Judith of the Plains Part 17

Mary made out a roll-call, and by unanimous consent it was agreed to arrange the cla.s.s as it then stood, or rather squatted, with the Herculean Ben at the top, and gradually diminis.h.i.+ng in size till it reached the vanis.h.i.+ng point with Cacta, who was ten and the least terrifying of all.

"And now," ventured the teacher, with the courage of a white rabbit, "what have you been in the habit of studying?"

Absolute silence on the part of the cla.s.s, which confronted its questioner straight as a row of bottles, presenting faces imperturbable as so many sphinxes.

Other questions met with an equally disheartening response. Miss Carmichael sat up straight, pushed back the persistent curls from her face, and bent every energy towards the achievement of a "firm" demeanor.

"Clematis," said she, wisely selecting perhaps the least formidable of the cla.s.s, "I want you to give me some idea of the kind of work you have been doing, so that we may all be able to understand each other. Now, in your mathematics, for instance, which of you have finished with your arithmetic, and which-"

"What do you mean?" begged Clematis, somewhat tearful.

"Where are you in your arithmetic?

"Nowhere, ma'am."

"Do you mean you have never learned any?" Mary Carmichael shuddered as she icily put the question.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is that the case with all of you?"

Emphatic nods left no room for doubt.

"Then we'll leave that for the present. If you will tell me, Clematis, what kind of work you have been doing in your history and English, we will get to work on those to-day. What books have you been using?"

Not unnaturally, Clematis, who was emotional and easily impressed, began to feel as though she were a criminal. She sobbed in a helpless, feminine way. Ben spoke up, fearsomely, from the top of the cla.s.s.

"We 'ain't got no books," said he, in grim rebuke, as though to put an end to a profitless discussion.

"Do you wish me to understand," quavered Mary, "that you have had no studies-that you-can't read?-that you-don't know-anything?"

"That's it," said Ben, with the nearest approach to cheerfulness he had yet manifested.

Meanwhile there lay on the teacher's "desk" copies of Clodd's _Childhood of the World_, two of that excellent series of _History Primers_, and _The Young Geologist_, all carefully selected, in the fulness of Mary's ignorance, for the little pupils of her imagination. She had brought no primer, as Mrs. Yellett's letter had distinctly said that the youngest child was ten and that all were comparatively advanced in their studies.

More than ever Mary longed to penetrate the mystery of that Irish linen decoy, for without doubt it was to be her melancholy fate to conduct this giant band through the alphabet!

Accordingly she wrote out the letters of the alphabet with large simplicity and a sublime renunciation of flourish. The cla.s.s received it tepidly. Mary grew eloquent over its unswerving verities. The cla.s.s remained lukewarm. The difference between a and b was a matter of indifference to the house of Yellett. They regarded their teacher's strenuous efforts to furnish a key to the acquirement of the alphabet with the amused superiority of "grown-ups" watching infant antics with pencil and paper. Meanwhile her fear of the cla.s.s increased in proportion as her ability to hold its attention diminished. The backbone of the school was plainly wilting. The little scholars, armed to the teeth, no longer sat up straight as tenpins. After twenty-five minutes of educational experience, satiety bowled them over.

A single glance had convinced Ben that the alphabet was beneath contempt.

He yawned automatically at regular intervals-long, dismal yawns that threatened to terminate in a howl, the unchecked, primitive type of yawn that one hears in the cages of the zoological gardens on a dull day. Miss Carmichael raised interrogatory eyebrows, but she might as well have looked reproof at a Bengal tiger.

The cla.s.s was rapidly promoted to c-a-t, cat; but these dizzy intellectual heights left them cold and dull. Ben began to clean his revolver, and on being asked why he did not pay attention to his lessons, answered, briefly:

"It's all d--d foolishness."

Cacta and Clem were pulling each other's hair. Mary affected not to see this sisterly exchange of torture. Ned whittled a stick; and, in chorus, when their teacher told them that d-o-g spelled dog, they shouted derision, and affirmed that they had no difficulty in compelling the obedience of Stump even without this particular bit of erudition. Though Mary had always abhorred corporal punishment, she began to see arguments in its favor.

With the handleless tub as an elbow-rest the teacher took counsel with herself. Strategy must be employed with the intellectual conquest of the Brobdingnags. Summoning all the pedagogical dignity of which she was capable, she asked:

"Boys, don't you want to know how to read?"

