WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY AT HARDYVILLE
"BLAME that pig-headed Schmidt!"
Squire Hardy was in the sitting-room talking to his wife. "To think ofhis kickin' just because the little schoolma'am is bound to celebratethe day! Her askin' for nothing except leave to use the schoolhouse!Confound him! The rest of the Germans'd be patriotic enough--they areall 'round these parts--if Schmidt wa'n't so everlastingly down on us,and used his influence with the rest!"
"He's a well-meaning, peaceable neighbour, Hiram," said the squire'swife, placidly.
"So's horses and cows. Gimme folks that's got some public spirit in 'em.Think of the men that took up the land all round these parts when wecome in--all full of Fourth of July. I wisht they hadn't been so keen tosell out at a profit--that's the worst of us Americans. When they soldout, of course the Germans come in,--couldn't blame 'em a mite,--an'Schmidt he come fust, an' he bejuggled all the rest. An' he's prettynigh bejuggled the Gateses and two or three other American families like'em, that's gettin' more like Schmidt year by year. Why, there ain'tbeen a mite of public improvement done this ten year back."
"Oh, now, Hiram, we've got the post-office."
"Yes--much thanks to the rest of 'em! It was me worked and kicked andbadgered till I got them a tri-weekly mail, and much use they make ofit!"
The squire gazed at the post-office as he spoke. It consisted of an ash"seketary" in one corner of the sitting-room, and was much more thancommodious enough for the few letters and newspapers that came toHardyville three times a week, brought from the county town, eight milesaway, by a carrier with a gig. The squire was delivering his opinions asusual while waiting for the carrier to appear.
"I don't rec'lect much public improvements ever bein' in Hardyville,"said Mrs. Hardy, drily.
"There would 'a' been," said her husband, testily. "There would 'a' beenif the Americans had kept on. To think of them beginning to sell out andmove furder west--just as they were gettin' their land into shape forhavin' some time to themselves to improve things! Thank goodness, they_did_ put up the church and schoolhouse--I guess we'd never have hadneither if it wasn't for the American spirit here when this settlementbegun."
"Sho, Hiram? You can't say but what the German folks keeps the churchand schoolhouse going."
"Going--yes, going to rack and ruin all the same! Schoolhouse leakin'like sixty--and catch 'em taxin' themselves for a new roof! I wonderMiss Atworth can stay in the place--her and the children mirin'shoe-mouth deep in mud to get to school in the winter! Nary a rod ofcorduroy will they lay to give their own young ones a decent walk. Butthey keep their cattle comfortable enough--that means money in theirpockets. All they care about is having their corn and stock turn outwell. They don't care if the hull township, and the hull Union, too, forthat matter, was to go to the dogs. Hello! here comes Jack with themail-bag!"
A little while later Squire Hardy was in the act of distributing thebag's small contents, when two farmers walked in without even stoppingto stamp the mud off their cowhide boots. Mrs. Hardy kept on placidlyknitting beyond the fireplace; she was used to such invasions of thesitting-room, from which she had removed the carpet soon after thepost-office was granted to the sleepy settlement.
"Draw up to the fire, Mr. Gates," she said, hospitably. "Take thatrocker, Mr. Schmidt."
Mr. Gates kicked his feet against the andirons to rid them of clay andsnow.
"Cold day," he remarked, settling his coon-skin cap more firmly on hishead. "What's this I hear about the new teacher?"
"Well, what?" snapped the squire, looking around.
"Some say she's dead sot on gettin' up them doin's on Washington'sBirthday."
"MR. GATES KICKED HIS FEET AGAINST THE ANDIRONS"]
"Well, s'pose she is?" said the squire. "She ain't askin' nothin' butthe schoolhouse for an evening, and I've got power to let her havethat. I'm school agent, ain't I?"
"I don't say the contrary. But to my way of thinkin', she's justa-wastin' time over a lot of foolishness. Hey, Schmidt?"
"Yah, das ist so!" assented the man in the rocking-chair, as he took hispipe from his mouth. "I tolt mein poy I shust dook him oudt of schooland put him to voork ven I hear some more of dose grazy idees."
"Crazy? Nothing crazy about it!" interrupted the old squire, hotly."I'll just tell you, gentlemen, it was a mighty good deed old AbelDawson quit teaching here. He'd run along in the same old rut for thelast ten year, till things had just about dried up. I made a visit to'em last fall. I put some questions to the scholars, too. There wa'n'tbut four out of the hull of 'em that was exactly sure who the Presidentof these United States was. Nary one could name the Vice-President!"
