Boarding Round/Chapter 1

It was October and a lovely morning. It was one of the mornings in autumn when everything seems pervaded by a spirit of calm restfulness, as if Nature were waiting, for a little, to gather strength for the rough wrestlings of approaching winter. Nothing is stirring, or moved from its place. The leaves, yet remaining on the trees, hang motionless. The night crickets are silent. No sound comes to one from any quarter, except, it may be, the cawing of distant crows, or the occasional drumming of a happy old partridge.

James Ray Sears had set out to walk to Winfield for his examination as teacher of one of the district schools of that town. He could not have chosen a more auspicious morning, one more conducive to courage and hopefulness for the ordeal through which he must ​pass. And as he leisurely pursued his way, he would put to himself questions, in the studies with which he would be expected to be familiar, trying to frame the appropriate answers thereto. Thus engaged, the hours passed quickly, till the sun was high in the east; and with its rise, the wind began to blow, and to move the branches of the trees. He now heard some chestnuts fall from a tree before him by the roadside. The temptation to taste these was too great. Gathering a few for his pocket, he sat down on a rock beneath the tree to enjoy them. His only companion was a little red squirrel, that would come down the trunk of the tree, look him saucily in the face, then, with a whirr and a chitter, spring up and seat himself upon a limb, as much as to say, "You didn't get me, and, if you please, you needn't eat all of my nuts."

As James again started on his way, a man in a wagon drove up beside him. This man was known in his neighborhood as "Uncle Steve," and was as odd a character as his looks would indicate. He was unconventional in his habits. He was one of that kind of people who unconsciously contribute a humorous element to the social life of which they form a part. His horse and wagon, too, looked as if they might properly belong to him. The former had four legs that usually moved forward somewhat, when requested, ​but had times of disagreeable irregularity, especially when its driver was in haste to get along. The wagon had been subjected to numerous extemporized alterations, and now had, in place of a seat, a board laid across the body. On this board the venerable man sat, holding in one hand the reins, and in the other a small alder pole, with which he was accustomed, at near intervals, to exert a salutary influence upon the animal before him. His clothes were unique, and cannot easily be described. One can, however, hardly refrain from remarking that above his red face there appeared something which he still called his hat. This had been tall, fashionable, and new, when it was made; but for many years it had suffered from a process of slow degeneration, till one side had come to retain only about two-thirds of its original height, and the other side somewhat less. He had taught its brim to turn up behind, that it might rest securely on the inner edge of his coat collar. His hair and beard were long, worn loosely, and never troubled by brush or comb. His teeth had one by one taken leave of his jaws, but the vacancies, thus occasioned, were perpetually filled with quids of pigtail tobacco. At this time, the natural action of these quids, as they were vigorously revolved, caused aqueous broadsides to be discharged, with great force and frequency, over the forward wheel, on the lee side of his wagon. ​The wind, which was now becoming brisk, made any attempts on the other side difficult, and the shower to return in the form of disagreeable spray. The old man at once entered into conversation with the young stranger, and, finding that he was going on in the same direction with himself, cordially invited him to come up, and partake of the comforts of the board across his wagon: adding as he did so that he had forgotten to take the cushion. He did not wish to have it thought that he had also, for many years, forgotten it every time. He moved along for his guest to sit on the side protected from the wind; but he, as if so obtuse that he could not perceive where a place had been made for him, came up on the windward side. He very properly thought that his new silk hat, and the linen which his mother had been at such great pains to "do up," for the good appearance of her son, should not just then be exposed to such a heavy storm of liquid nicotine.

"Glad to give y' a leetle lift on your way. Have y' come fur?"

"Not very; about five miles, I think. I live near Long Pond."

"Oh, over there, in the age of Scaleville. I know naow. Ain't y' the young feller what's took the school in the Corner deestrict?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Wal, now, that's awful good; I c'n take y' right along. I live in that deestrict my​self. I've heerd y're goin' t' keep up there. Mother teld me. She went up there t' du a leetle tradin' t' the store, and everybody was a talkin' about young Sears—that's y'r name, ain't it? And the galls, she said, was all on tiptoe, wonderin' what kind of a feller the young marster would be. Wal, they won't be disappinted in his looks, 't any rate, ef I'm any judge o' horned cattle."

Uncle Steve always spoke of his wife as "Mother," with a peculiar circumflex accent on the first syllable.

