CHAPTER IV.
BECKY SLEEPER’S CHARITY
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy,” was a precept by no means religiously observed at the little brown house on the hill. Mrs. Sleeper had never been a regular attendant at divine service, even in her happiest days, and, since her peculiar misfortune, had almost entirely neglected the church. A part of the day was regularly spent in poring over the letters of her husband, the effect of which was to set her weeping for the balance. The young people, left to their own devices, amused themselves by pitching “quates” behind the house, playing tag in the barn, or by indulgence in other equally indecorous sports endeavored to wear out the long day. Aunt Hulda generally brought forth from their resting-place at the bottom of her trunk “The Family Physician,” or “Every Woman her own Doctor,” two standard works for the cure of all diseases, and faithfully consulting them for remedies to meet her infirmities, or, from old habit, took the ponderous family Bible into her lap, and in its pages sought consolation, the Book of Job, however, being the portion which really soothed her perturbed spirit.
On the Sunday following the disaster on the hill, the afflicted spinster, in the sitting-room, was groaning over a treatise on cancer, in “The Family Physician,” that disease being the order of the day in her system of complaints. It was near the middle of the afternoon, and Becky, having exhausted the supply of out-door sports, was lying upon the sofa, and, with a very dissatisfied look upon her face, was watching Aunt Hulda. Teddy, who seldom lost sight of his sister, was flattening his nose against the window-pane.
“Aunt Hulda,” said Becky, suddenly, “don’t you think Sunday is an awful long day?”
“I do, by hokey!” blurted out Teddy. “Can’t get up no fun, nor nothin’. I’d like to go a fishin’ first rate; but jest as you git a nibble, long comes some the meetin’-house folks, and begin to talk about breakin’ the Sabbath. And that jest scares off all the fish.”
“And the fishermen, too, Teddy. My sakes, how you did run last Sunday when Deacon Hill caught you fishing down at the fore side!” said Becky, with a laugh.
“Plague take him! he jest marched off with my line and bait, too,” growled Teddy. “It’s none of his business, anyhow.”
“All days are long to a poor, afflicted creeter,” groaned Aunt Hulda. “But when I was a girl of your age, I did think Sunday was as long as six week-days beat into one; but then it’s the Lord’s day, and I s’pose, after all, we can make it long or short, just as we try to do what he wants us to.”
“Well, I’d like to know what he wants me to do, for I can’t find out any way to make it short. It’s just hateful, and I wish there wasn’t any such day,” replied Becky, turning restlessly about.
“Why, Rebecca Sleeper, how can you talk so? One of the things he wants folks to do is to go to meetin’ regular. You ought to know that well enough.”
“Does he?” said Becky, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Seems to me, Aunt Hulda, you don’t mind very well.”
“Lor, child, I’m a poor, afflicted creeter. He don’t expect me to do much but bear my troubles patiently; and I’m sure I do that,” said Aunt Hulda, forcing a look of resignation into her face.
“Don’t think much of goin’ to meetin’ anyhow,” said Teddy. “They always pokes us up in the gallery, and won’t let us go to sleep; and if old Fox, the sexton, ketches a feller firin’ spitballs, he jest whacks him on the head.”
“Then there are other ways to make the day short – readin’ the Bible and other good books.”
“Yes; ‘Family Physician,’ I s’pose,” said Teddy. “I jest wish I had Robinson Crusoe: that’s a first rate one.”
“Then a goin’ to see sick folks, and carryin’ ’em little dainties, is another; and that makes the day short, I tell you,” continued Aunt Hulda. “When I was a helpin’ Mrs. Lincoln, years and years ago, she used to say to me Sunday afternoons, ‘Hulda, don’t you want to clap on your bonnet and run over to the widder Starns with the basket?’ or, ‘Hulda, don’t you want to carry this jelly round to Mr. Peters? He’s terrible sick.’ And I used to go and go, and never feel a bit tired, because it was charitable work; and Sundays used to go quicker than week-days, and I was glad when they come round again. Now there’s poor Mr. York, Silly York’s father; poor man, he’s most gone with the consumption; now, if you only had a nice little bit of somethin’ good to take over to him, you don’t know how good you would feel, and how the time would fly! O, dear, if I was only strong and well! But what’s the use of talkin’? Here I’ve got the rheumatics so I can’t walk, and the neuralogy so I can’t sit still, and I’m afraid there’s a cancer comin’ on the end of my tongue, and then I can’t talk.”
