Boarding Round/Chapter 9

After Thanksgiving, and after the ladies had duly considered and decided the question of their obligations to work for the conversion of the heathen, James Ray Sears received numerous invitations to spend a night with this and that family, where there was an opportunity for him to exert an influence for good. He was not in the condition in which he found himself at the end of the first week of school, when, locking the schoolhouse door, he sat upon the doorstep, looking up the road, and down the road, and across the fences and fields, hoping to discover some clew to a path leading to a human habitation, where the doors would not be shut against him, and he might find a place to lay his weary head for the night. And as a concomitant of such a discovery, he also hoped that he might secure a bite of something to eat.

How changed his condition now! The only question left to trouble him was, Where he should not go?

​Among the kind notes of invitation which lay upon the teacher's table was the following:

"fridy mornin.

"Mister seres, Deer sir. I've killed. cum today. wether Bad fer keepin pork. We see ye ter nite. Jake hand ye this. dont fale ter cum.

yours Truly Stephen Tingley."

Such an invitation as this could not be lightly disregarded. It bore the stamp of urgency. Other invitations could wait. This must be, and was, accepted. The teacher went. Some peculiar questions would persist in arising in his mind, as he approached the house, but he had no misgivings. When going where duty called, why should he hesitate, or linger by the way? He went straight on. Near the door, on which his eye was steadily fixed, he passed an old broken-down wagon, while the one more intimately associated with some past experiences, was backed up in a snowbank against the corner of the house. As he drew nearer, the old gander, forsaking his harem, approached him, with outstretched neck, hissing and showing fight. But he felt that he must not now play the coward for was he not a ruler in his own realm? He would not run, even if the furious flying creature did try to pinch a piece of flesh out of his bootleg. There are times when a man, who is a man, must defend himself! James Sears felt ​that, in his own case, that time had come. Had he not survived the awful ordeal, when ten human eyes, two of them looking through heavy, gold-framed spectacles, were centered upon him, across the table, in the "yarler" house? No; the time for him to flee before a pursuing old gander, was yet in the future! So in a few brief minutes, he stood squarely on his two feet, on Uncle Steve's doorstep. But a flock of hens were disposed to contest his right to be there. They grudgingly gave him just room enough for his feet, not a single square inch more. And after he had stood there some minutes, rapping on the door more and more vigorously each successive time, and Jake had opened the door, the hens—silly creatures as they are—thought it was opened for them, and so began to improve their opportunity. Jake, feeling that the coming in of the hens at such an inopportune moment was a gross perversion of their liberties, began to try to get near to them, that he might impress upon them the influence of his personality. But they were too many for him; and each was disposed to assert its individual rights and privileges. This roused Jake to more vigorous activity in the performance of his duty. The fowls then began to see that their longer stay in the house might meet with still more serious objection, and so started out the nearest way—some of them through the window. Jake got them out; and he declared it was not ​his fault that the "blamed critters" shouldn't know any better than to fly through window glass.

Now the schoolmaster was fairly in the house. He entered a room having an immense fireplace, and containing a bed. Two dogs rose up to greet him. One of these was a vicious-looking but lazy fellow; the other a spiteful, yelping little cur, that threatened to bite. "Mother" cuffed the little thing with, "Lie down there; hain't y' no manners?" A sharp yelp, and it escaped under the bed. But soon it came out from its cover, in its eagerness to taste the bottom of the leg of the stranger's trousers. Now "Mother" seized the broom, and came for the disturbing creature. In her haste, she missed her aim, inflicting a blow, which the master appreciated much more keenly than did the dog. He felt at that moment as if he could yelp. too, but knowing it would be impolite, he kept quiet. Reënforcements now appeared. Jake, having dictated terms of peace to the feathered tribe, was now ready to win a new victory. His tactics were impressive. And his plan of battle admitted of no delay. He opened the cellar door, and when the enemy was driven sufficiently near to it, a peculiar motion of his foot landed the ambitious canine beyond the lowest stair. Now comparative silence reigned. Nothing but the grieved tones of the exiled quadruped was heard.

​"I'm glad to see y'," said Mrs. Tingley, coming up to shake hands. "Y' mustn't mind this little puppy. He hain't ben here long enough to learn manners yit."

The master queried how long a time would be necessary.

"Don't trouble yourself about the dog, Mrs. Tingley. This big one is a noble looking fellow, and he seems to be very good natured. He won't bite, I take it."

"No, not very often. He's good when you don't fret him."

"You are all well here to-day, I hope."

"We's fust rate, Mr. Sears."

"Mr. Tingley is well, and in good spirits?"

