Chapter III: Part 3

“It was long, long ago—the winter my brother Truman taught our home school. Mother didn’t want Truman to take the school, for, though he was eighteen years old, he was a slender, little fellow and his blue eyes and light hair made him look even younger than he really was. But Father said for him to go ahead and see what he could do.

“There were several bad boys in school. The year before they had run the teacher out before the term was half over, and we had no more school that winter. When they heard that Truman was going to teach, they made all sorts of boasts about what they meant to do.

“Truman got along all right the first few weeks until the older boys, who had been working at a sawmill, started in. Nearly all of these boys were bigger than Truman, and Bud McGill, the leader, was a year older. He had broken up several schools and bragged that he would run Truman out in short order.

“From the day he started he did everything he could to make trouble. Because he had started to school late in the term he did not get the seat he wanted. One morning he came early and took this seat and refused to give it up when Truman asked him to. Truman couldn’t force him to give it up, because Bud was so much larger and stronger. All day long Bud sat there in the corner seat talking and laughing and throwing paper wads at girls—disturbing all the rest of us so we could not study. At dismissing time Truman told him to take his books with him and not come back to school until he could behave himself, but Bud walked out as bold as you please without a single book.

“I don’t know just how it would have come out if Bud’s father had not heard about the trouble. But he did, and he told Bud he would have to give up the seat unless he got the teacher’s permission to keep it.

“Bud said he’d get Truman’s permission all right.

“The next morning I went to school early with Truman because Charlie was sick and couldn’t go. As soon as we came in sight of the schoolhouse and saw a thick column of smoke rising from the chimney we knew something had happened, for Truman always built the fire himself.

“When we got within hearing distance, Bud McGill opened the door a tiny bit and called out to Truman, ‘Have I your say-so to keep the seat in the corner?’

“‘No, you haven’t,’ Truman said shortly, and Bud slammed the door in his face and bolted it. Bud’s plan was to keep Truman out of the schoolhouse until he agreed to Bud’s taking the seat he wanted. Then Truman could come in and take up books as usual, but if he did this he would be admitting that Bud was the real authority in the school and the other pupils would cease to respect him.

“As the children came to school Bud opened the door and let them in. They offered to let me in, too, but I wouldn’t go. Truman wanted me to go back home, but I wouldn’t do that either. Several of the boys stopped to talk to Truman and offered to help him. Bud’s crowd saw the boys talking to Truman and thought they were going to combine and try to enter the schoolhouse by force. Bud dared them to come ahead. He went so far as to say that if the teacher got in he would do whatever he said. But Truman urged the boys who were eager to help him to go on in and not make any trouble. He said it was his problem and he would have to settle it alone as best he could. So they went in, and Truman and I were left alone.

“Truman brought some kindling from the coal house and built a fire, and we stood around it to keep warm.

“‘I’ve got to get ahead of them some way,’ Truman said, as much to himself as to me. ‘I’ll have to beat them or I’m done for. And if I give up the school, that means no spring term at the academy. I’ve either got to outwit Bud and his crowd or give up the school.’ Just then a strong wind blew the smoke in our eyes and started them to smarting. This gave Truman an idea.

“‘I might smoke them out,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If I could only get to the roof, I could stuff this old coat down the chimney. You wait here, Sarah, while I look around for a ladder.’

“He strolled to the back of the building where there were no windows, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the house to look for a ladder that had been there. But the ladder was gone. He examined the walls of the schoolhouse, but they were smoothly weather-boarded and gave no foothold.

“He got an armful of kindling to build up the fire, and presently, though it wasn’t noon, we opened our lunch basket and ate our dinner. A cold wind had risen and the fire was getting low. Whatever Truman did must be done quickly, for the short winter afternoon would soon be over.

“I shivered and edged nearer to the fire.

“‘I wish I had Belle’s new cape,’ I said. ‘It would keep me good and warm. Did you see Belle’s new dolman and hat that she got while she was at Clayville yesterday, Truman?’ I asked idly, just for something to say.

“He didn’t answer me at once. Then, ‘Has anyone else seen them?’ he asked quietly. ‘I mean anyone else except our own folks.’

“‘No, not a soul,’ I said. ‘No one knows she even went to town.’

“Truman stared at me blankly. ‘I wonder if I could do it,’ he murmured.

“‘Why I’m sure you could,’ I said, not in the least knowing what he was talking about, but eager to encourage him in any way I could.

“‘I’ll try it!’ he cried. ‘You go in, Sarah, and tell them I’ll be back in an hour.’ With that he started down the road, and I went in and gave them his message. Some of the boys hooted and laughed and said they might as well go home, but finally decided to wait.

“Less than an hour from the time Truman left some of the scholars impatiently watching the road for his return were surprised to see a lady approaching on horseback from the opposite direction. She got off her horse in front of the schoolhouse and looked helplessly around. Bud McGill dashed out and tied her horse to the fence. The girls said she must be a stranger, for none of them had ever seen her before.