Here Aunt Hulda ran out her tongue, and commenced exploring it with her finger to find a small pimple which had made its appearance that day. Becky lay very quiet on the sofa, watching Aunt Hulda, who, after the examination of her tongue, plunged into “The Family Physician” with anxious interest.
“Did she ever delight in doing good?” thought Becky, as she studied Aunt Hulda’s face with renewed interest. “Everybody calls her a nuisance, and everybody laughs at her complaints. She take nice things to sick folks, and feel good in doing it! And she says this is the Lord’s day – this long, weary day, – and can be made short and pleasant like the other six! Why, she talks like a minister!”
Aunt Hulda was a new being in the girl’s eyes. She began to reverence the afflicted spinster. She lay there so quiet that Teddy looked round in astonishment. His sister had been lying perfectly still for fifteen minutes. Such an occurrence startled him.
“Becky, what’s the matter? Sick – hey?”
“No, Teddy,” replied Becky, startled in turn; “I’m thinking – that’s all.”
“Don’t do it. ’Twill make you sick – see if it don’t.”
“I guess not, Teddy,” replied Becky, jumping up. “I’m going into the kitchen.”
Teddy followed her as she left the room.
“Teddy,” said Becky, solemnly, after she had softly closed the kitchen door behind them, “I expect we’re awful wicked.”
“Do you, though?” said Teddy, with staring eyes. “What for?”
“Because Sunday’s such a long day. Didn’t you hear what Aunt Hulda said? It’s the Lord’s day, and we can make it short or long, just as we try to do what he wants us to.”
“Well, what’s he want us to do?”
“To go to church, and not stay at home and pitch quates.”
“How are we goin’ to church without clo’es? My elbows are all out; so’s my knees. They’d send us home quick, I tell you.”
“I suppose they would,” replied Becky, thoughtfully. “Well, there’s one thing we might do – carry something nice to sick folks.”
“We ain’t got nothin’ nice, and don’t know any sick folks,” replied matter-of-fact Teddy, who failed to see anything time-shortening in Becky’s project.
“We know Mr. York, who’s got the consumption.”
“Well, we might go and catch some fish and take to him – only I’ve lost my line.”
“No; something better than that, Teddy. Now you run and get a basket. I know what to take.”
Teddy went into the wood-shed and soon returned with a very dilapidated basket.
“That will do nicely. Now let’s see what we can find to put into it,” said Becky, as she opened the door of the cupboard. “Here’s a bottle of currant wine; I guess that’s good for consumption; we’ll take that. And here’s a jar of preserves; they always give them to sick folks; we’ll take that. And here’s a box of sardines. I don’t know about that. Well, we’ll take it, any way.”
“Why, Becky, these things are what Mrs. Thompson sent to Aunt Hulda,” said Teddy, a little alarmed at Becky’s proceedings.
“So they are;” and Becky wavered a moment. “No matter; she’ll send her some more, I guess. Besides, Aunt Hulda won’t care, for we’re going to do good with them. There’s a pair of chickens, too; but I guess they’re most too hearty for sick folks. Now let’s be off.”
With the basket between them, they crept into the wood-shed, from there into a pasture behind the house, crossed that, climbed a fence, and struck into the Foxtown road. The Yorks lived upon this road, a good mile and a half from Mrs. Sleeper’s. The basket was a heavy, unwieldy affair, in which the “good things” bounced about in a very unsatisfactory manner; and the couple “changed hands” many times before they reached their destination.
In answer to Becky’s knock, the door was opened by Mrs. York, a short, buxom woman with a very pleasant face.
“Becky Sleeper – of all things! What in the world brought you here? and what have you got there?”
“Thought we’d come over and bring something to Mr. York. He’s sick – ain’t he?” answered Becky.
“Why, you good little soul! Come right in; my poor man will be dreadful glad to see you.”
Becky and Teddy accepted the cordial invitation, and were ushered into the presence of the “poor man.” Mr. York was by no means so far gone as people imagined. True, there were about him symptoms of the dread disease which New England makes a specialty; but he was a very lazy man, and took advantage of any slight cold to house himself and be nursed by his wife. Mrs. York was not an idle woman; she washed, ironed, and scrubbed in the neighborhood, when her husband worked at his trade; the moment he “felt bad” she dropped all outside labor, and gave her attention to him, magnifying his troubles by her sympathy, and thus making a “baby” of a man who was strong enough to support his family, had he the inclination. Of course, in this state of affairs, there was no income, and the active charity of Cleverly had a loud call in that direction.