"In good spirits! Land o' Goshen! Ye ought t' see him. Sence he killed his pig, he's ben on his high heeled boots. That pig weighed more'n twelve score. Ye take snuff?" she added, passing her box. "This is the real thing."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tingley, I've not learned yet."

The good lady's fingers—to speak of no other indications—showed that she had learned.

"Well, don't keep yourself standin', Mr. Sears; sed 'aown in this easy chair, an' rest ye. You'll have t' make yourself t' home here. We're old fashioned folks y' see."

As she said this, she went to the fireplace, and with the tongs poked out a great heap of ​live coals towards the hearth. She went to the kitchen and returned with an immense iron spider, which she put over these coals. Then going out again, she came back with her hands full of slices of liver, which she put into the spider, and, for a time, moved them about in it, with her fingers, to get them nicely arranged, and cooking all right.

This was a kind of food that the master had never been able to eat. A little of some other part of the fat young swine he thought would, under different circumstances, have been more appetizing; but perhaps now he could eat liver as well as anything else. And this new idea of the matter was made more acceptable to his thinking after Uncle Steve had come in and seated himself before the fire. He was in a very happy frame of mind, and his toothless jaws were being indulged in their automatic compressing activities to an unusual degree. He paid little attention to what was cooking before the fire, and his artillery practice seemed to the schoolmaster too careless. So the latter kept one eye open in the direction of the spider, to see whether the old gentleman would inadvertently "get the range." And he could talk as he chewed.

"Glad you've come down. Y' got my letter? I hope y' could read it. I ain't much of a hand t' write. Yis, this 's jest what I told y' when we was ridin' over them hills together. I'd er sent fer ye afore, only I didn't kill till ​Wednesday. The pig was a plump one. He pulled the steelyards daown tu more'n twelve score. Fat's a tub o' butter. Nothin' sweeter 'n sich a pig. But you'll see fer yourself. Mother's got the old spider hot, as y' see. She'll make a good job on 't. Then with sweet pig meat y' want good biled pertaters. There's some in that kittle there. I raised a big field o' splendid pertaters this year."

"Yes, Mr. Tingley, boiled potatoes, I think, go well at any time."

The master could say this conscientiously, and with a slight gleam of pleasure in his anticipations.

"And turnips, them goes well with pork," added Uncle Steve. "Kerrets tu; ye like 'em?"

"No, to tell the truth, I haven't learned to eat carrots very much. I suppose, however, they are nice."

"And beets; d'ye eat beets?"

"Sometimes."

The master's answers began to fail a little in interest, because his attention was rather directed towards the fireplace. "I hain't got no beets this year, I'm sorry to say. I didn't have no luck with 'em."

In this statement Uncle Steve was entirely correct, for he had sowed no beets, nor carrots either. His magnificent potato patch consisted of about ten rods of ground. In all descriptions of his farming, he could keep up his in​terest in what he was saying by skillfully subordinating fact to imagination.

At this point "Mother's" voice came clear and strong, as she gave Jake his orders in the kitchen.

"Them dinner dishes hain't ben washed yit. You take the hand basin there, an' wash 'em up slick. I hain't no hot water ter spare, but cold will du. There, hurry up now. Supper's about ready. Hurry up, stir your stumps. Don't be all night. The marster wants somethin' to eat."

Mrs. Tingley was very deaf, and so didn't understand how far the sound of her voice went sometimes.

A rattling of plates and cups, as they were being cleansed in cold water, in the hand basin, was conclusive proof that obedient Jake was doing his duty.

"Got them things done, Jake?"

"Can't find the knives an' forks."

"Can't find 'em! They're layin' right there afore your eyes, in the corner o' the sink. But you needn't stop to wash 'em now. They won't show no dirt. Set the table right away. And don't y' break no plates this time. Put on the tea cups—three cups. D'ye hear? Put on the best cups and sascers, not the old cracked ones. Like's not the marster won't drink cider. Put on them napkins that we used when the rabbit hunters was here; and ​the white table cloth—that one you washed last summer. Hurry up."

The fragrant liver was removed from the fireplace to the table. The potatoes, fortunately, were not peeled. Each one was expected to do with his own what might seem necessary. Uncle Steve was about to lift up the platter, and set it nearer their guest, when "Mother," more thoughtful of the proprieties of the occasion, checked him,—"Perhaps the marster will ask a blessin'."

This suggestion came to the schoolmaster so unexpectedly, and while, it must be confessed, he was not wholly in a "devotional frame of mind," that, for the moment, he was nearly upset; but he soon called back his escaping mental faculties, and the grace of gratitude for the meal was reverently sought.