"Dey lairn goot vot vos in de book," said Schmidt.
"Yes!" roared the squire. "Abel stood over them with a rod, andfrightened the spelling-book into 'em till they could say it off,back'ards or forrards. But they was like a lot of skeered parrots thatdidn't understand what they _was_ saying."
"Dot vos more goot as learn 'em yoost foolishness--badriodism und derflag und all dot plab 'bout der country und der Union."
"Look out, now, Schmidt! I ain't goin' to set still and hear you callingpatriotism 'blab.' I tell you in only nine weeks Miss Atworth's got thepoor little souls waked up. They never knew before that they _had_ acountry. History and geography mean something to them now. She'll makeintelligent citizens out of 'em if you'll keep your hands off. I'm outin my guess if she don't give this whole township a shakin' up beforethis thing is over, and teach 'em some public sperit."
Mr. Gates gave a sniff. "They say she's had a piano hauled out from thecity, too," he said. "Hope she don't intend to levy on the parents topay for it. She'll get nothing out of me. I'll tell her that right now."
"Shucks!" cried the squire, as he handed Schmidt his _Zeitung_. "Neitherof _you_ needn't worry. She's too smart to expect to get blood out ofturnips."
"Vell, all I haf to say," was Schmidt's parting remark, as he wound hisblue woollen muffler about his neck, "if she keeps on mit dosevoolishness, I dake mein Karl oudt of school, right avay alretty. Dotvos better dot he voork as to vaste his time so."
"Poor little Miss Atworth!" sighed Mrs. Hardy, as she watched the twomen tramp off together. "I'm powerful glad she's boarding with us. Thewhole neighbourhood is down on her new-fangled ways. I'm going right outnow and make something extry nice and hot for supper. It's pretty nearsundown, and she'll come in soon all wore out with her day's work."
The little teacher did need the good cheer and "extry nice" supper thatawaited her in the cosy kitchen, for she had felt much discouraged asshe trudged homeward through the falling snow. Her pupils had nearly allbeen telling her the same thing that day. It was that their parentsscouted the idea of helping her to celebrate Washington's Birthday.
She had come from a distant town to teach the Hardyville school in hopeto lay up enough money to complete her art course; but now it seemed toher that something more important than art demanded her services andthe small sum she had saved. The dull, colourless lives of the childrenappealed irresistibly to her sympathies, and she was often amazed at theutter absence of any spirit of patriotism.
"How could the poor children learn patriotism?" said Mrs. Hardy. "Theirparents don't feel it, except for their Vaterland. And certainly nothinghas been done by the public round here to make the children love thiscountry. Such lives! The parents get up before daylight, and dig tilldark. They usually force the boys and girls to live like overworkedhorses. All they think of is making money. That big room up-stairs inthe schoolhouse was built for a public hall. It has not been opened forfifteen years for any kind of an entertainment, not even a magic lanternshow. It is the same old treadmill existence year in and year out. Thechildren don't get their lives brightened--no public holidays arecelebrated here, not even the Fourth of July. How can they love thecountry?"
"I shall certainly give them something better," Miss Atworth had said,and the upshot was her determination to celebrate Washington'sBirthday. The indiffere
nce or hostility of the parents had but rousedher American spirit, even to the resolve that she would bear the entireexpense herself, if none would contribute from their plenty.
"Ten dollars," she reflected, "will buy decorations and material forcostumes and stage curtains. Another ten will rent a piano. Most of thechildren have never even seen one. All my spare time must go to gettingup the entertainment, and all my savings, too. Well, I'm glad--I guess Ican give up so much for my country. It will be worth while if I can makeits 'Father's' birthday the greatest gala day these poor little soulshave ever known."
Not a particle of encouragement did she get from any of the parentsexcept Peter Dowling, a one-armed veteran of the Civil War, and he wasmuch more discouraging than he meant to be.
"Go on, I wish you luck, young lady," he would observe. "You can counton me for anything a one-armed man can do. But what's the use? I'vetried and tried to get some 'Merican sentiment into these youngsters.'Tain't no go--and never will be. But you can count on me to hooray foryou all the same. I'll be thar if nobody else is."
"Maybe you tried to scold them into patriotism, as the squire does,"said the little teacher. "I don't think that's the best way."
"It didn't work, anyhow," said the veteran, and walked away.
