THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
In the old brown school-house, overshadowed by apple-trees and
sheltered on the west by a long steep hill, where the acorns and wild
grapes grew, Mary Howard taught her little flock of twenty-five,
coaxing some, urging others, and teaching them all by her kind words
and winsome ways to love her as they had never before loved an
instructor.
When first she was proposed as a teacher in Rice Corner, Widow
Perkins, and a few others who had no children to send, held up their
hands in amazement, wondering "what the world was comin' to, and if
the committee man, Mr. Knight, s'posed they was goin' to be rid over
rough-shod by a town pauper; but she couldn't get a _stifficut_, for
the Orthodox minister wouldn't give her one; and if he did, the
Unitarian minister wouldn't!"
Accordingly, when it was known that the ordeal had been passed, and
that Mary had in her possession a piece of paper about three inches
square, authorizing her to teach a common district school, this worthy
conclave concluded that "either every body had lost their senses, or
else Miss Mason, who was present at the examination, had sat by and
whispered in her ear the answers to all hard questions." "In all my
born days I never seen any thing like it," said the widow, as she
distributed her green tea, sweetened with brown sugar, to a party of
ladies, which she was entertaining "But you'll see, she won't keep her
time more'n half out.--Sally Ann, pass them nutcakes.--Nobody's goin'
to send their children to a pauper. There's Miss Bradley says she'll
take her'n out the first time they get licked.--Have some more sass,
Miss Dodge. I want it eat up, for I believe it's a workin',--but I
telled her that warn't the trouble; Mary's too softly to hurt a
miskeeter. And so young too. It's government she'll lack in.--If any
body'll have a piece of this dried apple pie, I'll cut it."
Of course, nobody wanted a piece, and one of the ladies, continuing
the conversation, said she supposed Mary would of course board with
Mrs. Mason. The tea-pot lid, which chanced to be off, went on with a
jerk, and with the air of a much injured woman the widow replied:
"Wall, I can tell her this much, it's no desirable job to board the
school-marm, though any body can see that's all made her so anxious
for Mary to have the school. She's short on't, and wants a little
money. Do any on you know how much she charges?"
Nobody knew, but a good many "guessed she didn't charge any thing,"
and the widow, rising from the table and telling Sally Ann to "rense
the sass dishes, and pour it in the vinegar bottle," led her guests
back to the best room, saying, "a dollar and ninepence (her usual
price) was next to nothing, but she'd warrant Miss Mason had more'n
that"
Fortunately, Mary knew nothing of Mrs. Perkins's displeasure, and
never dreamed that any feeling existed towards her, save that of
perfect friendship. Since we last saw her, she had grown into a fine,
healthy-looking girl. Her face and figure were round and full, and her
complexion, though still rather pale, was clear as marble, contrasting
well with her dark brown hair and eyes, which no longer seemed
unnaturally large. Still she was not beautiful, it is true, and yet
Billy was not far from right when he called her the finest looking
girl in Chicopee; and it was for this reason, perhaps, that Mrs.
Campbell watched her with so much jealousy.
Every possible pains had been taken with Ella's education. The best
teachers had been hired to instruct her, and she was now at a
fashionable seminary, but still she did not possess one half the ease
and gracefulness of manner, which seemed natural to her sister. Since
the day of that memorable visit, the two girls had seen but little of
each other. Ella would not forgive Mrs. Mason for praising Mary, nor
forgive Mary for being praised; and as Mrs. Campbell, too pretended to
feel insulted, the intercourse between the families gradually ceased;
and oftentimes when Ella met her sister, she merely acknowledged her
presence by a nod, or a simple "how d'ye do?"
When she heard that Mary was to be a teacher, she said "she was glad,
for it was more respectable than going into a factory, or working
out." Mrs. Campbell, too, felt in duty bound to express her pleasure,
adding, that "she hoped Mary would give satisfaction, but 'twas
extremely doubtful, she was _so_ young, and possessed of so little
dignity!"