After "getting into business," James Sears was happily surprised at his good success. He peeled his large potato, and cutting the liver into small pieces, put each separately inside a portion of the precious vegetable, and, without any unnecessary mastication,—much as a cat swallows its food,—deposited the successive morsels in their appropriate place.

After this banqueting on pig's liver had created in each participant a feeling of "fullness of joy and sweet content," the great pitcher, filled with cider, was put on the table, and each one was expected to get up and help himself ​to a sufficient quantity, whenever recurring thirst might prompt to such an effort.

Uncle Steve filled the evening with glowing accounts of his success in his agricultural enterprises, and that with increasing enthusiasm, as the cheer imparting fluid in the pitcher was reduced. After a time, however, he condescended to bring the conversation down to inferior matters.

"Well, Mr. Sears, you had a good time to the schoolhouse Sarterday; you had a crowd on 'em, they tell me."

"Yes, the house was fairly well filled, as you might say."

"Jake said he couldn't git across the floor without steppin' on some on 'em, as they sot there."

"Jake spoke his piece very well; they were all much pleased to hear him. They wish me to have such exercises every fortnight."

"Yis," added Uncle Steve, "I'm glad to see so much interest in eddycation—or somethin'."

"It is encouraging," responded the master.

"And all the women in the deestrict, with their grown up galls, was there—so they say."

"Some of them."

"But ain't they goin' t' git up no sleigh ride this year?" said the man now inspired by what had been in the empty pitcher. "This is jest the time; the snow's good now."

​"I've heard the matter mentioned, but I don't know what they will do."

"Well, now, if they git it up, and you go—they'll want you t' go anyway—you be careful that y' don't take none o' y'r scholars; y' know I teld y' when we was ridin' together. You c'n see how 'tis. But if y' du go, I'll tell ye what I'll du for ye. I don't forgit my friends. Ever sence we rid up together, I've thought on y' a gra' deal. I'll let y' have my horse and sleigh, and it won't cost y' a cent."

James Sears thought this was a little too kind; but how should he get out of it just then? He did venture to suggest that when they should get off together, in that way, they must keep in one company, and usually have horses that could travel pretty fast. But his generous host agreed with him precisely. That was what they must have. "My horse," he said, "is jest the horse you will need, and it shan't cost you one red copper. My little cutter'll slip along after the horse like a streak o' greased lightnin'. You won't see nobody goin' by you that night; you may reckon on that, on every finger on both hands."

The master saw that his host was not in a condition to have his word doubted, much less, disputed. So after some effort he succeeded in changing the subject of conversation.

As retiring for the night began to seem to James Sears more like a reality, not far in the ​future, he began to wonder whether he would be obliged to occupy the same bed with Jake. His fears proved to be groundless. And so grateful was he for this, that all other things were soon forgotten, and he was fast asleep.

James Sears came to his "home" for the Sabbath with a new appreciation of the generous hospitality of his good friends, Capt. and Mrs. Hale. He had insisted on going to Uncle Steve's rather against their advice. He well understood their view of the matter, and their regard for his welfare in what they had said; yet his mind was fully made up to spend at least one night with his old friend of the alder pole. He had done so now, and so he could look back instead of forward, which he was fully convinced was, in some respects, much pleasanter.

"Well, Mr. Sears, how did you enjoy staying at Uncle Steve's?" The Captain's face wore a peculiar expression—half a smile and half something else—as he asked the question.

"Why—I—enjoyed—it—very much. It was something to be remembered. We can't say as much of our common experiences. This I shall look back upon with great pleasure."

"Your host was in a happy mood, I hope," put in Mrs. Hale.

"Very happy, and that made me happy too."

"When his jug has been empty for a sufficient length of time, and his pigtail is fresh ​and abundant, he is always happy," added the Captain.

"How about his cider?"

"A little is all right, but when he has too much, you had better not cross his track."

"So it seemed to me," replied the master, "and so I kept off."

"That was well; the old man is utterly unreasonable, and cross enough, when he has too much cider down."