“A plaid dolman of the newest style, trimmed with fringe, fell nearly to her knees, and she wore a wide black beaver hat with a thick veil and glasses. She walked with mincing steps to the door, daintily holding up her long black riding skirt. Just inside she turned to Bud.

“‘Are you the teacher?’ she asked softly.

“‘No, ma’am,’ Bud said politely, ‘the teacher is out just now. Won’t you have a chair?’

“The lady sat down at the teacher’s desk and began to fumble with her veil. One of the girls came forward and deftly removed the pins that held it in place. The veil slipped off, and there sat Truman dressed in sister Belle’s new clothes! There were shouts and shouts of laughter in which even Bud was forced to join. He came forward and offered Truman his hand.

“‘You beat,’ he said. He never made any more trouble and we had a good school the rest of the winter.

“See who gets to sleep first and we’ll have another story real, real soon.”

A WISH THAT CAME TRUE

“Grandma,” said Alice one evening when she and Bobby and Pink had come into Grandma’s room, “do you believe that if you look over your right shoulder at the new moon and make a wish that it will come true?”

“Naw,” jeered Bobby, “course not.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Grandma answered thoughtfully. “A wish made that way could come true. I made a wish once over a white horse and a red-haired girl that came true.”

“Tell us about it Grandma. Please tell us,” coaxed Alice.

Grandma found her knitting and began.

“The red-haired girl,” she said, “was Betty Bard, our preacher’s granddaughter. She had lived at the parsonage with her grandparents for nearly a year, and next to Annie Brierly she was my best friend. The white horse belonged to old Mrs. Orbison, who with several other women had come to help sister Belle quilt her ‘Rose of Sharon.’

“Betty and I were playing under the apple tree in the side yard. That is, we were trying to play. We couldn’t find any game we liked. We kept thinking that this might be our last afternoon together. You see, conference was to meet the next week, and Betty didn’t seem to think her grandfather would be sent back to preach on Redding circuit. I didn’t think so either. Redding circuit was very hard to please, and though Father never found fault with any of our preachers and always paid his tithes, still I knew that Brother Bard was not popular. Betty said it was because he did good by stealth and no one ever found it out.

“‘If I move away,’ said Betty as we sat under the apple tree talking that afternoon, ‘you may have my playhouse rock at school, Sarah, and all my dahlia roots, and the black kitten. The kitten’s name is Bad Boy because he jumps on the table when no one is looking. And you must be sure to dig the dahlias up before frost.’

“Just then Mrs. Orbison’s voice floated out through the open sitting-room window.

“‘It all depends on the sermon he preaches tomorrow,’ she said. ‘If they don’t like it, a letter goes to the Presiding Elder saying we will not tolerate Brother Bard another year and that in case he is sent back against our wishes we will not pay him anything.’

“I looked quickly at Betty to see if she had heard, and I knew by the flush on her cheeks that she had. I put my arm through hers and we walked slowly toward the front gate. It was then I made my wish. I looked at Mrs. Orbison’s white horse turned out to graze in the orchard across the road and at Betty’s red head, and I said to myself, ‘I wish for Betty not to move away.’ Out loud I said to Betty, ‘Can’t you tell your grandpa to preach a sermon they’ll like, Betty, so you won’t have to go away?’

“‘But how would he know what they’d like?’ she asked in a puzzled tone.

“‘Oh, just something pleasant,’ I answered cheerfully, ‘something nice and pleasant.’

“‘I’ll tell him what Mrs. Orbison said,’ she promised before she went home, ‘and he can do what he thinks best.’

“We stopped at the parsonage the next morning to take Betty into the surrey with us because her grandma seldom went to meeting, not being very strong. I could hardly wait till Betty and I got around a corner of the church to ourselves.

“‘What did your grandpa say?’ I asked eagerly.

“‘He said he’d do his duty as he saw it, and grandma said he stayed up all night. She crept downstairs three times to beg him to come to bed.’

“This did not sound very encouraging, but when I heard the text I breathed a sigh of relief. It was, ‘Now if Timotheus come, see that he may be with you without fear, for he worketh the work of the Lord as I also do.’ I didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded like a safe text, and I became so interested in watching a robin hopping on the window sill that I did not notice what Preacher Bard was saying until I felt Betty straighten up and clutch my hand.

“I looked around to see what had happened, and I knew in a minute that he had not preached a sermon to please them. Amazement, indignation, surprise, showed plainly in the upturned faces. I won’t try to tell you what was in that sermon, only this—that, in the hope of making things easier for his successor, Reverend Bard had undertaken in a kindly way to open the eyes of the Mt. Zion people to some of their faults. They had found fault with all the preachers. Now he pointed out a few of their own shortcomings, and they didn’t like it—no, indeed, not a bit.

“When it was over, the congregation poured out of the church, filled the little yard, and overflowed into the graveyard beyond. No one offered to leave. They stood around in groups—whispering, shaking their heads gravely, pressing their lips in grim lines.

