THE NEW TEACHER.
Persis had acted impulsively. Had she been too prompt in her decision?
she asked herself that night, as she lay in her big four-posted bed. The
mountains had already begun to show their influence upon her. She had
always been a decided sort of person, who acted promptly, and without a
dependence upon the opinions of others. She was too sore and hurt at
first to consider whether her action would bring sorrow to any one, but
she had told herself that no other course was possible. The right of it
was a question which she allowed her own share in the matter alone to
determine. For the present she could see only the fact that she had been
led to believe what was not strictly true, and the truth, as she
perceived it, made it impossible for her to live any longer in the old
relation till she should have adjusted herself to present conditions.
There returned to her a hundred incidents which her fancy imbued with a
deeper meaning than she had recognized in them before. Every little
possible indifference she magnified; each word of censure returned
doubly charged with bitterness, and yet the longing for mother and home
increased day by day.
Mr. Temple listened rather dubiously to his wife’s account of the
stranger within their gates. “You don’t know anything about her,
Martha,” he said. “I certainly don’t approve of taking in a stranger
that way. Where did she come from? Who sent her here?”
“She came herself,” Mrs. Temple replied. And then she recounted what
Persis had said.
“Humph!” Mr. Temple ejaculated. “She got around you that way, did she?”
“Oh, but Jim, any one can see that she is a lady, and I believe that
nice-looking young man who stopped here with her that day is at the
bottom of all her trouble,” Mrs. Temple said, emphatically. “Perhaps
she’s had a falling out with him, or perhaps he’s some way mixed up with
her business affairs. There are queer things like that always happening.
Maybe she had to give up her fortune or marry him, and she’s taken this
way so as not to be persecuted.”
“That’s just like a woman. She always scents a love affair,” returned
Mr. Temple.
“Well, you’ll see.” Mrs. Temple maintained her belief.
“All right,” Mr. Temple rejoined. “The next time any of us goes over to
the Bridge we’ll inquire if a Miss Maitland stopped there, and if
anybody knows anything about her. Meanwhile, I suppose it won’t hurt for
her to stop here till the teacher comes, anyhow; but I wash my hands of
any mess you get into. If you find yourself getting into trouble, you’ll
have to make your own way out of it. You always were too soft, Martha.”
This last was said with a smile. Mr. Temple would not, for the world,
have had his wife any less tender-hearted, and he himself was very much
interested in the new arrival.
Mrs. Temple took advantage of the smile, and followed it up with, “Jim,
won’t you see the trustees and find out about that Miss Collins? If she
doesn’t come, it’ll be like a providence for Miss Maitland to be right
on hand.”
“Humph! Yes, I’ll see, but I reckon it won’t do any good,” mentally
determining that it should, and feeling rather important over being able
to solve the difficulty of providing a substitute for the delinquent
Miss Collins.
He came in with a beaming smile on Sunday evening and looked over
knowingly at his wife. “Well, Martha,” he said, “Miss Collins ain’t
coming, after all. Some of the trustees went up to Staunton to see about
her, and the truth of the matter is, she’s been trying to get out of
coming here, because she found she could get a school nearer home.”
“Why didn’t she say so?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple.
“Oh, she thought she’d play sick, and slip out of it that way. Made it
easier, she thought.”
“Well, have they got another teacher?” Mrs. Temple asked, eagerly.
“No, not exactly. They said if Miss Maitland could give satisfactory
references, and could show her certificate, and all that, they’d try
her, if she wanted to apply.” He looked over to where Persis was
sitting.
“But I can’t,” she made answer. “I cannot show any certificate or
diploma. All I can do is to take an examination.” Persis looked
distressed.
“Pshaw! that’s too bad,” returned Mr. Temple. But, seeing the look on
her face, he added, “Maybe we can fix it up somehow. Suppose you go up
to the village with me to-morrow and see the trustees. Perhaps if you
talk it over you can make out to get the school.”
“Oh, you are very kind. I will go, gladly.”
“The only one you’re likely to have any trouble with is Dr. Rivers,” Mr.
Temple informed her. “He’s a great stickler on education, and if you can
contrive to convince him that you know a heap, he’ll give in. We are to
meet at his house.”
“And Mr. Boone is the next fussiest,” Mrs. Temple told her. “If you can
manage those two you are all right.”
Both these good friends looked the girl over critically as she appeared
to take her drive with Mr. Temple the next day. She had given some care
to her toilet. “I will try to look my best,” she said to herself; “then,
perhaps, they will take it for granted that I am what I appear to be,
even if I cannot carry my family tree under my arm.” Her gloves and
shoes were faultless; her gown a well-fitting one of handsome material,
but made simply; her hat matched it; and, surveying herself in the
glass, Persis felt the first pleasurable excitement she had known since
she left home. She was going, perhaps, to solve the difficulty of
earning her bread.
