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diff --git a/old/51958-h/51958-h.htm b/old/51958-h/51958-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 784213b..0000000 --- a/old/51958-h/51958-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5188 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - The Mountain School-teacher, by Melville Davisson Post - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Mountain School-Teacher, by Melville Davisson Post - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Mountain School-Teacher - -Author: Melville Davisson Post - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51958] -Last Updated: March 16, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL-TEACHER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL-TEACHER - </h1> - <h2> - By Melville Davisson Post - </h2> - <h3> - D. Appleton and Company - </h3> - <h3> - New York, London - </h3> - <h4> - 1922 - </h4> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0002.jpg" alt="0002 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0002.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL-TEACHER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL-TEACHER - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE had once been - a path along the backbone of the mountain, but the wilderness had - undertaken to remove it, and had almost succeeded. The wind had gathered - bits of moss, twigs and dead stuff into the slight depression. The great - hickories had covered it with leaves. The rain had packed it. There was no - longer a path, only an open way between the trees running down the gentle - slope of the ridge to the mountain road. The ridge was heavily wooded. The - primeval forest was there. Great hickories shot up sixty feet without a - limb, and so close that a man putting out his hand could reach from one - tree to another. A gigantic poplar now and then arose, a sugar maple, an - oak—huge at the butt, deep rooted in the good soil. - </p> - <p> - The afternoon sun, excluded of the forest, seemed to pack itself into this - abandoned path. - </p> - <p> - The leaves fallen from the hickories, under the touch of waning summer, - took on now, by the magic of this sun, golden tones of red and yellow. - Woodpeckers hammered on the great trees along this path. Insects moved - between the branches, the wild bee, the hornet, the yellow butterfly, as - though the aerial life of the woods had been drawn here to the sun. - </p> - <p> - A man was coming through the forest along this abandoned path. He walked - slowly, his hands behind him, his head bare. He was a very young man—at - that period of life when, within a day, as by the crossing of some - unmarked line, the boy becomes a man. There was about him the vigor, the - freshness, the joy of youth, under a certain maturity. He was not above - middle height, his face was oval, his eyes gray-blue, his hair of that - soft rich brown which a touch of the sun burnishes into a living yellow; - the mouth was sensitive and mobile. - </p> - <p> - There was a marked contrast between the man and the wild, rugged, - primitive country in which he appeared. His hands were firm and white, and - his skin was not in the least discolored by sun or weather. - </p> - <p> - Now and then the man stopped and looked up at the dappled woodpeckers, and - the swarms of yellow butterflies, gathered here along this sunlit path as - though to welcome his arrival, and his mouth relaxed into an eager, - luminous smile, as though, despite his maturity, he retained a child's - sense of some universal kinship with all living things. He came down the - long ridge toward the place where the mountain road crossed the low gap. - </p> - <p> - Half a mile below him a patriarchal ox was plodding slowly up the mountain - road. The ox was old. His red hair was worn away in a variety of places, - by long labors at the sled and the plow. His ancient horns were capped - with brass knobs. Astride the ox sat a small boy on a sack of corn, - perhaps a bushel and a half shelled from the cob. Under the sack was a - strip of homemade carpet dyed yellow with copperas. The little boy guided - the ox with a piece of old rope tied to the left horn below the brass - knob, precisely as the driver of a four-horse team directs it with a - single line. When he wished the ox to go to the right, he jerked the rope - and shouted, “Gee, Berry,” when to the left, he pulled on the rope and - shouted, “Haw, Berry.” - </p> - <p> - But the ox no longer required these elaborate directions. - </p> - <p> - “Gee,” - </p> - <p> - “Haw,” accompanied by a kicking of the rider's naked heels, were enough - for the patriarch, or the soft heels alone on the broad iron ribs. - </p> - <p> - The boy could not have been above six years old. He wore two garments, a - little blue shirt of the material called “hickory,” and short trousers, - with tiny hand-knitted woolen “galluses.” - </p> - <p> - He was now engaged with an extreme difficulty. - </p> - <p> - For more than a mile, under the ox's rolling gait, the corn had been - moving over to one end of the sack. To keep the bag from falling, the boy - had added his weight to the decreasing end. As the corn moved, he shifted - his seat a little farther out on the sack. He sat now, well over the ox's - side on the very end of the sack. His little mouth was contracted. - </p> - <p> - It had been a long, painful struggle—this fight against the corn. - Every inch, every fraction of an inch, contested. - </p> - <p> - The grains had crept slowly over, and the child had considered and - estimated the change, and moved with it. He had attributed to the corn a - certain malicious intent, a certain insidious hostility, and he had - resisted with dogged courage. It was all in the set of his little mouth, - in the clutch of his tiny brown hand. - </p> - <p> - For the sack to fall was a calamity which the child well understood. - </p> - <p> - He could not lift the sack. He could not leave the ox and go for aid, - because Berry, although a member of the family, was an eyeservant and not - above making his dinner on the corn when the master's back was turned. - </p> - <p> - Neither could he leave the corn lying in the road and return with the ox. - Some one might carry it away and, besides, it was his bale of stuffs, the - cargo with which he had been intrusted, and he could not leave it. - </p> - <p> - The mountain road was deserted and the evening sun was beginning to - descend. - </p> - <p> - The child's whole energies were centered on his desperate struggle with - the corn, and the ox traveled on leisurely as he liked. Presently, as he - neared the top, the ox stepped on the root of a tree remaining in the - road, and his shoulder went down. The sack slipped forward and fell, - carrying with it the boy and the piece of carpet. - </p> - <p> - The ox instantly stopped, the boy rose and sat down on the sack, resting - his elbows on his knees and his chin in the hollow of his tiny brown - hands. His features retained their set, dogged expression, but presently - big tears began to trickle slowly down over his determined little face. He - sat with his back toward the mountain gap, locking out over the vast - wilderness of tree tops below him. The ox stood before him in the road, a - figure of unending patience. - </p> - <p> - The day waned, long shadows crossed the road, the sun withdrew to the high - places. Far away through the deep wooded gorges night began to enter the - mountains. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN the man came - out into the mountain road, he saw the little boy sitting on the sack of - corn beside the red ox, and he smiled as he had smiled at the hammering - birds, at the yellow butterflies. He turned down toward the tragic - picture, lengthening his steps. The sun, by some trick of the moving - world, seemed to follow him out of the abandoned path. - </p> - <p> - The little boy did not see the man approaching, but he observed that the - ox, apparently resigned to passing the night on the mountain, was making - ready to lie down, knees first, after the manner of cattle. And the - comfortable assurance of Berry in this, the hour of their misfortune, was - more than he could bear. He arose and began to beat the ox with his little - fists. - </p> - <p> - “Git up, Berry!” he cried. “You ole dog! You ole scalawag! Git up!” - </p> - <p> - The ox slowly arose, and the child turned to find the man beside him. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Berry!” said the man, smiling. “Is he a very bad ox?” - </p> - <p> - “He's a lazy ole pup,” replied the little boy, his wet eyes catching and - reflecting the stranger's smile. “He's spilt!” Then he crowded his little - fists into his eyes to remove the traces of weakness with which he had - been taken unawares. - </p> - <p> - “Do you reckon,” he said, “that both of us could put the corn on him if we - lifted together?” - </p> - <p> - “I think so,” replied the man; “at least we will try.” - </p> - <p> - He took up the piece of yellow carpet and laid it over the ox's back. Then - he stooped down, put his arms around the sack, linking his fingers - together under it. The little boy took hold of the corner. The man raised - the sack with scarcely an effort, the child contributing his tiny might. - Then, as though the child's help were essential to the task, he nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” he said, and with a swing lifted the sack onto the ox's back. - </p> - <p> - The boy straightened up, and put both little hands on his hips. His face - was now radiant. - </p> - <p> - “We got it up all right, didn't we?” he said, “both a-liftin'; an' now,” - he paused and regarded the ox with some concern, “I've got to git on - somehow-er-nuther.” The ordinary man would then have lifted the child and - set him on the ox, but this man did not. He seemed to know and regard that - self-reliance which was so dear a thing to this child. He stood back and - looked over the patriarch. - </p> - <p> - “Berry is a big ox,” he said. “We will lead him up to the bank.” - </p> - <p> - The little boy walked across the road, with a bit of a swagger. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “Berry's a big ox.” - </p> - <p> - He liked this strange man who understood and considered him. - </p> - <p> - The man led the ox to the roadside, and standing by the beast's shoulder, - set his knee against the bank. The little boy put his foot on the man's - knee, caught hold of the ox's shoulder, and climbed up onto the sack of - corn. He panted with the effort. - </p> - <p> - “Berry's everlastin' big,” he observed in comment. Then he set himself - squarely on the sack. - </p> - <p> - “We're goin' to mill,” he said. “Where are you goin'?” - </p> - <p> - “If you don't mind,” replied the man, “I shall go along with you and - Berry.” - </p> - <p> - The tiny chest expanded. - </p> - <p> - “I don't mind,” he said, “ner Berry don't neither.” - </p> - <p> - Then, as a sort of condescension, as a sort of return for the man's - kindness, he gravely handed down the bit of ancient rope. - </p> - <p> - “An' you k'n lead Berry if you want to.” - </p> - <p> - They crossed the low gap and began to descend the mountain on the other - side. The man walked in front with the rope in his hand, the ox followed - with a slow, roiling gait, his head lowered, the child sitting astride the - sack of corn. The sun seemed to linger on the crest of the mountain as - though loath, now, to withdraw wholly from the world, a vagrant breeze - began to move idly in the tree tops, a faint haze to gather over the - forests, below the sun, as though it were some visible odor arising from - the earth. - </p> - <p> - The road was steep and rough, low stumps and the roots of trees remained - in it, and it was washed out in great ruts. The winter rain had carried - the loose earth out of it and left the stones and the tree roots - uncovered. A modern vehicle could hardly have kept together on such a - road, although it bore the marks of wheels where the mountaineer had gone - over with his wagon. - </p> - <p> - The little boy sat regarding the man who walked before him in the road. He - seemed not to have felt with this man that fear of the stranger which is - so strong an instinct with a child. From the first moment he had been - wholly at his ease. He spoke without restraint. - </p> - <p> - “Where's your hat?” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man paused, and put up his hand as though he had not until this moment - realized that he was bareheaded. - </p> - <p> - A note of distress came into the child's voice. - </p> - <p> - “You've lost your hat. Are you goin' back to look for it? 'Cause me an' - Berry can go on to the mill by ourselves.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the man, “I shall go on with you and Berry.” - </p> - <p> - “But you ain't got no hat,” the child continued. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I shall find one somewhere,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the child, “you won't never find one, 'cause nobody don't lose - their hats up here. You'll have to buy one at the store.” - </p> - <p> - Then he went on to tell of all the wonderful things that the store - contained: Striped candy in sticks in a big glass jar, and fishhooks, and - sea grass fishin' lines, and guns, and pistols, and knives. But - principally knives. Upon this particular topic he spoke with deep personal - interest. In that place of wonders were knives with six blades, with - “peraly” handles, with gimlets and tweezers in them, little knives that - one could hide between one's fingers and big ones with a ring in the - handle so one could tie them to his “galluses.” And Barlows with IXL on - the blade. - </p> - <p> - He paused and thrust his hand into his pocket. He had one that his - grandfather had given him at Christmas, and he held it up—a Barlow - with a bone handle and a single blade. - </p> - <p> - The man stopped and came back to the ox's shoulder. He took the knife and - examined it carefully, opened it and tried the edge on his thumb. The - blade was round and blunt at the end. The child explained this with an air - of apology. - </p> - <p> - “Gran'-pap was afraid I'd run it in my eye, so he grinded it off. Have you - got a knife?” - </p> - <p> - The man felt in his pockets. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he replied, “I don't seem to have a knife.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the little boy, “you can git one when you go to git your - hat.” - </p> - <p> - The man walked on by the ox's shoulder, and the child continued to talk. - There were difficulties to be met. The store was very far away, and one - required money to obtain its treasures. The getting of money was a very - troublesome affair. But he knew a way or two by which the thing could be - accomplished. One could gather hickory nuts or one could dig ginseng. The - latter method was to be advised—a pound brought a dollar and - seventeen cents. But it must be dried. One strung it on a string and hung - it over the fireplace. The storekeeper would not take it green. - </p> - <p> - He spoke a word of comment concerning the storekeeper. - </p> - <p> - He was hard to fool. He always broke the ginseng roots to see if there was - a nail concealed inside. The child knew a man who had outwitted the - storekeeper once by putting shot in the ends of the root, leaving the - middle unmolested; but, he added, that was “no way to do.” - </p> - <p> - The road on this side of the mountain was steep. The turns short. The - little party soon reached the foot, and came out into a valley, cleared - and sowed in timothy grass. Through this valley, between sodded banks, ran - a dark-colored, swiftly flowing stream. - </p> - <p> - The road followed the stream through the meadow until it approached the - mill. There the stream descended swiftly over ridges of sandstone into a - dam of ancient logs. The mill sat beside the road, its roof projecting, - its porch raised above the ground, its door and its gable open, its - entrance coated with white dust. - </p> - <p> - The machinery was of the simplest, two stone burrs turned by a paddle - wheel; the water carried down from the dam in a boxed sluice, covered with - green moss. - </p> - <p> - The mill evidently served two uses. - </p> - <p> - There was a second door to one-half of it, also opening on the porch, and - through the open door one could see a stove, a bed, a well-scrubbed table. - </p> - <p> - As the man leading the red ox approached, a woman appeared in the mill - door. She was a sturdy woman of middle life, her calico dress pulled up in - front and girded around her ample waist with an apron string. Her sleeves - were rolled to the elbows, and her fat, powerful hands rested on her hips. - Her mouth was compressed, the muscles of her jaws protruded, her bright - gray eyes rested on the strange man with a profound, unmoved scrutiny. - When the ox stood beside the porch, the man spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The woman did not reply, she jerked her head; then she came slowly out, - still looking at the man. - </p> - <p> - “Jump off, David,” she said to the boy; then she took up the sack with - ease, swung it into the hollow of her arm, and went with it into the mill, - But over her shoulder she continued to regard the man standing in the - road. - </p> - <p> - She threw the sack down by the hopper, and came again into the mill door. - Her fat hands returned to her hips and her eyes went again to the man. But - she spoke to the boy. - </p> - <p> - “You'll be late gittin' home.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't goin' home,” replied the child. “I'm goin' to Uncle Jimmie's,” - and he pointed his linger up the valley. - </p> - <p> - “You can make that by dark.” said the woman, “but you better be movin' - along.” - </p> - <p> - She came out and spread the piece of carpet on the ox. The small boy - stepped off the mill porch and went out into the road behind the man, - where a flat rock lay in the dust. - </p> - <p> - He remained a moment squatted down on his bare legs. Then he returned, - climbed onto the ox, and set out up the valley, kicking his heels against - the patriarch's ancient ribs. - </p> - <p> - At the bend of the road, the boy stopped and shouted. The man turned about - where he was standing. The boy pointed his finger. - </p> - <p> - “There's somethin' under that rock,” he called. - </p> - <p> - Then he swung around on his piece of carpet, spoke to the ox, and was - swallowed up in the shadows of the valley. - </p> - <p> - The man stooped down and turned the fiat stone over. There lay the Barlow - knife. - </p> - <p> - The woman, watching the man, suddenly brought her bent palm to her - forehead and looked up at the mountain, to see if some stray bit of the - setting sun had entered the valley. But there was nothing. - </p> - <p> - Night had descended. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE man stood out - in the road looking toward the south. The country under his eye was - primitive. The mountains rose in benches, heavily wooded. On one of these - benches stood a log house to be seen among the trees, faintly, where the - mountain road passed. Behind it, far away, a strip of green lay like a - cloth across the very top of the mountain—a bit of farm in which two - immense hickory trees stood like pillars. These trees must have been - gigantic, since at the great distance they were to the eye huge. The man - standing in the road seemed to be considering this country. His face was - lifted and, in repose, melancholy. - </p> - <p> - The woman continued to regard the men standing in the road. Finally she - spoke, swinging her body a moment on her sturdy legs. - </p> - <p> - “You're the new School-teacher, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - The man replied, without moving. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You're a little behindhand.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “You've come a good piece to-day, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - “A long way.” - </p> - <p> - The woman took her fat right hand from her hips, and began to brush the - skirt of her calico dress, although there was nothing on it to remove. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” she said, “you better come in and git your supper.” - </p> - <p> - The man turned and faced the woman. - </p> - <p> - His features appeared by a powerful effort to exclude something which he - wished not to show and had been until this moment not wholly able to - conceal. - </p> - <p> - “You are very kind,” he said. “I am hungry.” - </p> - <p> - “Just set down on the porch.” said the woman. “We've had our supper, but - I'll git you a bite.” - </p> - <p> - The man came over and sat down, his hands idly on his knees, his face - looking out toward the mountains. The woman began her preparations for the - stranger's meal. She entered the room where the wooden table stood, - crossed to a cupboard, opened it and took out some dishes. These she began - to put on the table. Then she stopped and stood with her hands resting on - her hips. A moment later she removed the dishes, went over to a chest, - standing in the corner, lifted the lid, took out a clean homespun linen - cloth, and spread it over the table. - </p> - <p> - As she moved about she talked. - </p> - <p> - “When are you goin' to begin school?” - </p> - <p> - “Monday morning,” replied the man. “Word ought to be sent 'round.” - </p> - <p> - “I think the children will come.” - </p> - <p> - “They'll come when they know it, an' they'll know it purty soon; news - travels powerful fast. We looked for you yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Somethin' kept you back, I s'pose.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, there's allers somethin' to happen. You won't have much of a - school, I expect. The big boys have all gone off to the sawmills, an' the - big girls are helpin' with the work. It's a mighty busy time.” - </p> - <p> - “I would rather have the little children.” - </p> - <p> - “They're a heap of bother.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think I shall mind the bother.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you? Most people do. They're harder to teach than the big ones, - ain't they?” - </p> - <p> - “I think they are easier to teach.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you? What makes you think they're easier to teach?” - </p> - <p> - “They understand me better,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - The woman had taken down an old glass bowl with a notched glass cover from - the top shelf of the cupboard, rinsed it with water, wiped it carefully - and set it on the table. In this she had placed a comb of red, mountain - honey. She continued to talk. - </p> - <p> - “I want Martha to go to school. She's a-goin' on nine. I can't spare her - very well, but I don't want to keep her back. She saves me a good many - steps. She's gone after the cow. She ought to be comin'.” - </p> - <p> - The woman was busy at the stove. - </p> - <p> - “I don't see why a cow can't learn somethin', can't learn to come home at - night, anyway. Everything else learns to come home at night. Ketch a dog - forgittin' it. I 'spose old Bloss has gone as fur as she could git, an' - you can't allears hear the bell. But Martha'll find her.” - </p> - <p> - The woman came from the stove to the table. - </p> - <p> - “Martha can read, an' she can spell out of the spellin' book. She's real - smart.” - </p> - <p> - A stone jar sat on a bench in the corner of the room, beside it was a - yellow gourd with a long handle, the bowl of the gourd cut out to form a - dipper. The woman got a plate out of the cupboard. A very old plate, - somewhat chipped, with quaint little flowers painted on it in bright - colors. The plate had not been used for a long time. It was covered with - white dust. She carried the plate over to the jar, dipped up some water - with the gourd, and holding the plate over a bucket, poured on the water, - then she polished the plate carefully with a cloth and set it on the - table. Her conversation continued. - </p> - <p> - “The schoolhouse is old, but it's got a good roof on it. It'll turn the - weather. Ole man Dix put that roof on three years ago. The clapboards are - all smoothed with a drawin' knife. He was so slow that it made you tired - jest to see him workin', but he done a good job. He used to have a savin' - that he got out of the Bible—when you made fun of him for bein' so - slow. He must have heard it in meetin'. He couldn't read. But I've heard - him say it over an' over a thousand times, I reckon—'He that - believeth shall not make haste.' I don't know what he believed. I know he - was never paid nothin' for puttin' on the roof.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know that he was not paid?” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “I know it very well,” said the woman. “He was dyin' of the janders all - the time. He sawed the comb of the roof the very day before he went.” - </p> - <p> - The iron skillet on which the woman was baking cakes, overheated, at this - moment caught fire. She lifted it from the stove, blew out the flame, and - turned the cake with a deft twist of her hand. - </p> - <p> - Engaged with the pancakes for the man's supper, her conversation became a - monologue. - </p> - <p> - She reviewed the families living in the mountains, enumerated the - children, named them, classed them as good or bad with a few clear strokes - and attached the history of their ancestors, running on, as she moved - about. Then, when she had finished, she got a little yellow bowl from the - cupboard and came with it in her hand to the door. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what's keepin' Martha,” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - At the door she came near to dropping the bowl out of her hand in her - astonishment. A little figure in a red calico sun-bonnet sat beside the - man on the mill porch; close beside him in the gloom of the descending - night. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness!” said the woman. “How you skeered me. When did you git back?” - </p> - <p> - The child arose, laughing. In the darkness only the bonnet, the short - dress, the little white legs were visible. - </p> - <p> - “While you were talkin', Mother,” she replied. - </p> - <p> - “Bless my life!” said the woman. “I didn't hear you.” She handed the child - the bowl. “Run along to the spring house and git some butter.” - </p> - <p> - The woman went back into the room, got a tallow candle, squeezed it into - an old brass candlestick, and set it on the table. In a moment the little - girl returned with the butter. She regarded the table for a moment, then - she removed the old blue plate, drew out from under the bed a store box - with a lid fastened with leather hinges—evidently her private chest—took - out a plate, washed it with boiling water from the teakettle, and set it - on the table. It was a little, cheap, porcelain plate with the letters of - the alphabet raised around the rim. The woman watched the child with a - certain smiling condescension. Then she went to the door, wiped her hands - on her apron, stood back by the doorpost, and spoke to the man. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” she said, “if you'll come in to supper.” - </p> - <p> - The man got up, came into the room, and sat down at the table. Before him - on the clean linen cloth were honey, brown corncakes, and a goblet of - milk. The light of the candle seemed to gather and illumine his face; and - curiously to bring out in his brown hair those touches of living yellow - which the sun had so strikingly indicated on this afternoon. And more - curiously, too, there was no stain of travel, no evidence of fatigue on - the man. Instead of it, there was an abiding glow of fresh, vital, - alluring youth. - </p> - <p> - The woman moved about, setting the room in order, the little girl stood by - the man's chair. - </p> - <p> - Presently the woman finished and came over to the table, bringing with her - a heavy, hickory, split-bottom chair. She stopped, snuffed the candle, and - then sat down opposite the man. Her hands, as though accustomed to - constant occupation, wandered to the table, smoothed the cloth by - stretching the two corners, flicked away invisible dust. Finally she - spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You're goin' to board around, I 'spose.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied the man, “I'm going to stay at Nicholas Parks' house.” - </p> - <p> - The woman dropped her hands into her lap. Her mouth opened with - astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Not with ole Nicholas!” she said. “Why, the devil couldn't live with ole - Nicholas! He's the meanest man that ever drawed the breath of life! He - wouldn't give you a meal's vittels if it was to save you from dying!” - </p> - <p> - She arose to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “Dear me!” she said, “that won't do at all.” She walked about the room - moving articles of furniture, and crumpling her apron in her fat hands. - Finally she came back to the table. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't cold,” she said, “an' if you could sleep in the mill loft, you - could stay right here with us.” - </p> - <p> - She hastened to explain. - </p> - <p> - “You could help me grind on Saturdays—that's the busiest day, an' - maybe, if you're handy with tools, you could patch up the mill some. The - wheel needs a new paddle, an' you could board up the loft, an' you could - put in some steps.” - </p> - <p> - The man listened. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “I can work with tools; I will do these things for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you'll stay,” said the woman. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry,” replied the man, “but I cannot stay.” - </p> - <p> - The woman sat down in her chair. - </p> - <p> - “How you'll git on with ole Nicholas, I don't see,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “He will not be there,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “Not be there!” the woman repeated. - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied the man, “he is going away.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's face became, on the instant, incredulous. - </p> - <p> - The little girl, standing beside the man, saw it and shook her head. The - woman, her mouth open, her chin lifted, marked the signal and respected - it. She dropped her hands into her lap. - </p> - <p> - “Well!” she said, and after a moment, to establish her composure, “you - can't go on to ole Nicholas' to-night,—it's dark now.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to the schoolhouse tonight,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “You're more'n welcome to stay with us,” said the woman, “if you'll stay.” - </p> - <p> - The man had now finished his supper, and he rose. - </p> - <p> - “I know that,” he said, “you are very kind to me.” - </p> - <p> - The woman got up and went to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Dear me,” she said, “I hate to see you goin' out in the night.” - </p> - <p> - The man stopped to kiss the little girl. - </p> - <p> - “I don't mind the night,” he said. “I have some things to do.” - </p> - <p> - “The schoolhouse will need cleanin' up,” said the woman, “an' to-morrow's - Sunday. I ought to a-helped you clean it.” - </p> - <p> - “You have already helped me more than you realize,” replied the man. “If I - need further help, another will help me.” - </p> - <p> - Then he went down into the road. There was no moon, but under the - brilliant stars, the road became a vague white way, leading the stranger - up into the deeps of the forest. - </p> - <p> - The woman remained standing in the door. Presently the little girl spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” she said, “the Teacher has no clothes, he didn't even have a - little bundle.” - </p> - <p> - The woman came back to the table. She stood a moment with her hand resting - on her hip. - </p> - <p> - “That's so,” she said. “I reckon he didn't bring any. Carryin' things gits - powerful tiresome, when you come a long ways.” - </p> - <p> - Then the dominant quality in the woman—the instinct to find a - resource for every condition that arose, moved her. She went over to the - fireplace, above which, on the high mantel shelf sat an ancient clock. She - stood on her tiptoes, opened the clock door, and took out a little brass - key, then she crossed to the foot of the bed, stooped and dragged a little - old horsehide trunk out into the floor. She fitted the key into the lock, - but it was rusted and would not turn. The trunk had not been opened for - many years. She came back to the table and rubbed the key with melted - tallow from the candle. - </p> - <p> - “There are some fine shirts in that trunk that we could give him,” she - said. “Your grandma give them to your pap at our infair. She made them - herself. But he never wore them. He said, they was too fine to skuff out. - An' they've laid there for ten years. They're a heap too big for the - Teacher. Your pap was twice as big as he is. But I can cut off the sleeves - and take up the neckband, so he can wear them. They're good linen. Your - grandma was mighty handy.” - </p> - <p> - The little girl had removed the dishes from the table, while the woman was - opening the trunk. She now came and held the horsehide lid, while her - mother searched for the articles. Finally the woman found the shirts. She - found also, at the bottom of the trunk, a folded piece of linen, as though - that one making the shirts had used only a portion of her material. - </p> - <p> - “Well, upon my word,” she said, “if here ain't a big piece that your - grandma didn't make up.” - </p> - <p> - She brought the shirts over to the table where the candle stood. She - regarded them with surprise and admiration. - </p> - <p> - “Bless my life, they're nice,” she said, “not a yaller spot on them.” - </p> - <p> - A moment she stood in rapt appreciation of the beautiful, snowy linen. - Then she caught up one of the shirts and spread the neckband with her - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Well! Upon my soul!” she said. “Upon my soul!” - </p> - <p> - She held the shirt up and measured it from shoulder to shoulder, and from - the neckband to the wrist. - </p> - <p> - “Why, they'll fit him! They'll fit him just as good as if they'd been made - for him. If that don't beat all! Your pap was over six feet, and long - armed. Now, how in the name of common sense did your grandma ever make - such a mistake? It ain't like your grandma—she always sewed by - pinnin' and measurin'.” - </p> - <p> - The little girl was not listening. She had gone out onto the mill porch. - She now spoke, but not in reply to these exclamations. - </p> - <p> - “There are lights up at the schoolhouse, Mother.” - </p> - <p> - The woman, still under her surprise, replied without looking up. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon the Teacher's cleanin' the schoolhouse.” - </p> - <p> - “But the lights look like they went up an' down through the tree tops.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose he's carryin' water down from the spring on the mountain,” - replied the woman, still bending over the shirts that lay spread out on - the table. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T SUNRISE the - following morning, a man riding a lean bay horse came down the mountain - road toward the mill. His left hand was deformed, as though from infancy. - The fingers doubled in against the wrist. He held the bridle rein, tied in - a knot, over the crook of his arm. He was a big man and he sat in the - saddle as though more accustomed to that seat than to any other. The horse - traveled in a running walk. He turned into the little valley and - approached the mill. The miller was feeding her chickens in the road - before the door, throwing out handfuls of yellow corn. The man called to - her before the horse stopped. - </p> - <p> - “Have you got enough of that corn for a horse-feed, Sally?” - </p> - <p> - The woman turned, scattering the chickens. - </p> - <p> - “Bless my life,” she said, “it's the doctor. Where you been?” - </p> - <p> - “Up there,” he replied, jerking his deformed arm toward the summit of the - mountain where lay the bit of farm, marked by the gigantic trees. - </p> - <p> - “Is ole Nicholas sick?” said the woman. “He ain't sick now,” replied the - doctor. “You cured h'm, did you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't cure him,” said the doctor, getting down from his horse; - “they were dyin' in Hickory Mountain before I come into it, an' they'll - keep on a-dyin' after I've gone out.” - </p> - <p> - He lifted his leather saddlebags down from the horse and carried it across - to the mill porch. - </p> - <p> - The woman remained standing in the road, her closed hand full of corn, the - yellow grains showing between her fingers. - </p> - <p> - “You arn't tellin' me ole Nicholas is dead!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he's dead,” said the doctor. “New get me a gallon of corn; that - horse ain't had a bite to eat since yesterday evening.” - </p> - <p> - He went across the road, picked up a box, knocked the dust out of it and - brought it over by the mill porch. Then he took the bit out of the horse's - mouth, and put the bridle rein over the saddle, under the stirrup leather. - </p> - <p> - “Ole Nicholas dead!” the woman repeated. “Well! Upon my word!” - </p> - <p> - “Why shouldn't he be dead?” said the doctor. “Every damn thing's got to - die.” - </p> - <p> - “What killed him?” inquired the woman. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know what killed him,” replied the doctor. “He was stretched out - on the floor when I got there.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he die just like anybody else?” said the woman. - </p> - <p> - “No,” answered the doctor, “he didn't die like anybody that I ever saw. - Will you get me that corn?” - </p> - <p> - The woman went into the mill and presently came out with the toll measure - full of corn. She poured it into the box. Then she sat down on the porch - beside the doctor, and began to roll the end of her apron between her fat - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “When did ole Nicholas take down?” she began. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know that,” said the doctor. “Jonas Black was crossing the - mountain about noon, an' old Nicholas called to him and told him to tell - me to come and see him. I went up last night.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a wonder you went,” said the miller. “Ole Nicholas wouldn't pay you, - would he?” - </p> - <p> - “If he didn't pay me, I wouldn't go,” replied the doctor, “you can depend - on that. I've quit bringin' 'em in or seein' 'em out unless I get the cash - in my hand.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't think he had any money. He was always buyin' wild lands of the - State.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how much money he had,” replied the doctor, “but I do know - that it was always there on the table for me when I went. If it hadn't - a-been, I wouldn't have darkened his door.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he die hard?” said the woman. “Everybody dies hard,” replied the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Did he want to go?” - </p> - <p> - “None of us want to go.” - </p> - <p> - “How long did he live after you got there?” - </p> - <p> - “He lived until daylight.” - </p> - <p> - “You must have had a bad night of it.” - </p> - <p> - “It was awful!” - </p> - <p> - “It must a-been terrible if you thought so. You are used to seein' people - die.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not used to seein' them die like old Nicholas died,” replied the - doctor. “He must a-been in powerful pain.” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn't so much pain. I could stop the pain.” - </p> - <p> - “Was he out of his head then?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know.” - </p> - <p> - “Couldn't you tell by the way he talked?” - </p> - <p> - “He didn't talk.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he see things?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know what he saw.” - </p> - <p> - “What was it that made his dyin' so awful?” - </p> - <p> - “It was <i>fear</i>,” replied the doctor, - </p> - <p> - “That he'd be lost?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the doctor, “that he'd die before he could tell me something - that he was tryin' to tell me.” - </p> - <p> - “Goodness! Was he tryin' to tell you somethin' all night?” - </p> - <p> - “All night,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - The woman sat for a moment in silence, her fat hands clasped together in - her lap, the muscles of her face tense, her eyes fixed on the mountain, - then she spoke. “Did he ever tell you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it somethin' he'd done?” - </p> - <p> - “N,” replied the doctor, “it was not anything he'd done.” - </p> - <p> - “What was it?” - </p> - <p> - “I did not understand it,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - The woman rose. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord!” she said, “a man on his deathbed a-trying all night to tell - you somethin' an' then you didn't understand it!” - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't understand it,” said the doctor. “He kept whisperin'—'He's - comin,' he's comin'. He's to have my things,' an' I kept askin' him if he - meant some of his kin folks, but he always shook his head. I never saw a - man in such mortal agony to speak. Finally just before he died, he got it - out. He said, 'The Teacher.' Now, what did he mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I know who he meant,” replied the woman, “he meant the School-teacher.” - </p> - <p> - “What School-teacher?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, the new School-teacher, the one that come last night. He was goin' - to stay with Nicholas.” - </p> - <p> - The horse had now finished with his breakfast, the doctor got up. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know you had a Schoolteacher,” he said. - </p> - <p> - He went over to the horse, put the bit into its mouth, took up his leather - saddle-hags and thrust his foot into the stirrup. - </p> - <p> - “See here, Sally,” he said, “old Nicholas wanted me to get up at his - funeral and say that he had left everything to the 'Teacher.' I suppose he - meant this new School-teacher. I told him I'd see to it. Now, I don't want - to come back here; couldn't you do it? The country will likely gather up - and bury him this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - He swung up into the saddle and hooked the bridle rein over his crooked - arm. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'll do that,” said the woman. The doctor clucked to his horse, and - disappeared down the little valley; his arm rising and falling with the - regular motion of the swinging walk. - </p> - <p> - The woman remained standing in the road, her hands spread out on her hips. - She had suddenly remembered that the guest of last night had said that - Nicholas Parks was going away! - </p> - <p> - At noon the miller and her little girl set out up the mountain. - </p> - <p> - They did not go by the road that wound tortuously through the forest to - the summit. They followed a path that ascended more directly, crossing the - road now and then, and climbing up steep ascents to the top, where it - ended in the road running along the high ridge, through the little - mountain farm. - </p> - <p> - The farm was inclosed on either side by a rail fence. Below it was a - cornfield of several acres, above a bit of fertile meadow, in which, on - the very ridge, stood two gigantic trees lifting their branches eighty - feet into the sky. - </p> - <p> - A dozen paces of beautiful green turf lying between the great shellbarks. - </p> - <p> - Farther out stood a log house with a clapboard roof and a chimney built - halfway up with stone and finished with crossed sticks, daubed with yellow - clay. Behind it was a garden inclosed with palings split out of long cuts - of hickory timber. Midway between the garden and the house, opposite the - door, was a whitewashed well curb. From a long pole, suspended in a forked - tree on a round locust pin, hung a sapling fastened to a bucket. - Everything about the little farm was well kept. The chimney and the - palings were whitewashed, the fence was well laid up, the bit of land was - clean. Midway in the meadow, a path entered through wooden bars and ran - along inside the rail fence to the house. - </p> - <p> - There was a little crowd of some half dozen men standing about these bars, - when the woman and child came up. - </p> - <p> - The woman stopped in the road. - </p> - <p> - “What are you all standin' around for?” she said. - </p> - <p> - The men did not immediately reply. Finally one of them answered. - </p> - <p> - “We're waitin' for the preacher to come.” - </p> - <p> - The woman looked at the apparently vacant house. The door open. The sun - lying on the threshold. - </p> - <p> - “There's a-plenty to do, till he gits here,” she said. “Somebody's got to - dig a grave, an' somebody's got to make a coffin.” - </p> - <p> - The man leaning against the bar post, who had spoken for the others, now - jerked his head toward the meadow'. - </p> - <p> - “It's dug,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The woman looked in the direction he indicated; a pile of fresh earth lay - heaped up in the meadow', not between the two trees, but below' them, some - paces from the summit. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the woman, “you didn't pick out the place I'd a picked; I'd a - put it on the ridge between them two trees, that's the natural place for - it, there couldn't be no grander place. Who did you think you was savin' - that place for? It looks like you was puttin' ole Nicholas so he'd be at - the foot of somebody else that you was a-goin' to bury.” - </p> - <p> - “We didn't pick the place,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “Who done it?” - </p> - <p> - “We don't know who done it, the grave was dug when we got here.” - </p> - <p> - The conversation was interrupted by the little girl. - </p> - <p> - “There comes the preacher,” she said. - </p> - <p> - The woman turned and looked down the road in the direction from which she - had just come. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> MAN driving a - country buggy was approaching. He was a tall, spare man, in a suit of - black ready-made clothes that seemed not to fit him in any place, and to - be a cheap imitation of a clergyman's frock suit. He wore cotton gloves. - At his feet was a shiny handbag made of some inexpensive material to - imitate alligator skin. His hair and his heavy, drooping mustache were - black. His face was narrow, the cheek bones high, the mouth straight. One - of the man's eyes was partly grown over with a cataract, and his effort to - see equally with that eye gave him a curious, squinting expression. He - pulled up on the roadside, got out, tied his horse to a fence rail with - one of the lines, took out his handbag, and came over to the little group - waiting by the bars. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening, brethren,” he said. “The doctor told me that Nicholas Parks - had been called to his account, so I came up to give him Christian - burial.” - </p> - <p> - “He died sudden, I guess,” replied one of the men. - </p> - <p> - “It's God's way,” said the preacher. “The sinner is taken in the twinkling - of an eye.” - </p> - <p> - He drew off his cotton gloves and put them into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Have any preparations been made for the burial?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “The grave's dug,” said one of the men. - </p> - <p> - “How about the coffin?” - </p> - <p> - “We don't know about the coffin, we haven't been to the house.” - </p> - <p> - “Is any one up at the house?” - </p> - <p> - “We think the new School-teacher's up there. Little David went up to see, - but he ain't come back.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know the new School-teacher had come.” - </p> - <p> - “He got here last night,” said the miller. - </p> - <p> - “What kind of a man is he?” - </p> - <p> - “He's a man that the children will like,” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Children,” said the preacher, “are not competent judges of men. Let us go - up to the house. Is he elderly?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought he was mighty young,” said the woman. - </p> - <p> - “The young,” replied the preacher, “are rarely impressed with the awful - solemnity of God's commandments.” - </p> - <p> - “I think he's a good man,” said the woman. “Martha loved him right away, - an' I'd trust him with anything I've got.” - </p> - <p> - “Our Mother Eve trusted the serpent,” replied the preacher. - </p> - <p> - And he extended his right arm, the fingers stiffly together, the thumb up. - </p> - <p> - “The youth of the community ought to be brought up in the fear of God.” - </p> - <p> - During the conversation, the miller's little daughter had gone on to the - house. - </p> - <p> - Something vague, intangible, undefined had stopped the men in the road - below the house, and made them await the arrival of the preacher. But that - thing had not affected the children. The little boy David and this child - had gone on without the least hesitation. - </p> - <p> - The preacher threw down one of the pole bars and went through into the - meadow. The others followed him along the path to the house. As they drew - near they heard the voices of the children. At the threshold the preacher - stopped, and those behind him crowded up to look into the house. - </p> - <p> - The door was open. The sun entering, filled the room with light. - </p> - <p> - On chairs in the middle of this room stood a coffin made of the odds and - ends of rough hoards, but marvelously joined. Beside it stood the - School-teacher, and at either end was one of the children; the three of - them were fitting a board on the coffin for a and, and they were talking - together. - </p> - <p> - When the minister entered, the Schoolteacher removed the board and laid it - down on the floor, and the two children, as by some instinct, drew near to - the man, on either side, and took hold of his hands. - </p> - <p> - They became instantly silent. - </p> - <p> - The minister went up to the chair, looked a moment into the coffin and - took his place at the head of it. The others followed. - </p> - <p> - The dead man lay in the rough box like one asleep. There was in his face a - peace so profound that the hard, mean, ugly features of this old man - seemed to have been remodeled under some marvelous fingers. - </p> - <p> - The minister, with his bad eye, seemed not to observe this - transfiguration, but the others marked it and crowded around the coffin. - </p> - <p> - The minister took out his watch, looked at it, and snapped the case. - </p> - <p> - “If you will find seats, we'll begin the service,” he said. “The stranger - here seems to have made all necessary preparations for the burial.” - </p> - <p> - The crowd drew back from the coffin, the School-teacher went and sat in - the doorway in the sun; the little boy standing up by his knees, the - little girl beside him on the doorstep. - </p> - <p> - The minister began a discourse on the horrors of an eternal hell. - </p> - <p> - But the attention of the audience moved past him to the man seated in the - door. The harmony, grouping the man and these two children, seemed to - enter and fill the room. A certain common sympathy uniting them, as though - it were the purity of childhood. - </p> - <p> - The man sitting in the door did not move. - </p> - <p> - He looked out toward the south over a sea of sun washing a shore of tree - tops. A vagrant breath of the afternoon moved his brown hair. He seemed - not to hear the minister, not to regard the service, but to wait like one - infinitely patient with the order of events. - </p> - <p> - When the preacher had finished, the miller, sitting in a chair by the - window, rose. - </p> - <p> - “Just before ole Nicholas died,” she said, “he made the doctor promise to - git up here at his funeral an' tell everybody that he left all his things - to the Schoolteacher. The doctor couldn't come back, so he asked me to git - up an' tell it for him.” - </p> - <p> - The minister turned toward the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Left his property to this stranger?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the woman, “he tried all night to tell the doctor, an' he was - mortally afeard that he would die before he could tell it.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher was now standing in the door. Beside him, and framing - in his body, dust danced in the sun, making a haze of gold. - </p> - <p> - The minister addressed him. - </p> - <p> - “Why did Nicholas Parks leave his possessions to you?” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher did not reply. - </p> - <p> - He went over to the coffin, lifted the lid and began to fit it on the box. - The men standing around the room came forward and took the coffin up. They - carried it out of the house, their hands under the bottom of it. The - preacher picked up his satchel and followed. Outside he stopped, pointed - to the grave in the meadow, and spoke to the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “You didn't put that grave where old Nicholas wanted it. He wanted to be - buried on the top of the ridge between those two trees. It was a place he - had picked out. He told me so at the last quarterly meeting.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher lifted his face and looked at the two great hickories - marking the spot on the summit of the little meadow. His eyes filled with - melancholy shadows, the smile deepened and saddened about his mouth. But - he did not reply. - </p> - <p> - Then he walked away to where the two children stood, some distance from - the path. - </p> - <p> - The minister followed the coffin to the grave, but the School-teacher went - with the two children through the meadow to the spot of green between the - two hickories. He sat down there in the deep clover, the children beside - him. Below came the sound of the earth on the coffin, and the high-pitched - nervous voice of the minister. The School-teacher talked with the - children. - </p> - <p> - After a while a shadow fell across the grass. - </p> - <p> - The minister was standing beside them. He had come up from the filled - grave and the carpet of the meadow had hidden the sound of his approach. - He spoke to the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think that you are old enough to teach the children the fear of - God?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall not teach them the fear of God.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I don't see how you are going to give them any Christian - instruction.” - </p> - <p> - The man sitting among the deep clover blossoms, looked up at the - minister's face. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't there something growing over your eye?” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE School-teacher - came out of the door of Nicholas Parks' house. It was early in the - morning. Frost glistened on the rails of the worm fence. The air was crisp - and sweet. - </p> - <p> - There was a smell of faint wood smoke. - </p> - <p> - The door of the house was fastened with a wooden latch on the inside from - which a black leather string, tied in a knot, issuing from a worn hole, - hung on the outside of the door. The man drew the door close and, pulling - the string, dropped the latch into place. Then he left the house, walking - slowly. - </p> - <p> - In the direction that he moved there was no path. He crossed the little - meadow, south of the house, climbed the rail fence and entered the forest. - There was still no path, although the man moved like one who followed land - marks that he knew. - </p> - <p> - He descended through the forest for perhaps half a mile in the deep - leaves. - </p> - <p> - Then he came abruptly on a path that entered a little cove and continued - around a shoulder of the mountain. A spring of water issuing here from a - limestone strata trickled into a keg buried in the earth. On the broken - branch of a dogwood sapling, beside the spring, hung a mottled gourd. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stopped, dipped the gourd into the crystal water, and - drank. - </p> - <p> - At this moment three figures came into view along the path from the - opposite direction: a child about two years old, a woman, and a - rough-haired yellow dog. - </p> - <p> - The child came first. He walked with the uncertain tottering gait of very - little children. He wore a clean, white, muslin dress, a tiny apron and - cheap baby shoes, such as one sees hanging on a string over the counter of - mountain stores. He was a sturdy little boy, with soft yellow hair, - burnished at the tips like that of the School-teacher, and big gray-blue - eyes. He was laughing, stopping now and then to look back at the dog - following, and his mother; and then running along ahead. - </p> - <p> - The woman was young and slender. Her face, tanned by the weather, was a - deep olive. Her hair was black, lustrous and heavy, and hung down her back - in a thick plait. Her eyes were dark and big. The whole aspect of the - woman was that of one untimely matured, and permanently saddened. Her blue - dress was of a cheaper material than that of the child's. - </p> - <p> - She carried a tin bucket with a wooden handle. - </p> - <p> - The woman and the dog stopped when they saw the School-teacher standing by - the spring. But the child greeted the stranger in his baby dialect. - </p> - <p> - “How-da-do man,” he said. He went on, the little feet tottering over the - uneven path. When he reached the Schoolteacher, he spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “Up-a-go,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man stooped and lifted the child into his arms. The sunny smile that - lighted the baby face seemed to enter and illumine his own. Something of - it, too, moved into the face of the woman, but the cast there of perpetual - melancholy seemed loath to depart, as though the muscles were unaccustomed - to a change. - </p> - <p> - The child turned about in the man's arms, and pointed his finger toward - two catbirds that were fluttering in a neighboring bush. - </p> - <p> - “Giggles,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The manner in which the woman's big melancholy eyes followed every motion - of the little boy indicated how her heart enveloped him. He was evidently - her one treasure. The smile, struggling to possess the woman's face, - seemed to descend and sweeten her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “He means them birds,” she said. “He's got a kind a talk of his own.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand him perfectly,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “Do you?” said the woman, the smile gaining in her face. “I thought nobody - could understand him but me. You must take to little children.” - </p> - <p> - “I love little children,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The child put his hand into the pocket of his apron and drew out a - battered toy—a cheap, little, painted, wooden toy, so broken and - worn that no one could tell what animal it was originally intended to - represent. He held it up for the Schoolteacher's admiration. - </p> - <p> - “Gup,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “He means a horse,” the woman explained. “He's heard folks down to the - mill say 'git up' to horses they was ridin', an' he thinks that's the name - of it, but he's got names of his own. Now he calls a bird an' a fish an' a - mouse a 'giggle.' I don't know why. Because a bird ain't like a fish, an' - neither one of them ain't like a mouse.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I understand why he gives them all the same name,” replied the - School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The woman came closer to the man and the child. Her eyes took on an - expression of deep inquiry. - </p> - <p> - “What do you reckon is the reason? I've thought about it often.” - </p> - <p> - “I think it's because a bird, a fish and a mouse all appear to him to have - the same motion, to wiggle.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's face cleared. “I never thought of that. I reckon that is it. - But now, he's got names that ain't like the things at all. Because he - calls milk 'bugala' and there ain't no such word as 'bugala.' An' if it's - sour or anything he calls it 'nim bugala.'” - </p> - <p> - The woman recalled with the word, the morning when, to wean him, she had - blackened her breast with charcoal, and the child had pushed away the - blackened breast with his little hand and said, “nim bugala.” - </p> - <p> - “And he calls everything else to eat 'A B.' Now why would he call milk - 'bugala' an' bread an' butter 'A B'?” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher saw that this mystery attaching to the child was dear - to the woman, and he could not disturb it. - </p> - <p> - “Little children are very wonderful,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “They are wonderful,” the woman continued. “Just think of the things they - learn when they are real little.” - </p> - <p> - She jerked her head toward the dog remaining behind her in the road. - </p> - <p> - “Why, he learned Jim's name when he was awful little. He called him 'Nim' - an' that's purty near right.” - </p> - <p> - Her face again became deeply thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - “I'd like to know if his word 'nim,' like he says 'nun bugala,' has - anything to do with Jim's name. It sounds like it, but I don't see how it - could be, because 'nim' means something that he don't like, an' he does - like Jim. He's powerful fond of Jim.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher thoughtfully considered the problem. - </p> - <p> - “It might be that he has watched you give Jim the things that you did not - want to eat yourself, and so he came to the conclusion that all such food - belonged to Jim. It would not mean that he did not like Jim. It would only - mean that the things that did not taste right to him ought to be given to - Jim. They were not good things, they were 'nim' things.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's mouth opened. - </p> - <p> - “Dear me,” she said, “just think of him putting things together like that, - an' him so little?” - </p> - <p> - Then she looked up at the man with a sort of wonder. - </p> - <p> - “Why, you understand him better than I do, an' I'm his mother. Maybe - you're married an' got a little boy of your own.” - </p> - <p> - “I was never married,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “Then maybe you've got a little baby brother.” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Was there never any little children at your house?” - </p> - <p> - “My father's house,” replied the School-teacher, “is full of little - children.” - </p> - <p> - “Just little children that he takes care of?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you've been with 'em a lot.” - </p> - <p> - “I am always with them,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “I could a-told that,” said the woman, “by the way Sonny takes to you. I - could a-told that you was used to little children, an' that you liked - them.” She indicated the tiny boy with a bob of the head. “He knows it - right away; babies and dogs allers knows it right away.” - </p> - <p> - She regarded the man for some minutes in silence. Then she spoke like one - come after thought to a conclusion. - </p> - <p> - “I 'spose you're the new School-teacher?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “An' you're goin' down to the school-house now.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then if you'll wait till I git a bucket of water, I'll show you the way - down. The path goes out by our house.” - </p> - <p> - She went over to the spring and dipped the bucket into the keg. The dog - that had been lying down 'n the path, his head lowered between his paws, - now craw led up to the man and began to lick his feet. - </p> - <p> - The little boy looked down and shook his tiny fist at the dog. - </p> - <p> - “Ge-out, Nim!” he said. - </p> - <p> - The woman rose with the bucket of water. - </p> - <p> - “You don't have to carry him,” she said, “he can walk real well.” - </p> - <p> - “I would rather carry him,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - And he followed the woman along the path, the dog at his heels. - </p> - <p> - They turned the shoulder of the ridge and came out on a flat bench of the - mountain. Here stood a little cabin, built of logs and daubed with clay. - It was roofed with rough clapboards. Before it was a porch roofed like the - cabin. The door, swinging on wooden hinges, stood open. On the puncheon - floor was a piece of handmade carpet—a circular mat, hand-plaited - out of rags, a primitive cradle with wooden rockers, a bed covered with a - pieced quilt, a rough stone fireplace, an iron pot with a lid and a black - iron kettle. On the porch stood a split-basket full of beans in the hull, - and beside the basket two chairs, the seats of plaited hickory bark. One - of them was very small, a chair in miniature, made for the little boy. - Near the path was an ax, a hacked log and some lighter limbs of trees, - such as a woman might carry in from the forest. Beside the chimney was a - primitive hopper made of clapboards, holding wood-ashes, and under this - was a broken iron pot in which lye, obtained from the ashes by pouring - water on it, dripped. - </p> - <p> - Beyond the cabin was a bit of garden and a little cornfield, where the - ripened corn stood in yellow shocks bound with grapevines. The shocks were - small, such as a woman could reach around. About, on the bench, were a - grove of sugar trees, scarred with the marks of an auger, and among them, - here and there, a great hickory. Beyond the grove one heard the faint - tinkling of a bell where a cow moved in the forest. - </p> - <p> - The woman set the bucket of water on the porch and turned to take the - child. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sonny.” - </p> - <p> - The little boy drew back in the man's arms. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “But, sonny,” the woman continued, “the Teacher's goin' away down the - road.” - </p> - <p> - “Baby go wif him down woad.” - </p> - <p> - The woman coaxed, “Won't sonny stay with Jim and mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Nim an' muvver go woad.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the woman, “Jim an' mother ain't goin' down the road. Will - sonny go an' leave Jim an' mother?” - </p> - <p> - The little boy looked over the man's shoulder at the rough-haired yellow - dog. Jim was his housemate and his brother. A decision was a sore trial, - but he finally made it. He turned about in the man's arms. - </p> - <p> - “Baby go woad,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man now entered the conversation. “Let him go with me.” - </p> - <p> - “But he's too little to go to school.” - </p> - <p> - “He is not too little to go with me.” - </p> - <p> - “But he'll bother you, won't he?” - </p> - <p> - “No, he will not bother me. He will help me.” - </p> - <p> - “He can't help you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he can help me.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't see how he can help you.” - </p> - <p> - “He will remind me of the little children in my father's house.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep you from gettin' homesick?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the School-teacher, “that is it. He will keep me from - getting homesick.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the woman, “if I let him go, you'll take care of him, won't - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I will surely take care of him.” - </p> - <p> - “An' you'll bring him back before sundown.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it'll be powerful lonesome, but I reckon I can finish gatherin' the - beans. I will fix him somethin' to eat. You can put it in your pocket.” - </p> - <p> - The woman went into the house, got a flat bottle, such as a cheap sort of - liniment is sold in at the mountain stores, scalded it out with water and - filled it with fresh milk. Then she cut some thin slices of a white bread - called “salt rising” and spread it with butter. She stopped with the knife - in her hand, considered a moment, and then cut two larger pieces of bread, - buttered them, and wrapped them all in a piece of homespun linen towel. - She went out to the man with the folded towel and the bottle in her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Here's his milk an' here's his bread. I put in two pieces for you.” - </p> - <p> - The man put the bottle and the bread into his pocket. The light of his - great gray-blue eyes deepened. - </p> - <p> - “You also thought of me,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't see you carryin' any dinner.” replied the woman, “an' the - bread's nice. I had powerful good luck yesterday. I don't allers have such - luck, but everything turned out right with the bakin' somehow.” - </p> - <p> - The men went on with the little boy in his arms, but the dog remained. He - sat miserably in the path, his tail moving in the leaves, his eyes fixed - on the woman's face. For a time the woman, watching the disappearing - figures, did not notice the dog. Then she saw him, knew his distress and - spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You can go along, Jim,” she said. - </p> - <p> - The dog ran barking after the man and little boy. He overtook them and - went on ahead. At the point where the path entered the forest, the man - turned and looked back at the woman. She did not move, but the smile, - struggling all the morning to conquer her face, finally possessed it. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher, the little boy and the dog continued to descend the - mountain. The child addressed every object with which he was familiar. - When they passed the brindle cow, cropping broom sedge beside the path, he - hailed it with a salutation.. - </p> - <p> - “How-da-do, boo,” he sard. - </p> - <p> - Leaves, burning red with autumn color, he explained, were “dowers.” - </p> - <p> - Finally they came to the river, running shallow between the foot of the - mountain and the farther bench on which the school-house stood. The child - had not crossed this water, and he was afraid for the man to attempt it. - He put his little hand firmly on the man's arm to stop him. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stopped, and the child considered this new and - unaccustomed peril. He sat studying the water, his restraining hand on the - man's arm. Finally, the dog, growing impatient at the delay, entered the - river and began to wade across. The child removed his hand. His fears were - ended. The crossing was safe. He directed the man's attention to the proof - of it. - </p> - <p> - “Nim walk in wat,” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N THE grove before - the log schoolhouse, the Teacher was playing a game with the children. It - was a game in which every child to the tiniest one could join. Two, - standing opposite, with raised arms and the fingers linked, formed a sore - of arch, through which the others passed in a circle, holding one - another's hands. They all sang as they marched some verses of a mountain - song, ending with the line, “An' catch the one that you love best.” - </p> - <p> - When the song came to this line, those forming the arch brought their arms - down over the head of the child passing at that moment, and he left the - circle and took the place of one of those forming the arch. As each child - wished to catch the School-teacher, the man remained standing while the - children changed. - </p> - <p> - The little boy David had just been caught. The child, standing with the - School-teacher, had taken his place. The circle had begun once more to - move, the song to rise, when the miller's daughter, Martha, stopped, - disengaged her hand from the child before her and pointed to the road. - </p> - <p> - “There comes Sol an' Suse. I wonder what's the matter, for Sol's got his - arm tied up.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stood up and looked over the heads of the children. A - man was approaching. The sleeves of a red wammus were tied around his - neck, forming a sort of rude sling in which his right arm rested, held - horizontally across his breast. A woman, carrying a baby, was walking - beside him. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher spoke to the little girl. - </p> - <p> - “Martha,” he said, “you and David take the children into the schoolhouse, - I am going out to meet these people.” - </p> - <p> - When the children had gone in, and the door was closed, the man went down - into the road. He waited there until the two persons approached. He saw - that both the woman and the man were young, the baby but a few months old—a - little family beginning to found a home in the inhospitable mountain. - </p> - <p> - The man was evidently injured. The woman was in distress. Her eyes were - red. The muscles of her mouth trembled. The baby, in her arms, wrapped in - an old faded shawl, wailed. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher spoke to the woman. - </p> - <p> - “What has happened?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “My man's got hurt.” - </p> - <p> - “How was he hurt?” - </p> - <p> - “He was choppin' in his clearin', an' his ax ketched in a grapevine, an' - throwed him. I reckon his shoulder's all broke. He can't use his arm - none.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher addressed the man. “How does your arm feel?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose the jint's smashed.” - </p> - <p> - The tears began to run down over the woman's face. - </p> - <p> - “I don't see why we have such luck,” she said, “an' just when we was - a-gittin' sich a nice start. Now, he can't work in his clearin', an' if he - don't git his clearin' done this winter, we won't have no crop, an' I - don't know what'll become of us.” - </p> - <p> - The man began to chew his lip. - </p> - <p> - “Don' cry, Susie,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'll cry,” replied the woman, “for here's me an' the baby with - nothin', and you laid up.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe I ain't hurt so bad,” the man suggested. - </p> - <p> - The woman continued to cry. - </p> - <p> - “I know better'n that, you're hurt bad.” - </p> - <p> - “Where were you going?” said the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “We were a-goin' to the doctor,” replied the woman. “We thought we'd make - as far as the mill, an' he could wait there, an' I could git Sally to keep - the baby while I went after the doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “How far is it to the doctor?” - </p> - <p> - “It's a-goin' on fourteen mile from the mill, an' that ain't the worst of - it. He won't come unless he gits the money, an' we ain't got no money to - throw away on a doctor.” - </p> - <p> - She opened her hand and disclosed a crumpled, greasy note. - </p> - <p> - “That there five-dollar bill is the very last cent that we've got. An' - when it's gone I don't know where we'll git any more, with him hurt, an' - me with a little sucklin' baby.” - </p> - <p> - The woman began to sob. - </p> - <p> - “I'm jist ready to give up.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher's big gray-blue eyes filled with a kindly light. - </p> - <p> - “Don't cry,” he said, “perhaps I can do something for your husband's - shoulder.” - </p> - <p> - He went over to the man. What the School-teacher did, precisely, these - persons were never afterward able to describe. The event in their minds - seemed clouded in mystery. A wonder had been accomplished in the road, in - the sun, in the light before them, but they could not lay hold upon the - sequence of the detail. The voice of the School-teacher presently reached - them as from a distance. - </p> - <p> - “It's all right now,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man doubled the arm and extended it. The woman came running up. - </p> - <p> - “Kin you use it, Sol?” - </p> - <p> - The man continued to move the arm. “It 'pears like I kin,” he said; “it - 'pears like it's well.” - </p> - <p> - “Kin you use it good?” - </p> - <p> - “It 'pears like I kin use it good as I ever could.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir!” ejaculated the woman, “if I hadn't a seen it with my own - eyes, I wouldn't never a-believed it.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher remained standing for a moment in the road after the - mountaineers had gone. - </p> - <p> - Then he went back to the children, waiting in the schoolhouse. He called - them out into the grove before the door, and took his place in the game, - bending over to hold the hands of the tiniest child. The circle began once - more to move. The song to rise. - </p> - <p> - “An' catch the one that you love best.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T WAS not the only - adventure that the School-teacher was destined to meet with on this day. - As he was returning along the mountain road, with the little boy on his - shoulder, at the first ascent, beyond the river crossing, he met two men - in a buckboard. The horses were gaunt as from hard usage. The man who - drove them was known to the School-teacher. The other was a big man with a - heavy black beard. He sat leaning over in the buckboard. His head down. - His shoulders rising in a hump. He had gone stooped for so long that the - hump on his shoulders was now a sort of permanent deformity. - </p> - <p> - They drew up by the roadside as the School-teacher approached. The big, - hump-shouldered man spoke, without taking the trouble to preface his - remarks with any form of salutation. - </p> - <p> - “Do you claim old Nicholas Parks' estate?” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher regarded him with his deep, tranquil, gray-blue eyes. - </p> - <p> - “It belongs to my father,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Is your father related to old Nicholas?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Has he got a deed from old Nicholas?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Then how does he claim under him?” - </p> - <p> - “He does not claim under him. Nicholas Parks had his possession from my - father.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that your father owned it first?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he sell to Nicholas?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Then how did old Nicholas come to own it?” - </p> - <p> - “He never owned it; my father permitted him to use it.” - </p> - <p> - “Then your claim is that old Nicholas was just a tenant for life.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the School-teacher, “that was it, a tenant for life.” - </p> - <p> - “Did your father give Nicholas any writing?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Did Nicholas pay anything for the use of the land?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he ever recognize your father's title while he was living?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he never knew that your father owned these lands?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the School-teacher, “in the end he knew it.” - </p> - <p> - “How did he know it, if he did not find it out while he was living?” - </p> - <p> - “He found it out while he was dying,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The big humpback looked out sidewise at the man standing in the road, with - the child on his shoulder, its little arm around his neck, its little - fingers on his face. - </p> - <p> - “Didn't you come into these mountains about the time that old Nicholas - died?” - </p> - <p> - “On the very day that he died,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” said the humpback, “then he found it out through you.” - </p> - <p> - “No, man,” replied the School-teacher, “ever finds out anything about the - affairs of my father except he find it out through me.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you're here to look after your father's business?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the School-teacher, “that is it, I am here to look after my - father's business.” - </p> - <p> - “An' so you moved in when old Nicholas died?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “I see,” said the humpback, “now I want to ask you another question. These - lands belonged to the state. Old Nicholas bought from the state, and the - state made him a deed. Do you contend that your father's title is older - than that of the state?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - The humpback compressed the muscles of his mouth and nodded his head - slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” he said, “your father claims the lands of Nicholas Parks under - some old patent that gives him a color of title and he has sent you here - to get into possession. A color of title is not good at law without - possession. Well, I can tell you, the state's not going to lie by and - allow you to acquire adverse possession. Old Nicholas Parks died without - heirs, and, by the law, his property escheats to the state. So you can - make up your mind to get off.” - </p> - <p> - He reached over, caught the whip out of its socket, and struck the horses. - They jumped and the buckboard went clattering down the mountain, the - wheels bouncing on the stones. - </p> - <p> - The little boy raised his hand and pointed his tiny finger at the - departing horses. - </p> - <p> - “Man hurt gups,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stood in the road watching the humpback lash the - half-starved team. His face was full of misery. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span> HE School-teacher - had been helping the miller. - </p> - <p> - He had taken the shirts which she had offered to him, but he had refused - to put upon her the labor of making up the big piece of linen that - remained. - </p> - <p> - “Keep it,” he said, “until I need it.” All of Saturday he had been at work - mending the wooden water wheel. In the evening he set out to return to - Nicholas Parks' house. He took the short way up the mountain. When he came - out on the great hickory ridge, the sun was not yet down. He stopped where - the path entered the two roads, one turning along the ridge to his house, - the other winding down the mountain, eastward, toward the far-off lumber - mills, sometimes faintly to be indicated by a tiny wisp of smoke on the - horizon. - </p> - <p> - There had been a gentle rain, and now under the soft evening sun the earth - seemed to recover something of the virility of springtime, as though the - impulse of life waning in the autumn were about to reconquer its dominion. - Here and there, in the moist earth, a little flower crept out, as though - tricked into the belief that it was springtime—a white strawberry, a - tiny violet. - </p> - <p> - The sap seemed about to move under the bark of the beech trees, the buds - to issue from the twigs. - </p> - <p> - In the forest the wren and the catbirds fluttered as under a nesting - instinct, the gray squirrels fled around the rough shellbark trees and - from one tree top to another, far off a pheasant drummed, and farther off - a mountain bull lowed as he wandered through the forest. - </p> - <p> - The road descending the mountain was decked out in color, banked along its - border with the poison ivy and the Virginia creeper, now a mass of - scarlet. Above the beech and hickory leaves were yellow, the clay of the - road below was yellow, and the soft sunlight entered and fused the edges - of these colors. The forest for this hour took on the ripe expectancy of - springtime. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stood where the path emerged from the forest - </p> - <p> - Presently from below him, beyond the turn of the road, a voice arose, a - voice full, rich and sensuous—a woman's voice singing a song. It - carried through the forest, swaggering, defiant melody. The words could - not be determined. Indeed, there seemed to be no words. The song was a - thing of sounds—of tropical, sensuous sounds. As though all the love - calls of the creatures of the forest had been fused into one great, - barbaric symphony. - </p> - <p> - A moment later the singer came into view. - </p> - <p> - She was a young, buxom woman, and she walked, singing, in the middle of - the road, with a defiant swagger. Her hair was heavy and yellow like wheat - straw. Her lips, colored purple from the wild grapes which she had been - eating, were full, the under one drooping a little at the middle. Her face - was whitened with a cheap powder to be had at the village store. Her - bodice and her petticoat were of bright vivid colors. There was a crimson - handkerchief tied around her neck, a cheap glittering bangle on her wrist, - heavy, gilded earrings hanging in the lobes of her ears, and at her throat - a breastpin of jet set in a lattice work of brass. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher remained motionless. He watched the woman approaching - in the middle of the road, her body swinging loose in her swaggering - stride, and the full volume of her voice abandoned to her song. - </p> - <p> - She was halfway up the bend of the road before she realized that another - was within sound of her voice. Then she saw the School-teacher and - stopped. - </p> - <p> - The song ceased. - </p> - <p> - Her head went up and her eyes opened wide. She remained as though the - power to move had been on the instant stricken out of her. Her foot - advanced, her heel lifted, her mouth shaped to sing. Then, slowly, her - face changed to an expression of profound astonishment. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher did not speak. He did not move. The sun descending - behind him slowly crept up the road to his feet, as though, bidden to - withdraw from the world, it were loath to leave him. - </p> - <p> - The woman's face again changed. It became troubled. She moved now a few - steps closer, softly, on tiptoe. Then, suddenly, with a swift gesture, she - covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Her body shook as - with a convulsion. The tears streamed through her fingers. - </p> - <p> - Until now the School-teacher had not moved. Now he came slowly along the - road to where she stood. As he approached, the woman sank down huddled - together, her face covered, her bosom heaving, her hands wet. He stood - before her in the road looking down at the bowed head. - </p> - <p> - “Poor child!” he said. - </p> - <p> - The woman continued to sob. The eyes of the School-teacher deepened with a - profound sorrow. He stooped over to put his hand on the coarse yellow - hair, redolent with a cheap perfume. But before the descending fingers - touched her, the woman sprang up and flew like a wild thing into the - forest. - </p> - <p> - The sun was now gone. - </p> - <p> - The tropical colors of the leaves, the vines, the yellow earth, departed - with it. The gray twilight began to descend. The School-teacher walked - slowly to the top of the ridge, and returned along the little meadow to - Nicholas Parks' house. As he approached he saw a figure moving off down - the mountain along the rail fence. - </p> - <p> - When he came to the house he stopped. - </p> - <p> - There was a paper tacked on the door. He looked at it for a moment, but he - did not touch it. The four corners of the paper were doubled under and a - tack at each end held it. He pulled the worn leather string, lifted the - wooden latch and went in, leaving the paper fastened to the door. - </p> - <p> - The night had descended. - </p> - <p> - The house was dark. But when he entered it, on the instant, as though the - opening of the door had made a draft through the fireplace, a log - smoldering shot up a red flame that illumined the house. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher went over to a table that stood by the wall. - </p> - <p> - On this table were a homemade cheese and the half of a loaf of bread. - Beside them was a knife with a wooden handle and a thick china plate - chipped at the rim. Before this table was a hickory chair, the seat of - roughly plaited bark. The School-teacher sat down and ate his supper. - </p> - <p> - Everything in this house remained as Nicholas Parks had left it. - </p> - <p> - This chair, this table, a larger hickory chair with arms and a ragged - cushion by the fireplace, a fourpost bed in the corner covered with a - patchwork quilt. When Nicholas Parks died there had been, as now, a log on - the fire, a cheese and a loaf of bread on the table. - </p> - <p> - There were, however, now on this table, before the School-teacher, some - objects that had not been there. There was a little worn, broken toy that - had once been a wooden horse; there was a top whittled out of a spool with - a hickory pin through it. There was a Barlow knife with an iron handle, - the blade broken at the point; there was a brass ring tied to a cotton - rib-hon; and there were little bunches of wild flowers, the stems of which - were primly wrapped with black thread. These were laid out on the table - beyond the cheese and the loaf. And before he sat down to eat, the - School-teacher touched them. - </p> - <p> - When he had finished his supper, the - </p> - <p> - School-teacher went over to the fireplace and sat down in the armchair. He - sat beside the hearth where he could see the doer. He remained for a long - time without moving, except now and then he looked toward the door, and - when there came to him any sound from the night outside, he listened. - </p> - <p> - The night advanced. He remained in in the chair before the fire. The log - continued to burn among the ashes in the fireplace. But it no longer - flamed. It burned with a deep crimson glow that flooded the hair, the - face, the hands of the School-teacher. The glow thus reflected seemed to - take on a deeper crimson. - </p> - <p> - It became like the crimson of blood. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher hardly ever moved except to raise his head to listen, - but he was not asleep; there was no sleep in him. The glow of the - smoldering log, changing on his face, gave it an expression of agony. - </p> - <p> - The night continued to advance; the hours passed. The vagrant sounds of - the world outside ceased. The profound silence of midnight arrived and - passed. The temperature changed. - </p> - <p> - But the School-teacher did not go to bed. - </p> - <p> - He sat in the fantastic glow of the fire, with its agony on him. Now and - then, when the playing of the light seemed to convulse his features—seemed - to distort them with a deeper agony, he turned his face toward the table - standing along the wall, near the door, and his eyes rested on the broken - toy horse, the top, the Barlow knife, the ring and little hunches of - flowers; and turned thus out of the glow of the fire, his features no - longer presented the aspect of agony. Moreover, when his head was turned - like that, the glow of the fire, that had been thus distorting his face, - passed by him and streamed over the objects on the table, bringing them - into vivid contrast with every other object in the room. - </p> - <p> - The body of the night passed. - </p> - <p> - The morning began to arrive. And still the School-teacher waited. No one - came. The room was profoundly silent. The breath of the morning entering, - distilled a faint perfume out of the little bunches of wild flowers, a - vague odor that arose and sweetened the room. The night was dead. The day - was beginning to be born. Then it was that the one for whom the - School-teacher waited finally came. - </p> - <p> - There was a faint sound outside, as though one approached walking softly - on the grass, as though a hand passed gently along the door. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher rose. - </p> - <p> - The latch of the door moved, the door turned noiselessly on its hinges, - and the woman who had fled from the Schoolteacher into the forest entered. - </p> - <p> - The whole aspect of the woman was changed. - </p> - <p> - The purple stains on her mouth, the powder on her face, were gone. Her - hair, too, had been cleansed of its cheap scent. It clung in damp strands - about her face. The swagger, the defiance, the loud notes and color had - gone out of her. And that which remained after these things were gone, now - alone existed—as though the whole fabric of the woman had been - washed with water. The woman put her hand swiftly to her face, to her - hair; she caught her breath. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she said, “I thought you were asleep.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher's voice was incomparably gentle. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said, “I have been waiting for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you thought I would come?” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you would come.” - </p> - <p> - “I had to come,” she said. “I could not go back to—to—the - other!” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said, “you never could go back to that.” - </p> - <p> - “An'—an'—I had nowhere else to go.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that,” replied the Schoolteacher, “there is no place that you - could go, except to me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE children had - bought the School-teacher a hat. It had been a large undertaking, and the - cause of innumerable secret conferences in the grove behind the - schoolhouse. The purchase of so costly a thing as a hat required a certain - sum of money. To raise this sum of money, the children had been put to the - most desperate straits. Every tiny store that any child possessed had been - brought forward and contributed to the common fund. The difficulty did not - lie in the drawing on this store. Although every contribution meant a - sacrifice to the donor, no child had hesitated. There had been no question - about what each should give, and no inquiry as to a holding back of - resources. Every child had simply given all he had. - </p> - <p> - Ancient two-cent pieces with holes in them, worn nickles, one or two - long-treasured ten-cent pieces, and one-cent pieces thumbed with counting, - were withdrawn from snuffboxes, essence of coffee boxes, pill boxes, holes - in the wall, from under the loose stones of the hearth and other safety - deposit places—wherever the child had deemed it expedient to keep - his treasures. Sometimes, however, this treasure was in the custody of - older persons, and the obtaining of it had presented difficulties. - </p> - <p> - The whole school had often gone into counsel on these cases, ways and - means devised, a proper motive constructed, and the child strengthened and - drilled. When the device succeeded, the whole school for that day - rejoiced, when it failed, the school was depressed, but it was not - defeated, and some other plan was brought forward. Some of the plans were - exceedingly ingenious, and, as a rule, the school prevailed. - </p> - <p> - However, when the whole store was finally collected, or as much as could - be had, the children were confronted with a staggering disappointment; the - entire fund, for all the counting and recounting of it, could not be made - to exceed sixty-four cents. A wholesale borrowing, right and left, had - added only eleven cents. Now, 't was well-known that a hat could not be - purchased for less than a dollar, and when it became evident that the fund - must fail by a fourth of that sum the children were in despair. - </p> - <p> - For a day or two almost the whole school was in tears. - </p> - <p> - Then, individually, it resorted to desperate devices. One whose - grandfather had been accustomed to present him with ten cents on Christmas - day endeavored to secure an advancement. A small child had hailed the - doctor as he passed along the road, and had offered to work for him all - the remainder of his life for ten cents paid down in cash. Another had - approached the minister, after the Sunday collection, and endeavored to - borrow a twenty-five-cent piece out of the hat. - </p> - <p> - These ventures had failed, and the latter with the perilous result that - the minister had all but extracted the secret for the money, and his - withering commentaries on a teacher who inculcated the spirit of avarice - into little children had so stricken the child with terror that it had - been afraid to tell the school what it had done. - </p> - <p> - This brief lapse into madness, the practical leadership of Martha, the - miller's little girl, and the small boy, David, was presently able to - cheek. They pointed out what it was useless to do. But for the present - they were not able to bring forward any plan that it seemed worth while to - undertake. At this season the only natural product of the mountain that - could be exchanged for money was hickory nuts, and the value of this - product was in doubt. Sometimes, early in certain seasons, the storekeeper - had been known to give twenty-five cents for a bushel of choice hickory - nuts, not the gross shellbark nut, but the small, round, sweet-kerneled - nut of the smooth-bark hickory. - </p> - <p> - The school had considered this, but had come always against two serious - difficulties. To secure a bushel of these small nuts would require a - considerable searching of the mountains, and, despite the fact that the - children were very small, each had duties at home that occupied Saturdays, - and the evening fragments of the day. On Sundays, an austere theology - imposed by the minister compelled them to attend the Sunday sermon and to - practice the most rigorous inactivity under pain of hideous consequences. - The insurmountable difficulty, however, lay in the fact that they could - not get a bushel of hickory nuts over the long distance to the country - store. - </p> - <p> - An unexpected event suddenly removed this difficulty. Coming breathlessly - to the school on a Friday morning, little David announced that his father - was going to the country store on Tuesday with the wagon to bring home a - barrel of salt, and that he had obtained permission to accompany him. At - once the school took up the possibility of securing the bushel of hickory - nuts. It was immediately evident that within so brief a time the thing - could not be done unless the whole of Sunday were devoted to the labor of - it. The school promptly decided. - </p> - <p> - This expedition did not arise from any failure to appreciate the perils of - the decision. Corporal chastisement under the home roof was certain to - follow; and the hideous tortures vividly presented by the minister, - awaiting at the threshold of his future life, that one who broke the - Sabbath day, was scarcely less certain. Nevertheless, not a child of the - whole school hesitated. - </p> - <p> - The complete success of the venture strengthened the school to bear the - immediate consequences. - </p> - <p> - Corporal chastisement in the mountains was not apt to be a thing lightly - administered. But it was a hardship which even the smallest children had - come to regard as one of the inevitable conditions of life. As to that - other penalty, which awaited them at the hands of an outraged and - vindictive deity, they were somehow of the opinion that this malignant god - could not inflict his punishments except through some overt act of the - minister who was his executive agent. Thus, if they could outwit this - dangerous penal vicegerent, the thing could be turned aside. In travail of - this problem, they hit upon the plan of going over the head of the - minister and claiming a direct authorization for their act. When - approached for an explanation of their conduct they solemnly announced - that an angel had come down through the roof of the schoolhouse and - directed them not to attend the religious services on this Sunday. - </p> - <p> - Transported by the success of their undertaking; by the exquisite pleasure - of making this presentation to the Schoolteacher; by the joy which his - evident happiness in it carried to every heart; they had neglected to - perfect the details of this story. Fortunately they agreed upon the - personal aspect of the angel, since every child, when driven to describe - this divine messenger, simply followed the guidance of his affections, and - presented the School-teacher. But upon a close and searching examination - there had been a divergence. How had the angel been clothed? Some of the - children, put upon inquisition, had replied that he had nothing at all on; - and others, feeling the need for appropriate vestments, had declared that - the angel wore a red coat and blue breeches. - </p> - <p> - Seizing upon this point, as a protruding limb, the minister had finally - drawn up the whole hidden body of the incident. And he was now on his way - to confront the School-teacher with this piece of outrageous conduct. It - was evening when he arrived. The school was coming through the little - grove down into the road. The School-teacher walked among them. The grove - was full of voices—the laughter of children. The School-teacher wore - his new hat, and every now and then he took it off and held it in his hand - that he might the better admire it. From the day that he had received it, - he had never ceased to express his appreciation of it. He continued always - to regard it, as if in it were merged, as in a symbol, all the little - sacrifices of every child, and all the love that had strengthened each one - to bear what the thing had cost him. - </p> - <p> - This never-ceasing appreciation of the School-teacher for his present had - transported the school with pleasure. This acute happiness the children - were not always able to control. Sometimes pride overcame one, and he - would tell how much he had contributed. - </p> - <p> - And always the smaller children wished to hold the hat in their hands, so - that it quickly gathered a border of little fingerprints. - </p> - <p> - Even the tiny boy, who had been too little to help in the purchase of the - present, but who somehow dimly understood that all had given something - toward this article, had brought forward a rooster feather, which he had - found, and insisted that it be added to the hat. And the School-teacher - had very carefully pinned this crimson feather to the band. - </p> - <p> - Moreover, the habit which the Schoolteacher had acquired of taking off his - hat in order to admire it before the children, seemed to adhere to him - when he was by himself: Of late, those who had watched him as he passed - along the mountain roads, had observed him at this habit and had marked - how his face, profoundly sad when he was alone, always immediately - brightened. - </p> - <p> - The school trooping about the Schoolteacher was emerging from the grove - when the minister got out of his buggy. - </p> - <p> - He tied the horse to a sapling with one of the lines. Then he drew his - cotton gloves a little closer over his hands, buttoned his long black coat - down to its last button, and stood out in the road to await the coming of - the School-teacher. The children and the School-teacher stopped when they - saw him. The pleasant laughing voices ceased. The children gathered around - the School-teacher. The smallest ones came close up and took hold of his - hands. - </p> - <p> - The minister addressed the Schoolteacher. His voice was high and sharp. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what the school children have done?” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher regarded the minister with his deep, calm, gray-blue - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Did you know that they were going to do it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you try to prevent it?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - The lines in the minister's face hardened. - </p> - <p> - “That's all I wanted to know,” he said. “It is now perfectly evident that - you are no fit person to have charge of school children. The community - must get rid of you.” - </p> - <p> - He turned about in the road, untied his horse, got into his buggy and took - up the lines. He raised one of the lines in his cotton-gloved hand to - bring it down on the horse's back, but he paused with his arm extended, - and turned about toward the School-teacher. He thrust his head to one - side. His defective eye straining to see. - </p> - <p> - “Do you have any fear of God at all?” he said. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher's calm, gentle voice did not change, it did not - hesitate. “No,” he said, “none at all.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N SATURDAY morning - the miller hailed the doctor as he was passing the mill. - </p> - <p> - “Are you goin' over to Black's?” she called. - </p> - <p> - The doctor stopped his horse. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “they sent me word to come.” - </p> - <p> - “By Jonas the first of the week?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “For to see old Jerry's eye?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it ain't no use for you to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Did his eye get well of itself?” inquired the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “No, it didn't git well of itself,” replied the woman. “It never would - have got well of itself. Ole Jerry's been set-tin' around with that eye - tied up ever since the day that he thrashed out his wheat. He'd a-been - blind in it all the rest of his life if it hadn't a-been for the - School-teacher.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor turned around in his saddle. - </p> - <p> - “What did the School-teacher do to him?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “He cured him,” replied the miller. - </p> - <p> - The doctor had ridden past the mill before he stopped. Now he rode hack. - The miller stood on the porch before the door. The doctor sat on his horse - in the road, the loose bridle rein over his crooked arm, his good hand - resting heavily on the pommel of the saddle. - </p> - <p> - “How did he cure him?” inquired the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how he cured him,” replied the miller. - </p> - <p> - “Didn't you hear?” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I heard,” replied the miller. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the doctor, “what did you hear?” - </p> - <p> - “I heard that he took ole Jerry to one side an' he asked him if he could - see anything with that eye. An' ole Jerry said that he couldn't tell a man - from a tree with it. Then the School-teacher put his hands on his eye, an' - he made him look up an' and when the School-teacher got through ole Jerry - could see. But he complained that his eye felt hot an' the School-teacher - told him to hold a piece of wet clay against it—you know' that's - awful good to draw out soreness—an' the next morning ole Jerry's eye - was well. Now, how do you suppose he done it?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't suppose how he done 't,” replied the doctor. “I know how he done - it. Ole Jerry got a wheat husk in that eye when he was thrashing, and it - stuck against the lid back of the ball. The fools that looked into his eye - by pushing the lid up couldn't see it. But when anybody come along with - sense enough to turn the lid back he got the husk out and the eye got - well.” - </p> - <p> - The miller crumpled the corner of her apron in her hand. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know about that,” she said. “D'd you hear how the School-teacher - cured Sol Shreave's shoulder that he smashed in his clearing?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I heard it,” replied the doctor. “I was pretty apt to hear it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what did you think about that?” said the miller. - </p> - <p> - “I thought it was a piece of meddling with my practice,” replied the - doctor. “It kept me out of a five-dollar fee.” - </p> - <p> - “But it was wonderful,” said the miller. - </p> - <p> - “No, it wasn't wonderful,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - The miller spoke slowly. She nodded her head between each word. - </p> - <p> - “To cure a man's shoulder that was smashed, just by takin' hold of his - arm, wouldn't that be a wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the doctor, “that would be a hell of a wonder,” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the woman, “didn't the School-teacher do it?” - </p> - <p> - “No, he didn't do it,” replied the doctor. “Then you don't think 't's so, - about the School-teacher fixin' Sol's shoulder?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know it's so,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Then what makes you say it ain't a wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “Because it's a thing; anybody could do,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Charm a smashed shoulder well?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied the doctor, “rotate a dislocated joint into place. When Sol - Shreave caught his ax in the grapevine he twisted the ball on the big hone - of his arm out of the socket of the shoulder, and when the School-teacher - took hold of his arm and rotated it around in the right way it went back - into place.” - </p> - <p> - The miller crossed her hands over her apron. She took hold of the palm of - her left with the fingers of her right. She gave her head a little jerk. - Her eyebrows contracted. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know about that,” she said. - </p> - <p> - She remained for a moment looking down at the mill porch, then she looked - up. - </p> - <p> - “Doctor,” she said, “did you ever hear of anybody that was dead bein' - brought back to life?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the doctor, “I have heard of it ever since I could remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it has happened?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>No</i>,” said the doctor. “It never has happened. When you're dead, - you're dead.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor took a watch out of his pocket. It was a heavy, old, silver - watch, tied to his waistcoat buttonhole with a buckskin string. He opened - it, examined it for a moment, then snapped the lid and thrust it back into - his pocket. When he looked around the miller was standing in the roadside - beside the horse. - </p> - <p> - “Doctor,” she said, “I'm a-goin' to tell you somethin' that I never told - anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “What about?” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “About what I've just said,” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - The doctor reflected for an instant, then he remembered. He shifted his - position in the saddle. His voice showed annoyance. - </p> - <p> - “What cock-an'-bull story have you got a-hold of now?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It's no cock-an'-bull story,” replied the miller. “It's the God's truth.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor made a deprecating gesture with his crooked arm. - </p> - <p> - “Now, look here, Sal,” lie said, “I haven't time to listen to all the - tales you've heard.” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't anything I've heard,” replied the miller. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, then?” - </p> - <p> - “It's something I saw.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you see it yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I did.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, Sal,” said the doctor, “don't begin to tell me something you thought - you saw.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not a-goin' to tell you somethin' that I thought I saw. I'm a-goin' - to tell you something that I did see.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said the doctor, “go on and tell it. What did you see?” - </p> - <p> - The woman drew a little closer. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” she said, “one Saturday the School-teacher come down here to help - me, an' he brought Mary Jane's little boy with him. He's awful little. He - ain't two yet. The School-teacher left him with me while he went down - under the mill to fix one of the wheel paddles. Well, Martha was gone an' - there was nobody here but me to 'tend things. An' I got to movin' around - and forgot the little boy. An' when I went to look for him—I hope I - may die!—if he wasn't a-layin' drown-ded at the bottom of the - millrace. Lord-amighty! I was crazy. I jumped in an' got him out, an' - begun to holler for the School-teacher to come. But he was dead. I knowed - he was dead. His little lips was blue, an' his poor little hands was - cold.” - </p> - <p> - The tears came into the woman's eyes at the memory. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy, Lordy!” she said, “I knowed he was all that Mary Jane had in the - world. I knowed her soul was wrapped up in him. I knowed it would kill - her.” - </p> - <p> - The woman stopped and wiped her eyes with her apron. - </p> - <p> - “Well, the School-teacher come a-run-nin' an' took him out of my arms, an' - carried him into the house. An' I just stood there in the road like I was - dazed. But after a while I sort a come to myself, an' I tiptoed up on the - porch, an' I looked in the door. An' the little boy was layin' on the bed, - an' the School-teacher was a-bendin' over him. Then I thought of Mary Jane - again. An' Lord-a'-mighty! I thought I'd die. I went down off the porch. - An' I reckon I was crazy, because I started out, an' I run just as hard as - I could right up the road. I reckon I run for half a mile. Then I thought - I heard the School-teacher callin' me. An' I come hack with my apron over - my head a-cryin'. An' when I got right here in the road, I did hear him, - an' he said, 'Don't be distressed, for the child's all right.' An' I took - my apron off my head, an' I looked in the door, an' there set the - School-teacher by the stove with the little boy wrapped in a blanket—an' - he was <i>alive</i>.” - </p> - <p> - The woman stopped, lifted her shoulders, and took in a deep breath, like - one who has concluded a violent exertion. She wiped her face with her - apron. - </p> - <p> - “Well, he told me to make haste, an' dry out the little boy's clothes—he - had nice, little, white clothes, Mary Jane's awful particular about him—an' - I did, an' I ironed them so they'd be just like they was before he fell - in. Then we put the clothes back on him. An' the Schoolteacher took him - home. An' he was just as well as he was before he was drownded. An' the - School-teacher told me not to tell anybody. I suppose he didn't want Mary - Jane to find it out. It would only distress her for nothing.” - </p> - <p> - The woman folded her arms across her bosom, and looked up at the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then?” she said. - </p> - <p> - The doctor sat back in his saddle. He dropped his crooked arm by his side. - He addressed the woman, speaking with a perceptible pause between each - word. - </p> - <p> - “So you thought he raised the dead, did you?” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't I see him do it?” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the doctor, “if you're that big a fool, there's no use to - talk to you.” - </p> - <p> - He turned around in the saddle, gath-tred up the reins, and kicked the - horse with his heel. He passed out of sight in the direction of Jerry - Black's house. The miller remained standing in the road. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ERRY BLACK'S house - was beyond Hickory Mountain, in the direction of the far-off lumber mills. - </p> - <p> - It was afternoon before the doctor returned. He rode hard in anger. He had - gone on to Black's house, determined to make the old man pay him for his - visit. But the mountaineer, now that his eye was healed, had refused. The - doctor stormed and threatened, but the mountaineer was obdurate. The - School-teacher had cured him. He owed nothing. He would pay nothing. - </p> - <p> - The doctor was compelled to return empty-handed, and he rode hard. - </p> - <p> - A deep resentment against the man who thus interfered with his practice - moved within him. When he came to Hickory Mountain, instead of following - the road around by the mill, he took the one leading across through the - lands of Nicholas Parks. It was mid-afternoon when he stopped in the road - before the Schoolteacher's house. He called. A woman came to the door, her - heavy hair the color of wheat straw. The doctor made an exclamation of - profound astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Yaller Mag!” he said. “Now what's that hussy doin' here?” - </p> - <p> - When the woman saw that the person in the road was the doctor, she went - hack into the house and presently came out with a brown earthen crock. She - walked down the path from the door bearing the crock in her hand. When she - came out into the road, she held the crock up to the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “The School-teacher told me to give you this money when you come,” she - said. - </p> - <p> - There was a handful of silver coins in the crock. - </p> - <p> - Again the doctor was astonished. - </p> - <p> - “When I come!” he echoed. “How did he know that I was coming?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how he knew it,” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - “What did he tell you to give it to me for?” - </p> - <p> - “He didn't tell me.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor looked at the pieces of silver. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose this is money that the people have paid him. How much did old - Black pay him?” - </p> - <p> - “He never paid him anything,” replied the woman. “Nobody ever paid him - anything.” - </p> - <p> - “Who give him this money then?” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody give it to him,” said the woman. “It was in that crock on the - shelf when old Nicholas Parks died. It ain't been touched.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor looked at the dust-covered handful of silver. - </p> - <p> - “If nobody pays him, an' he hasn't used any of this, where does he get - money to buy things with?” - </p> - <p> - “He don't buy anything.” - </p> - <p> - “What does he live on, then?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the woman, “when Nicholas Parks died, there was flour in the - barrel. It ain't run out. It looks like it never would run out. Now, will - you take the money, so I can get some feed for the horse?” - </p> - <p> - Again the doctor was astonished. - </p> - <p> - “How do you know that the horse hasn't been fed?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know it,” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Then what do you want to feed him for?” - </p> - <p> - “I want to feed him,” replied the woman, “because the School-teacher told - me to.” - </p> - <p> - “Told you to feed my horse?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he told me to give you this money and to feed your horse. Are you - goin' to take the money?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the doctor. “I'm not goin' to take it. I want to see the - Schoolteacher himself. Where is he?” - </p> - <p> - “He's down at Mary Jane's house.” - </p> - <p> - “Is she the one that's got the woods-colt?” - </p> - <p> - “She's the one that's got the little boy,” replied the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” said the doctor. “What's he doin' there?” - </p> - <p> - “He's huskin' her corn.” - </p> - <p> - “So he spends his time helpin' the women who have no men folks about, too, - does he?” - </p> - <p> - The woman looked up at the doctor. Her face undisturbed by the taunt. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said. “He spends his time helpin' those who have nobody else to - help them.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor did not reply. He gathered his bridle up in his hand. The woman - moved around in front of the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Ain't you goin' to let me feed the horse?” - </p> - <p> - “The horse can stand it just as well as I can,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “But you can help it,” replied the woman, “an' the horse can't help it.” - </p> - <p> - “It won't hurt him to wait till I eat.” - </p> - <p> - “Would it hurt you to wait till he eats?” - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn't do me much good, if anybody was to sec me waitin' here,” said - the doctor. - </p> - <p> - A flush of color sprang into the woman's face. - </p> - <p> - “I only wanted to feed him,” she said, “because the School-teacher told me - to.” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of my way,” said the doctor. “This School-teacher has interfered - with my business just about as much as I'm going to put up with.” - </p> - <p> - He clucked to his horse, and rode around the woman. When he had gone - forward a few paces, he made a gesture with his crooked arm. - </p> - <p> - “Is there a path over the mountain this way?” he called without turning in - his saddle. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the woman, “it runs down past the house.” - </p> - <p> - She remained standing by the gate with the crock in her hand. - </p> - <p> - The doctor entered the forest. - </p> - <p> - The colors lying far down the mountain in the sun were like those of an - oriental carpet. Soft shades of green, of yellow, of crimson, kneaded into - a harmony of low, unobtrusive tones that the sun warmed and illumined. - Near at hand, along the path, where the doctor rode, the sumacs stood a - dull red, the chestnut bushes yellow, the wild cherry leaves turning on - their edges, the oaks crimson like a flame, the water beeches green, the - hickory leaves curling on their twigs like shavings of gold. - </p> - <p> - The scene lay out below the doctor in the sun, incomparably painted, but - he did not see it. He rode looking down at the pommel of his saddle. Now - and then, when the horse stumbled, he brought it up with a wrench of the - bit. The horse was tired. It went forward with its head down. Dust lay - around its eye-pits. There were gray bands of dried sweat running parallel - with the leather of the headstall, and beyond the borders of the saddle - blanket. - </p> - <p> - At a turn of the path a dog appeared, his yellow hair rising on his back. - As the doctor came on, the dog slowly retreated, growling, holding his - place in the road until the horse was almost upon him, then springing - hack, his teeth flashing, his eyes on the doctor. The dog did not bark, he - made no considerable sound, he refused to attack the horse, but he - continued always to menace the approach of the doctor. - </p> - <p> - They passed the spring and came out before the house and the little - cornfield. Then the dog began, to bark, and a tiny voice arose. - </p> - <p> - “Ge-out, Nim!” it said. - </p> - <p> - This patch of clearing, lying within the many-colored garden of the - forest, seemed illumined with a warmer sunlight. The effect doubtless - arose from the carpet of coarse brown fox-grass grown up over the - cornfield, into which the sun seemed to enter and remain. Two or three - small maple trees, abundantly leaved, stood about, flaming scarlet. - </p> - <p> - Under one of these trees the Schoolteacher was at work. - </p> - <p> - A corn shock, unbound, lying on the ground before him. He was on his - knees, bareheaded, without a coat, ripping the husk from the ear with a - wooden “peg” bound to his middle finger, snapping it at the socket and - tossing it out on a heap before him. - </p> - <p> - The ears coming from the Schoolteacher's hands were long, full-grained and - of a deep yellow. - </p> - <p> - The two children, Martha and David, were gathering this corn into a split - basket and carrying it to a crib made of rails and roofed with clapboards. - Near the School-teacher, sitting on his coat spread out on the ground, was - the tiny boy who had called to the dog. He was shelling a red ear of corn - into the School-teacher's hat. - </p> - <p> - A brush fence inclosed the cornfield. - </p> - <p> - The doctor pulled up in the path beside the fence. The School-teacher - arose. He stood bareheaded in the sun under the canopy of darning leaves. - He looked past the doctor to the horse, standing with its legs out, its - head down. - </p> - <p> - “I understand you're practicin' medicine,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Your horse is tired,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “There's a law against practicin' medicine without a license,” said the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Your horse is hungry,” continued the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The doctor, riding on, replied with an oath. - </p> - <p> - “You're going to get into trouble,” he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>ARLY on Monday - morning an old man driving a gray mare in a two-wheeled cart came slowly - up the road to the schoolhouse. A lank colt followed the mare. The cart - was very old, no vestige of paint remained on it, one of the shafts was - wrapped with wire, the bottom of the cart, made of small slats, was loose. - The man was heavy and the cart creaked. He drove slowly, his big body - filling the seat on which for comfort he had placed a folded bedquilt. - </p> - <p> - He stopped in the road below the schoolhouse and got slowly out of the - creaking cart. - </p> - <p> - One of his legs was swollen with scrofula, and stiff to the knee. He moved - it with difficulty. He left the mare standing in the road, the colt beside - her, and came through the grove to the school-house door. The stiff leg - gave his heavy body an awkward swing. He supported himself with a stout - stick. - </p> - <p> - When he came finally to the school-house, he sat down on the step before - the door. He had evidently moved faster than he was accustomed to do, and - he remained for a moment breathing heavily, his big bulk covering the - step. Then he got a memorandum hook and a pencil out of his pocket. The - memorandum book was one of those cheap advertisements of patent medicine - which are given away at the country store. It contained a few pages blank - on one side and printed with virtues of the medicine on the other. The - pencil was a little more pretentious than the ordinary one. It consisted - of a tin case containing a long, thin core of purple lead, the end of - which could be made to protrude for writing by pressing the thumb on the - opposite end of the case. - </p> - <p> - The old man turned the leaves of the memorandum book, wetting his - forefinger in his mouth, until he found a blank page. Then he laid the - book on his knee, pressed the case of the pencil, touched the tip of the - lead to his tongue, and laboriously wrote. - </p> - <p> - “This schoolhouse is closed, by order of P. Hamrick, Trustee.” - </p> - <p> - He tore the leaf out, rose and pinned it to the door. - </p> - <p> - It was some distance through the grove of ancient trees to the road, and - he started to return. In spite of his bulk and his stiff leg he endeavored - to hurry. He thrust his stout stick out before him on the path, and swung - forward, his weight forcing the point of the stick into the earth. In - order that he might not fall, and to find each time a safe place for the - stick, he moved with his eyes on the ground. - </p> - <p> - Presently the end of the stick slipped on a pebble, and he lurched - forward. He saved himself from falling by grasping the crook, of the stick - with both hands, tottered a moment, then he regained his balance and - looked up. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher stood before him. - </p> - <p> - The old man remained holding to the stick, breathing with difficulty. The - School-teacher was some distance away, motionless in the path. He had - evidently seen the man coming from the schoolhouse door, and had stopped - there in the path to observe him. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Have you been to the schoolhouse?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the man, “I've—I've been out to the schoolhouse.” - </p> - <p> - “To see me?” said the School-teacher. “Well, no,” replied the man, “not - exactly to see you.” - </p> - <p> - “To see the school?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, no, not exactly to see the school.” Then he added, “I'm the - trustee. I've been looking over the schoolhouse. I think I'll be goin' - on.” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you hurry?” said the Schoolteacher. - </p> - <p> - “I must be gettin' home,” said the old man. - </p> - <p> - He reached forward with his stick, but again the point of it slipped and - he nearly fell. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher looked past the man toward the schoolhouse. - </p> - <p> - “What is that on the door?” he said. The old man turned around. The leaf - from the memorandum book, fastened with the pin, fluttered on the door, as - though 't were a living thing struggling to free itself. - </p> - <p> - “That's a piece of paper,” said the old man. - </p> - <p> - “Who put it there?” - </p> - <p> - “I did.” - </p> - <p> - “What for?” - </p> - <p> - “It's a kind of notice.” - </p> - <p> - “A notice to me?” - </p> - <p> - “A notice about the schoolhouse.” - </p> - <p> - “Is there anything wrong with the schoolhouse?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the old man, “I don't think it's just exactly safe.” - </p> - <p> - “Not safe for the children?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, no, it mightn't he safe for the children.” - </p> - <p> - “What is wrong with the schoolhouse?” said the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The old man began to talk. “Well,” he said, “it's got a good roof. Old Dix - put that roof on. Every one of the clapboards is planed with a drawin' - knife. An' the weatherboardin' is good. It was seasoned weatherboardin'. - But the floor might be bad.” - </p> - <p> - “I have mended the floor,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't so much the floor,” continued the old man. “It's the sills. The - sills might be rotten.” - </p> - <p> - “I have examined the sills,” replied the School-teacher. “The sills are - sound.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the old man, “failin' weather's comin' on. I think the school - had better stop anyway.” - </p> - <p> - He turned a little and put his stick out on the path into the leaves as - though he would go down the hill a shorter way to the road. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher read his intent in the moving of the cane. - </p> - <p> - “You would better stay in the path,” he said. “If you get out of the path - you will fall.” - </p> - <p> - The old man turned back into the path before the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - There was come now a certain dogged expression into his face. - </p> - <p> - “If you want to know,” he said, “there's been some complaint about you.” - </p> - <p> - “Who has complained of me?” said the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “Good men have complained.” - </p> - <p> - “What good men?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, men as good as the minister. Why, men as good as the doctor.” - </p> - <p> - Then he looked out sharp at the Schoolteacher. - </p> - <p> - “Ain't that hussy, Yaller Mag, up there with you at Nicholas Parks' - house?” The School-teacher regarded the old man standing before him. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think this woman ought to be sent away?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I do,” replied the old man. - </p> - <p> - “Then some one ought to tell her to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they ought.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a difficult thing to do,” said the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “To find some one to tell her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the School-teacher, “that is it, to find some one to tell - her.” - </p> - <p> - “If that's all,” said the old man, “I'm goin' home by Nicholas Park's - house, that's my shortest way. I'll stop an' tell her myself.” - </p> - <p> - “But have you thought how difficult it will be to tell her?” inquired the - Schoolteacher. - </p> - <p> - “What's the trouble about tellin' her?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” replied the School-teacher, his eyes resting on the old man's - swollen scrofuletic leg, “the trouble is that the one who goes to tell her - ought to be better than she is. He ought, himself, to have lived a clean - life.... Perhaps you have, perhaps you can tell her.” - </p> - <p> - The old man thought that the Schoolteacher saw something lying on the - ground, for he stooped over and his finger moved in the dust of the path. - And while he remained thus, the old man hurried along to the road. The - mare stood facing in the direction of the way over the mountain by - Nicholas Parks' house. - </p> - <p> - The old man took her by the bridle and turned her around in the road. - </p> - <p> - Then he climbed slowly into the creaking cart. He looked back when he had - got his big bulk on the folded bedquilt. The School-teacher was standing - upright where he had passed him in the path. The old man put his hand on - the corner of the seat and turned heavily about. - </p> - <p> - “There's another thing,” he said. “I'd like to know why you're always - carryin' that bastard brat around with you.” - </p> - <p> - Then he drove away, but not on the road that crossed the mountain by - Nicholas Park's house. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>LL day long the - little boy was with the School-teacher. The child and the dog watched for - the man to come out of the forest in the morning. When the dog barked, the - little boy would say: - </p> - <p> - “Nim, see Teacher.” - </p> - <p> - The woman standing before the door watched for the three of them to come - out of the forest in the evening. She listened for the laughter, the - voices, the barking of the dog. The sense of perfect understanding among - the three of them was to her a perpetual wonder. The child had only a few - words, the dog had none. How could the man know so well, what they meant? - It was a wonder that she turned about, and at last, out of the deeps of - her own feelings, she got an answer that she held to. - </p> - <p> - “If you love a thing enough, it's goin' to understand you.” - </p> - <p> - The relation of the School-teacher to this tiniest child was also that of - his relation to every other one. The sense of it spread throughout the - school. This school became a family. What the cheerless home withheld, it - gave. No child could have told one what that was. - </p> - <p> - The teacher understood him, would have been the answer. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher required no built-up explanations, he required no - justification of one's act by the unfamiliar standards of another, he - required no trick, no artifice, no pretending, to get on with. - </p> - <p> - To the question, “What is he like?” a little boy had answered, “Why, just - like me.” - </p> - <p> - For some time there had been a secret in the school. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher had talked with every child apart. The talk had been - confidential. The School-teacher had spoken with each one, even the - tiniest, as with an equal. He had spoken with him from day to day as the - occasion arose. It was the way of this secret to make the child with whom - he talked for a time unhappy. But as the School-teacher continued each day - to strengthen him, to show him how much he depended on him, and to blow on - the embers of his courage, he came at length to carry the secret with - equanimity. - </p> - <p> - On Thursday evening this secret became the common property of all. The - School-teacher was going away! There would be no more school! - </p> - <p> - On this afternoon the School-teacher had again talked with each child - apart, told him that the time of which he had spoken had now come, and - called upon him for the evidence of his courage. But, in spite of all, - when the hour arrived, the school broke down. It left the little benches - and gathered around the Schoolteacher. For a moment the Schoolteacher - hesitated, before the group of wet faces, then, one by one, he took each - child up in his arms, carried him to the window and told him something. - Something which he had not told him before. No one, outside of the school, - knew exactly what it was. But each child coming from the School-teacher's - arms was strengthened, and set out for his home, the tears drying on his - sturdy little face. An idea of what this something was, afterwards arose. - A little boy had said, “Everybody's a-goin' to live at the - School-teacher's house.” But he was in the extremity of illness when he - said it, and they thought he spoke in delirium. - </p> - <p> - It, was mid-afternoon when the Schoolteacher left the schoolhouse. He was - accompanied by the two children, Martha and David. The dog Jim went before - him and he carried the tiny boy on his shoulder. They went along the road - to the river, crossed on the stones and ascended the mountain. The little - boy fell asleep, his arms around the Schoolteacher's neck. - </p> - <p> - The two children walked beside the man. - </p> - <p> - For the most part they were silent. Finally they came to the little - clearing. The children stopped in the road, and the man went up onto the - cabin porch, the little sleeping boy in his arms. The woman at work in the - kitchen, hearing the footsteps, came out to the door. When she saw who it - was, she was surprised. - </p> - <p> - “School's out early to-day,” she said. “Yes,” replied the School-teacher. - “What's the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “It's the last day of the school.” - </p> - <p> - “Won't there be any more school?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's lips trembled. “Then, then...” she said, and she began to cry. - </p> - <p> - “Mary,” said the School-teacher, “have you forgotten what I told you?” - </p> - <p> - The woman sobbed, - </p> - <p> - “But it's come so soon.” - </p> - <p> - Then she looked at the little boy sleeping in the School-teacher's arms - and the tears streamed down her face. - </p> - <p> - “Now, what'll I do?” she said. “Now, what'll I do? He'll set there by the - door, him an' Jim, an' he'll look for you every morning, an' whenever Jim - barks he'll say 'Nim see Teacher,' but he won't never see you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the School-teacher, “he will see me again.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you won't be so awful far away?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall never be very far away from him.” - </p> - <p> - Then he put the sleeping child into the woman's arms. - </p> - <p> - “Don't wake him,” he said, “and don't cry. Remember, Mary, that if he - should go with me, then he could not stay with you.” - </p> - <p> - He went down the road, and with the two children beside him, passed on - along the path. They went by the spring, with its keg sunk in the earth, - and up the mountain to Nicholas Parks' house. There, in the road, they - found the woman with the yellow hair, feeding the chickens, a measure of - corn in her apron. - </p> - <p> - “You're back early,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “It's the last day of the school,” replied the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - The woman's whole body was convulsed. The corn spilled out of her apron. - Then she fled along the road, and up the path to the house. At the door - she stopped, turned about, and then huddled down by the steps, her apron - over her head. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher bade the children await him, then he went up the path. - He passed by the woman and entered the house. Within the house, he went - over to the table by the wall, on which lay a little, worn, broken toy, - that had once been a wooden horse, a top whittled out of a spool, a brass - ring with its cotton ribbon, a Harlow knife, and little bunches of wild - flowers. These he took up, one by one, and put into the bosom of his coat. - Then he came out and closed the door. As he passed, the woman put out her - hand and touched him. And he stopped. For a moment he stood looking down - at the woman sobbing at his feet, the apron over her heed. Then he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Margaret,” he said, “is this how you will keep your promise to me?” - </p> - <p> - Then he went down the path, and, accompanied by the two children, followed - the road along the ridge to the little path descending the mountain toward - the mill. As the School-teacher walked he endeavored to strengthen and - encourage the two children. He bade them remember what he had said, and - not to cry. They managed not to cry when he left them at the point where - the path entered the road below. But when he was gone out of their sight - and hearing, in the direction of the schoolhouse, they held to each other - and wept. - </p> - <p> - They stood for a long time, there, in tears, holding to one another. Then - they heard sounds approaching and hid themselves. Two men rode past in the - direction of the schoolhouse. One of them carried a rifle across the - saddle before him. - </p> - <p> - A great fear fell on the two children and they followed at a distance. - They saw the two men dismount before the school-house, knock on the door - and enter. After a while they came out with the Schoolteacher. - </p> - <p> - They got on their horses and, with the School-teacher walking between - them, set out along the road in the direction of the town. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p> - THE several influences moving against the School-teacher, having formed a - conjunction, at last determined to act. - </p> - <p> - On Wednesday night, in the church at the county seat, two persons attended - the minister's mid-weekly meeting, who were not members of the - congregation. These two persons, the sheriff and the doctor, sat on the - last bench nearest the door. When the service was concluded and the - congregation withdrew, these two persons remained with the minister. The - three of them moved up to the table before the altar, where there was a - small oil lamp. - </p> - <p> - They remained for a long time in conference around this table. - </p> - <p> - It seemed that the minister's efforts to get rid of the School-teacher by - prevailing on the trustee to close the schoolhouse, had not succeeded. - </p> - <p> - The school went on in spite of the notice. - </p> - <p> - And now some more effective measures must be found. The sheriff, when the - minister informed him of the occupancy of Nicholas Parks' estate by this - stranger, had caused a proceeding to be instituted in the circuit court, - and had obtained an order restraining any one from entering on the lands - of Nicholas Parks until the right of the state thereto could be - determined. This order had been posted on the door of Nicholas Parks' - house. But this order, like the one on the door of the schoolhouse, the - stranger had not regarded. - </p> - <p> - It was evident that a firmer step must be taken. - </p> - <p> - Two plans were available. As the School-teacher had continued to remain on - Nicholas Parks' lands after the restraining order had been posted on the - door, the sheriff could apply to the circuit judge for a <i>rule</i> and - cause him to be brought before the court and imprisoned for contempt. The - second plan was for the doctor to go before a justice of the peace and - take out a warrant against the School-teacher charging him with practicing - medicine without a license. - </p> - <p> - These two plans were now under discussion in the empty, dimly lighted - church. - </p> - <p> - The little hand oil lamps had been put out except one on a wooden bracket - by the door, and the one smoking on the table before the altar. The - silence, the empty church, or something in the atmosphere of the place, - caused the men to draw together and to discuss the matter in undertones. - </p> - <p> - The minister sat with his back to the altar. - </p> - <p> - On the bench beside him was his hat containing the money which he had - collected from the congregation at the close of the service. On either - side were the doctor and the sheriff. The latter's big hump now prominent - as he leaned over the table. The minister led the discussion, and they - remained for some time thus, in conference. The minister's defective eye - batting, the doctor's crooked arm on the table, and the sheriff's back - throwing its humped shadow against the wall. - </p> - <p> - Finally it was determined that the sheriff should go before the court on - Thursday and obtain the <i>rule</i> upon which the School-teacher could be - arrested and brought down out of the mountain. At the same time the doctor - should take out his warrant before the justice of the peace, so it might - be available in case the circuit judge should not commit the Schoolteacher - upon the proceeding for contempt. - </p> - <p> - This plan having been settled upon, it became necessary to consider how - the arrest should be made. - </p> - <p> - The sheriff could send his deputy, who served legal papers in the county, - but the deputy had never seen the School-teacher and did not know him. - And, besides this, if the School-teacher resisted, and those about him - should come to his support, there might be considerable trouble to take - him. One man conducting a prisoner through the mountains in the night - might easily be compelled to release him. Moreover, the deputy, knowing - the danger of making an arrest in the mountain districts, could not be got - to go up alone. - </p> - <p> - A discussion of who should be found to assist the deputy then arose. No - one could be thought of except Jonas Black, a worthless hanger-on about - the village. This man was the son of Jerry Black, whose eye the - School-teacher had cured. - </p> - <p> - He had been the sheriff's driver on the occasion of that official's - interview with the School-teacher. He was familiar with the mountains, and - it was thought less likely to be resisted, since he was one of the - mountain people. He knew the School-teacher. It was said that for a time - he had hung about him, hoping to be employed to go from house to house and - collect the School-teacher's salary, until he discovered to his - astonishment, that this stranger was charging nothing for his service. - </p> - <p> - The sheriff rose and went out into the village to seek this man, while the - others awaited his return. The sheriff was not gone very long. He - presently entered the church with another. This man had a curious deep red - birthmark covering the entire side of his face. He came up the church - aisle behind the sheriff, stepping softly and glancing furtively about - him. He slipped into a seat before the table facing the altar, and - remained there shifting his hat in his lingers. - </p> - <p> - The sheriff took his place at the table. - </p> - <p> - “I found Jonas,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The minister looked across the table at the man. - </p> - <p> - “Will you go?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'll go,” replied the man, “if I git paid enough for it.” - </p> - <p> - “How much do you want?” said the minister. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” replied the man, “it ought to be worth about five dollars.” - </p> - <p> - The three men at the table protested. - </p> - <p> - The sum was excessive. The sheriff would provide a horse. The journey - would not take longer than one night. Besides, there was no way by which - the fees of a deputy, for such service, could be made to aggregate that - sum. The man persisted, and, while the sheriff considered how the sum - allowed under the law could be augmented, the minister bargained. The man - finally reduced his demand to three dollars. And the sheriff, seeing now a - plan by which an additional charge could be officially added, said: - </p> - <p> - “There are a couple of bad characters in the jail, held to the grand jury - for breaking into a store. They may try to give me some trouble. Now, if - you would watch the jail for a few nights, I might manage to get that fee - for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” replied the man, “I'd sorter keep an eye on the jail for a night - or two. I wouldn't mind doin' that. But I won't wait for my money. I won't - take it in costs.” - </p> - <p> - “How soon will you want it?” inquired the sheriff. - </p> - <p> - “Right now,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't give it to you to-night,” replied the sheriff. - </p> - <p> - The man got up. - </p> - <p> - “Then I won't go,” he said. - </p> - <p> - An idea occurred to the minister. He turned around, picked up his hat, - containing the recent collection, and placed it on the table. He whispered - a moment to the others, then he spoke to the man. - </p> - <p> - “I'll pay you the money,” he said. - </p> - <p> - He began to count it out on the table. The money from the collection was - in small silver coins and he selected the largest of them. He leaned over - the table, his fingers in the hat, his defective eye close to the lamp. - </p> - <p> - And the man standing before the altar, one half of his face in the shadow, - one half discolored by the crimson birthmark dimly in the light, received - the money. Two dollars and sixty cents in ten-cent pieces, three five-cent - pieces, and one twenty-five cent piece. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span> HEY took the - School-teacher into the courthouse early in the morning. - </p> - <p> - The county seat of this mountain county was nothing more than a village, - lying in the foothills. The courthouse stood in a grove of oak trees, in - the middle of the village. It was a two-story structure. On the ground - floor was the jail in the custody of the sheriff. - </p> - <p> - The second floor was the courthouse. - </p> - <p> - This second story was entered exclusively from without. Broad stone steps - led up to a portico, on which stood round, plaster-covered pillars - supporting the projecting roof. On either side, entering between these - pillars, were the offices of the county and circuit clerks. Beyond was the - court room filled with benches. A portion of this room at the farther end - was separated from the benches by a railing. Within it were chairs and two - tables for attorneys, a desk for the clerk, and a raised platform, - ascended by steps on either side, for the judge. - </p> - <p> - It was the custom of the judges traveling on these mountain circuits to - open court as early as eight o'clock in the morning, and before that, if - they were come into the court room, to hear informally motions and the - like. - </p> - <p> - When they brought the School-teacher into the courthouse, the sheriff, the - doctor, the minister, the old trustee who had ridden down out of the - mountains in his cart, were already there. - </p> - <p> - The deputy and Jonas led the Schoolteacher inside the railing. Then they - sat down. The School-teacher remained standing. - </p> - <p> - The hearing before the circuit judge followed the informal custom of these - mountain circuits. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher made no defense. - </p> - <p> - He stood before the bench. The early sunlight of the morning, entering - through the high windows, fell on his face, on his soft brown hair, on his - deep gray-blue eyes, on his clothing covered with the dust of the road. - </p> - <p> - The judge heard the oral evidence in open court, He inquired into the - service of the restraining order, and the prisoner's subsequent disregard - of it. But he was not convinced. The prisoner's conduct seemed - inconsistent with an intent to resist the State's title to these lands. - Moreover, the silence, the calm demeanor, the strange personality of the - prisoner, profoundly impressed him. He felt that some ulterior motive lay - behind the cover of this accusation. - </p> - <p> - At this moment a woman appeared at the door of the courthouse and sent in - a note to the judge. This note was sealed in an envelope and addressed in - a fine hand. The judge opened it at once. When he had read it, he sat for - some time looking down at the prisoner. He did not believe in dreams; but - the insistence of his wife impressed him. - </p> - <p> - He turned to the sheriff, and inquired if there was a man in the courtroom - who knew anything about the prisoner. - </p> - <p> - The sheriff indicated the others near him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Your Honor,” he replied, “the minister, the school trustee of that - district, and the doctor here, all know about him. He seems to have made - himself generally troublesome to the community. I believe the justice of - the peace had issued a warrant against him for practicing medicine without - a license.” - </p> - <p> - When the circuit judge heard of this action of the justice, he ordered the - School-teacher to be taken before that official. He said that if the - justice of the peace has issued a warrant antedating the <i>rule</i>, he - would yield to him the custody of the prisoner. - </p> - <p> - They took the School-teacher out of the courthouse and across the village - street to the office of the justice of the peace. - </p> - <p> - The justice was greatly pleased when the deputy and Jonas came in with the - prisoner. A good many stories had drifted down from the mountains to him - concerning the miraculous cures which this man had effected, and he was - anxious to see him. He removed his spectacles, put them carefully into a - tin case, set his feet on the rounds of a chair and, after having thus - made himself comfortable, he requested the School-teacher to explain to - him in detail, exactly how he had accomplished the marvels of which he had - heard. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher did not reply. - </p> - <p> - He remained standing as he had stood before the circuit judge. His head - lifted. The features of his face unmoving. His deep gray-blue eyes tilled - with a tranquil, melancholy light. - </p> - <p> - When the justice of the peace saw that his curiosity was not likely to be - gratified, he, at once, sent the prisoner back to the circuit judge. He - took this act of the judge to be a delicate courtesy, a tender regard for - the jurisdictional rights of an inferior tribunal, and he was not to be - outdone. In several instances the circuit judge had recently curtailed his - jurisdiction, and he had been smarting under it. This act was a friendly - overture, and he hastened to evidence his appreciation of it. - </p> - <p> - He returned the prisoner, saying that as his warrant had not been served, - his jurisdiction had not attached, and the prisoner was exclusively in the - custody of the circuit court. Moreover, that he would hold his warrant in - abeyance until the circuit court had disposed of the case. - </p> - <p> - When the School-teacher came again before the circuit judge, that official - no longer hesitated to indicate his opinion. He said that the prisoner did - not seem disposed to contest the state's title to these lands, that he - appeared to have taken up his residence in Nicholas Parks' house anterior - to the date of the order, and upon some verbal direction of the decedent; - that while there was here perhaps a technical contempt, he was not certain - that it was intended, and consequently that he was disposed to dismiss the - prisoner. - </p> - <p> - The minister, the sheriff, the doctor, the old school trustee, under this - informal procedure, came forward with a protest. They said that the - School-teacher was a person dangerous to the community; that he had set - himself against the authority of the state in disregarding the order of - the court; that he had set himself against the authority of the county by - disregarding the notice placed on the schoolhouse door; that he had openly - violated the law in practicing medicine without a license; that he - harbored immoral persons, and encouraged the children in acts of - irreverence. - </p> - <p> - The judge endeavored to compromise with this opposition. He said that he - would reprimand the prisoner, suspend sentence and release him on his own - recognizance. - </p> - <p> - The general protest now took on a definite form. The minister spoke for - the others. He was little accustomed to the diplomacy of the advocate and - he thinly disguised the threat that was the tenor of this speech. He said - that one in the position of a circuit judge ought to sustain the better - elements of the community in their efforts to get rid of an undesirable - person; that the will of the people was not lightly to be disregarded; - that the object of making offices elective was that one who refused to - consider what the people desired might be replaced by another; and the - like. - </p> - <p> - The judge came up presently for reelection. It was notice to him that the - powerful elements which these protesting persons represented would hold - him to account. The strength of his political party lay in these mountain - counties. He required the support of these elements. And he especially - feared a sectarian sentiment against him. He knew the danger of such a - sentiment; and how little, once on its way, explanations would avail. This - covert threat angered the judge, but he feared to resist it. He dipped his - pen into the inkpot before him, and wrote an order committing the prisoner - to the county jail. Then he handed it down to the sheriff. - </p> - <p> - The persons standing about the sheriff drew near to him and read the - order. The minister and the school trustee objected to something in the - body of the writing, and the sheriff went with them to the judge. - </p> - <p> - They pointed out that the order directed the commitment of the - “Schoolteacher of Hickory Mountain District,” that this term was - incorrect, that the prisoner had not been employed by the trustees, that - he was not the School-teacher of Hickory Mountain District, and that the - order ought not so to designate him. - </p> - <p> - But the judge, smarting under the lash that had been laid on him, was in - no mood to receive a further dictation. - </p> - <p> - He refused to change what he had written. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE several persons - who had forced the judge to commit the School-teacher to the county jail, - having gone down from the courthouse, remained throughout the day in - conference. It was evident that the circuit judge had acted against his - own inclination, and that he could not be depended upon to hold the - prisoner in custody. Some other method for ridding the community of this - undesirable person must be found. Finally, after long reflection, they hit - upon a plan. - </p> - <p> - Night descended. - </p> - <p> - In the village saloon, beyond the grove of oak trees behind the - courthouse, the man who had received the money from the minister sat - playing at cards. A rifle stood in the corner behind him. From time to - time he arose, took up the rifle and went to the door. Keeping thus, in - his fashion, an agreement which the sheriff had forgotten. - </p> - <p> - The night advanced. - </p> - <p> - At twelve o'clock the sheriff went down into the jail. He carefully - unfastened the door opening into the grove of oak trees. Then he came - along the corridor to the one iron cage that the jail contained. The door - to this cage he likewise carefully unlocked. On a bedtick filled with - straw, two men, convicted of larceny, were apparently asleep beside this - door. On a bench against the wall behind them sat the School-teacher. His - hat with its little crimson feather lay beside him. He sat unmoving, - looking at something in his hand. When he observed the sheriff, he put the - thing which he held in his hand back into the bosom of his coat. It was - the broken toy horse which the little boy had given him. The sheriff - beckoned with his finger. - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher lifted his head and looked at the man, but he did not - move from his place against the wall. - </p> - <p> - The sheriff stepped delicately past the men, whom he believed to be - asleep, and approached the School-teacher. - </p> - <p> - “The door's open,” he said, “you can get out of the county before 't's - daylight.” - </p> - <p> - The School-teacher did not reply, and the sheriff went noiselessly out. - Presently the two men got up from their pretended sleep and slipped out of - the cage. The School-teacher rose and spoke to them. But they crept down - the corridor. He followed. He came upon them as they opened the door - leading out of the jail into the grove, stepped between them in the door - and thrust them back. The act saved the men's lives, but it cost the - School-teacher his own. - </p> - <p> - There was the flash of a rifle from the saloon beyond the oak trees, and - the School-teacher fell forward, his arms outstretched. - </p> - <p> - In the evening some women and children from the mountains came to the - circuit judge and asked him for the body of the School-teacher. He gave it - to them, and at night they took it away. - </p> - <p> - An ox, led by a little boy, bore the body, and women walking beside it - supported it with their hands. - </p> - <p> - They traveled back into the mountains. - </p> - <p> - And at daybreak they laid the body in a grave which they had made between - the two great hickories on the ridge beyond Nicholas Parks' house. They - lined the grave with bright-colored leaves, and wrapped the body in that - piece of linen which the School-teacher had bade the miller keep for him - until he should need it. The hands of women and children filled the grave - with earth. Then they went away down the mountain, toward the mill, - leaving a woman crouched beside the grave. Her apron covering her yellow - hail. Her body rocking. - </p> - <p> - It was morning. - </p> - <p> - They went down the mountain, the boy and the ox, the little girl, the two - remaining women—one of them carrying a tiny sleeping boy wrapped in - a shawl, a dog beside her. - </p> - <p> - On a bench of the mountain below, where a tree, uprooted by the wind, lay - with its broken trunk pointing toward the ridge, they stopped and looked - back. As they looked, the sun arose, a disc of gold between the two great - hickories. - </p> - <p> - With a wild harking, the dog leaped onto the fallen trunk, ran out to the - projecting end of it, and stood there looking toward the sun. - </p> - <p> - The tiny boy moved 'n his mother's arms. - </p> - <p> - “Nim see Teacher,” he said. - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain School-Teacher, by -Melville Davisson Post - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL-TEACHER *** - -***** This file should be named 51958-h.htm or 51958-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51958/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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