“As soon as the preacher left for his afternoon appointment the storm broke. No one paid any attention to Betty as she stood at the horseblock with me waiting for Father to come round with the surrey. Everybody talked at once.

“‘He doesn’t preach the straight gospel—he tells too many tales.’

“‘He doesn’t visit enough.’

“‘He favors pouring, when we’ve always stood for immersion.’

“These remarks and many others Betty and I heard as we waited there for Father. Betty must have stood it just as long as she possibly could. Then suddenly she jerked away from me and climbed to the horseblock. I can see her now—her red hair flying in the breeze, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed.

“‘My grandfather’s the best man in the world,’ she cried, and stamped her foot angrily. ‘He’s the best man in the world, I tell you. I don’t care what you say, he’s the best man in the world,’ and she crumpled down in a little sobbing heap.

“Father came up then and, putting an arm around Betty, he said, ‘Let us pray,’ and everybody bowed his head and Father prayed. He prayed a long time, and at the last there were lots of ‘Amens’ and ‘Praise the Lords’ just as in big meeting.

“The second Father finished, an old man stepped out in front and said in a halting way that he would like every one to know that when his cow died in the winter Preacher Bard had bought him another. That started things. A young man said the preacher had sat up with him every other night for six weeks when he had typhoid fever. A boy said the preacher had bought him school books, and the Widow Spears said he had given her twenty dollars when her house burned. An old lady told how he read one afternoon a week to her husband who was blind, and so on and on and on. Everybody wanted to tell something good about Preacher Bard.

“Before the meeting broke up a big donation party was planned for Monday night, and Mother got Mrs. Bard to let Betty come home with us so she wouldn’t give it away. Monday was a busy day. While the women baked and cooked for the party, the men raised money to put a new roof on the parsonage, to buy a suit of clothes for Brother Bard, a black silk dress for Mrs. Bard, so stiff it would stand alone, and a blue delaine for Betty.

“How we surprised the Bards that night when we all went in, and what a good time we had! But the best part was when Deacon Orbison, who had been opposed to the preacher from the first, got up on a chair and made a speech. He said it seemed to him Redding circuit could not afford to lose a man like Reverend Bard, that his salary and benevolences had been made up in full, and that a letter would be sent the Presiding Elder asking that he be returned for another year. He was returned, and Betty and I sat together at school that winter, so you see I got my wish.

“Well, well, if it isn’t bedtime for three little children I know. Pass the apples, Bobby, please, and next time I’ll tell you—well, I just don’t know what I shall tell you next time, but I’ll have something for you.”

JOE’S INFARE

“I think tonight I’ll tell you about my brother Joe’s infare,” said Grandma one evening when Bobby and Alice and Pink had come to her room for their usual good-night story. “But first,” she went on, before the children had time to ask any questions, “I’d better tell you what an infare was. It was a sort of wedding reception which took place at the bridegroom’s home, usually the day after the wedding. It was the faring or going of the bride into her husband’s home and was celebrated with great rejoicing and a big feast.

“Joe had married Sally Garvin, who lived four miles from us by the road but only two miles through the fields. They had been married the day before, and we were to have the infare.

“Mother and the girls and Nanny Dodds had baked and cooked for a solid week. And before that they had cleaned the house from top to bottom, and we had mowed and raked and swept the big front yard and the orchard across the road and the pasture lot by the house. Now the great day had arrived.

“Stanley had gone in our surrey to drive the bridal couple home, and Truman and the girls had ridden horseback to meet them. Charlie had brought Hunter, Stanley’s colt, down to the barn lot so he could go with them. But Mother was afraid to have him ride the colt, not knowing that he practiced riding him every day in the pasture field.

“From my lookout on the rail of the front portico I saw the first of the guests come over the top of two-mile hill. There was a number of young men and girls on horseback, followed by our surrey with Stanley driving. On the back seat I knew the bride and groom sat.

“I waited for nothing more. I jumped down and rushed off to the kitchen to tell Mother. Mother gave Nanny some instructions about the dinner, slipped off the big gingham apron that covered her gray silk dress, patted her hair before the mirror in the hall, and, taking Father’s arm, went down the path between the rows of bachelor’s buttons, foxglove, Canterbury bells, and ribbon grass to welcome her first daughter-in-law.

“When Sally and Joe had left Sally’s home, a number of friends and relatives had started with them. These had been added to all along the way by other friends, so that there was quite a crowd of folks when they reached our house, besides lots of people who had already come.

“As soon as Mother and Father had greeted Sally, Belle and Aggie hurried her upstairs to the spare chamber to put on her wedding dress. Sally was little, with pink cheeks, and brown curls which she wore caught at the top of her head and hanging down her back very much as the little girls wear their hair now, only the young ladies of that day wore a high-backed comb instead of a ribbon. She wore a new gray alpaca trimmed in narrow silk fluting, very pretty, but nothing like what the wedding dress would be. The wedding dress had been made in Clayville, and Belle and Aggie and everybody else were eager to see it.

