUN ON THE BANK 57
VI. HORACE 71
VII. THE GREAT DAY 82
VIII. THE GREEN CHEST 98
IX. WHITE PEACOCKS 113
X. THE FLIGHT 130
XI. UP LIKE A ROCKET 147
XII. SUSY 160
XIII. ARMA PUERUMQUE CANO 177
XIV. WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN 195
XV. THE LUCKY-BUG 209
XVI. WEST INJY LANE 223
XVII. THEIR UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIOR 240
XVIII. THE SIEGE OF AUNTIE MERRILL 256
XIX. ENTERTAINING ALICE 269
XX. WHILE THE EVIL DAYS COME NOT 282
THE BELIEVING YEARS
CHAPTER I
MR. COLBURN
Each boy in the school-room had fixed his mind on two objects: the
calendar and the clock. On the former stood out in big black characters
=June
20=
The clock pointed to the hour of three. Exactly sixty minutes separated
us from vacation. It was the day of our dreams,--the last day of school.
We had thought of it, thought of it far back when snow still covered
the ground; planned for it, lived in hope of it. To-morrow the
tyrannical bell should be silent, and no one could say: "Time to start
for school!"
Many forces had been at work hurrying this day forward: the first
blades of grass, the first leaves on the horse-chestnut trees, the
first robin who ran across the grass-plots overlooking the frog pond,
the first dandelion that gleamed in the grass. All were signs and
symbols of it.
But in spite of so many omens, the day itself had been outrageously
slow to arrive. The robins had abated the enthusiasm of the first few
weeks, and become quieter. They were sober householders and family
men, now. The golden blossoms of the dandelions were transformed
into that shape in which they are useful chiefly to blow upon three
times to see at what o'clock your mother wants you. The season had
arrived for swimming,--indeed, it had been here for weeks,--Ed Mason
and Rob Currier claimed to have gone in swimming at Four Rocks as
early as the last day of April. The fish in Little River needed our
careful attention. And in front of Austin's shop had long stood a sign
displaying a pink pyramid with a spoon stuck therein, and the seductive
words "Ice Cream," a spectacle that made our Fourth of July money stir
uneasily in our pockets.
In short, all the elements of vacation were here,--all but the thing
itself. Each morning the summons came at twenty minutes of nine, and
each morning we trod the dismal path. Pencils squeaked, and slaty
smells arose as the slates were covered with figures and then cleaned
with damp sponges. The pungent odor of cedar, from newly sharpened
lead-pencils, mingled with the fragrance of pickled limes,--smuggled
into school and eaten contrary to the orders of Miss Temple, the
teacher. Outside, summer called us in a dozen different ways. And,
uneasy prisoners, we chafed and wriggled in our seats.
But, somehow, the days had dragged by, and even this final one had
nearly gone. At the last moment, when our release was so near at
hand, a dismal spectre arose before us to block the way. It was the
forbidding form of Mr. Colburn.
This was a man who had written an arithmetic,--an arithmetic of
singular and diabolical ingenuity. He had done this thing long before
any of us were born, and then he had passed from the earth. But his
work had remained to annoy us. Occasionally, during the last hour of
the afternoon session, we wrestled with Mr. Colburn, by request. This
was in addition to the regular arithmetic lesson in the morning.
I conceived Mr. Colburn as a tall, spare man, clad in brown leather.
His face was brown and leathery, too, and it was puckered and sour. In
one hand he held his famous book,--in the other, a big switch. He was
full of impertinent curiosity, was Mr. Colburn, and he had no manner of
interest in the things that really concerned us.
I wanted to know if Ed Mason (whose seat was next but one behind mine)
were going fishing to-morrow morning. Mr. Colburn wanted to know if 3
fifths of a chaldron of coal cost 8 dollars, what is the whole chaldron
worth?
I did not care what it was worth, I did not know what a chaldron was,
anyway,--and I have never found out. But I saw we were in for an
uncomfortable hour as soon as Miss Temple said:
"Take your Colburn's Arithmetics and sit up straight in your seats....
Robert, did you throw that? Well, you may go and stand in that corner,
with your face to the wall."
