V
WISDOM'S WAYS
The day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday, and on the Mondayfollowing she began her education at the school which was in RiverboroCentre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borrowed a neighbor's horseand wagon and drove her to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher,Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and generally starting the child onthe path that was to lead to boundless knowledge. Miss Dearborn, it maybe said in passing, had had no special preparation in the art ofteaching. It came to her naturally, so her family said, and perhaps forthis reason she, like Tom Tulliver's clergyman tutor, "set about itwith that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances whichdistinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediateteaching of Nature." You remember the beaver which a naturalist tellsus "busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam in a room upthree pair of stairs in London as if he had been laying his foundationin a lake in Upper Canada. It was his function to build, the absence ofwater or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was notaccountable." In the same manner did Miss Dearborn lay what she fondlyimagined to be foundations in the infant mind.
Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this partof the day's programme. When the dew was not too heavy and the weatherwas fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off themain road, crept through uncle Josh Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs.Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the pasture, with its well-wornpath running through gardens of buttercups and white-weed, and grovesof ivory leaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill, jumpedfrom stone to stone across a woodland brook, startling the drowsyfrogs, who were always winking and blinking in the morning sun. Thencame the "woodsy bit," with her feet pressing the slippery carpet ofbrown pine needles; the "woodsy bit" so full of dewy morning,surprises,--fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springingup around the stumps of dead trees, beautiful things born in a singlenight; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen Indianpipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread.Then she climbed a stile, went through a grassy meadow, slid underanother pair of bars, and came out into the road again having gainednearly half a mile.
How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar andGreenleaf's Arithmetic with a joyful sense of knowing her lessons. Herdinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissfulconsciousness of the two soda biscuits spread with butter and syrup,the baked cup-custard, the doughnut, and the square of hardgingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speakon the next Friday afternoon.
"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears."
How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voicequivered whenever she came to the refrain:--
"But we'll meet no more at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine."
It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as she sent her tearful littletreble into the clear morning air. Another early favorite (for we mustremember that Rebecca's only knowledge of the great world of poetryconsisted of the selections in vogue in school readers) was:--
"Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now."
When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the twochildren used to render this with appropriate dramatic action. EmmaJane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do butraise on high an imaginary axe. On the one occasion when she essayedthe part of the tree's romantic protector, she represented herself asfeeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, muchto the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much tootame for her vaulting ambition. She reveled in the impassioned appealof the poet, and implored the ruthless woodman to be as brutal aspossible with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spiritinto her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky than usual, she fellupon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously enough,her sense of proportion rejected this as soon as it was done.
"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where itmight come in--in Give me Three Grains of Corn. You be the mother, andI'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axe down;you are not the woodman any longer!"
"What'll I do with my hands, then?" asked Emma Jane.
"Whatever you like," Rebecca answered wearily; "you're just amother--that's all. What does YOUR mother do with her hands? Now heregoes!
"'Give me three grains of corn, mother, Only three grains of corn, 'T will keep the little life I have Till the coming of the morn.'"
This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she wasRebecca's slave and hugged her chains, no matter how uncomfortable theymade her.
At the last pair of bars the two girls were sometimes met by adetachment of the Simpson children, who lived in a black house with ared door and a red barn behind, on the Blueberry Plains road. Rebeccafelt an interest in the Simpsons from the first, because there were somany of them and they were so patched and darned, just like her ownbrood at the home farm.
The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors infront, one for boys and the other for girls, stood on the crest of ahill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pinewoods on the other, and the river glinting and sparkling in thedistance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and uglyand uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the riverexpended so much money in repairing and rebuilding bridges that theywere obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher'sdesk and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouthstove, never blackened oftener than once a year, a map of the UnitedStates, two black-boards, a ten-quart tin pail of water andlong-handled dipper on a corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches forthe scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time. The seatswere higher in the back of the room, and the more advanced andlonger-legged pupils sat there, the position being greatly to beenvied, as they were at once nearer to the windows and farther from theteacher.