“Joe brought up the telescope which held Sally’s things and went back downstairs. The girls were going to help Sally dress, and I kept as much out of sight as possible so I could see and yet not be seen.

“‘Open it up, Aggie, please,’ said Sally, pointing to the telescope, ‘and lay my dress on the bed. I do hope it’s not wrinkled.’

“Aggie lifted the telescope from the floor to a chair.

“‘My goodness, but it’s heavy!’ she cried. ‘What in the world is in it, Sally?’

“Sally turned from the mirror.

“‘Heavy?’ she said surprised. ‘Why, there’s hardly anything in it. I packed it myself. I wanted to be sure my dress wouldn’t be wrinkled, so I just put in the dress and a few other things to do until tomorrow.’

“Aggie rapidly unbuckled the straps and lifted up the lid. Sally gave a smothered cry and caught Belle’s arm.

“‘Somebody has made a mistake,’ she gasped. ‘It is the wrong telescope!’ and she threw herself across the bed and burst into tears.

“The telescope was packed tight full with towels, pillow slips, tablecloths, and sheets and was to have been brought over the next day with the rest of Sally’s things. In the excitement of leaving, some one had carried it down and placed it in the surrey instead of the one containing the wedding dress.

“‘You look awfully sweet in this little gray dress, Sally,’ Aggie tried to console her. But it was no use, for Sally knew quite well that waiting downstairs were girls in dresses that looked much more bridelike than the gray alpaca. To be outshone at one’s own infare—well, it was no wonder she cried!

“Belle suggested that Stanley or Truman go back for the wedding dress, but Sally objected to this. She said people would laugh at her and never forget that she had gone to her infare and left her wedding dress at home.

“Suddenly a thought came to me. Hunter was still in the barn lot. Charlie could ride him, and he went like a streak. It was only two miles through the fields to Sally’s home. I never stopped to think that Mother would be frightened if she knew Charlie was on Hunter, or that Father would probably forbid it, or that Charlie might ruin his new Sunday suit. I slipped out of the room and went in search of Charlie. I found him out front pitching horseshoes, and in no time at all he was off to Sally’s home without a soul knowing about it. Then I went upstairs to tell the girls what I had done.

“They were not very hopeful. It didn’t seem possible that Sally could stay upstairs till Charlie got back with the dress, but she said she would wait a little while anyway. She got up and bathed her face, and Belle and Aggie went down to entertain the guests. Belle started several games, such as ‘Strip-the-Willow’ and ‘Copenhagen,’ and Aggie played the piano.

“I was everywhere—in the kitchen begging Nanny to hold the dinner back as long as she could (I had let her into the secret), on the hill behind the house watching for Charlie, and in the spare chamber trying to cheer Sally up, for at the end of an hour there was no sign of Charlie.

“What could have happened? He had said he could make it in less than an hour. He had been gone an hour and twenty minutes! People were wondering why Sally did not appear. They had lost interest in the games and were dropping out and sauntering toward the house. Aggie had played everything she knew over and over. Belle had run up to tell Sally she would have to put on the gray dress and come right down, but Sally had coaxed for five minutes more. Belle went back and started the folks singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ The five minutes were up and Sally was putting on the gray alpaca dress when Charlie came.

“The people who had begun to wonder what was keeping the bride forgot about it when Sally came down and stood with Joe to receive their good wishes and congratulations. Her dress was heavy cream-colored silk with tiny pink rosebuds scattered all over it, and the full skirt was ruffled clear to the waist. The round neck and elbow sleeves were finished with filmy white ruching, and she wore white satin slippers. With her pink cheeks and shiny brown curls I thought she was the very prettiest bride any one ever saw.

“When they had gone into the dining room, where Annie Brierly and some other little girls were waving peach switches over the tables to keep the flies and bees away and Sally was saying who should sit at the bride’s table, Charlie told me what had kept him. He had found the Garvins’ house locked up and had had to climb in a window to get the telescope. The dog had seen him as he had gotten in and wouldn’t let him come out until Charlie had fed him and made friends with him.

“Then some one called us and said that Sally wanted Charlie and me to sit at the bride’s table. No one could have been more surprised than we were, for we hadn’t expected to eat till the third table at the very soonest, and here we were invited to sit at the bride’s table and have our pick of the choicest food!

“There! I hear Mother calling. Good night, good night, good night.”

PUMPKIN SEED

“Well, well,” said Grandma one evening when Bobby and Alice and Pink asked for a story. “I wonder if I can think of anything tonight.” She found her knitting and went on in a puzzled tone. “I thought of something today to tell you about. Let me see, what was it? Oh, I remember now. It was the pumpkin pie at dinner that set me thinking about the pumpkin seed that Father gave brother Charlie and me to plant.”

“It was in the spring. The fish were biting fine, and one afternoon Charlie and I were all ready to go down to the deep hole under the willows to fish. Charlie had cut new poles and hunted up hooks and lines, and I had packed a lunch, for you do get awfully hungry sitting on the creek bank all afternoon. We were out behind the barn digging bait when Father came around the corner and saw us.