The room was neat and tidy; the “poor man” lay upon a sofa; two of the five children with which this couple were blessed were playing about the room; two were at church; the eldest, Silly, was in the next room, putting away her things, having just returned from Mrs. Thompson’s.
“Only think, father, here’s Becky and Teddy Sleeper come all the way alone to bring you something nice. Of all things! Why, Becky, I thought you didn’t care for anything but getting into scrapes and out again. You’ve got a good heart, any way – ain’t she father?”
Father raised himself on his elbow, with a faint “Yes, indeed,” and fastened his eyes on the basket, somewhat more interested in the good things than in the good heart.
“Empty your basket right on to the table, Becky. Did your mother send ’em?”
“No; mother’s sick,” replied Becky, a little defiantly, for the allusion to scrapes had struck her as not exactly polite under the circumstances. “No, Mrs. York; I thought I’d pick up something myself. Here’s a bottle of wine, a jar of preserves, and a box of sardines,” placing them upon the table. “If they will do Mr. York any good, you’re welcome to them.”
“Why, they’re real nice, and we’re ever so much obliged to you, Becky. Where did you get them?”
Becky was silent a moment. She had not expected such a question, was not prepared to tell the truth, and would not lie, lying being an infirmity which she detested; not, however, from any prompting of her moral nature, but because she thought it a cowardly way of getting out of a scrape.
“Do you think it polite, Mrs. York, to ask so many questions when people take the trouble to bring you things?” she said, at last, with an abused look in her eyes.
“No, I don’t, Becky,” replied Mrs. York, with a laugh. “It’s real mean, and I’ll say no more. You’re a dear, good girl, and you deserve a better bringing up than you’re getting now. Here’s Silly, – Silly, do look here; see what these dear children have brought your father – wine, preserves, sardines! Ain’t they kind?”
Silly stopped short in the doorway, and looked in astonishment first at the table then at Becky.
“Wine, preserves, sardines! Becky Sleeper, where did you get those things?”
“It’s none of your business,” replied Becky. “I didn’t come here to be asked questions.”
“O, you didn’t!” sneered Silly. “I know where you got ’em: you stole ’em! – Mother, they’re the very things Mrs. Thompson sent over to Hulda Prime yesterday afternoon; and I took ’em.”
“Land of liberty sakes! You don’t mean it!” cried Mrs. York, with uplifted hands.
“Now, you young ones, take them things right back!” cried Silly, stamping her foot and jerking her arms about in an extraordinary manner.
“I wouldn’t send them back, Silly,” said her father, with a faint hope of retaining the delicacies, the sight of which had made his mouth water. “Perhaps Hulda Prime sent ’em!”
“Hulda Prime, indeed! Ketch her parting with her things; she’s too mean. No; they shall go back, quick, too. What would Mrs. Thompson say? Don’t you feel mean, Becky Sleeper?”
From the color of Becky’s face it was evident she was not contented with the situation. As for Teddy, he was terrified, expecting every moment the swinging arms of Silly would be attracted to the vicinity of his ears.
“Now, off with you,” continued Silly, tossing the articles into the basket; “and don’t you ever show your faces here again. Purty capers you cut up, Becky Sleeper,” picking up the basket. “Here, take hold of it,” opening the door. “Now, start yourselves, quick, or I’ll know the reason why.”
Bang went the door, and the charitable party were in the road, with the rejected offering still upon their hands. They stood a moment looking at each other and the closed door behind them, Becky’s face crimson with shame, Teddy’s eyes, now that he was out of danger, blazing with anger.
“Well, well,” sputtered Teddy, “here’s a purty kettle of fish. Nice scrape you’ve got us in now, Becky Sleeper! You ought to know better.”
“Aunt Hulda said this was the Lord’s work,” answered Becky, meekly. “I was only trying to make the day short and pleasant.”
“Well, if it’s the Lord’s work, you’ve made a botch of it; and if he sent you here, he made a mistake in the house.”
“Don’t talk so, Teddy; it’s wicked.”
“It’s wickeder to have to lug that basket way round home again. I won’t do it. Let’s chuck it in the water.”
“No, no, Teddy; let’s take it home. I wouldn’t have believed Silly York could be so mean. Poor as they are, too!”
“I should think so! Folks don’t get sardines and currant wine every day.”
“Come, let’s go the shortest way, Teddy.”
They took up the basket, and started homeward. The shortest way was by the main street, and as they entered it they met the people coming from church. So, with down-cast faces, the disappointed almoners ran the gantlet of wondering eyes, attracted by the uncommon sight of two poorly-dressed youngsters lugging a heavy basket on Sunday.
