Part 4 (1/2)
”You can't take much stock in her new-fangled notions,” was the unanimous opinion at the Cross-Roads. She had ”put the cart before the horse” when she laid the time-honoured alphabet on the shelf, and gave the primer cla.s.s a whole word at a mouthful, before it had cut a single orthographic tooth on such primeval syllables as a-b ab.
”Look at my Willie,” exclaimed one of the district fathers. ”Beating around the bush with talk about a picture cow, and a real cow, and a word cow, and not knowing whether B comes after W or X. At his age I could say the alphabet forwards or backwards as fast as tongue could go without a slip.”
”She's done _one_ sensible thing,” admitted Cy Akers. ”They tell me she's put her foot down on the scholars playing April fool tricks this year.”
”I don't see why,” said Henry Bicking. ”It has been one of the customs in this district since the schoolhouse was built. What's the harm if the children do take one day in the year for a little foolishness? Let them have their fun, I say.”
”But they've carried it too far,” was the answer. ”It's scandalous they should be allowed to abuse people's rights and feelings and property as they have done the last few years. First of April doesn't justify such cutting up any more than the first of August.”
”She's got Scripture on her side,” said Squire Dobbs. ”You know Solomon says, 'As a mad man who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, so is the man that deceiveth his neighbour and saith, am I not in sport?'”
”She can't stamp out such a deep-rooted custom in one day,” protested Bicking.
”You can bet on the little school-ma'am every time,” laughed Bowser. ”My daughter Milly says they didn't have regular lessons yesterday afternoon. She had them put their books in their desks.
”Said they'd been studying about wise men all their lives, now they'd study about fools awhile; the fools of Proverbs and the fools of history.
”She read some stories, too, about a cruel disappointment and the troubles brought about by some thoughtless jokes on the first of April.
Mighty interesting stories, Milly said. You could have heard a pin drop, and some of the girls cried. Then she drew a picture on the blackboard of a court jester, in cap and bells, and asked if they wouldn't like a change this year. Instead of everybody acting the fool and doing silly things they'd all be ashamed of if they'd only stop to think, wouldn't they rather she'd appoint just one scholar to play the fool for all of them, as the old kings used to do.
”They agreed to that, quick enough, thinking what fun they'd have teasing the one chosen to be it. Then she said she'd appoint the first one this morning who showed himself most deserving of the office. Milly says from the way she smiled when she said it, they're all sure she means to choose the first one who plays an April Fool joke. She'd put it so strong to 'em how silly it was, that there ain't a child in school you could hire to run the risk of being appointed fool for the day. So I think she's coming out ahead as usual.”
”After all,” said Bud Hines, ”there's some lessons to be got out of those old tricks we used to play. For instance, the pocketbook tied to a string. Seems to me that everything in life worth having has a string tied to it, and just as I am about to pick it up, Fate s.n.a.t.c.hes it out of my hands.”
”Don't you believe it, Buddy,” said Bowser, cheerfully; ”you take notice those pocketbooks on strings are always empty ones, and they don't belong to us, so we have no business grabbing for them or feeling disappointed because we can't get something for nothing.”
But Bud waved aside the interruption mechanically.
”Then there's the _gifts_ with strings tied to 'em,” he continued. ”My wife has a rich aunt who is always sending her presents, and writing, 'Understand this is for _you_, Louisy. You're too generous, and I don't want anybody but your own deserving self to wear this.' Now out in the country here, my wife doesn't have occasion to wear handsome clothes like them once a year, while they'd be the very thing for Clara May, off at Normal School. But not a feather or a ribbon can the child touch because her great-aunt bought them expressly for her ma. Goodness knows she'd have a thousand times more pleasure in seeing Clara May enjoy them, than knowing they were lying away in bureau drawers doing n.o.body any good. When she takes 'em out at house-cleaning times I say, 'Ma,'
says I, 'deliver me from gifts with strings tied to 'em. I'd rather have a ten-cent bandanna, all mine, to have and to hold or to give away as pleased me most, than the finest things your Aunt Honigford's money could buy, if I had to account to her every time I turned around in them.'
”When I give anything I _give_ it, and don't expect to come back, spying around ten years afterward to see if it's worn out, or cracked, or faded, or broken. That's my doctrine.”
Marion Holmes, driving along the country road in the old miller's antiquated chaise, drew rein in front of a low picket gate, overhung by mammoth s...o...b..ll bushes. Down the path, between the rows of budding lilacs and j.a.ponicas, came an old gentleman in a quaintly cut, long-tailed coat. He was stepping along nimbly, although he leaned hard on his gold-headed cane.
”'A man he was to all the country dear,'” quoted Marion softly to herself as the minister's benign face smiled a greeting through his big square-bowed spectacles. ”I know he must have been Goldsmith's friend, and I wish I dared ask him how long he lived in the Deserted Village.”
But all she called out to him as he stopped with a courtly bow, under the s...o...b..ll bushes, was a cheery good morning and an invitation to take a seat beside her if he wanted to drive to the Cross-Roads store.
”Thank you, Miss Polly,” he answered, ”that is my destination. I am on my way there for a text.”
”For a what?” exclaimed Marion in surprise, turning the wheel for him to step in beside her.
”For a text for my Easter sermon,” he explained as they drove on in the warm April suns.h.i.+ne. ”Ah, I see, Miss Polly, you have not discovered the school of philosophers that centres around the Cross-Roads store. Well, it's not to be wondered at; few people do. I spent a winter in Rome, when I was younger, and one of my favourite walks was up on the Pincian Hill. The band plays in the afternoons, you know, and tourists flock to see the queen drive by. There is a charming view from the summit--the dome of St. Peters against the blue Italian sky, the old yellow Tiber crawling along under its bridges from ruin to ruin, and the immortal city itself, climbing up its historic hills. And on the Pincio one meets everybody,--soldiers and courtiers, flower girls and friars, monks in robes of every order, and pilgrims from all parts of the world.
”The first time I was on the hill, as I wandered among the shrubbery and flowers, I noticed a row of moss-grown pedestals set along each side of the drive for quite a distance. Each pedestal bore the weather-beaten bust of some old sage or philosopher or hero.