Virginia of Elk Creek Valley Part 15

"I'll get the water-cress for you directly," he said with a return to his old dignity. "Give it to your father with my compliments, Miss Virginia. I sent some but recently to the censor. No payment, I insist!"

Thus dismissed, his guests pa.s.sed reluctantly outside. Ten minutes later they were making their farewells. The Emperor stood between Nero and Trajan, and watched them go. He was glad of occasional visitors, but more glad to return to the knotty problems which were before the Empire.

"Good-by," he called as they rode away. "Don't forget to notice the statue of Athena just within the gate. It's a recent gift from the Governor of Gaul."

Then he went within the palace, pa.s.sed through the lofty atrium, and entered his private room, where he sat down to continue the story of his glorious reign.

Meanwhile his guests searched for the Athena. There might be something--a post, perhaps--that signified the G.o.ddess of wisdom to the plastic mind of poor Mr. Levinsky. But they could find nothing.

"She's only a dream like all the other things," said Priscilla. "Poor man!

I can't see how he can reconcile things in his own mind!"

"He doesn't," explained Virginia. "That's the lovely part of it! He's the happiest Emperor I've ever known of in all my life!"

CHAPTER XIII

ON THE MESA

"Pedro," said Virginia, "do you realize for one little minute what's happened?"

Pedro looked back and whinnied. He realized at least that something was agitating his mistress. But half an hour since she had run out of the house to where he was feeding beneath the cottonwoods, and hurried him to the corral where she had saddled and bridled him herself. She had been crying then. Quick little sobs were shaking her shoulders. Then she had sprung upon his back and ridden like mad across the prairie to Elk Creek Valley. Had MacDuff been along, he would not have minded; but it was too warm at mid-day to gallop all alone. Once during that wild ride she had laughed, and once she had leaned forward and put her arms around his neck.

It was all a very strange proceeding. Now she had mercifully halted him on the brow of the mesa, and was allowing him to rest and feed while she sat in silence and looked across the sagebrush stretches to the mountains.

A long silence. The air throbbed with a hidden insect chorus. Little waves of heat s.h.i.+mmered above the mesa. Jean MacDonald's three cows, searching for better feeding-grounds, pa.s.sed by and gazed with grave, inquisitive eyes at Pedro and Virginia. Pedro fed on where he was. At last the girl upon his back spoke again.

"Pedro," she began, and again Pedro raised his head, "Pedro, I've decided that Life isn't such a strange thing after all! I've always thought it was until to-day, but I guess it isn't. I guess it just means loving people--and things! If you love the wrong kind of people and the things that don't count, why, then--why, then Life's a sad, gray thing. But if you love the right kind of people, the kind who've learned that a primrose isn't just a primrose, and things like the mountain and the mesa and _you_, Pedro--why, then, Life's a golden thing like to-day. And it's the loving that makes all the difference. I discovered that this morning when Aunt Nan told me about Malcolm. When I was in Vermont I thought that Grandmother and Aunt Nan were about the happiest people I'd seen; but this morning, when I saw the light in Aunt Nan's eyes, I understood. I guess it's a home that makes all the difference, Pedro--a home you and _somebody else_ make together!"

Pedro fed on, glad to be talked to, confident that his mistress' world had righted itself again. A pa.s.sing cloud obscured the sun for a brief moment.

"That's the way it was with me this morning," confided Virginia. "For just an instant I felt sorry. 'Twas the selfish part of me coming out. I didn't want any one to take a bigger piece of Aunt Nan's heart than mine. I didn't want to move over and make room for any one else--even Malcolm. But that mean, drab feeling lasted only a moment. It went right away, and now I'm glad, _glad--glad!_ If Grandmother Webster's only glad, too, there couldn't be any greater happiness in the world, could there, Pedro?"

Pedro stopped feeding to look back at his mistress, and to shake his head. Virginia laughed.

"You're the only friend I want to-day, Pedro," she said, her arms around his neck, "you and a big Something in my heart. I wanted to come away off up here alone with you. That's why I hurried you so, poor dear! I wanted to hear the stillness all around, and to look at the mountains. I wanted to think about it, and to wonder if, some day, after I've learned more things, it will come to me, too!"

