Boarding Round/Chapter 16

Mrs. Aikin and her daughter, wearing their most fashionable gowns, and displaying a large amount of jewelry, were sitting in their parlor, in an expectant attitude. The young schoolmaster, in response to a special invitation, was duly ushered in. His reception was all that the most sensitive and aspiring teacher of a district school could desire. He was given the large chair, and the widow seated herself on one side of him, while Sophrena Jane, having been instructed by her mother, placed herself on the other side. For the space of half an hour, conversation proceeded with an uninterrupted flow. The widow was in her happiest mood. Sophrena Jane was prepared to be interested. It is unnecessary to affirm that James Sears was feeling an unusual glow of youthful enthusiasm. He could make himself agreeable with no apparent exertion. He was supported on either side by wealth or beauty, and ​if he made a suggestion, it was invariably received with the heartiest approval. When he spoke, he sometimes looked towards the widow, and sometimes towards Sophrena Jane. And occasionally he tried to look at both at once. He found this exercise a rare diversion. Feeling equally kindly towards both, he wished to give particular attention to both at the same time. In this, however, he was conscious of some degree of failure. Question after question was asked in regard to the school in general, while the welfare of particular scholars was kindly kept in mind. It was a great gratification to Mr. Sears to perceive that even persons who had no children to send to school, took such a deep interest in it. And interest in himself, too. Questions were asked in regard to his powers of endurance while performing such labors. Also the welfare of his father's family was not forgotten. The health of his parents, during the cold winter months, was made a matter of kind inquiry. In short, nothing of interest to him, in public or private capacity, was allowed to pass unnoticed. And when he made a remark, or expressed an opinion, the widow would reply sympathetically, "Yes, indeed," or "Certainly," or "To be sure"; then sometimes changing her expressions of approval, "Why, how could it be otherwise?" "That is strange, I never heard the like before." "Possible! possible!" "Surely, Mr. ​Sears, I admire the stand you took." "Indeed, you were right." "There was no need of going further; that settled the matter." "That was a fine stroke of policy; it was admirably done." "How could any one suppose that you would have done otherwise?"

Sophrena Jane manifested her approval of what her mother had said, if not in words, at least by her nods and smiles. The master could not but be greatly encouraged, believing that his success in life was assured. But this restful and cheering experience in the easy chair, must, like all the good things of this life, have an end. It was announced that supper was ready. Mrs. Aikin hastily rose and went to the dining room, leaving the young folks to come together, as she naturally inferred they would like to do. She showed the true spirit of politeness in not standing in the way of anything which would be agreeable to her guest.

James Sears had never before sat at a table, on which the linen was so immaculately white, or the silver service so bright and beautiful. And the food, however attractive to the eye, was no less tempting to the appetite. In those days, in country towns, oranges were a great rarity on the tables of the common people; but on Mrs. Aikin's table the yellow, oblong fruit from Jaffa, piled high on a cut glass dish, was sufficient to forestall the complaints of the daintiest epicure. The tea was made ​upon the table, being drawn from an urn, heated by a spirit lamp. This was a new thing to the schoolmaster. He had never seen the like before. As to the finger bowls, with the colored napkins beside them, he was uncertain what could properly be done with them. The world of wealth was a terra incognita to him. But he enjoyed the guiding hand of native good sense, and so, keeping his eyes open, he would do what he saw others doing.

After supper, Mrs. Aikin remained in the parlor long enough to show proper respect for her guest, then excused herself for the evening, and the night. She had a slight headache. She often had. At this time it was doubtless a nervous affection, occasioned by her great joy at being able to do the overworked, faithful young schoolmaster such a service.

Now that the "young folks" were left to the undisturbed enjoyment of the evening—the invitation to the master was to spend the night—without the interference of any older heads, Sophrena Jane assumed her share of responsibility for the conversation and entertainment. She began at once to tell Mr. Sears how glad she was that he had come. She said her mother too was so glad. Her mother thought a great deal of him, and spoke of him every day. She would be glad if he would come to their house every night, in​stead of being at so much trouble to look up boarding places. Her mother said it was too hard for him. And she herself had no brothers or sisters; she was lonely a great many times.

The master did pity her loneliness, but he tried to make it plain that it was necessary for him to go to other places; the people wouldn't like it a bit if he didn't. He couldn't do, a great many times, what he would like to; he had to think of the school before he thought of himself.