“‘I’ve just been looking for you children,’ he said. ‘I want you to take these pumpkin seeds down to the cornfield in the bottom and plant them.’ Then, seeing our fishing tackle, he added, ‘It won’t take long, and when you finish you may go fishing.’

“Of course Charlie and I were disappointed. We hadn’t been fishing that year yet. It had been a late spring, with lots of rain, and on the bright days there had been so many things that we could do around the house and garden that we couldn’t be spared to go fishing. And now, with everything all ready, to give it up even for an hour or two was a trial.

“We started for the cornfield, Charlie carrying the poles and the can of bait and I the lunch and the paper sack of pumpkin seed. The pumpkins we were to plant were to be used to feed the stock—cow pumpkins they were called, and they were big and coarse-grained and not good for pies.

“Well, Charlie and I started down at the lower end of the field and we planted a few seeds. But there was such a lot of the seed and the field was so big and the lure of the creek with the shade under the willows and the fish biting was so great that we could think of nothing else. We stopped to examine our bait to see if the worms were still living. When we went back to work Charlie wondered what was the use of planting so many old pumpkins, anyhow, when Father had already planted as many as usual in the upper cornfield.

“‘We might plant a whole lot of seed at once,’ he said, ‘but still it would take us a long time.’

“‘I know what to do!’ I cried, ‘Let’s hide the sack of seed in this old stump and come back tomorrow and plant them.’ After a few half-hearted protests from Charlie, this was what we did. We buried the sack of seed in an old, rotten stump, covered it deep with the soft, rich loam, and away we went to the creek to fish.

“Charlie baited both our hooks with the fishworms, and we would spit on our bait each time for luck. The charm must have worked, for when it was time to go home we had caught a nice lot of sunfish, tobacco boxes, silversides, and suckers. Truman cleaned them for us, and Mother dipped them in corn meal and fried them a golden brown. We had them for supper, and every one said how good they were and no one thought to ask us anything about the pumpkin seeds.

“I thought about them that night after I had gone to bed and wished that we had stayed and planted them as Father had told us to. But then Charlie and I would go down first thing in the morning, dig the sack out of the stump, plant the seeds, and everything would be all right.

“But it began to rain in the night, and it rained all the next day. The day after, it was too wet, and the day after that Charlie was busy. Then it rained again, and after a while I forgot all about the pumpkin seeds. It was several weeks before I thought of them again. You couldn’t guess what made me think of them then, so I will tell you.

“When we went to meeting on Sundays, Charlie and I always tried to remember the text of the sermon to say when we got home, for Mother was almost sure to ask us what it was. One Sunday I was saying it over and over to myself so that I could remember it, when suddenly the meaning of it came to me and I was surprised to find that it had something to do with me. The text was ‘Be sure your sin will find you out,’ and in a flash I knew it meant that if you did anything wrong you couldn’t keep people from knowing about it. Then I thought of the buried pumpkin seed which Charlie and I had meant to go back and plant.

“Father had never said a word about the pumpkins not coming up, though he must surely have noticed it long before this. Perhaps he thought the seed had been bad, but still it was queer he had never mentioned it.

“That night I couldn’t sleep for thinking how wrong it had been for Charlie and me to deceive Father about the pumpkin seed. Even the fact that we had meant to go back and plant them didn’t make me feel any less guilty. When I did fall asleep, I dreamed that the room was full of pumpkins with ugly grinning faces like jack-o’-lanterns. They laughed and mocked at me and pressed closer and closer until I wakened with a frightened cry, and when Mother asked me what had scared me I couldn’t tell her.

“In the morning I talked it over with Charlie. We agreed to go to Father immediately and tell him that we had not planted the pumpkin seeds.

“But Father had gone to Clayville on business for a couple of days. When he came back, before we had a chance to see him alone he told us at dinner before all the others that the pumpkin crop in the bottom cornfield was to be Charlie’s and mine. He said that we could keep as many as we wanted to for jack-o’-lanterns on Hallowe’en and he would pay us ten cents apiece for all the rest. Think of that! Ten cents apiece for all the pumpkins we raised, and we knew that there wouldn’t be any pumpkins! I looked across the table at Charlie, and his face was very red. I couldn’t say a word, but when Father left the table we both followed him and told him all about the pumpkin seeds, and how the text had started us thinking, and everything. Father listened without a word till we had finished. Then much to our surprise he said, ‘I’ve known for a good while what you did with the pumpkin seed. When I saw the number of fish you caught that afternoon, I wondered how you had planted the pumpkin seed so quickly. I had told Mother they were to belong to you two to do with as you pleased, but I did not intend to tell you until later. Then when I found out that you had not planted the seeds I waited for you to come to me. I believe you have learned a lesson from this experience which you will not forget. Come along with me. I want to show you something.’