"Noap," responded the head of the cla.s.s.

"Don't you want to know how to write?"

"Noap."

"But, my dear boy, what would you do if you left here and went out into the world, where every one knows these things and your ignorance would be evident at every turn. What would you do?"

"Slug the whole blamed outfit!"

Mary looked at her watch. School had lasted just forty-five minutes. Had time become petrified?

XIV

Judith Adjusts The Situation

Mary had been a member of the Yellett household for something over a week, and the intellectual conquest of her Brobdingnag pupils seemed as hopeless as on that first day. School seemed to be regarded by them as a sort of neutral territory, admirably adapted for the settlement of long-standing grudges, the pleasant exchange of practical jokes, peace and war conferences; also as a mart of trade, where fire-arms, knives, bear and elk teeth might be swapped with a greater expenditure of time and conversation than under the maternal eye. "Teacher," as she was understood and accepted by the house of Yellett, undoubtedly filled a long-felt want.

Presiding over a school of six-imp power for a week, however, had humbled Mary to the point of seriously considering a letter to the home government, meekly asking for return transportation. But this was before feminine wile had struggled with feminine vanity, and feminine wile won the day. School still continued to open at six, from which early and unusual hour it continued, without recess or interruption, till noon, when dinner pleasantly invaded the scholastic monotony, to the infinite relief of all parties concerned.

Mary had dismissed her pupils a few minutes before the usual hour, on a particularly bad day, that she might rally her scattered faculties and present something of a countenance to the watchful eye of Mrs. Yellett.

Every element of humor had vanished from the situation. The inverted tub was no longer a theme for merriment in her diary; home-life without a house was no longer a diverting epigram; she had closed her eyes that she might not see the mountains in all their grandeur. In her present mood of abject homesickness the white-capped peaks were part and parcel of the affront. With head sunk in the palms of her hands, and elbows resting on the inverted tub, Mary presented a picture of woe, in which the wicked element of comedy was not wholly lacking. Looking up suddenly, she saw Judith Rodney advancing. The first glimpse of her put Mary in a more rational mood.

"I'm so glad to see you! Behold my cla.s.s-room appointments! They may seem a trifle novel, but, for that matter, so are my pupils," began Mary, determining to present the same front to Judith that she had to Mrs.

Yellett. But Judith was not to be put off. She looked into Mary's eyes and did not relax her gaze until she was rewarded with an answering twinkle.

Then Mary laughed long and merrily, the first good, hearty laugh since the beginning of her teaching.

"Tell me," Mary broke out, suddenly, "or the suspense will kill me, who wrote that lovely letter-on such good quality Irish linen, too? Sn.o.b that I was, it was the letter that did it."

"So you have your suspicions that it was not a home product?"

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"Oh no; though I was asked, and so was Miss Wetmore, I believe. Of course poor Mrs. Yellett had no other recourse, as I suppose you know. I chose to be disobliging that time, and was sorry for it afterwards-sorry when I heard about the letter that really went! Do you find the sheep-wagon so very dreadful?"

"I thought," laughed Mary, "that it was going to be like a picture I saw in a magazine, Mexican hammocks, gra.s.s cus.h.i.+ons, and a lady pouring tea from a samovar; instead it was the sheep-wagon and 'Do you sleep light or dark?' There is Mrs. Yellett calling us to dinner. Shall I have a chance to talk to you alone afterwards?"

"I've come all the way from Dax's to see you," explained Judith, with characteristic directness. "We have all the afternoon."

"Really!" Mary displayed a flash of school-girl enthusiasm. "I feel as if I could almost bear the scenery."

Presumably Judith was a favorite guest of the Yellett household, and not without reason. She took her place in the circle about the homely, steaming fare, with an ease and grace that suggested that dining off the ground was an every-day affair with her, and chairs and tables undreamed-of luxuries. Mary envied her ready tact. Why could she not meet these people with Judith's poise-bring out the best of them, as she did?

The boys talked readily and naturally-there was even a flavor to what they said. As for herself, try never so conscientiously and she would be confronted by frank amus.e.m.e.nt or shy distrust. Even "paw" beamed at Judith appreciatively as he consumed his meal with infinite, toothless labor. The Spartan family became almost sprightly under the pleasantly stimulating influence of its guest.