"Golly, y'll have a grand, good, big school; forty or fifty on 'em, I guess. Some o' them boys are slappin' big fellers—taller 'n I am. And then the galls, tu. Some o' them 's growed up. But they're mighty good galls. Y' needn't be a bit afraid on 'em. They're a likely set as y'll find anywheres. And there are some good lookin' ones among 'em, now I tell ye. But you mustn't show that you know that, y' know. That won't du. Some of the marsters what we've had here in years gone by, showed partiality, so they say, towards some of the best lookin' big galls. That starts up bad feelin's—alwuz dooz; so y' must look out for that. You must go right straight along 'tween what y' like an' what y' don't; then y'll git along. I never kep' school, but I c'n see a leetle how sich things work."

James happily found that he was able to avoid the showers of juice, but he was think​ing of what would be, should a sharp turn in the road bring him on the lee side.

Uncle Steve began to grow animated.

"I have one boy," he continued, "what'll go t' school. He's my grandson, my darter's son. He never knowed nothin' 'bout his father, and I'se alwuz took care on him. The boy don't take to his books quite so narturally as I'd like t' have him; and he's a leetle onusual in his disposition. Y'll have t' larn 'bout him a kinder gradurally, by degrees like, so t' speak, an' so git hold on him on the right side. The marster last winter didn't somehow seem to know jest how, an' so I had t' take the boy out o' school. The marster claimed he wa'n't respectful; but he didn't mean to do nothin' noway. You won't have no trouble with him, if y' keep your eyes open to see how he doos things. He has a kind o' way of his own, an' that y'll have to git used to, y' know. Ye ha'n't kep' school, I s'pose."

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Wal, we all has to begin everything somewheres. Our school hez had the name, in years past, o' bein' a leetle hard. But I think it's ben the marster's fault as much as anything. Last winter somehow, I dunno how 'twas, somehow or nuther, them big boys got all kinder sot agin him, an' then 'twas sleddin' on bare ground for him all winter. Don't now git an idee, from what I say, that them ​boys don't need to be thrashed—they du; but y' want to know when to du it, an' how t' du it. The Bible says, y' know, that there's a time for everything, an' I guess that thrashin' ugly boys ain't left out. Ye know the Bible? Y'r father's a deacon over there, ain't he?"

"Yes, sir, he is."

"Wal, it's a good thing to bring up boys on the Bible. I was, an' it's stood by me ever sense."

James assented to these sentiments.

"Y' board round?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wal, y' c'n come to my house any time. Mother ain't perticerler. But I alwuz a leetle druther the marster 'd come after I kill. Then we. farmers git somethin' for the table that's good."

One who had not a knowledge of a farmer's work might have supposed that there would be danger in going to Uncle Steve's house before he "killed."

"I don't ginerally kill till into December," the old man went on. "I've got a likely pig this year. It's a spring pig, an' so I wan' t' keep it as long as I can. It come ruther late, an' I took it off when it was only four weeks old. Mother made a place for it in our shed an' fed it on our best cow's milk. She knows jest how to make sich little critters begin to drink arter they're taken off. This come on, ​an' growed like a weed. I never had none du better. I'm fattin' on't now. I'll let y' know. I'll give y' a good bite. Mother knows how to fry meat so 't goes good, I c'n tell ye. An' she's neat as a pin."

Just as Uncle Steve said this, forgetting how he was situated in respect to his passenger, he attempted to spray the wheel on the windward side.

"Blast this plaguy wind! I didn't mean to git y'r shiny boots all spotted up. You've a handkercher in y'r pocket, hain't ye?"

"No matter for my boots. I've been walking; they need brushing anyway. I don't care for my feet; I feel more troubled about the other end of my body—how that will get along."

"Oh, it comes tu me naow; y'r goin' up to be examined, ain't ye?"

"Yes, sir, that's the solemn fact."

"Wal, you needn't be afraid o' nothin'; you'll git through all right. I've hearn about your family. Your father's name is Eliphelet Sears, ain't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You said he's a deacon over there—deacon o' the Congregational Church?"

"Yes, sir; he's been a deacon for a good many years."

"And he went t' the legislatur a few years ago?"

​"I think he did. I was a little boy then."

"You must be the youngest of the childern?"

"I am the youngest."

"And your mother, wa'n't she, she that was Sally Hanks?"

"That was my mother's name."