Miss Atworth's programme, besides the decoration of the schoolhouse,comprised tableaux and the recitation of patriotic poems and addressesby her larger pupils. But most of the children soon received strictorders to hurry home at four o'clock, to attend to the milking andevening chores. They were also kept at work till the last possibleminute in the morning. But with only noon-time and recess for practisingtheir parts, her enthusiasm worked wonders.
"It ought to be a grand success," said Miss Atworth, as she took a finalapproving survey of the decorations the afternoon of the twenty-first."Only it's a little too warlike. I wish I had an old-fashionedpruning-hook to hang across that sword between the windows."
"Mr. Schmidt has one," volunteered Sarah Gates. "But he's so mad aboutour wasting so much time, as he calls it, that it's as much as afellow's head is worth to ask him for it. I heard him tell pa he wasgoing to keep Karl at home to-morrow night. Isn't that mean?"
"Keep Karl at home!" cried Miss Atworth, in dismay. "He couldn't be somean as that!"
Karl was the brightest pupil in her room--a big, manly boy of sixteen.He was kept at home every spring and fall to help with the work,although his father was not poor. She had taken an especial interest inhim from the first, had drilled him carefully in his declamation, andcounted on him as the star of the entertainment.
"Pa wasn't going to let me come, either," continued Sarah, "till ma toldhim you'd picked me out of all the school to be the Goddess of Liberty,and that I was going to have a gold crown on, and gold stars spangledover my dress. Ma's awful proud because I was chosen to be a goddess."
The little teacher smiled. She was not without worldly wisdom, and hadgiven Sarah such a prominent part in the hope that it might conciliatethe whole Gates family. Fortunately nothing was required of the goddessbut long hair and a pretty face--about all Sarah had to boast of. Shesimply could not learn.
Miss Atworth locked the door and started rapidly homeward. What shouldshe do if Karl must be left out of the performance? A quarter of a milebrought her to the lane leading from the pike to the Schmidt place, andthere she stopped with sudden resolve.
"I'll beard that old lion in his den, and ask him for his pruning-hook.That will be an excuse for going, and will give me an opportunity toplead Karl's cause."
It was nearly dark when Miss Atworth ran up the squire's front walk, anddanced through the house into the kitchen.
"Oh, such luck!" she cried, gaily. "I went to see Mr. Schmidt, and somegood angel prompted me to speak to him in German. It was such badGerman--perhaps that's what pleased him. Anyway it thawed him right out.He lent me his pruning-hook, and showed me over his big barn. Of courseI admired his fine cattle, and then, as he got more and more pleased atmy showing such an astonishing lot of sense, I praised Karl so highlythat he made a complete surrender. He is coming to-morrow night to bringthe whole Schmidt family, from the old _grossmutter_, to the baby.Hurrah for Washington's Birthday!"
Never had the old public hall held such an astonished and delightedaudience as the one that crowded into it that memorable night. Gayfestoons of bunting, countless little flags, and wreaths of evergreentransformed the dingy old place completely.
A large picture of Washington placidly beamed from its place of honour.Over and around it, reaching almost across the stage, was draped a greatsilken flag, borrowed for the occasion.
Peter Dowling, in his old blue army clothes, with one sleeve pinnedacross his breast, sat far back, looking bewildered by the wonders thelittle teacher had accomplished.
Miss Atworth had arranged the programme with great tact. Each child feltprominent, and those who, she secretly knew, would be failures inanything else, were honoured beyond measure when she skilfully groupedthem into a series of effective historical tableaux.
"It's enough to make even a graven image feel patriotic," whisperedSquire Hardy to his wife, as the children's sweet voices made the roomring with the grand old national airs.
Declamations followed each other in rapid succession. Then came a scene,with recitations, in which Uncle Sam and all the States of the Uniontook part. The very air seemed charged with the little teacher'selectrical spirit of patriotic enthusiasm.
It was at its height when Karl came forward to give the famous speech ofPatrick Henry. His delivery was so much better than the rehearsals hadled her to expect that even Miss Atworth was surprised. He seemed tofind an inspiration in the crowd. A storm of applause followed the "Giveme liberty or give me death."
"What shall we do?" she whispered in dismay as the persistent clappingof many hands called him back. "I wish you had prepared for an encore."
"Oh, I know!" said Karl, and in another instant was on the stage again.
