The Wind Before the Dawn Part 7

Some of the truth of the statement came within the grasp of the daughter, who was looking across the idle churn with her mind fixed in singleness of purpose upon remedies, and yet she felt that there was some other element in the matter not yet accounted for. The hopeless tone of the older woman, however, goaded her young spirit into forgetting the caution necessary to dealing with the subject. Her blood fired with resentment that one life should be so crushed by another. It was her mother whose shoulders drooped with a burden too heavy for her to throw off.

"If you're sure of that, why don't you leave him? We children are old enough to support ourselves and----"

"Lizzie!"

Elizabeth had overshot the mark. Her mother was of another generation.

"But, ma," the girl protested quickly, "I don't say leave him if you can find any way of settling matters. Can't you have a talk with him--and get him to let you alone if you are willing to do the very best you can?

That's the best way. Have you tried it?"

"No I hain't," the mother replied shortly; "it wouldn't do no good. But if my talkin' t' you is goin' t' make you say such things, I ain't goin't'

talk t' you no more. When folks is married they're married, an' I don't believe in partin', nor talk of partin'."

"Well, I think maybe you are right, but if you and pa are going to live together you ought to try and have it out, and be a help to each other instead----" She broke off and thought a moment, "Now Aunt Susan and Uncle Nate----"

"Stop right there!" Mrs. Farnshaw cried, afire with jealousy. "That woman's brought more trouble into this house a'ready than She'll ever take out. Your pa's been rantin' about her all winter an'--an' he said you'd be pokin' her ways into our faces th' very day you got home. I 'spect she's th' one that got it into your head to talk of partin', most likely."

"Oh, now, ma, don't go on like that. You don't know about Aunt Susan.

She's the last person in the world to ever suggest such a thing. That's just what I started out to say--they never have a word about anything.

It's the loveliest home to live in, and I was just thinking that they must have found----"

"I said I didn't want t' hear nothin' more about them folks, an' I don't,"

Mrs. Farnshaw cried, caught on the other horn of the argument and even more deeply offended than before. "She'll most likely get all your love just like she got all your father's money last winter. You needn't mention her here no more. Th' school directors 'll be over to see you about fillin' out that term, to-night," Mrs. Farnshaw ended shortly, and turned the subject of conversation to other channels.

"Me? To fill out the term?" Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. "What's gone wrong with the school here? I don't want a piece of a term, and I don't want, ever, to teach in this district where I've gone to school."

"Well, you're goin' to," was the brief reply. "Your pa an' me told 'em you'd take it."

"But how does it happen that the school is without a teacher?" Elizabeth asked with curiosity, ignoring the curt disposal of her services. She was accustomed to the peremptory measures of her parents.

"Jake Ransom run him out. He just piked off after he got his money order cashed last Sat.u.r.day mornin'."

"And you expect me to take a school that's all upside down from that kind of handling--and me without any experience?"

"You'll take it an' You'll do your best, an' we won't hear no more about it. Here, ma, tie up this finger," Mr. Farnshaw said. He had just come in from the barn in time to hear his daughter's objections.

Later in the evening the directors came. Family pressure was strong, and with reluctance Elizabeth accepted the month yet to be taught. It would help with the interest, and that interest clouded the family sky to the horizon on every side now. Elizabeth was divided between a fear of inability to manage a demoralized school and the desire to add twenty-five dollars to the family revenue. In antic.i.p.ation she saw the unruly boys supported and encouraged in insubordination by such as Sadie Crane, who was jealously ready to resent her--a former playmate--in the role of authority. And to put herself right with the governing board Elizabeth told the new director--Sadie's own father--her fears on that score.

"They have played with me and we have had the sort of quarrels all children have, Mr. Crane, and I may not be able to manage them."

Lon Crane was ignorant and uncouth, but big of heart, and the openness of the discussion pleased him.

"You jest take that school, young lady, an' I'll see that my end of th'

thing's kep' up. I'll come over there an thrash every mother's son of 'em if I have t'. I'd kind o' like t' lick a few of 'em anyhow, an' if my young ones give any trouble, you jes' stop in on your way home an' I'll see that it don't never happen ag'in."

Half the battle was won; she let him hold her hand a moment at leave-taking while he reinforced his remarks by many repet.i.tions.

"Don't you worry, Sis," he repeated as he backed out of the door; "you needn't be afraid; this here school board's at your back. We know it's a bad school, but, by ginger! we'll see that you're stood by. You jes' let me know if that there Jake Ransom tries any more monkeys.h.i.+nes and I'll tan his hide till It'll be good for shoe leather."

It occurred to Elizabeth that every word they were saying would be carried to the boy long before Monday morning and that a bad matter might from the very goodness of the teller's intentions be made worse.

"How old did you say the Ransom boy was?" she asked with concern.

"Fifteen--and a stinker if there ever was one."

"Then I think maybe I'll have a show. I thought he was older than that,"

she said diplomatically. "Now may I ask that what we have said be kept quiet? I would rather like to have a fair show with him--and I'll admit I'd like to be on good terms. Promise me that what we have said may be a secret even from your own family till after Monday."

