by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER IV
THE NEW MASTER
Right in front of the school door, and some little distance from it, inthe midst of a clump of maples, stood an old beech-tree with a dead top,and half-way down where a limb had once been and had rotted off, ahole. Inside this hole two very respectable but thoroughly impudent redsquirrels had made their nest. The hole led into the dead heart of thetree, which had been hollowed out with pains so as to make a roomy, cosyhome, which the squirrels had lined with fur and moss, and which waswell stored with beechnuts from the tree, their winter's provisions.
Between the boys and the squirrels there existed an armed neutrality. Itwas understood among the boys that nothing worse than snowballs was tobe used in their war with the squirrels, while with the squirrels itwas a matter of honor that they should put reasonable limits to theirprofanity. But there were times when the relations became strained, andhence the holidays were no less welcome to the squirrels than to theboys.
To the squirrels this had been a day of unusual anxiety, for the schoolhad taken up again after its two weeks' holidays, and the boys were alittle more inquisitive than usual, and unfortunately, the snow happenedto be good for packing. It had been a bad day for nerves, and Mr. Bushy,as the boys called him, found it impossible to keep his tail in oneposition for more than one second at a time. It was in vain that hismore sedate and self-controlled partner in life remonstrated with himand urged a more philosophic mind.
"It's all very well for you, my dear," Mr. Bushy was saying, rathercrossly I am afraid, "to urge a philosophic mind, but if you had theresponsibility of the family upon you--Goodness gracious! Owls andweasels! What in all the woods is that?"
"Can't be the wolves," said Mrs. Bushy, placidly, "it's too early forthem."
"Might have known," replied her husband, quite crossly; "of course it'sthose boys. I wonder why they let them out of school at all. Why can'tthey keep them in where it is warm? It always seems to me a very sillything anyway, for them to keep rushing out of their hole in that stupidfashion. What they do in there I am sure I don't know. It isn't theleast like a nest. I've seen inside of it. There isn't a thing to eat,nor a bit of hair or moss. They just go in and out again."
"Well, my dear," said his wife, soothingly, "you can hardly expect themto know as much as people with a wider outlook. We must remember theyare only ground people."
"That's just it!" grumbled Mr. Bushy. "I only wish they would just keepto themselves and on the ground where they belong, but they have theimpudence to come lumbering up here into our tree."
"Oh, well," replied his partner, calmly, "you must acknowledge they donot disturb our nest."
"And a good thing for them, too," chattered Mr. Bushy, fiercely,smoothing out his whiskers and showing his sharp front teeth, at whichMrs. Bushy smiled gently behind her tail.
"But what are they doing now?" she inquired.
"Oh, they are going off into the woods," said Mr. Bushy, who hadissued from his hole and was sitting up on a convenient crotch. "And Ideclare!" he said, in amazed tones, "they haven't thrown one snowball atme. Something must be badly wrong with them. Wonder what it is? This isquite unprecedented."
At this Mrs. Bushy ventured carefully out to observe the extraordinaryphenomenon, for the boys were actually making their way to the gate, thesmaller ones with much noisy shouting, but the big boys soberly enoughengaged in earnest conversation. It was their first day of the newmaster, and such a day as quite "flabbergastrated," as Don Cameron said,even the oldest of them. But of course Mr. and Mrs. Bushy knew nothingof this, and could only marvel.
"Murdie," cried Hughie to Don's big brother, who with Bob Fraser, RanaldMacdonald, and Thomas Finch was walking slowly toward the gate, "youwon't forget to ask your pa for an excuse if you happen to be lateto-morrow, will you?"
Murdie paid no attention.
"You won't forget your excuse, Murdie," continued Hughie, poking him inthe back.
Murdie suddenly turned, caught him by the neck and the seat of histrousers, and threw him head first into a drift, from which he emergedwrathful and sputtering.
"Well, I hope you do," continued Hughie, "and then you'll catch it. Andmind you," he went on, circling round to get in front of him, "if youwant to ask big Bob there for his knife, mind you hold up your handfirst." Murdie only grinned at him.
