Part 41 (1/2)

”I'm a poor lone woman--loner and lorner than I've felt since my poor, sainted Charles pa.s.sed away. Oh, Janice! it seems a pitiful shame that such a one as Mr. Haley should have to go to work on a farm when he can do such a lot of other things--and better things.”

”I don't know about there being anything much better than farming--if one has a taste for it,” said Janice cheerfully.

”But an educated man--a teacher!” groaned Mrs. Beaseley. ”An' I felt like he was my own son--'specially since Cross Moore and them others been houndin' him about that money. Cross Moore come to me, an' says he: 'Miz Beaseley, 'tis your duty to let me look through that young man's things when he's out. We'll either clear him or clench it on him.'

”An' says I: 'Cross Moore, if you put your fut across my threshold I'll sartain sure take the broom to you--an' ye'll find _that's_ clenched, a'ready!'”

”Oh, Mrs. Beaseley!” gasped Janice, yet inclined to laugh, too.

”Oh, I'd ha' done it,” threatened the widow, the tears still on her cheeks. ”Think o' them, houndin' poor Mr. Haley so! Why! if my poor sainted Charles was alive, he'd run Cross Moore clean down to the lake--an' inter it, I expect, like Walky Dexter's boss.

”And if he warn't so proud----”

”_Who_ is so proud, Mrs. Beaseley?” asked Janice, who had some difficulty at times in following the good woman's line of talk.

”Why--Mr. Nelson Haley. I did make him leave his books here, and ev'rything he warn't goin' ter use out there at the elder's. And I'm going to keep them two rooms jest as he had 'em, and he sh.e.l.l come back here whenever he likes. Money! What d' I keer whether he pays me money or not? My poor, sainted Charles left me enough to live on as long as a poor, lorn, lone creeter like me wants ter live. Nelson Haley is welcome ter stay here for the rest of his endurin' life, if he wants to, an' never pay me a cent!”

”I don't suppose he could take such great favors as you offer him, Mrs.

Beaseley,” said Janice, kissing her. ”But you are a _dear_! And I know he must appreciate what you have already done for him.”

”Wish't 'twas more! Wish't 'twas more!” sobbed Mrs. Beaseley. ”But he'll come back ter me nex' Fall. I know! When he goes ter teachin'

ag'in, he _must_ come here to live.”

”Oh, Mrs. Beaseley! do you think they will _let_ Nelson teach again in the Polktown school?” cried the girl.

”My mercy me! D'yeou mean to tell me Cross Moore and Ma.s.sey and them other men air perfect fules?” cried the widow. ”Here 'tis 'most time for school to close, and they tell me the graduatin' cla.s.s ain't nowhere near where they ought to be in their books. The supervisor come over himself, and he says he never seen sech ridiculous work as this Mr. Adams has done here. He--he's a _baby_! And he ought to be teachin' babies--not bein' princ.i.p.al of a graded school sech as Mr.

Haley built up here.”

There were plenty of other people in Polktown who spoke almost as emphatically against the present state of the school and in Nelson's favor. Three months or so of bad management had told greatly in the discipline and in the work of the pupils.

A few who would graduate from the upper grade were badly prepared, and would have to make up some of their missed studies during the Summer if they were to be accepted as pupils in their proper grade at the Middletown Academy.

Mr. Haley's record up to the very day he had withdrawn from his position of teacher was as good as any teacher in the State. Indeed, several teachers from surrounding districts had met with him in Polktown once a month and had taken work and instructions from him.

The State Board of Education and the supervisors had appreciated Nelson's work. Mr. Adams had been the only subst.i.tute they could give Polktown at such short notice. He was supposed to have had the same training, as Mr. Haley; but--”different men, different minds.”

”Ye'd oughter come over to our graduation exercises, Janice,” said Marty, with a grin. ”We're goin' to do ourselves proud. Hi tunket!

that Adams is so green that I wonder Walky's old Josephus ain't bit him yet, thinkin' he was a wisp of gra.s.s.”

”Now Marty!” said his mother, admonis.h.i.+ngly.

”Fact,” said her son. ”Adams wants me to speak a piece on that great day. I told him I couldn't--m' lip's cracked!” and Marty giggled.

”But Sally Prentiss is going to recite 'A Psalm of Life,' and Peke Ringgold is going to tell us all about 'Bozzar--Bozzar--is'--as though we hadn't been made acquainted with him ever since Hector was a pup.

And Hector's a big dog now!”

”You're one smart young feller, now, ain't ye?” said his father, for this information was given out by Marty at the supper table one evening just before the ”great day,” as he called the last session of school for that year.

”I b'lieve I'm smart enough to know when to go in and keep dry,”

returned his son, flippantly. ”But I've my doubts about Mr. Adams--for a fac'.”