Rob Currier did as he was directed with undisguised delight. By one
skilful stroke he had put himself beyond the clutch of Mr. Colburn. The
rest of us looked upon him with envy,--if we had only been so inspired!
It was base of Miss Temple to devote the last hour of school to
Colburn's Arithmetic. We thought regretfully of another teacher we had
once had. She would have read to us the adventures of "The Prince and
the Pauper," and that was altogether better than fretting us about the
price of coal. Never in my life have I wished to know the worth of a
chaldron of coal, but if ever I have such a wish doubtless the dealer
will tell me straight out.
But that was not the way with the people Mr. Colburn knew,--they could
never give you a decent answer about anything. If you asked one of Mr.
Colburn's friends the price of his horse, he would reply that the horse
and the saddle together were worth 100 dollars, but the horse was worth
9 times as much as the saddle,--and that was all you could get out of
him.
For my part, I privately resolved never to buy horses of any such
disagreeable folk,--a resolution which I have faithfully kept.
Miss Temple must have observed my anxiety to speak with Ed Mason, for
she promptly called upon me:--
"Samuel, you may take Question 61. Read it."
"'A man bought 1 ton and 4 fifths of a ton of fustic for 43 dollars,
what was that a ton?'"
I struggled with it for a few moments, vaguely wondering what fustic
might be, but in the end I was compelled to say that I did not know.
Jimmy Toppan and Charley Carter both fell victims to the question. It
was finally answered, with some help from Miss Temple, by Joe Carter.
The answer did not seem very interesting to us, after it had been found
and worked out on the blackboard.
We were watching the clock.
Mr. Colburn would not have cared for clocks,--unless, indeed, he could
have made up some hateful question about them. He did not care for our
fishing trips; he had no interest in the frog pond and its creatures.
The warm, summer day outside had no attraction for him.
He wanted to know if cloth 4 quarters wide is worth 8 dollars a yard,
what is 1 yard of the same kind of cloth, that is 5 quarters wide,
worth? And his conspirator, Miss Temple, aided and abetted him in his
curiosity. She fired the questions at us with unremitting vigor. We
were called upon to reduce 9-4/7 to an improper fraction, though how
any one could wish to inject into it any more impropriety than it
already seemed to possess, was a matter impossible to understand.
The long hour wore on. From outside came the drone of insects. A flock
of sheep passed the school,--driven up Elm Street by men who were
probably hurrying them to their fate. We tried to look out the windows
and watch the progress of the sheep, but we were recalled by Miss
Temple, to whom the incident suggested nothing except a chance to try
upon us what Mr. Colburn seems to have considered his crowning effort.
"A man driving his geese to market was met by another, who said, Good
morrow, master, with your hundred geese; says he, I have not a hundred;
but if I had half as many more as I now have, and two geese and a
half, I should have a hundred; how many had he?"
Disheartening as this problem appeared, together with its inhuman
suggestion of a man carrying half of a goose about with him, it
nevertheless proved useful to us. Joe Carter and one or two others (who
affected to enjoy Mr. Colburn) engaged in a long wrangle with each
other and with Miss Temple, about the number of geese owned by this
palpable lunatic. We regarded them, at first, with a pity not unmixed
with loathing; then, as we observed how they were taking up the time,
we came to appreciate the value of the discussion. Ed Mason and Jimmy
Toppan, from the depths of a complete ignorance of the subject, managed
to interject one or two inquiries that had the happy result of tangling
every one up still worse, and thus prolonging the goose argument.
To our great joy the problem was still unsolved at five minutes of
four. Then Miss Temple was forced to bid us close the books. She made
a few perfunctory remarks, wished us a pleasant vacation, and, when a
gong sounded throughout the building, dismissed the class.
We filed to get our hats, filed downstairs, through the hall, and
out the door with a concerted and enthusiastic yell. Mr. Colburn and
imprisonment lay behind us; ahead were vacation and freedom. So we
whooped once more, and again, until a scissors-grinder, who had gone to
sleep on the grass under a tree, woke up with a start. The old horse
who drew Oliver's bakery wagon had been standing sleepily in front of
a house on the other side of Elm Street. At our third shout he ambled
clumsily off, while Mr. Oliver, with a basket of buns in his hand,
pursued him down the street.