“Wonderingly, without a word, we followed Father to the cornfield and straight to where the old rotten stump in the lower end of the field had been. But when we got there we could not see the stump, for coming out of it and all over it and completely covering it, were myriads of pumpkin vines—not big strong vines like the ones that grew in the fields, but thin, sickly vines crowding each other for space.

“The soil in the stump had been so rich and light that, though the sack of seeds had been deeply covered, when soaked with rain the seeds had sprouted and forced their way through the sack and up to the light and air. The vines told Father where the pumpkin seeds were as plainly as if they could have spoken.

“And now, good night, my dears, and don’t forget to say your prayers, and I’ll try to think up a good story for next time.”

A SCHOOL FOR SISTER BELLE

“It was during the third year of the war that sister Belle got her certificate to teach. Our school had been closed for a year, first because there were no teachers, all the young men having enlisted, and secondly because there was no money to pay a teacher. The few schools in the county had been given out before Belle got her certificate. She was awfully disappointed, for she wanted to go to the academy in the spring and she didn’t think Father could spare the money to send her, times being so hard.

“But since she couldn’t get a school she would make the best of it. She would help Aggie and Truman and Charlie and me at home, and she promised to teach the Brierly children, too. Then the Orbisons wanted to come, and to save Mother the fuss and dirt so many children would make in the house, Belle said she would hold school in the schoolhouse and let any one attend who wanted to.

“‘It will give me experience, anyway,’ she said, ‘and dear knows the children need some one to teach them!’

“‘Why don’t you let them pay you?’ Aggie suggested. ‘A dollar apiece a month for each pupil wouldn’t be a bit too much.’

“But Belle said some of them couldn’t pay and they were the ones who needed schooling the most. And the ones who could pay probably wouldn’t, because the county should pay for a teacher.

“So one Saturday in October, armed with brooms and buckets, window cloths and scrubbing brushes and a can of soft soap, we set out to clean the schoolhouse. We scrubbed the floor and the desks and polished the stove and cleaned the windows, and on the next Monday, the date set for the opening of all the schools in the district, sister Belle took her place at the teacher’s old desk.

“It wasn’t a very different opening from the one she had planned and looked forward to so eagerly. The only difference was that there would be no payment for Belle at the end of the term.

“The last pupil to start in was Joe Slater. He was a tall, strong boy of seventeen, but was not considered very bright. He was a fine hand to work, though, and from ploughing time in the spring until the corn husking was over in the fall, he was always busy. During the winter months he did odd jobs and went to school, but he had never got beyond the first-reader class. Because he had nothing to do he had always been more or less troublesome in school, and the very first day he came he threw paper wads and whispered and teased the younger children.

“Belle found that he knew the first reader ‘by heart.’ More to encourage Joe than for any other reason, she promoted him to the second reader. It was hard to tell whether pupil or teacher was the most astonished to find that Joe was actually learning to read. Belle helped him before and after school, and Joe became a model pupil and refused to do any work that would make him miss a day of school. He always came early in the morning and had the fire going and wood enough in for all day by the time Belle got there.

“So Belle was surprised to find Joe’s seat empty one snowy morning in December. His sister Nancy said he had gone to the railroad in a sled to get some freight for Mr. Grove. They lived on Mr. Grove’s place, and Joe could not well refuse to do this for him. Nancy did say, though, that Joe had wanted to wait until Saturday, but Mr. Grove was afraid the sledding snow would go off before that time. So Joe had started long before daylight, hoping to get back to school in time for the afternoon session.

“About half-past eleven there was a loud knock on the door. It was snowing and blowing, and we all turned around to look when Belle went to open the door. On the steps a big man in a fur cap was stamping his feet and shaking the snow from a fur-collared great-coat. Belle said afterward that she knew him instantly—it was the new county superintendent—but she couldn’t imagine why he had come. She had seen him at institute in Clayville, but none of us children had ever seen him before.

“Belle soon found from his talk that he thought he was in the Cherry Flat school. When she told him where he was and the peculiar circumstances of our school, he was very much surprised.

“‘Why, I can’t understand it at all,’ he said. ‘I was talking to the station agent this morning, asking how to get to Cherry Flat school, and a boy who was warming himself at the stove spoke up and offered to take me there. He was on a sled and of course I jumped at the chance. He let me out at the forks of the road, and here I am, three miles from the Cherry Flat school, you say.’

“‘I bet it was Joe,’ Betty Bard whispered to me.

“Now that the superintendent was there and couldn’t get away until the storm let up, he made a speech. Then he listened to our recitations and asked Belle a great many questions, such as how many pupils she had, where they lived, and whether she received any pay at all for teaching. She told him about her certificate and her failure to get a school, and he wrote it all down in a little notebook.

“The storm grew worse and worse. The wind whistled around the schoolhouse and rattled the windows, and the falling snow looked like a thick white blanket.