Then she began to talk about the supper they had had. She thought it was very nice, and she asked him if he didn't think it was. But she said that they didn't always put the silver set on the table; it was only when they had company. And they didn't have napkins on the table every day. But she thought her mother would have these things all the time, if he would come and live with them. She thought her mother would do most anything if he would come. And she didn't believe the other folks would care. Then she began to tell him about the parlor. She asked him if he didn't think the carpet was pretty. He could agree with her on that. It was very pretty. She said her mother got it a few days before. She wanted it to look nice when he came. She would not have bought it now, if it hadn't been for his coming. He assured her that they were very kind indeed ​to think of him, and get a new carpet for his sake. And it was such a pretty one. Then they examined the old clock that stood in the corner of the room. This was an heirloom, and of much value. She said that this was not new. It did not seem to be. It had a representation of the moon's phases on its face; its pendulum was long and ticked the seconds as deliberately as other clocks of similar kind. The schoolmaster looked at it, and noticed particularly how slowly it seemed to measure off the passing of time. One second, then one more, and then one more. Well, sixty of them would make a minute, and sixty minutes would make an hour; and, after two hours and a half, it would be nine o'clock. Then one hour more would make ten. He wouldn't try to think of any possibilities beyond that line.

As Sophrena Jane had so far been entertaining him, it was certainly in order now for him to entertain her. And as he had just been reckoning up, there should not be more than three and one half hours of consecutive effort of that kind. Three hours and a half was not a great while. It was only half an hour more than half a day in the schoolroom. But if that old pendulum in the corner would only swing in a little more lively fashion! It did measure off time so dreadfully slow! If it would only break up, and tick three or four times in each second, it would seem then as if ​something were doing, and they were getting along; but now it seemed as if a snail could go across the floor before the minute hand of that clock would get around to the figure twelve. And it must be there in order to make an hour; there was no shorter cut.

But they were standing up; they couldn't do that for three hours and a half. He had been invited once to sit in the big, easy chair; he believed it would be perfectly proper for him to seat himself in one of the common chairs, without invitation. So he sat down beside the center table. Sophrena Jane, seeing that he sat down there, took a chair on the other side of the table. They were comfortably seated. That seemed to the master to be progress in the right direction. He had been standing in the schoolroom nearly all the day, and now, if he could sit, a part of the time at least, it seemed to him better. On the table was a volume of Poe's Poems, expensively bound; also Tennyson's Works, in similar style. One or two other large volumes, with showy covers and coarse illustrations, indicated that book agents had done their duty in the place. And James Sears was for once glad that book agents are able so shrewdly to push their business. Without their assistance, kindly, if unconsciously, rendered, there would have been nothing within his reach to replenish his exhausted brains. But now hope revived. There was something ​on the table that could be looked at, if nothing more. On taking up one of these books, he remarked that he thought it must contain much useful matter. She said it did. He added that it was quite fully illustrated. She said it was. He noticed the beauty of the binding of Poe's Poems. He thought it was elegant. She said it was. He thought, however, that Tennyson's Works were gotten up in still more artistic style. She said they were. He said that he enjoyed Shakespeare more than any other of the older poets. She said she did. Then to change the subject of conversation, he referred to their sleighride. He said he thought they would not soon forget it. She said they would not. He said he supposed the young people of the place had been in the habit of getting up sleigh rides every winter. She said they had. Then he referred to games, and he asked whether she was fond of them. She said she was. And did she like checkers? She did. Had they a checker board? They had. And would she mind getting it? She went to get it. While she was gone for it, he looked at his watch. Its rapid ticking seemed more encouraging than the sluggish movement of the long pendulum. A full half hour had already passed.

In playing checkers, the time appeared to pass faster than in asking and answering questions. So the old clock kept on ticking. ​Many games were played. This was an unexpected relief to the tired schoolmaster. He could look at the checker board, and then he was not looking at the clock. Sophrena Jane could move the men, and her friend would allow her to beat at least twice in three games. This kept matters moving on pleasantly. And such a quiet peacefulness pervaded the room! Perfect harmony! No jarring of opposing ideas. No unpleasant discussion of any matters. People of positive opinions often discuss warmly—too warmly. Not so in Mrs. Aikin's parlor. What a delightful world this would be were every part of it like the small part of it included within those four walls on that eventful evening! But finally interest in games waned. The clock struck eight. What should be next? There were books on the table. They might read something together. The master wondered that he had not thought of that before. So he at once asked: "Would you like to hear me read something from one of these books?"

"Oh, yes, I'd like to hear you very much."

"What shall I read?"

"Anything. I like to hear reading. I like to read."

"Pardon me. I ought to have asked you to read. Will you?"

"I would like to."

"I would like very much to hear you."

"I will read Enoch Arden. Mother has ​had me read it to her a good many times."

The master heartily approved of that. It would take up some time. The interest in that story could not wear out.

The reading of it was very good, so far as the calling of the words was concerned. After she had finished, she remarked that her mother had had her read it many times so that she might read it well.