Unfortunately, Widow Perkins's red cottage stood directly opposite the
school-house; and as the widow belonged to that stirring few who
always "wash the breakfast dishes, and make the beds before any one is
up in the house," she had ample leisure to watch and report the
proceedings of the new teacher. Now Mrs. Perkins's clock was like its
mistress, always half an hour in advance of the true time and Mary had
scarcely taught a week ere Mr. Knight, "the committee man," was duly
hailed in the street, and told that the 'school-marm wanted lookin'
to, for she didn't begin no mornin' till half-past nine, nor no
afternoon till half past one! "Besides that," she added, "I think she
gives 'em too long a play spell. Any ways, seem's ef some on em was
out o'door the hull time."
Mr. Knight had too much good sense to heed the widow's complaints, and
he merely replied, "I'm glad on't. Five hours is enough to keep little
shavers cramped up in the house,--glad on't."
The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making disturbance, finally
gave up the strife, contenting herself with quizzing the older girls,
and asking them if Mary could do all the hard sums in Arithmetic, or
whether she took them home for Mrs. Mason to solve! Old leathern-bound
Daboll, too, was brought to light, and its most difficult problems
selected and sent to Mary, who, being an excellent mathematician,
worked them all out to the widow's astonishment. But when it was known
that quill pens had been discarded, and steel ones substituted in
their place, Mrs. Perkins again looked askance, declaring that Mary
couldn't make a quill pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Ann
was sent across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which
"Miss Howard" was politely requested "to fix, as ma wanted to write
some letters."
Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had never made a pen
in her life; and the next Sabbath the widow's leghorn was missed from
its accustomed pew in the Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it was
ascertained that "she couldn't in conscience hear a man preach who
would give a 'stifficut' to a girl that didn't know how to make a
pen!"
In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary was contented and
happy. She knew that her pupils loved her and that the greater part of
the district were satisfied, so she greeted the widow with her
pleasantest smile, and by always being particularly polite to Sally
Ann, finally overcame their prejudices to a considerable extent.
One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Perkins was seated by
her front window engaged in "stitching shoes," a very common
employment in some parts of New England, her attention was suddenly
diverted by a tall, stylish-looking young man, who, driving his
handsome horse and buggy under the shadow of the apple-trees, alighted
and entered into conversation with a group of little girls who were
taking their usual recess. Mrs. Perkins's curiosity was roused, and
Sally Ann was called to see who the stranger was. But for a wonder,
Sally Ann didn't know, though she "guessed the hoss was one of the
East Chicopee livery."
"He's talkin' to Liddy Knight," said she, at the same time holding
back the curtain, and stepping aside so as not to be visible herself.
"Try if you can hear what he's sayin," whispered Mrs. Perkins; but a
class of boys in the school-house just then struck into the
multiplication table, thus effectually drowning any thing which Sally
Ann might otherwise have heard.
"I know them children will split their throats. Can't they hold up a
minute," exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly annoyed at being thus
prevented from overhearing a conversation, the nature of which she
could not even guess.
But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story we will for her
benefit repeat what the young man was saying to Lydia Knight, who
being nearest to him was the first one addressed.
"You have a nice place for your school-house and play-grounds."
"Yes, sir," answered Lydia, twirling her sun-bonnet and taking up a
small round stone between her naked toes.
"Do you like to go to school?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you a good teacher?"
"Yes, sir."
"What is her name?"
"Miss Howard,--Mary Howard, and she lives with Miss Mason."
"Mary Howard,--that's a pretty name,--is she pretty too?"
"Not so dreadful," chimed in Susan Bradley. "She licked brother Tim
to-day, and I don't think she's much pretty."
This speech quickly called out the opinion of the other girls as
follows:
"He ought to be licked, for he stole a knife and then lied about it;
and Miss Howard is real pretty, and you needn't say she ain't, Susan
Bradley."
"Yes, indeed, she's pretty," rejoined a second. "Such handsome eyes,
and little white hands."
"What color are her eyes?" asked the stranger, to which two replied,
"blue," and three more said "black;" while Lydia Knight, who was the
oldest of the group, finally settled the question by saying, that
"they sometimes looked blue; but if she was real pleased, or sorry
either, they turned black!"
The stranger smiled and said, "Tell me more about her. Does she ever
scold, or has she too pretty a mouth for that?"
"No, she never scolds," said Delia Frost, "and she's got the nicest,
whitest teeth, and I guess she knows it, too for she shows them a
great deal."
"She's real white, too," rejoined Lydia Knight, "though pa says she
used to be yaller as saffron."