“My! but you all look nice!” Mrs. Temple observed, approvingly; and
Persis smiled, gratified by the hearty praise.
It was something of an ordeal, after all. These men, in their rough
clothes, were gentlemen, however, men who read much, and whose old
libraries, descending from father to son, showed that more than one
generation had been inclined towards literary tastes. They represented
the most important men of the neighborhood and of the village, and were
authorities upon all momentous questions concerning the dwellers
therein.
Dr. Rivers seemed to be specially formidable. He questioned and
cross-questioned, and at last launched out into a hot argument on some
point to the modern acceptation of which Persis held. The doctor waxed
more and more ferocious, and as the two kept up a brisk passage-at-arms,
the remaining three trustees lapsed into silence and listened with
attention. At last Persis made a specially good point. She was
thoroughly at home with her subject, and her college training stood her
in good stead, even though she could show no diploma. She was not to be
won over to the doctor’s way of thinking, and was so spirited in her
defence that the listeners smiled more than once.
At last the young applicant was surprised to see the doctor throw
himself back in his chair and laugh heartily. “Well, Miss Maitland,” he
said, “I haven’t enjoyed such a tilt since I can’t tell you when. I
don’t know but that you have the best of me. What do you think,
gentlemen?”
“That Miss Maitland has proved herself no mean opponent,” said Mr.
Boone. “She certainly gave a Roland for your Oliver, doctor. I should
like, if you have no objection, to ask Miss Maitland to show her
qualifications in mathematics.”
“A written examination, do you propose?”
“Do you agree, Miss Maitland?”
“Readily. I am quite at your service.”
The four men put their heads together, and from the doctor’s
book-shelves selected one or two old books, from which problems were
chosen for Persis to solve. Here, too, she acquitted herself well, and
the trustees withdrew to the porch for a conference, while Persis was
left to await her fate.
Dr. Rivers was spokesman on their return to the office where the
interview had taken place. “In view of the lateness of the season, Miss
Maitland,” he said, “we are willing to waive the question of any other
reference than that which Mr. Temple personally offers. He declares
himself entirely willing to stand responsible for you.”
Persis looked up at Mr. Temple with a gratified smile. He had not told
her that he would do this, and she had not expected it. He looked
slightly embarrassed, but bowed gravely to Dr. Rivers as he made this
announcement.
“And we think it but fair,” the doctor continued, “to add that the
examination to which you have been subjected was not an ordinary one,
but of a much higher standard than that usually required. You have our
hearty congratulations for having passed it successfully. All that
remains is the question of discipline; we hope you will be able to
maintain good order. The children you are to teach, with one or two
exceptions, are not of the better class, and what we really need is a
teacher who has tact rather than a profound knowledge of the classics.”
“I think I can manage them,” replied Persis. “I will do my best.”
“I believe that,” returned the doctor, kindly. “Now, my dear young lady,
we feel ourselves responsible for you to the community, and at the same
time you are under our protection. I trust in any difficulty that you
will feel yourself free to consult any one of us. Personally I can say
that I shall be happy at any time to place myself at your service.”
“Professionally?” put in Mr. Boone, facetiously.
The doctor waived aside such an imputation. “Far from it. Marshall, my
dear sir, Miss Maitland, I trust, understands.”
“Oh, I do, and I thank you very much, and all of you.” And Persis
turned, making a pretty little gesture, which included the five men.
“And I shall also be delighted,” the doctor continued, with a twinkle in
his eye, “at any time to discuss such questions as we have had under
consideration this morning.”
Persis laughed. The old man was really delightful, and she promised him
that she would take advantage of any such opportunity afforded her.
“You will be ready to begin to-morrow?” was the final question, which
was answered in the affirmative, and the newly appointed teacher went
off, feeling very well satisfied with her success.
She had, indeed, done a better morning’s work than she realized; for as
an entire stranger, dropped suddenly in their midst, surrounded by
mystery, she had been approached with caution and reserve; but her lack
of self-consciousness, her gentle dignity, and evident sincerity won her
the recognition she deserved.
Mr. Temple was scarcely less pleased. “Well, you couldn’t have done
better if you’d known them for years, and had studied the doctor’s blind
side,” he told her. “Dr. Rivers is right strong in his prejudices, but
if he is once convinced he is like flint. You’ve got about the best
backer you could find in this neighborhood. He prides himself upon being
able to read character, and I’ll warrant you’ll find you’ve won a pretty
favorable opinion. I never saw him more gracious.”
“I am so glad,” rejoined Persis; “and, oh, Mr. Temple, I want to thank
you for standing by me. It is so very, very kind, so good of you to
believe so entirely in an absolute stranger, and to answer for me. I can
never forget it.”