There were classes of a sort, although nobody, broadly speaking,studied the same book with anybody else, or had arrived at the samedegree of proficiency in any one branch of learning. Rebecca inparticular was so difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the endof a fortnight gave up the attempt altogether. She read with DickCarter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recitedarithmetic with lisping little Thuthan Thimpthon; geography with EmmaJane Perkins, and grammar after school hours to Miss Dearborn alone.Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, shemade at first but a poor hand at composition. The labor of writing andspelling, with the added difficulties of punctuation and capitals,interfered sadly with the free expression of ideas. She took historywith Alice Robinson's class, which was attacking the subject of theRevolution, while Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery ofAmerica. In a week she had mastered the course of events up to theRevolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown, where the classhad apparently established summer quarters. Then finding that extraeffort would only result in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy,she deliberately held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not those ofpleasantness nor her paths those of peace if one were compelled totread them in the company of Seesaw Simpson. Samuel Simpson wasgenerally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up hismind. Whether it were a question of fact, of spelling, or of date, ofgoing swimming or fishing, of choosing a book in the Sunday-schoollibrary or a stick of candy at the village store, he had no soonerdetermined on one plan of action than his wish fondly reverted to theopposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue eyed, roundshouldered, and given to stammering when nervous. Perhaps because ofhis very weakness Rebecca's decision of character had a fascination forhim, and although she snubbed him to the verge of madness, he couldnever keep his eyes away from her. The f
orce with which she tied hershoe when the lacing came undone, the flirt over shoulder she gave herblack braid when she was excited or warm, her manner of studying,--bookon desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on the opposite wall,--all had anabiding charm for Seesaw Simpson. When, having obtained permission, shewalked to the water pail in the corner and drank from the dipper,unseen forces dragged Seesaw from his seat to go and drink after her.It was not only that there was something akin to association andintimacy in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of meeting herin transit and receiving a cold and disdainful look from her wonderfuleyes.
On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds ofpropriety. When she asked a third time for permission to quench it atthe common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes," but lifted her eyebrowsunpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipperSeesaw promptly raised his hand, and Miss Dearborn indicated a wearyaffirmative.
"What is the matter with you, Rebecca?" she asked.
"I had salt mackerel for breakfast," answered Rebecca.
There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely thestatement of a fact, but an irrepressible titter ran through theschool. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understoodby herself, and her face flushed.
"I think you had better stand by the pail for five minutes, Rebecca; itmay help you to control your thirst."
Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pailand be stared at by all the scholars! She unconsciously made a gestureof angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested byMiss Dearborn's command in a still firmer voice.
"Stand by the pail, Rebecca! Samuel, how many times have you asked forwater to-day?"
"This is the f-f-fourth."
"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drinkthis afternoon; it has had no time whatever to study. I suppose you hadsomething salt for breakfast, Samuel?" queried Miss Dearborn withsarcasm.
"I had m-m-mackerel, j-just like Reb-b-becca." (Irrepressible gigglesby the school.)
"I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail, Samuel."
Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath. Life looked too black athing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupledin correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human endurance.
Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smelliechose Shall we Gather at the River? It was a baleful choice and seemedto hold some secret and subtle association with the situation andgeneral progress of events; or at any rate there was apparently someobscure reason for the energy and vim with which the scholars shoutedthe choral invitation again and again:--
"Shall we gather at the river, The beautiful, the beautiful river?"
Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent head and was frightened.The child's face was pale save for two red spots glowing on her cheeks.Tears hung on her lashes; her breath came and went quickly, and thehand that held her pocket handkerchief trembled like a leaf.