"Y've alwuz ben born an' brought up on a farm, hain't ye?"

"I suppose so; I don't remember quite so far back as that."

"Now about this ere examination o' yourn—'tain't no fun to be put on the gridiron, way they tell about they're duin up there."

"But how is that? What do they tell about?"

James Ray Sears now began to be conscious of an increasing interest in his aged friend's remarks.

"How d' they du it? I have hearn 'em tell how, when they git hold of a feller that hain't kep' afore, they made up jest a little hotter fire, so to see how brave he is—what kind o' metal he's made out on. There's old Marster Brown—he's one on 'em. He don't keep naow, but he likes t' show that he hain't forgot haow. They say when the fire don't blaze up pooty well, he'll take his old bellerses an' go t' blowin'. It's fun t' them mighty larned men I s'pose to see their feller wiggle, an' squirm round, an' try t' git off from where he's ben put."

​"Why, who told you that this is the way they do things?"

"Oh, don't y' be afraid o' them old chaps; they don't really hurt nobody; an' I know you'll be ready for 'em. They like t' show how mighty big they are—that's all. Their old guns are loaded with blank cartridges, all on 'em. They whang around, an' may burn a little powder in y'r face; they only try to scare—they don't load t' kill. There's Squire Hendee—he's chairman. He swells up like a gobble turkey in layin' time, talks big, an' is mighty perticuler about his words, but he won't hurt nobody. Go at him with a sharp stick, an' he'll run like an old hen when y'r stonin' on her out o' the garden. If they put fire under, an' begin t' blow, don't you squirm, an' they'll git tired on't, an' stop. They'll lose all the fun then."

This conversation, embracing subjects of varied interest to the prospective schoolmaster, but all affording similar relief to the pent up, talkative instincts of Uncle Steve, was continued for more than an hour. Meanwhile the old horse worried along over the hills—at one time breaking the harness, which, after appropriate exertion, was mended with strings and straps, carried for the purpose—till, coming to a cross-road, the garrulous old man, with unfeigned sorrow that he could not talk longer, felt obliged to say,

"Now I've got to turn off, an' go down ​that 'are way, down there. So you'll have to git out here. You see that 'are tall yarler house, up there, straight ahead? Wal, that's Squire Hendee's, where the committee meet. You see there's nothin' to be alarmed at. Jest stand square up tu 'em, an' you're all right."

With a kind of regret, though glad because of the relief from that sort of riding, James got down from the board, on which he had received so much information about things to come, and resumed his journey alone.

"Thank you, sir. Good day," he said.

You're welcome. Good luck tu ye. You'll hear from me."

But it was yet early. There was a little time remaining to prepare for the trial before the judges. So James found a quiet place where he could sit unobserved. He took from his pocket, and once more read, the letter which he had received from the district committee. He did this as if to assure himself that he had come at the right time, and on the right road; for somehow he felt very much as if he was a stranger in a strange place. It was all so still, but yet as if there were hidden forces all about him. The letter was as follows:

"Winfield, Conn., Oct. 20, 1851.

"Mr. James Ray Sears,

"Dear Sir: It has been decided that you have the school. The wages will be $12.50 ​a month and board. Our Examining Committee meet next Thursday at half past one, at Squire Hendee's. Hoping that our terms will be satisfactory,

"Yours truly, Hiram Watts."

The letter was all right. James knew that it was all right before he looked at it. But it did him good to read it once more. He also now made sure that he had in his pocket book the five-dollar bill that his father let him take for the day. This was not to meet expenses, for there would be none. But he had it rather for its silent influence, for its effect upon the imagination. A good old Baptist minister of the vicinity used to say that he could preach better when he had some money in his pocket. It was in accordance with such a notion that Mr. Sears thought to aid his boy in the so-much-dreaded examination.

The rest of the waiting time was taken up in framing more answers to probable questions. But the last preparation for entering the lions' den consisted in taking out his silk handkerchief and smoothing down to its utmost shininess his new silk hat.

It should be remarked that, at that time, a young man, even while in his teens, was not thought to be suitably dressed for occasions without a tall silk hat.

As James came back into the road, he looked up and down to see if any one might ​be coming, who should prove to be one of the committee; but he saw only a farmer with an ox-cart load of potatoes. He would hardly have been willing to acknowledge—what was the truth—that his heart began to beat faster as he came nearer to the "yarler" house.