The truth was that the chivalric spirit of these Virginia gentlemen had
been deeply stirred; that she was worthy was almost of less account than
that she was a woman, young, unprotected, and trustful, who had appeared
suddenly among them desiring to win her way honestly. Not one of these
men who did not immediately place his own daughter in such a position;
and not only were their hospitable instincts aroused, but those which
should belong to the disinterested chivalry which asks no questions
beyond that which is answered by “a maiden in distress.”
And therefore the following morning Persis started out to take up these
new duties. In one week what changes! and what wind of good fortune it
was that blew her this way!
She approached the weather-beaten little old school-house with varied
emotions, the past and the future curiously mingled,—curiosity, a little
dread, a deal of confident belief in her being able to fulfil the
calling of a successful school-mistress, and, lastly, that strange
tumult at heart, born of the fact that here she and Basil had stood on
that day which she could now never forget. On the porch, over whose
floors the feet of shy little urchins were now treading, she had spent
an hour with Basil—with Basil; and if she had permitted it——No. She gave
her head a little shake, and smiled down at the small Mattie who was to
be her companion to and from school.
The little country children stared hard at the new teacher, at her neat,
pretty frock, at the golden-rod in her belt, and the day went fairly
well.
“Blessed be work!” Persis said to herself, as, tired, but more glad of
spirit than she had hoped to be, she took her way home.
She threw herself heart and soul into her labors. Persis never did
anything by halves. It was all or nothing. Renunciation could not be
made in part any more than could acceptance of a duty be made in a
faint-spirited way. Connie spoke truly when she said that whatever
Persis did she did well.
At first the excitement and newness of the position prevented monotony,
but as the weeks wore on and the cold weather approached, there were
many nights when the weary teacher went heart-sick and homesick to bed.
The little elegancies and luxuries of life were missing here, and
although kindness prevailed, nothing could make up for mother-love and
the comradeship of life-long friends. The only link which existed
between herself and the old home was the newspaper which came regularly,
and to which Persis had subscribed. “I can keep up with them in that
way,” she told herself, “and if anything dreadful happens, I shall know
it, and then——” What she might do in such an event she did not dare to
ask. The sharp, sharp pain was giving way to a dull ache, and the quiet
of the mountains was beginning to pervade her spirit. The children at
school were commencing to show timid expressions of affection towards
their new teacher. Autumn flowers and bright leaves were laid upon her
desk, rosy apples and little hoards of nuts were awkwardly offered, and
one day a little bit of a tot, who was deeply in love with his teacher,
appeared hugging a wee tortoise-shell kitten.
“We’ve got three more at home,” he piped up, as he came running in, “and
mother said I might give you this one.” He had lugged the small creature
all the way from where he lived, a distance of three or four miles.
Persis snuggled her face against kitty’s little furry coat, and was as
pleased as a child at the gift. She knew Mrs. Temple was too kindly
disposed to all creatures to object to another member being brought into
her household, for tame chickens, ducks, and turkeys were wont to wander
into her kitchen, and cats galore roamed at will about the premises.
The kitten behaved very discreetly during school hours, and was given a
sumptuous luncheon. Persis carried it home in her arms. Something of her
very own to love. She inwardly thanked the small scholar over and over
again, for the little kitten became a great comfort, watched for her
return from school each day, and lay in her lap, or on her
writing-table, at night.
Poor Persis had few letters to write these days, for she had resolved to
correspond with no one for the present, and but for magazines, with
which she provided herself, would have had many dreary evenings.
The mountains in autumn. She had told Basil that she would like to see
them at all seasons. And what a constant source of pleasure they were,
gorgeous in their coloring on clear days, or wrapped in the soft purple
haze which the season brought!
“You all seem like you had been raised in the mountains, you’re that
fond of them,” Mrs. Temple said to her one Sunday as they were on their
way home from church.
“I am fond of them,” Persis replied. “I love them dearly. There is
something so peaceful about their silent, immovable peaks, and yet they
are never surrounded by just the same conditions. They do not change
themselves, yet they appear to. I think help does come from them,” she
added, half to herself.
“I’ve often thought that,” was the unexpected response. This plain,
motherly, domestic Mrs. Temple was wonderfully sympathetic. Her
intuitions were very quick, and more often than Persis knew she felt a
responsiveness to the girl’s remarks.
Little Mattie adored “Miss Anne,” but the village girls looked upon her
with a reserved admiration. They didn’t understand her, and that she
held aloof from social gatherings was attributed to her being either
“stuck up,” or, as some maliciously averred, she was “probably afraid to
associate with people who might find her out,” for she gave no
confidences. Golden silence had, at last, come to form a large part of
Persis’s code.
[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]