Boarding Round/Chapter 4

The children had come and were waiting at the door of the schoolhouse. And not all were children—there were boys that might almost be called young men, and girls advanced in their teens. How to get in was the question. The old padlock stubbornly refused to yield to their efforts. Penknives, nails, and hairpins were inserted, but all to no purpose. They tried to raise one of the windows, but all were nailed down.

"What time is it?" asked one.

"Yes, let's know what time 'tis," said another.

"I think it's time for the master to be here. Jake, you run up to Aunt Lizy's, and see what her clock says," added a third boy.

Jake Tingley obediently directed his awkward gait towards a little brown house, a few rods above the schoolhouse, on the side of the hill, in which lived alone an aged maiden lady, known as Aunt Lizy—otherwise Miss Eliza ​Crane. But scarcely had the clownish boy started on his errand, when two men, in an open wagon, had stopped in the road, as if they had reached the end of their journey. As one of them descended from the wagon, he was heard to say, "Well, good-by, Father. Hope you will get home all right. I'll let you know soon about matters here."

Mr. Sears, with satchel in hand, approached the gathered scholars. Some of the little ones shrank away, and many were the whispers, "It's the master—the master!" The large girls turned towards each other, and partially away from the stranger, yet eagerly trying to catch a glimpse of his face, while many of the larger boys stood staring, with their hands thrust into their trousers pockets.

"Good morning to you all—and to you, my little children. A happy day to you this first day of school."

This was said so heartily, and with such calm self-possession, as of one who felt himself master of the situation, that certain of the big boys, who had secretly been concocting schemes of mischief for the first day, were completely disarmed, while the girls replied timidly, "Good morning, sir."

"I'm coming to school this winter," spoke up little Johnnie Paine, proudly displaying the new suit that his mother had just finished for him. "Mamma says I may come this winter."

​"I'm glad that you are to be one of my scholars," replied the teacher, laying his hand affectionately upon the little cap that had now come within his reach. "And your playmates here, I'm glad to see you all. Your happy faces show that you got up early this morning, that you might be ready for the first day of school."

"I didn't get up early," said one. "I did."—"I did"—"I did"—"I did"—"I did, too." The young voices were many, and before the teacher could reach the door, the children were thick about him.

"Ah, your door is not open. Is it locked? Who has the key?"

"It's at Mr. Watts'," shouted half a dozen boys at once. "Pete hasn't come. We've been trying to get in for half an hour, and more too. It looks as if we should have to have school out of doors."

"How far is it to Mr. Watts' house?"

"A mile 'cross lots, and about two miles around the road."

Jake came running up with important news.

"Hereth the key. 'Twath to Aunt Lizeth. She thaid Mithter Watth left it there."

"At Aunt Lizy's! Thunder 'n gimblets! Don't the old crone know nothin'? Here we've ben all the mornin' tryin' to git in. She must o' seen us. And the key would o' hung there till night, and to-morrow, an' next day, if we hadn't done nothin' but stand here and ​let her look at us! It's a wonder how that old thing ever come to be created."

A few of the boys laughed, but most of them turned on Bill Huggins, feeling ashamed of his so severe criticism of the quaint, crotchety, kind-hearted old lady in the brown house up the hill. Had not those boys met their teacher just as they did, it might have been quite otherwise.

Now the schoolroom was soon the object of attention by both teacher and scholars. Its appearance was not complimentary to those who had last occupied it. School meetings had been held there. The floor was covered with old papers—bits used for ballots and the like—but that was not all. The floor was covered with dirt, tobacco stains, grease from candles that had burned low in the socket, and the product of jack knives, when made to do service for the small boy. The master looked around for a broom, but none appeared except an old stub, which had long before ceased to be useful. Then turning to the scholars he said, "Now let us try to have everything neat and clean for our first day of school. So let us all work together, and—"

Before he could say more, several boys had volunteered to build a fire, to go for a broom, and to do whatever might be necessary. The girls also were equally ready to do their part. Among them was one named Helen Porter. ​She was quick to see what was needed, and with characteristic good will, was first at Aunt Lizy's to borrow a broom and a mop, while other girls, with the boys gallantly assisting, were beginning to bring the needed water. While the boys were building the fire, poking it and blowing it, and opening the windows to keep the smoke from filling the house, the girls were equally enthusiastic over their sweeping and scrubbing. They happily vied with each other in doing the best they could, so as to make the room, as the master requested, neat and clean. Thus devoted to their work, they appeared "at their best." And a more attractive bevy of large schoolgirls it would be difficult to find. As Helen Porter stood among them, broom in hand, of perfect form, her cheeks flushed by exercise, with a wealth of dark brown, glossy hair, and her large, lustrous eyes, manifesting the joy she felt at being able to be of service to others, especially to one who seemed so kind, and so much interested in the welfare of all, as their new teacher evidently was,—she was the very queen of beauty and grace. Indeed, she was regarded as the most beautiful young lady in all the town. As James Sears, looking up from his work, caught the first view of her face, as she then appeared, he stood as if transfixed, while the blushes came to his cheeks, and he was conscious of a feeling, about his heart, wholly new to him. His eyes ​met hers, and her eyes met his. There was a reciprocality of attraction which was evident to each. There was something like an instant understanding between the two. It was of the nature of an agreeable introduction to a further acquaintance. But James recalled the caution so kindly given by the old man, who had favored him with a ride on the board seat, and he at once resolved that no one should ever have occasion to accuse him of partiality to any of "the better looking galls." His acts should all be in accordance with equality, and just dealing;—as to his thoughts, they would be his own.