"You may go to your seat, Rebecca," said Miss Dearborn at the end ofthe first song. "Samuel, stay where you are till the close of school.And let me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca to stand by thepail only to break up this habit of incessant drinking, which isnothing but empty-mindedness and desire to walk to and fro over thefloor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink to-day the whole schoolhas gone to the pail one after another. She is really thirsty, and Idare say I ought to have punished you for following her example, nother for setting it. What shall we sing now, Alice?"
"The Old Oaken Bucket, please."
"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, The StarSpangled Banner if you like, or anything else."
Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing book from her desk.Miss Dearborn's public explanation had shifted some of the weight fromher heart, and she felt a trifle raised in her self-esteem.
Under cover of the general relaxation of singing, votive offerings ofrespectful sympathy began to make their appearance at her shrine.Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple sugar inher lap as he passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the mapof Maine. Alice Robinson rolled a perfectly new slate pencil over thefloor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place, while herseat-mate, Emma Jane, had made up a little mound of paper balls andlabeled them "Bullets for you know who."
Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone withthe teacher for her grammar lesson she had nearly recovered herequanimity, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clatteringfoot had echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitencehad been met and answered defiantly by one of cold disdain.
"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant," said MissDearborn, who was only eighteen herself, and in her year of teachingcountry schools had never encountered a child like Rebecca.
"I hadn't missed a question this whole day, nor whispered either,"quavered the culprit; "and I don't think I ought to be shamed just fordrinking."
"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever youdo they all do, whether you laugh, or miss, or write notes, or ask toleave the room, or drink; and it must be stopped."
"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca "I wouldn't have mindedstanding in the corner alone--that is, not so very much; but I couldn'tbear standing with him."
"I saw that you couldn't, and that's the reason I told you to take yourseat, and left him in the corner. Remember that you are a stranger inthe place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must becareful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb 'to be,'potential mood, past perfect tense."
"I might have been "We might have been Thou mightst have been You might have been He might have been They might have been."
"Give me an example, please."
"I might have been glad Thou mightst have been glad He, she, or it might have been glad."
"'He' or 'she' might have been glad because they are masculine andfeminine, but could 'it' have been glad?" asked Miss Dearborn, who wasvery fond of splitting hairs.
"Why not?" asked Rebecca
"Because 'it' is neuter gender."
"Couldn't we say, 'The kitten might have been glad if it had known itwas not going to be drowned'?"
"Ye--es," Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure ofherself under Rebecca's fire; "but though we often speak of a baby, achicken, or a kitten as 'it,' they are really masculine or femininegender, not neuter."
Rebecca reflected a long moment and then asked, "Is a hollyhock neuter?"
"Oh yes, of course it is, Rebecca"
"Well, couldn't we say, 'The hollyhock might have been glad to see therain, but there was a weak little hollyhock bud growing out of itsstalk and it was afraid that that might be hurt by the storm; so thebig hollyhock was kind of afraid, instead of being real glad'?"
Miss Dearborn looked puzzled as she answered, "Of course, Rebecca,hollyhocks could not be sorry, or glad, or afraid, really."
"We can't tell, I s'pose," replied the child; "but _I_ think they are,anyway. Now what shall I say?"
"The subjunctive mood, past perfect tense of the verb 'to know.'"
"If I had known "If we had known If thou hadst known If you had known If he had known If they had known.
"Oh, it is the saddest tense," sighed Rebecca with a little break inher voice; "nothing but IFS, IFS, IFS! And it makes you feel that ifthey only HAD known, things might have been better!"
Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection shebelieved the subjunctive mood was a "sad" one and "if" rather a sorry"part of speech."
"Give me some more examples of the subjunctive, Rebecca, and that willdo for this afternoon," she said.
"If I had not loved mackerel I should not have been thirsty;" saidRebecca with an April smile, as she closed her grammar. "If thou hadstloved me truly thou wouldst not
have stood me up in the corner. IfSamuel had not loved wickedness he would not have followed me to thewater pail."
"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would havecontrolled her thirst," finished Miss Dearborn with a kiss, and the twoparted friends.