In the evening, as they were seated before the fire, the Captain indulged in relating some funny stories about his old neighbor. If he had any weakness, it was in relating that which set off somebody in a comical light, even if it did hit a little hard. So now, with a kind of apology for that which he was about to say, he began: "Your aged friend, when he is himself, is a very good man, but he often has a strange way of showing it. I never heard of another, who could so easily tell the exact truth while meaning to give a false impression. This is a fair specimen of his ability in that direction. Last summer he and his wife were getting a few cocks of hay into the barn. They were carrying it on poles. Of course that was not adapted to give a stranger an impression that his haying was a very extensive affair. Well, just as he and his wife were starting with a load, on the poles, for the barn, a man from a neighboring town came along, and stopped to inquire the way. Uncle Steve ​at once dropped his end of the poles, leaving 'Mother' to wait for him, and entered into conversation with the stranger. He was so proud of his farming that he was unwilling any one, especially a man who could drive a span of spirited horses, should get the impression that he must do his haying in that fashion. Accordingly, he said to the stranger, 'I told Mother that it would be easier to carry in the little hay we have here than to go up into my big pasture, and look up a yoke of oxen.' Now, that was precisely so, for had he gone to his 'big pasture,' he would have found no oxen there, unless his neighbor's had jumped in.

"But," continued the Captain, "our friend's tobacco-chewing is exceptional. His most important stroke of business is along that line. His jaws show the nearest possible approach to perpetual motion. Some say that they continue to go while he sleeps. Besides, his chewing is decidedly comical. His teeth being all gone, his under jaw must rise about half an inch higher than it naturally would, in order to meet the upper, making his cheeks bulge out with each motion, like the sides of an old-fashioned bellows, when you blow the fire."

"But I have no doubt he takes a great deal of comfort in his chewing," interrupted the listening teacher.

"Yes," said the Captain, "pity if he didn't. Tobacco makes him good-natured. When he gets out of it, the world begins to turn the ​wrong way at once. At such times there need be little said about his disposition. You would have had a hard time there, had the old gentleman been destitute of pigtail."

This conversation concerning Uncle Steve, and other odd characters about town, continued till late in the evening.

Sunday morning dawned fair and bright. Walking with the family to church, little Johnny Paine was very happy in being permitted to take his teacher's hand and trot along beside him. The Paine family lived in another part of Captain Hale's house, and Mrs. Paine was his daughter. There were four children in this family, all in school. Captain and Mrs. Hale's reception of the teacher, therefore, was not only from the kindness of their hearts, but they also did it as their duty. Mrs. Hale could accommodate him much more conveniently than could her daughter. Whenever Mr. Sears came for the Sabbath, the grandchildren were eager to come in to see him, for they had all come to think of him as their best friend. And this feeling was also shared by all the scholars. They had learned to love and respect their teacher, and were happy in their obedience.

After the service, many gathered around the young schoolmaster, to shake his hand, and to express their great satisfaction at his remarkable success in his school. They were so glad—and here we should mention especially ​the mammas whose daughters were sorry that they had not continued to go to school another year—that there was such a remarkable revival of interest in the training and instruction of the children and youth of the Corner district. They had never known before how good a common school could be made. And certainly the man who had accomplished such a change was worthy of all praise.

Among those who came up to the young teacher, to heap upon him such hearty congratulations, was Miss Eunice Delano. She was at the special exercises, but did not get an introduction to the master. She now introduced herself. She said he might be interested in knowing that she corresponded for The Looking-glass, a little weekly sheet, published at Winfield Center, and containing the local news. She had noticed Mr. Sears' coming to town, and had followed his work with many interesting items, of much interest to the people of the Corner district. She was greatly interested in his school, for only a very short time ago she was a scholar herself. Mr. Sears had noticed some exceedingly complimentary items concerning himself, but had not before known how they originated. On coming suddenly into the presence of a lady who had such a good opinion of him he almost blushed. He hardly knew what to say. But Miss Delano was never troubled on that point, so she kept on. She inquired—as she was a correspondent it ​was natural for her to inquire—when the projected sleighride was to be. But the master could not inform her. He had simply heard that there was to be one soon. Miss Delano replied that she supposed it was to be for the scholars, as they were getting it up; but she, at the same time had thought that, for prudential reasons, he might wish to take a lady not of the school. She did not say so, in so many words; but somehow the unsophisticated young man, who was being indirectly interrogated, got the impression that she had such a thought in mind. And it was a very proper thought. Had not the wise old man of the alder pole told him so plainly, more than once? If a young girl thought the same, it indicated her superior discernment.

Among the items from the Corner district, in the next issue of The Looking-glass, was one announcing that there was to be a sleighride in the near future, and that Mr. Sears would accompany his pupils. Immediately following was the statement that Miss Eunice Delano had the pleasure of meeting the new teacher at church. All that had been said of him, as a most successful teacher, was confirmed by the impression which she received. And also the general influence of Mr. Sears, outside of his school, was beginning to be felt. In the items each week Miss Delano's name had either preceded or followed that of the popular teacher.