For the first time in her life Becky was mortified at the condition in which she found herself. As she passed neatly-dressed girls of her own age, and heard the laughter which they took no pains to suppress, her old, defiant manner failed to assert itself, and she hung her head in shame. To add to her humiliation, when they reached the church, Captain Thompson was standing on the steps talking with the sexton.
“Heavens and earth! What new caper’s this?” he shouted, making a dash at the culprits.
Becky, having her head down, had not seen the captain, but she heard his voice and recognized it. She gave one startled look, dropped the basket, and ran. Teddy was not slow in following her example. The captain made a motion as if to follow them, but giving a thought to the day, and perhaps another to the steepness of the hill they were rapidly descending, changed his mind, picked up the basket, and entered his house.
Becky and her accomplice made no stops until they reached home. They dashed into the sitting-room, breathless and frightened.
“Massy sakes! do you want to take the house down?” cried Aunt Hulda. “What on airth’s the matter now?”
“Aunt Hulda, I don’t believe you know a thing about making Sunday short and pleasant,” said Becky, indignantly. “I’ve tried it, and it’s just as hateful a way of having a good time as ever I saw.”
“Tried it! Tried what?” cried Aunt Hulda.
“Carrying nice things to sick folks, and getting snubbed for your pains,” said Becky.
“Yes, and gittin’ yer shins barked with plaguy big baskets,” added Teddy.
“Carrying things! What have you carried? Where have you been?”
“Currant wine, preserves and sardines!” sputtered Teddy.
“Yes, to Mr. York; and got turned out of doors,” added Becky.
“Currant wine! Heavens and airth!” screamed Aunt Hulda, jumping up and darting into the kitchen with an activity she seldom displayed.
She flew to the cupboard, gave one look, uttered a dismal groan, and darted back to the sitting-room.
“You hateful young one, you’ve stolen my things! What do you mean?” she cried, seizing Becky by the shoulder, and shaking her. “Is that the way you rob a poor, afflicted creeter? What have you done with them? Where are they?”
“Don’t care where they are! Wish they were at the bottom of the river! Quit shaking me!”
“Guess they’re safe, Aunt Hulda,” said Teddy, with a grin. “Cap’n Thompson’s got ’em.”
“Cap’n Thompson!” gasped Aunt Hulda, staring at Teddy. In his hands she felt they were indeed safe. It was too much. She dropped Becky, tottered to the sofa, and added a fit of hysterics to the catalogue of her numerous ailments.
CHAPTER V.
IN SCHOOL AND OUT
The dazzlingly white school-house opposite Captain Thompson’s mansion was not used for the public school, which, under the state law, was necessarily kept in operation at least four months in the year, and for whose support the people of Cleverly were taxed. That institution was situated at a point nearer the fore side, a short distance from the main street, and was in rather a dilapidated condition. In those days country people had not that pride in handsome and commodious school-houses which is now eminently a characteristic of New England villages; and this crazy edifice was likely to serve the purpose for which it had been erected, years and years before, until it should crumble to pieces with age or be swept into a pile of kindling-wood by the fury of a March gale.
Captain Thompson, as a member of the school committee, had endeavored many times to have the old shell supplanted by a better building, or at least placed on a more secure footing; but in vain. His associates – Messrs. Pennywise and Poundfoolish – strictly opposed reconstruction in any form.
“It was good enough for us; and what was good enough for us is good enough for our young ones,” was not a very sound argument; but, as it satisfied the majority, the captain was obliged to give way. He then carried the matter before the town meeting, with no better success. There was a strong opposition to any measure he brought forward for the improvement of the school estate. Not even a bundle of shingles or a pound of nails could be had for repairs. The “good-enough” argument prevailed here; and the captain was vanquished.
Then his obstinacy asserted itself. He withdrew from the school committee, bought the land opposite his house, took men from his shipyard, hired all the carpenters he could find, and in less than two months had a very neat and commodious school-house of his own. This he leased to Rufus Drinkwater, the best teacher the public school ever had, – a man generally esteemed by the good folks of Cleverly, – and commenced a warfare against the ancient establishment. Drinkwater’s term opened a month earlier than the public, the charge for tuition was very low, and the captain gave notice that he was prepared to pay the bills, if children wanted to come to “my school,” and parents felt unable to incur further expense for schooling than that to which they were subjected by the state tax.
The committee-men laughed when they saw “Thompson’s Folly,” as they styled the new edifice, going up. But when they saw the children going in, – and a very respectable procession they made, – and looked into their almost deserted quarters, they groaned in spirit, forgot the dignity of office, and railed in unbecoming terms at the “underhand tricks” of their successful opponent.
