Part 14 (1/2)
”No,” replied Preston, trying to be witty, ”the name doesn't _fit_.”
Mrs. Proudfit was changing Sammy's pillow-cases when she heard the children knock, and came to the door with a pillow between her teeth.
She was ”proper glad of the jelly,” as Preston thought she ought to be.
There was a smell of hot gingerbread in the air, which reminded Flaxie of the time ever so long ago, when she had taken supper in that house without leave; and there was Patty at the window this minute making faces. It is strange how things change to you as you grow older! Flaxie never cared to visit at that house now, for Patty wasn't a nice little girl at all; she not only teased away your playthings, but told wrong stories.
”Our baby's two months old, and he's got two teeth!” cried she, as Flaxie turned away; but n.o.body believed her.
The twin cousins and their little friends had a gay time that afternoon on the bank, and Christie Gretchen ”received” with great dignity; but I have no time to talk of that now, I want to tell you something about Preston.
When they reached Mr. Garland's house, the little girls left him, and he walked up the gravel path to Mr. Garland's front door and rang the bell with a sober face.
”I don't believe I can say my lesson, and Mr. Garland will think I'm a dunce,” said he to himself, with a quivering lip.
Now Preston Gray was remarkably handsome, and one of the dearest boys that ever lived, but not a great scholar. He could whittle chairs and sofas and churns for Flaxie with a jackknife, and I don't know how many s.h.i.+ps and steam-engines he had made; but he did not learn his lessons very well.
To-day, after the recitation was over, Mr. Garland walked with him along the bank of the river.
”Preston, my fine little fellow,” said he, kindly, ”I can't bear to scold a boy I love so dearly; but I've been afraid for some time that you don't study this term as hard as usual; what's the matter?”
Tears sprang to Preston's eyes, but he brushed them off and pretended to be looking the other way.
”Now, seriously, what _do_ you suppose boys were made for?” went on Mr.
Garland, without the least idea Preston was crying; ”you don't suppose they were made on purpose to play and have a good time?”
”I don' know, sir,” replied Preston, clearing his throat, and trying to laugh; ”perhaps they were made to play a good deal, you know, because they can't play when they grow to be men.”
”Ah, Preston, Preston, I am not joking with you at all. If you were a small child like your sister Flaxie it would not matter so much whether you studied or not, but your father expects a great deal of his oldest son, and it grieves me to have to say to him--”
”Oh, don't, don't,” wailed poor little Preston, ”I'll do anything in the world if you won't talk to my father; I'll take my books home, I'll--I'll--”
”There, there, never mind it,” said soft-hearted Mr. Garland, moved by the boy's distress, ”if you really mean to do better--Why, look out, child, you'd have fallen over that stump if I hadn't pulled you back.
Where in the world were your eyes?”
”I was looking at that big woman across the street,” stammered Preston; ”how funny she walks!”
”Woman? What woman? Why, that's a boy with a wheelbarrow,” exclaimed Mr. Garland, in great surprise.
Preston blushed with all his might and dropped his chin.
”Please, don't tell anybody I took a wheelbarrow for a woman! They'd laugh at me. Of course I knew better as soon as I came to think.”
Mr. Garland stopped suddenly and stared at Preston.
”Look up here into my face, my boy.”
Preston raised his beautiful brown eyes,--those _good_ eyes, which won everybody's love and trust; and his teacher gazed at them earnestly.