Here there was a gentle rap upon the window, and the girls starting
off, exclaimed, "There, we must go in."
"May I go too?" asked the stranger, following them to the door.
The girls looked at each other, then at him, then at each other again,
and at last Lydia said, "I don't care, but I guess Miss Howard will be
ashamed, for 'twas Suke Bradley's turn to sweep the school-house this
noon-time, and she wouldn't do it, 'cause Tim got licked."
"Never mind the school-house," returned the stranger, "but introduce
me as Mr. Stuart."
Lydia had never introduced any body in her life, and following her
companions to her seat, she left Mr. Stuart standing in the doorway.
With her usual politeness, Mary came forward and received the
stranger, who gave his name as Mr. Stuart, saying, "he felt much
interested in common schools, and therefore had ventured to call."
Offering the seat of honor, viz., the splint-bottomed chair, Mary
resumed her usual duties, occasionally casting a look of curiosity at
the stranger, whose eyes seemed constantly upon her. It was rather
warm that day, and when Mary returned from her dinner, Widow Perkins
was greatly shocked at seeing her attired in a light pink muslin
dress, the short sleeves of which showed to good advantage her round
white arms. A narrow velvet ribbon confined by a small brooch, and a
black silk apron, completed her toilet, with the exception of a tiny
locket, which was suspended from her neck by a slender gold chain.
This last ornament, immediately riveted Mr. Stuart's attention, and
from some strange cause sent the color quickly to his face. After a
time, as if to ascertain whether it were really a locket, or a watch,
he asked "if Miss Howard could tell him the hour."
"Certainly sir," said she, and stepping to the desk and consulting a
silver time-piece about the size of a dining plate, she told him that
it was half-past three.
He nodded, and seemed very much interested in two little boys who sat
near him, engaged in the laudable employment of seeing which could
snap spittle the farthest and the best.
Just then there was a movement at the door, and a new visitor appeared
in the person of Mrs. Perkins, who, with her large feather fan and
flounced gingham dress, entered smiling and bowing, and saying "she
had been trying all summer to visit the school."
Mr. Stuart immediately arose and offered his chair, but there was
something in his manner which led Mary to suppose that an introduction
was not at all desired, so she omitted it, greatly to the chagrin of
the widow, who, declining the proffered seat, squeezed herself between
Lydia Knight and another girl, upsetting the inkstand of the one, and
causing the other to make a curious character out of the letter "X"
she chanced to be writing.
"Liddy, Liddy," she whispered, "who is that man?"
But Lydia was too much engrossed with her spoiled apron to answer this
question, and she replied with, "Marm may I g'wout; I've spilt the ink
all over my apron."
Permission, of course, was granted, and as the girl who sat next knew
nothing of the stranger, Mrs. Perkins began to think she might just as
well have staid at home and finished her shoes. "But," thought she,
"may-be I shall find out after school."
Fortune, however, was against the widow, for scarcely was her feather
fan in full play, when Sally Ann came under the window, and punching
her back with a long stick, told her in a loud whisper, that "she must
come right home, for Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly had just come from the
cars."
Accordingly, Mrs. Perkins, smoothing down her gingham flounces, and
drawing on her cotton gloves, arose to go, asking Mary as she passed,
"if that was an acquaintance of hers."
Mary shook her head, and the widow, more puzzled than ever, took her
leave.
When school was out, Mr. Stuart, who seemed in no haste whatever,
entered into a lively discussion with Mary concerning schools and
books, adroitly managing to draw her out upon all the leading topics
of the day. At last the conversation turned upon flowers; and when
Mary chanced to mention Mrs. Mason's beautiful garden, he instantly
expressed a great desire to see it, and finally offered to accompany
Mary home, provided she had no objections. She could not, of course,
say no, and the Widow Perkins, who, besides attending to "Uncle Jim"
and "Aunt Dolly," still found time to watch the school-house, came
very near letting her buttermilk biscuit burn to a cinder, when she
saw the young man walking down the road with Mary. Arrived at Mrs.
Mason's, the stranger managed to make himself so agreeable, that Mrs.
Mason invited him to stay to tea,--an invitation which he readily
accepted. Whoever he was, he seemed to understand exactly how to find
out whatever he wished to know; and before tea was over, he had
learned of Mary's intention to attend the academy in Wilbraham, the
next autumn.