There was a satisfied look upon the captain’s face as he stepped into the road Monday morning, followed by his man-of-all-work. About the door of the school-house were gathered a dozen or so of young people, awaiting the appearance of the teacher. It was only half past eight; and this assembly at so early an hour gave promise of a successful opening.
“Well, well, little folks, this looks well, this looks well,” said the great man, good humoredly, as he entered the circle. “‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm,’ and its the early chicks that pick up the largest crumbs at the bountiful table of learning.”
The “chicks” looked a little crestfallen as the captain passed among them, patting a head here, and chucking a chin there; for to boys and girls ranging from ten to fifteen years of age, these babyish appellations and familiarities are not cordially welcome.
“Phil, unlock the door. – Everything’s in order, nice and clean; and be sure you keep it so, little folks.”
“And mind, darlin’s, it’s the captain that’s done it all,” put in Phil, as he unlocked the door. “Niver be ungrateful, for it is a warm heart has the captain, though he doesn’t always show it in his face.”
“Come, come, Phil, none of that,” cried the captain, a flash of “ugliness” springing to his face to give color to Phil’s remark. “Mind your own business, and open the door.”
“There yez are,” said Phil, throwing open the door. “In wid yez, and have a raal foine frolic afore the schoolmasther comes. Howld on a bit. Three cheers for yer binefacthor – Captain Thompson. Now: one, two, three, and away you go!”
Phil led off with a cheer, in which the young people heartily joined. The captain turned down the hill, followed by Phil and the continued cheers of the scholars, who, once started, were not contented with anything short of three times three, though whether the thought of their benefactor or the sound of their own voices contributed more to their enthusiasm, would have been no hard matter to decide.
The captain, evidently impressed with the idea that the young Sleepers were to be driven to school like unruly cattle, was armed with his whip, and, that there might be no defeat of his project, had furnished Phil with a stout stick, and bade him keep a sharp eye on the youngsters until they were safe in the school-house. Phil followed meekly, with his weapon under his arm and a broad grin on his face, for the comicality of the situation highly delighted the warm-hearted Hibernian, with whom the young people were such favorites that, had they meditated an escape, he would have managed, by some native blunder, to aid, and not impede, their attempt.
To the utter astonishment of the captain, when they reached the house, a transformation had been accomplished. On a block in the yard sat Teddy, with a clean face, smoothly-brushed hair, clothes well patched, to be sure, but without a rent, and, strangest of all, shoes and stockings on his feet. Becky sat in the doorway, with an open book in her lap, hair well brushed and curled, frock mended, clean apron, polished shoes, and white stockings. All this was the work of Hulda Prime. Either in gratitude to Mrs. Thompson, who had quickly returned the purloined goodies, with the request that the children be made presentable, or from a desire to astonish her enemy, Hulda had risen at an early hour, aroused the sleepers, washed, brushed, and mended with an energy that surprised even the dreamy mother, and, after a lesson in good behaviour, had set her charge out to dry, until the arrival of the captain.
Becky had taken the matter very coolly. When told she was going to school that day, she said, —
“Why, Teddy and I were going up to the Basin to-day.”
“Yes, rafting,” said Teddy. “It’s plaguy mean to spoil a fellow’s fun.”
“No matter,” replied Becky, with a knowing nod of the head; “guess we’ll go after school, any way.”
When thoroughly scoured and adorned, she took a large book, and sat in the doorway, where the captain found her.
“Well, young ones, what is it – peace or war? Will you go to school quietly, or must we drive you?” said the captain, when he had recovered from his surprise.
“You won’t drive us, captain,” said Becky, looking up, with a smile. “It would be too hard work. We’re going quietly – ain’t we, Teddy?”
“Yes, if we’re let alone. Ain’t going to be lugged like a calf to the slaughter-house, any way,” grumbled Teddy.
“You’d better,” growled the captain. “I ain’t forgot your capers in my orchard. I’m just itching to pay off that score. But I’ll call it square if you give me no trouble now.”
“All right, captain,” replied Becky; “We’ll go. I’ve been preparing myself for torture in this blessed book.”
“What book’s that – the Bible, hey?” said the captain.
“It’s ‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs,’ captain; but I can’t find anything about school in it.”