The clock struck nine. Two hours and a half had passed. The master very much wished he might properly ask his young hostess to show him his sleeping room, but he did not dare to do so. She had doubtless received instructions from her mother. If by any suggestions of his, he should disarrange things, it might not prove desirable. What she would do, should he make any motion toward retiring, was a question that he did not so early in the evening dare to try to settle. He had learned that she might tell anybody anything. And any kind of a story, however insignificant, and however innocent, going out from that house, would grow so large, and become so changed in form and substance, that he himself would hardly recognize it, while it would meet him at every turn. He had better keep quiet for a while. He had better sit up there all night than to have a story get into circulation that would, in the slightest degree, compromise him in a moral point of view. A happy ​thought struck him. Sophrena Jane was wearing a fine gold watch and chain. He would ask to see that, and they could compare their different time pieces. She was very ready to show her watch. She said her mother had told her to wear it when she went into good company, because it would show that she was rich, and would make her attractive. She showed him the inside of her watch, and where she had seen pictures put into some folks' watches. She wished she had one to put in hers. If he had one of himself that he would let her put in, she would show it to lots of folks.

He assured her that he appreciated her great kindness in the matter, but he had no picture that would go into her watch.

A good deal of talk about watches, and the hour wore away. The old clock in the corner whirred out ten. James Sears did now begin to wish that he knew where his sleeping apartments were. It was possible to sit there longer, but the stillness of the house, broken only by the measured ticking of the clock, was becoming oppressive to him. This affected the spirits of even so brave a youth. Thinking that necessity knows no law, he made bold to remark that he supposed he ought to retire. She said that she ought to. Her answer was still confirmatory of his opinion. This was so comforting that he sat another half hour. From her appearance, there was no indication ​of any change in his condition. He began to tell stories of his home life, how he used to hunt squirrels, set snares for rabbits and other game. This evidently interested, but no result followed. The stillness was broken by the striking of the clock. Eleven was now the hour. Finally he said that he was sleepy and he must go to bed. She said that she must go too. But she didn't start, and he didn't start. To him the situation was fast becoming intolerable. Any change would be a relief. He started up, resolved that he would summon whatever wits he might have remaining, and say one last thing—it was, "I must retire now." She said quickly, "I must retire now, too."

He found breath to add, "And will you please show me my bedroom first?" She said, "I will." He said, "Good night." She said, "Good night."

After James Sears was in his room alone, the thought came to him, "What if Mrs. Aikin was where she heard her daughter say, 'I will.' Would she think her dream is being realized?"

But did the tired instructor of children in the Corner district retire to rest? He retired, but the resting was another matter. There was a feline concert right below his window. First he would hear what seemed to be a solo; soon it was a duet; then it was a quartet, a double quartet, a chorus,—all parts mingled ​and confused, blending and not blending—other parts never heard before, trying to put in with the rest,—the sounds increasing in volume and intensity, until the limit—up, down, and sidewise—was reached, when suddenly the music stops, and only a lone duet, or rather two cats, indulging in antiphonal responses, until, as if by one common impulse, there suddenly came up to his window a yawling, and a squalling, and a caterwauling, twisting and turning, mingling and commingling,—all made impressive, if not hideous, because in, the otherwise, quiet of the silent night time. Was the schoolmaster going to sleep? Sleep! he was never so wide awake in his life. So he thought. What could he do? Do! Do nothing. He had no bootjack, or shoe, to throw out of the window. And if he had something to throw at the cats, he couldn't hit them. He tried the window, thinking he would look out. He would have the enjoyment of seeing his enemy, if he couldn't hit him. But he couldn't raise the window. What should he do? Go to sleep. He couldn't sleep. He, after all, did not wish to sleep. The occasion was too interesting. He had sat up half of the night; it might make a poetic ending, if he were to lie awake the other half. "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep." There was no such thing as "tired nature." He should be tired if anybody. He wasn't tired. And as to the ​"balmy sleep." There is no such sleep in the land of cats. The man who wrote that kind of poetry never tried to sleep when cats are having their "songs in the night." The master wondered whether, when Adam named the animals, he had ever heard a feline chorus in the night. He felt sure if he had, he wouldn't have given these creatures such soft, purring names as "Kitty," "Pussy," and "Tabby." No; with all his new virile powers he would have shouted "Scat!" if he spoke English; and we cannot prove that he did not.

As the schoolmaster heard the old clock strike two, he turned from his half-joking thoughts to a make-believe seriousness, which might have been righteous indignation. He said to himself, "I wish I could get hold of the two felines that continue to keep up that indescribable series of sounds, not unlike the cry of a child. If I could get them by the nape of the neck, I would hold one in each of my hands, straight out before me, and I would look into their bulging eyes, and I would see whether they would wish to insult, with such unearthly noises, an inoffensive lodger, in a private dwelling. I would."

When, in the early morning, the time came for the schoolmaster to get up and put on his clothes, he was ready to take back all that he had said, or thought, in regard to "balmy sleep."