"Excuse me for making a suggestion," said he, "but why not go to Mt.
Holyoke? Do you not think the system of education there a most
excellent one?"
Mary glanced at Mrs. Mason, who replied, that "she believed they did
not care to take a pupil at South Hadley for a less period than a
year; and as Mary was entirely dependent upon herself, she could not
at present afford that length of time."
"That does make a difference," returned Mr. Stuart "but I hope she
will not give up Mt. Holyoke entirely, as I should prefer it to
Wilbraham."
Tea being over, Mr. Stuart arose to go; and Mary, as she accompanied
him to the door, could not forbear asking how he liked Mrs. Mason's
garden, which he had forgotten even to look at!
Blushing deeply, he replied, "I suppose Miss Howard has learned ere
this, that there are in the world things fairer and more attractive
than flowers, but I will look at them when I come again;" then
politely bidding her good night, he walked away, leaving Mary and Mrs.
Mason to wonder,--the one what he came there for, and the other
whether he would ever come again. The widow, too, wondered and
fidgeted, as the sun went down behind the long hill, and still under
the apple-tree the gray pony stood.
"It beats all nater what's kept him so long," said she, when he at
last appeared, and, unfastening, his horse, drove off at a furious
rate; "but if I live I'll know all about it to-morrow;" and with this
consolatory remark she returned to the best room, and for the
remainder of the evening devoted herself to the entertainment of Uncle
Jim and his wife Aunt Dolly.
That evening, Mr. Knight, who had been to the Post Office, called at
Mrs. Mason's, bringing with him a letter which bore the Boston
postmark. Passing it to Mary, he winked at Mrs. Mason, saying, "I
kinder guess how all this writin' works will end; but hain't there
been a young chap to see the school?"
"Yes; how did you know it," returned Mrs. Mason, while Mary blushed
more deeply than she did when Billy's letter was handed her.
"Why, you see," answered Mr. Knight, "I was about at the foot of the
Blanchard hill, when I see a buggy comin' like Jehu. Just as it got
agin me it kinder slackened, and the fore wheel ran off smack and
scissors."
"Was he hurt?" quickly asked Mary.
"Not a bit on't," said Mr. Knight, "but he was scared some, I guess. I
got out and helped him, and when he heard I's from Rice Corner, he
said he'd been into school. Then he asked forty-'leven questions about
you, and jest as I was settin' you up high, who should come a
canterin' up with their long-tailed gowns, and hats like men, but Ella
Campbell, and a great white-eyed pucker that came home with her from
school. Either Ella's horse was scary, or she did it a purpose, for
the minit she got near, it began to rare and she would have fell off,
if that man hadn't catched it by the bit, and held her on with t'other
hand. I allus was the most sanguinary of men, (Mr. Knight was never so
far wrong in his life,) and I was buildin' castles about him, and our
little school-marm, when Ella came along, and I gin it up, for I see
that he was took, and she did look handsome with her curls a flyin'.
Wall, as I wasn't of no more use, I whipped up old Charlotte and come
on."
"When did Ella return?" asked Mary, who had not before heard of her
sister's arrival.
"I don't know," said Mr. Knight. "The first I see of her she was
cuttin' through the streets on the dead run; but I mustn't stay here,
gabbin', so good night, Miss Mason,--good night, Mary, hope you've got
good news in that are letter."
The moment he was gone, Mary ran up to her room, to read her letter,
from which we give the following extract.
"You must have forgotten George Moreland, or you would have mentioned
him to me. I like him very much indeed, and yet I could not help
feeling a little jealous, when he manifested so much interest in you.
Sometimes, Mary, I think that for a brother I am getting too selfish,
and do not wish any one to like you except myself, but I surely need
not feel so towards George, the best friend I have in Boston. He is
very kind, lending me books, and has even offered to use his influence
in getting me a situation in one of the best law offices in the city."
After reading this letter, Mary sat for a long time, thinking of
George Moreland,--of the time when she first knew him,--of all that
William Bender had been to her since,--and wondering, as girls
sometimes will, which she liked the best. Billy, unquestionably, had
the strongest claim to her love, but could he have known how much
satisfaction she felt in thinking that George still remembered and
felt interested in her, he would have had some reason for fearing, as
he occasionally did, that she would never be to him aught save a
sister.