“Belle asked us to share our dinners with the superintendent, and we did. He sat on one of the desks and told us stories while he ate everything we gave him—bread and apple butter, hard-boiled eggs, ham sandwiches, pickles, doughnuts, mince and apple pies, and cup cakes. When he left we were all good friends and we filled his pockets with apples. He said he would eat them as he walked along to Cherry Flat school, but he didn’t have to walk. Truman took him in our sled, and we all stood in the door and waved until he was out of sight.

“No one could get Joe to say a word about the superintendent’s visit, but everybody thought he had brought him there on purpose, hoping in this way to help Belle. He was a great deal smarter than people gave him credit for, and Belle had helped him and he wanted to do something for her.

“But if sister Belle nourished any secret hopes that the unexpected visit would help her in any way, she gave them up as the weeks went by and she heard nothing from the superintendent.

“School went on just as usual, though. Christmas came, and Belle didn’t have money for the usual treat. But we had lots of sorghum molasses, and Mother let her have a taffy pulling in our kitchen and we had lots of fun.

“Everybody got along well in their books and we were going to have last day exercises, as we always did, with recitations and songs and games. Belle staid late at the schoolhouse the evening before and reached home just as Truman came in from the postoffice. He handed her a long, thin envelope and she tore it open and read the letter it contained. Before she got through she was dancing all around the kitchen, laughing and crying at the same time, and Mother took the letter from her hand and read it aloud.

“I can’t remember how that letter read, but it was from the board of education. They said they had decided to put our school back on the pay roll and that they understood that Belle had taught it in a very satisfactory manner since the opening of the term. She was to send her record of attendance and they would forward the five salary vouchers of thirty dollars each, which were due her. There was some more about its being unusual, but that they felt she deserved it. It was no wonder Belle was so happy, was it?”

ANDY’S MONUMENT

Bobby and Alice and Pink had been telling Grandma about the soldiers’ monument that was to be placed in the courthouse yard.

“It is to be made of granite,” said Bobby, “and the names of all the soldiers from this county who died or were killed in the war will be cut on one side of it.”

“Well, well,” said Grandma thoughtfully, “that makes me think of a monument I knew about long ago, but this monument wasn’t made of granite.”

“Marble, may be,”suggested Alice.

“No, not marble, either. You never heard of a monument like this. But, there, I might as well tell you about it,” and Grandma polished her spectacles, found her knitting, and began:

“This monument was for a soldier, too. Andy Carson was his name. He was a very young soldier, only fifteen years old, but large for his age, and he ran away from home and enlisted. Three times he ran away and twice his father brought him back, but the third time he let him go.

“But poor Andy never wore a uniform or saw a battle. He died in camp two weeks after he had enlisted and he was buried in our cemetery, with only Father to read a chapter out of the Bible and say a prayer, because the preacher was clear at the other end of the circuit.

“Right away Mrs. Carson began to plan for a monument for Andy. At first it was to be just an ordinary monument, but the more she thought about it the grander she wanted it to be. Nothing could be too good for Andy. He should have the biggest monument in the cemetery—a life-size figure. But she couldn’t decide whether to have the figure draped in a robe with a dove perched on the shoulder or to have it wearing a uniform and cap. Mrs. Carson finally settled on the uniform, though she couldn’t give up the idea of the dove, so there was to be a dove in one outstretched hand.

“But the Carsons had no money and they didn’t like to work. If anyone mentioned work to Mr. Carson, he would begin always to talk about the misery in his back. When brother Charlie had a job he didn’t want to do, he would bend over with his hand on his back, screw up his face as if he were in great pain, and say, ‘Oh, that misery in my back!’

“Mother said Mrs. Carson had not been lazy as a girl, but that she had grown discouraged from having so many to do for and nothing to do with. Sometimes she came to visit Mother, because Mother was always nice to everybody. She was very tall and thin, with a short waist, and she wore the longest skirts I ever saw and a black slat sunbonnet.

“There was a big family of children—a girl, Maggie, older than Andy, and Willie, a boy a year younger, and four or five smaller children. The older ones came to school part of the time, but none of them ever came to church—partly because they had no proper clothes, I suppose.

“They lived on a farm left them by Mrs. Carson’s father. The land was all run down and worn out. It was covered with briars and broom sage and a stubby growth of trees. Fences were down, and the buildings were unpainted and old.

“So, though the Carsons talked a great deal about Andy’s monument, no one ever thought they would get one. But Mother said it was the first thing Mrs. Carson had really wanted for years and years and people generally got the things they wanted most if they were willing to work hard for them. And it turned out that all the Carsons were willing to work hard for Andy’s monument. It was astonishing the way they worked.

“Mrs. Carson and the children started with the house and yard. They cleaned the rubbish off the yard and raked and swept it and planted flowers. They made the stove wood into a neat pile and swept up the chips and patched the fence and whitewashed it. By this time Mr. Carson had the fever, too. He started to clear off the land, all the family helping him. All summer long they worked, early and late, cutting out the briars and underbrush, burning broom sage, building fences, and by fall you wouldn’t have known it for the same place. They worked for a number of other people, too, and made a little money, besides taking seed corn and a pair of little pigs and other things they needed in payment.