“Pshaw!” said the captain; “let such books alone. Come, stir your stumps, or you’ll be late. Now, recollect, if you give me any trouble – ”
“Cap’n Thompson, you needn’t be afraid of them young ones; they won’t eat you!” cried Aunt Hulda, sticking her head out of the kitchen doorway. “If you and that big Irish lubber can’t handle ’em, better call on the committee; they’ll help you.”
The taunt was so bitter that the captain raised his whip; but, recollecting the sex of his opponent, he turned away, with a muttered “Hang it!” and strode into the road. Teddy and Becky followed, and Phil brought up the rear. The march schoolward was devoid of stirring incidents. Occasionally Becky, annoyed at the strict guard kept over them, would dart to the side of the road. The captain and Phil would run after her, only to find her picking a flower, or cutting a switch. The captain would stalk on again, and the captives would exchange mischievous glances, while Phil would grow red in the face with suppressed laughter.
The captain had consumed more time than he intended in mustering his recruits; and it was past nine o’clock when he reached the school-house. His “chicks,” having exhausted their stock of cheers, had filed into the school-room, and not averse to Phil’s recommendation, had indulged in a noisy but good-humored frolic, in which they were joined by some twenty later arrivals. They were in the midst of an animated game of tag, when three distinct raps upon the teacher’s desk made them aware of the presence of a stranger. In an instant there was profound silence in the room, and all eyes were turned upon the new-comer. He was a young man, of medium height, broad-shouldered and full-chested, every movement of his person showing in its powerful grace the effects of physical culture and out-door exercise. His face was equally powerful; piercing black eyes, browned skin, and a determined lock of the under jaw, showed a strong will and a daring spirit. Yet an occasional comical quiver about his eyes, and a lifting of his slight moustache by a half smile, and a genial glow of good humor which beamed through its sternness, as the ruddy cheek glowed under the brown coating, gave token of the nobility of power, by its kinship to gentleness and good humor. To all this were added a high forehead and an abundance of short, curly locks, so that the person of the stranger was not only calculated to command respect, but admiration as well.
“My young friends,” said he, “I bear a message from your teacher. He was taken suddenly ill last Friday night; he is somewhat better this morning, we think, but unable to be here with you. He has asked me to take his place, and wishes you to be patient with one who is a new hand at keeping school. That’s myself,” with a smile. “Will you take me?”
“O, yes, sir!” “Yes, sir!” in full chorus.
“Very well. I think we can agree. Take your places – boys on the left, girls on the right, as usual.”
There were three rows of forms on each side, for the scholars, with a broad open space between; there was a platform at the farther end, for recitations; the teacher’s desk faced this, on a corresponding platform at the left of the door, and behind his desk was a blackboard affixed to the wall. The room was lighted by three windows on each side, and one at the farther end.
The scholars quickly took their places, and Mr. Drinkwater’s substitute seated himself at the desk, opened the record book, and commenced calling the names of the scholars of the last term in alphabetical order. He was among the D’s, had reached the name of Hosea Davis, when the door was thrown open, and Captain Thompson stalked into the room, followed by Becky and Teddy.
“Here Drinkwater, here’s a couple of eels that want training.”
The substitute raised his head quickly.
“Harry Thompson!”
“Yes, sir, Harry Thompson,” said the stranger, rising. “I hope I see you well, sir.”
The captain did not look well. He turned pale, and stared at his son as though he could not believe his eyes.
“Wh-wh-what does this mean? Why are you here? Where’s Drinkwater?”
“Mr. Drinkwater is ill, sir; taken suddenly last Friday. I have been stopping with him for a few days, and he requested me to open his school to-day.”
“He’s no business to do anything of the kind. This is my school; and I won’t have it.”
The captain was getting angry.
“I understood him to say that the school-house was leased to him, and that he was expected to get a substitute when unable to attend himself.”
“So he is; but not you, sir, not you. I don’t want any of your teaching. S’pose you’ll teach these young ones to disobey their fathers, and run off. No, sir. You are at liberty. I’ll teach myself.”
“That is a point you must settle with Mr. Drinkwater,” said the young man, quietly. “I have taken command here, and, without meaning to be disrespectful, propose to hold my position until relieved by Mr. Drinkwater.”
The captain absolutely foamed with rage.
“You’re an impudent puppy. You’ve no business here, no business in the place. You’ve disgraced yourself. After what I’ve done for you, too!” And the captain went into particulars as to what he had done, commencing a long way back in the young man’s history, and without giving his son a chance to speak, growing louder and fiercer as his tongue flew the faster. He was suddenly brought to a stop by a roar of laughter from the children. He turned to them in amazement, but not by him was their merriment caused.