In the deep hush that followed, his clear, musical voice rose in German.He was reciting "_Mein Vaterland_." Old grandmothers who knew but a fewwords of English rocked themselves back and forth in excited delight;Mr. Schmidt beamed with vast smiles; many an eye grew dim, thinking ofthe old beloved home across the seas. But the boy was thinking of hisown native country. There was no mistaking his meaning, as he turned inclosing, to wave his hand toward the portrait and the flag:
"My Fatherland!" he cried with true feeling, and then, after a moment ofgeneral surprise, deafening applause broke out.
As it subsided Miss Atworth stepped forward to announce the last song,but Peter Dowling, his face aflame with new delight and old memories,rose, stalked up the aisle as if unconscious of all the eyes fixed onhim, and swung himself up on the high platform with one long step.
"Friends," he began, "I've been livin' kind of dead among ye for many'sthe year. Now I want to say a word or two. I ain't no great atspeechifyin', but these old songs and pieces we've been a-listenin' tohave spirited me up like the trumpet doos an old war-horse."
As he spoke he waved the stump of his right arm so vigorously that theempty sleeve was torn from its pinning across his breast and flappedpathetically.
"I want to say," he went on, "that I fit for that old flag, and yet,livin' here so long, and never a celebration for young or old, I'd halfforgot my patriotism. It's our school-teacher has woke me up to seeingthe truth. Now that we hev beat our swords into pruning-hooks, and peacehas pitched her tent alongside ours to stay, I can't help thinkingthere's danger in settlin' down too comfortable and off gyard like.
"This country," he raised his voice higher, "ain't teaching its childrenenough of the feelin' of patriotism. It takes the same kind of principleto make a good citizen that it doos a good soldier. It ought to be thevery bone and sinew of every school in this whole land. I could talk allnight on that subject, now I've got started. But what I want to say isthis:
"I propose that we all get out our pocket-books, and throw in to get ahandsome fl
ag to fly over this schoolhouse. Take an old soldier's wordfor it, there ain't no greater inspiration anywhere, to make a fellowput in his best licks, and come out on top. Now, Miss Teacher, I'll justget the sense of this meeting."
He paused a moment, then turned to the audience: "All who want toexpress their thanks for this evening's entertainment, and are willing acollection should be took, say aye!"
Such a storm of ayes followed, that Peter caught up his slouched hat andbegan to pass it around, with his only arm. Dimes and quarters clinkedinto it, while an occasional dollar showed how deeply selfish hearts hadbeen stirred by the uplifting influences of the hour.
Miss Atworth seated herself at the piano, and beckoned to the bewilderedGoddess of Liberty to lead the States again across the stage. Some ofthe smaller ones straggled sadly out of line, but as Karl, at a nod fromhis teacher, caught the great flag from its place and stood with it inthe midst of them, every voice rang out full and true on the chorus:
"Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys, We'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom!"
People seemed loath to go when it was all over. They came up to theteacher with awkward expressions of pleasure and appreciation.
"I'll never forget this night," drawled one faded, overworked woman, towhose eyes the rich colours and tinsel of the stage decorations hadseemed a part of fairyland. "That music was so sweet, and my little Metalooked like a picture with her hair curled, and that beautiful dress onyou made her. I really didn't know she was so pretty. I'm going to fixher up and get her a lot of nice things after this."
"Well, it was worth while," said the little teacher, as she dropped intoa chair at home, too tired to take off her wraps.
"Indeed it was," answered the squire. "Jake Schneider's new patriotismrose so he said he'd put a walk on each side of the school for half amile, even if nobody'd help him. Then a lot of 'em began to talk itover. The upshot was that old Schmidt is going to give the logs, andthey're all going to work to-morrow to hew them off and stake themdown."
The next Monday morning Karl stopped at Miss Atworth's desk to sayjoyfully, "O teacher! father was so pleased. He is going to hireanother hand and let me keep on till the end of the term."
"Then I need never regret my sacrifice," thought the happy girl.
That celebration was the beginning of better times in Hardyville. Whenthe doors were barred for vacation, and the grass grew rank on the bareplayground, the new flag still floated from the schoolhouse belfry.
Many a boy catching sight of the glorious flag as he plodded through thefurrows behind his plough, felt himself lifted beyond the bounds of hislittle horizon, to some great plane of endeavour where all great thingswere possible. Still those beckoning folds teach a silent lesson ofloftier ideals, and a broader humanity to people whom the little teacherthrilled with her enthusiastic spirit.