Impulsively she turned in her saddle and looked down the foot-hills. Some one was fording the creek. She knew it even before she heard the splash of water. As she watched, two riders left the ford, and turned north up the canyon trail. They were Malcolm and Aunt Nan. Virginia turned back toward the mountains, and sat very still.

"Pedro," she said at last, her voice breaking, "I guess perhaps we'd better go home, don't you? Aunt Nan and Malcolm have found their trail, you see. They don't need us just now. No, I'm not sorry! I'm glad! I just _know_ it's the most wonderful thing in all the world!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE NEW SCHOOL-TEACHER IN BEAR CANYON

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Samuel Wilson, stretching his boot-clad legs to their fullest extent, and twirling his thumbs thoughtfully, "yes, sir, we've got to have a teacher up in Bear Canyon. There ain't a bit o' use in waitin' a week for that teacher from Sheridan. Come December, there'll be snow, and school not out. Accordin' to my judgment, and I'm the chief trustee o'

this district, it's best to get some one to teach a week until the one we've hired gets here. I stopped at Ben Jarvis' place on my way down here, and he agreed with me. Says he, 'Sam, there'd ought to be one out o' that crowd o' ladies over to Hunter's who could keep school a week. They're all raised around Boston, folks tell me. Now you go along over, and see.' And I said I would. What do you think, John? Ain't there a likely one among 'em? If Virginia didn't know the children so well, I'd be for choosin'

her. But a stranger's what we want. That school seems to need a stranger 'bout every term."

"That's just the difficulty," said Mr. Hunter. "It is a hard school, and these girls aren't used to schools out here. The girl I am thinking of is Mary Williams, but she's young--only eighteen. I shouldn't even consider her if she hadn't said the other day that she'd like to try teaching in that little school-house up the canyon. Of course 'twould be only for a week. They're going back East in a little more than two."

"Her age ain't nothin' against her," rea.s.sured Mr. Wilson. "Remember Eben Judd's girl who kept the school last spring? She was only seventeen, and she could thrash the biggest boy there! Supposin' you let me talk with this girl if she's around. Seems to me twenty dollars a week is mighty easy money for just keepin' school and givin' out things you've got in your head a'ready!"

Mr. Hunter, half-sorry that he had even considered the matter, went in search of Mary, while Mr. Samuel Wilson stretched his legs even farther across the floor, re-lit his old corn-cob pipe, and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He did not rise when Mary, forewarned but very eager, came into the room a few minutes later, but he did remove his pipe.

Then he stated his errand, while Mary, feeling very professional, listened with the deference due Mr. Wilson's position as chief trustee of the Bear Canyon District.

"What we want," concluded the chief trustee, with a wave of his hand, after he had explained all the difficulties and expatiated on all the joys of the Bear Canyon school, "what we want is a teacher who can start things right. A heap depends on the startin' things have in this world, I've noticed. Now you look like a s.p.u.n.ky young lady. Ain't afraid o' big boys, are you?"

Mary, with the memory of Eben Judd's daughter and the biggest boy fresh in her mind, hesitated. Bear Canyon might offer problems too big for her inexperienced hands. Then she summoned an extra amount of dignity.

"It surely isn't necessary to thrash them, Mr. Wilson, if you can get along with them some other way. No, I'm not at all afraid of them. Are there many big ones?"

Mr. Wilson considered for a moment. No, there were not many. Ben Jarvis'

big boy Allan was the worst, and even he wasn't bad if he had enough to do. The trouble was he led all the others, and if he once got "contrary,"

trouble arose. Mary inwardly resolved that he should not get "contrary."

"Now up here in Bear Canyon," Mr. Wilson further remarked, "we're strong on figurin'. How are you on arithmetic?"

Mary's heart fell. Dismal visions of cube root and compound proportion came to torment her. Her s.h.i.+p, sailing smoothly but a moment since, had apparently struck a reef. Then a never-failing imagination came to her rescue. She saw Priscilla solving her problems in the evening at the table.