At last the floor was clean, the fire was blazing cheerfully, and the benches were crowded with scholars.

"How many have brought Testaments? Let such raise their hands." Most in the older classes had them. Then they, according to the custom of those days, read around, two verses apiece.

The next thing was to learn the scholars' names, with the names of their parents, and what studies they wished to pursue. The only sensation connected with this process, was the coming up to the teacher's desk of Jake Tingley, to report himself and family. Jake was not much like other folks—only some like them. It was hard to determine whether his physical form, or his mental qualities, were the more unusual. His feet were very large, act​ing as terminal facilities to long, sprawling legs. His head—the part above his ears—was very small. His gait was much like a walking pair of tongs; and when he tried to talk, he lisped badly.

"And what name shall I write now?" was the master's question.

"My name ith Thake."

"Jacob, I suppose; Jacob what?"

"Thacob Thingley."

"What is your father's name?"

"Never had no father."

A titter went round the school, and the boys were ready for a demonstration; but the gently raised hand of the teacher suppressed it. There was, however, no want of attention to what was being done.

"But whom do you live with, Jacob?"

"Grandfer."

"Grandfather—well, who is he?"

"Uncle St'heve, they call him."

"That will do. You can take your seat."

There was little classification in the school, except for reading and spelling. Sometimes two or three together in grammar, or geography. "Ciphering" was done by oneself; and when the "sum" proved too hard, the master was appealed to. The older scholars had writing books, in which the master set copies; and he mended their goose-quill pens.

After the school had been in session a short time, some little fellow would stand up, and, ​as the teacher noticed him, "G'out?" And soon another, assuming an interrogative attitude, "G'out?"

Such reasonable requests were usually granted. The class of older girls occupied one long bench, just filling it. The time came when they wished to turn their faces towards the wall. They must act in concert. So they prepared to whirl around. They must all have their faces one way, and when they had turned a little, and were ready to make the grand move in concert, each would with one hand hold her gown down to her shoes, while with the other she would reach around and take hold of the edge of the sloping board behind, and so steady herself during the critical period of the process. Thus doing, she would push somewhat against the shelf, and so produce a tendency in the bench, if it did not stand securely upon its legs, to move a little from the wall. On this occasion, when their feet were in about the middle of the whirl, that is, above the bench,—all nicely balanced, as turning on a pivot,—the whole thing suddenly collapsed, and the seven young ladies, making unexpected motions downward, and describing various interesting curves and angles, lay sprawling together on the floor. The little scholars that sat before them were frightened, and sprang from their seat. The older ones, who were not "in it," that is, were not expecting it, looked on in amazement, till ​they burst into a loud laugh. The largest boys came forward gallantly to assist the fallen! But the prostrate girls were on their feet in double quick time. As soon as the master could get his breath, he was ready to assist. But, in spite of having heard that the school had been called a hard one to manage, he did think that, as Uncle Steve said about the disposition of his boy, this performance was "a leetle onusual."

As the unfortunate girls could not well "resume their sitting," the teacher said he would dismiss the school for the nooning. On examining the "wreck," he at once perceived that the bench had been "fixed"; but it had not been done under his "administration," so he did not appear to think that any of his scholars had been guilty of such an act. Some tools, with a few bits of timber, were brought, and the teacher, with the help of one or two boys, put new legs into the bench, and wedged them so tight, that they would—as the boys expressed it—"stand the racket." There were two among the boys, who would not have liked to have it known that they were in the schoolhouse the previous evening. James Sears had already won their good will. And they had really meant no harm; they were only "up to mischief." Their teacher had no expectation of being obliged to do what his venerable friend of the board seat and alder pole, had told him he must do—​"thrash them." The greater part of the schoolmasters, in those days, did do more or less "thrashing"; but the young teacher, in the Corner district, believed he could get the "hardness" out of his pupils in a different way.

When these were gathered for the afternoon session, the class of "big girls" was assured that henceforth their position would be secure.