“Well, it took a lot of money for a monument like Andy’s was to be, but the Carsons worked and saved for it. It seemed as if they had set a new standard for themselves and were trying hard to live up to Andy’s monument.

“They painted the house and repaired and whitewashed the outbuildings and put a paling fence around the front yard. They got lace curtains and a store carpet for their best room, and when Father got us a piano, Mrs. Carson bought our organ for a trifle. They got new clothes and dishes and tablecloths, and every Sunday they all came to meeting and asked folks home with them to dinner just as anybody else did.

“Dave Orbison was courting Maggie, and Willie was ready to go to the academy. He wanted an education and came to our house every week to get Truman to help him with his studies or to borrow books. If it hadn’t been for the monument, people would have forgotten that the Carsons had ever been considered lazy or shiftless.

“But Mrs. Carson was always talking about the monument. She had never had Andy’s funeral sermon preached, and she planned to have it preached the Sunday after the monument was set up.

“And at the end of three years they had enough money, but for some reason they didn’t get the monument. Everybody wondered about it. Weeks went by, and still no news of the monument. Willie often came to our house, but he never mentioned it. Then one day Mrs. Carson came. She had a horse now, and she looked longer and thinner than ever in her black calico riding skirt.

“Mother was fitting a dress on me—a red wool delaine for Sundays—but Mrs. Carson dropped into a chair without even glancing at it.

“‘Mrs. Purviance,’ she began immediately, ‘I want your honest opinion about something. For over three years now we’ve been saving for Andy’s monument, and until a few weeks ago I never had a thought but that that was the right thing to do with the money. But one night I got to thinking that here was Willie wanting an education, and Maggie getting ready to be married and no money to help her set up housekeeping, and Lissy longing for music lessons, and I couldn’t sleep for thinking. And, Mrs. Purviance, I haven’t had a minute’s peace since. That’s why I haven’t ordered the monument. I can’t make up my mind to it. It’ll be a long time before we can help Willie much if we spend the monument money. It looks as if he ought to have his chance. And of course the money won’t help Andy any, but I had set my heart on a fine monument for him. I don’t know what to do,” and she started to cry.

“‘Mrs. Carson,’ Mother said gently, and there were tears in her eyes, too, ‘if you want to know what I really think, I’ll tell you. I think that as far as honoring Andy is concerned you and your family have already given him a much better monument than any you can ever set up in the cemetery.’

“Mother ran a pin straight into me and I jumped, and Mother said she was done with me for a while. I went out, and that was the last I heard of the monument until the Sunday Andy’s funeral sermon was to be preached.

“There had been so much talk about the monument and the long put-off funeral sermon that there was an unusually large crowd at the church that day.

“And some of them were disappointed, for when the service was over and we filed out, the Carsons first, past the flower-decked graves to the corner where Andy was buried, there was Andy’s grave adorned with only a plain little head stone. But grouped around it stood his family, and the way that family had improved in the three years since Andy’s death—well, as my mother said, that was a pretty fine monument for Andy, don’t you think so?

“And now don’t forget your ‘apple a day,’ and good night to everybody.”

MEMORY VERSES

Grandma had been reading aloud from Pink’s Sunday-school paper and when she finished she said:

“We didn’t have anything like this when I was a little girl. We didn’t even have any Sunday school. The nearest thing to Sunday school was when we recited our memory verses on meeting day. Every week we learned so many verses from the Bible, and on meeting day the preacher heard us recite them.

“I remember one year—it was Reverend Bard’s second year—that in order to get the children to take more interest in learning the verses, the preacher offered a Testament to the one who could say the most verses by a certain time. We were all eager to get the Testament, and we did study harder than usual.

“The contest was to take place on Sunday afternoon. There was to be preaching in the morning, dinner on the grounds, and in the afternoon a prayer meeting and the memory-verse contest. There would be a large crowd, and anyone who wanted to could try for the Testament. Even the smallest children would say what verses they knew.

“Charlie was always hunting for the shortest verses, and he hadn’t learned very many of any kind till toward the last. Then he learned five or six a day and carried a Bible around in his pocket wherever he went and studied every spare minute.

“I had been getting my verses regularly every week and I had a good memory. So I wasn’t much afraid of anyone beating me except Charlie or Annie Brierly or maybe Betty Bard, the preacher’s granddaughter. Betty knew a lot of verses, but at the last minute she was likely to get to thinking of something else and forget them.

“On Saturday Betty and Annie came to see me, and Betty said that Lissy Carson was going to try for the Testament, too. The Carsons hadn’t been coming to meeting very long, but Betty, when she had been there to call with her grandfather a few days before, said Lissy knew fifty-one verses.

“‘And I think she ought to have the Testament,’ announced Betty. ‘Grandfather said it would encourage the whole family. If you two girls and Charlie and I let her say more verses than we do, she would get it.’

“‘But if we knew more verses and just let her get the Testament on purpose,’ put in Annie, ‘it wouldn’t be right, would it?’