Elizabeth went forward and spoke confidentially. The man liked her even better than before.

"I'll do it, by jing!" he exclaimed. "They'll be wantin' t' know soon's ever I get home what we done about it, an' fur once they'll suck their thumbs. Look out fur that boy, though; he's a black sheep that lives around in any flock; ain't got no home. I'll help if I'm needed."

Elizabeth listened closely to all that she heard her brothers say about Jake Ransom, trying to form some estimate of his character, and soon came to the conclusion that whatever else the boy might be, he was at least not to be cla.s.sed as a sneak. In fact, Jake seemed to have rather a surprising faculty for announcing his policies before he began action.

When school opened Monday morning the bully was easily recognizable.

Elizabeth had gone through all the stages of fright, of distaste for the job, and lastly of set determination to show this district that she could take that boy and not only conquer him but become friends with him.

Instead of being nervous about the coming encounter, however, Elizabeth grew more steady and self-reliant as she felt his eyes upon her, and actually became interested in the small affairs preceding the ringing of the bell, and forgot him altogether till it was time to call the roll.

Jacob Ransom's name came last on the list. A t.i.tter ran around the room when it was called. The tone of reply was louder than the rest and defiant of manner. Elizabeth looked around the room with frank inquiry and the t.i.tter died down. She let her gaze wander quietly and naturally down the aisle to the seat of the bully and was surprised to find that she liked the boy.

Closing the roll book and following an instinct rather than a formulated plan, Elizabeth walked slowly down the room to his desk. A faint giggle behind her spoke of the hushed expectations of trouble.

"If I hear any more laughing in this room, I shall inquire into the matter," she said sternly, facing about beside Jake's desk.

The instant response to that remark gave her confidence in her own powers.

It was the first time she had ever used the tone of authority and she instinctively recognized that the quality of her personality in that position was good. Both she and Jake Ransom were on trial in that room.

"So you are the 'Jake' I have heard about?" she said, looking him frankly in the face and letting him see that she was measuring him openly. "Is your name Jake or Jacob?" she asked, as if it were an important matter to get settled.

"Don't call me Jacob," the boy snapped.

"I think I like the nickname better myself," Elizabeth replied easily. Her good fairy beckoned her on. "These children are all laughing because they think we are going to pull each other's hair presently. We will show them at least that we are a lady and a gentleman, I trust. Let me see your books." She looked at him with such straightforward sincerity that the boy returned the look in the same spirit.

The books were produced in surprise; this was walking into the middle of the ring and bidding for an _open_ fight, if fight they must. The boy loved a square deal. Jake Ransom's sting had been drawn.

"You are in advance of the rest of the school. Are you preparing for the high school?" Elizabeth asked, emphasizing her surprise.

"Lord, no!" the boy blurted out.

Elizabeth looked through the book in her hand slowly before she asked:

"Why don't you? I was only about as far along as this in arithmetic last year. Some one said you were ready for it."

"Oh, I kin do 'rithmetic all right, but I ain't no good in nothin'

else--an'--an'--wouldn't I look fine teachin' school?" Jake Ransom exclaimed, but the bully melted out of him by way of the fact that she had heard good reports of him. He would not smoke this level-eyed girl out of the schoolhouse, nor sprinkle the floor with cayenne, as was the usual proceeding of the country b.u.mpkin who failed to admire his teacher. Jake Ransom was not really a bully; he was a shy boy who had been domineered over by a young popinjay of a teacher who had never taught school before and who had himself many lessons to learn in life's school. The boy brought out his slate, spit on its grimy surface and wiped it with his sleeve. One of the b.u.t.tons on his cuff squeaked as he wiped it across, and the children had something tangible to laugh at. Elizabeth was wise enough to take no notice of that laugh.

Some one has said that experience is not as to duration but as to intensity, and it was Elizabeth's fate to live at great pressure in every important stage of her life. But for the fact that she had made a friend of Jake Ransom that month's events would have had a different story. Sadie Crane took exceptions to every move made and every mandate issued from the teacher's desk. The spirit of insubordination to which the entire school had been subjected that winter made good soil for Sadie's tares. For the most part the dissatisfaction was a subtle thing, an undercurrent of which Elizabeth was aware, but upon which she could lay no finger of rebuke, but at times it was more traceable, and then, to the young teacher's surprise, Jake Ransom had ways of dealing with the offenders outside of school hours. Sadie's tongue was sharp and she was accustomed to a wholesome att.i.tude of fear among the scholars, but her first thrusts at Jake had aroused a demon of which she had little dreamed. Jake had no foolish pride and would admit his faults so guilelessly that her satire fell to the ground. He was an entirely new sort to the spiteful child. The terrible advantage the person who will admit his faults cheerfully has over the one who has pride and evades was never more manifest. Jake Ransom pointed out to a credulous following the causes of Sadie's disaffection, and left the envious child in such a state of futile rage that she was ready to burst with her ill-directed fury. In the end the month's work had to be granted the tribute of success, and the term closed with a distinct triumph for Elizabeth and the experience of a whole year's trial crowded into four short weeks.