"Arithmetic isn't exactly my specialty, Mr. Wilson," she said brightly.

"That is, I don't love it as I do other studies; but I a.s.sure you I shall be quite able to teach it."

The chief trustee rose from his seat, knocked the ashes from his pipe into the fire-place, and took his hat.

"I guess you're hired for the week, then," said he, "at twenty dollars.

I'll stop in at Ben Jarvis' on my way home and tell him. School begins Monday morning at nine. I may drop in myself durin' the week to see how things is goin'. Good-mornin'."

Mary stood in the middle of the room, paying no heed to the curious voices which called her from the porch. She saw the chief trustee ride past the window on his way to tell Ben Jarvis that she was elected. She pictured the incorrigible Allan Jarvis spending the Sabbath in the invention of mischief. It had come too suddenly. She could not realize that she was actually a Wyoming school-teacher. Now the time which she had thought to be four years' distant had come--the time to begin to realize the ideals she had shaped for herself upon the teaching and the personality of her adored Miss Wallace.

The voices on the porch became more curious, and Mary, at last coming to herself, hurried out to tell the wonderful news. She found the Vigilantes and Aunt Nan as interested as she herself, and willing to sacrifice her company for five days for the sake of Bear Canyon's rising generation.

Priscilla offered all the proficiency in arithmetic she possessed; Aunt Nan hurried indoors to cut and make two ap.r.o.ns for the teacher; and Vivian and Virginia went in search of pencils and paper. This was Sat.u.r.day and there was no time to lose.

On Monday morning at eight they all stood beneath the cottonwoods to watch a wide-eyed and much excited school-teacher start for Bear Canyon. In a bag which she hung on the saddle-horn were her pencils, papers, and new ap.r.o.n; in a package strapped to the saddle was her lunch, packed by Hannah's interested hands; and in her heart were excitement, misgivings, and eagerness. She preferred to go alone, she said, as she mounted into the saddle. They might ride up at four, and come home with her if they liked, but she must go alone.

They did go up that afternoon at four--Vivian, Priscilla, and Virginia. As they swung around a bend in the road, and came upon the little school-house, they were surprised at the stillness. Where was everybody?

The children had not gone home--that was certain--for half a dozen horses were picketed round about. Had the school adjourned and gone for a picnic in the woods? That would not be unlike the new teacher, but it would be very unlike the former traditions of the Bear Canyon school. No sound came from within and it was long past four. Had the big Jarvis boy triumphed after all, and made Mary a prisoner?

After five minutes of patient, puzzled waiting they added their horses to those already grazing among the sagebrush, and stole quietly to the open window. The new teacher sat in the middle of the battered, scarred, ugly little room. She held her two youngest children upon her lap much to the detriment of her new ap.r.o.n. A dirty eager face was raised to hers from either side of her chair. The others of her twenty charges sat as near as the seats would permit. The big Jarvis boy had not deigned to move toward the front--that was too much of a concession for the first day--but he was leaning forward in his seat, his big, s.h.a.ggy, unkempt head resting in his folded arms, his eyes never leaving Mary's face. She was telling them the story of the _Dog of Flanders_. The Vigilantes, crouching beneath the window, heard her as she finished.

"The next day," she said, "they came to the great cathedral, and found Nello and Patrasche dead upon the stone floor. People were sorry then.

Alois' father was one who came. He realized how cruel he had been to Nello, and was ready now to help him. But it was too late. Little Alois came also. She begged Nello to wake and come home for the Christmas festivities, and cried when she saw that he could not. Then a great artist came. He had seen Nello's picture of the old man on the fallen tree, and he knew that some day Nello might become a wonderful painter, even though another had won the Antwerp prize. He wanted to take Nello away with him, he said, and teach him art. But he, also, was too late, for Nello and Patrasche had gone away together to a Kinder Country. All their lives they had not been separated, and so the people of their little village, sorry and ashamed, made them one grave and laid them to rest together."