The new master had begun the day by enunciating the regulations underwhich the school was to be administered. They made rather a formidablelist, but two of them seemed to the boys to have gone beyond the limitsof all that was outrageous and absurd. There was to be no speakingduring school hours, and if a boy should desire to ask a question of hisneighbor, he was to hold up his hand and get permission from the master.But worse than all, and more absurd than all, was the regulation thatall late comers and absentees were to bring written excuses from parentsor guardians.
"Guardian," Thomas Finch had grunted, "what's that?"
"Your grandmother," whispered Don back.
It was not Don's reply that brought Thomas into disgrace this firstday of the new master's rule, it was the vision of big Murdie Cameronwalking up to the desk with an excuse for lateness, which he hadobtained from Long John, his father. This vision breaking suddenly inupon the solemnity of Thomas Finch's mind, had sent him into a snort oflaughter, not more to the surprise of the school than of himself. Thegravity of the school had not been greatly helped by Thomas sheepishanswer to the master's indignant question, "What did you do that for,sir?"
"I didn't; it did itself."
On the whole, the opening day had not been a success. As a matter offact, it was almost too much to expect that it should be anything buta failure. There was a kind of settled if unspoken opinion among thechildren that no master could ever fill Archibald Munro's place in theschool. Indeed, it was felt to be a kind of impertinence for any man toattempt such a thing. And further, there was a secret sentiment amongthe boys that loyalty to the old master's memory demanded an attitude ofunsympathetic opposition to the one who came to take his place. It didnot help the situation that the new master was unaware of this state ofmind. He was buoyed up by the sentiments of enthusiastic admirationand approval that he carried with him in the testimonials from his lastboard of trustees in town, with which sentiments he fully agreed, andhence he greeted the pupils of the little backwoods school with an airycondescension that reduced the school to a condition of speechless andindignant astonishment. The school was prepared to tolerate the man whoshould presume to succeed their former master, if sufficiently humble,but certainly not to accept airy condescension from him.
"Does he think we're babies?" asked Don, indignantly.
"And did you see him trying to chop at recess?" (REE'cis, Hughie calledit.) "He couldn't hit twice in the same place."
"And he asked me if that beech there was a maple," said Bob Fraser, indeep disgust.
"Oh, shut up your gab!" said Ranald, suddenly. "Give the man a chance,anyway."
"Will YOU bring an excuse when you're absent, Ranald?" asked Hughie.
"And where would I be getting it?" asked Ranald, grimly, and all theboys realized the absurdity of expecting a written excuse for Ranald'sabsence from his father. Macdonald Dubh was not a man to be botheredwith such trifles.
"You might get it from your Aunt Kirsty, Ranald," said Don, slyly. Theboys shouted at the suggestion.
"And she could do it well enough if it would be necessary," said Ranald,facing square round on Don, and throwing up his head after his mannerwhen battle was in the air, while the red blood showed in his dark cheekand his eyes lit up with a fierce gleam. Don read the danger signal.
"I'm not saying she couldn't," he hurried to say, apologetically, "butit would be funny, wouldn't it?"
"Well," said Ranald, relenting and smiling a little, "it would bekeeping her busy at times."
"When the deer are running, eh, Ranald," said Murdie, good-naturedly."But Ranald's right, boys," he continued, "give the man a chance, sayI."
"There's our bel
ls," cried Thomas Finch, as the deep, musical boom ofthe Finch's sleigh-bells came through the bush. "Come on, Hughie, we'llget them at the cross." And followed by Hughie and the boys from thenorth, he set off for the north cross-roads, where they would meetthe Finch's bob-sleighs coming empty from the saw-mill, to the greatsurprise and unalloyed delight of Mr. and Mrs. Bushy, who from theircrotch in the old beech had watched with some anxiety the boys' unusualconduct.
"There they are, Hughie," called Thomas, as the sleighs came out intothe open at the crossroads. "They'll wait for us. They know you'recoming," he yelled, encouragingly, for the big boys had left the smallerones, a panting train, far in the rear, and were piling themselvesupon the Finch's sleighs, with never a "by your leave" to WilliamJohn--familiarly known as Billy Jack--Thomas' eldest brother, who drovethe Finch's team.
Thomas' home lay a mile north and another east from the Twentiethcross-roads, but the winter road by which they hauled saw-logs to themill, cut right through the forest, where the deep snow packed hardinto a smooth track, covering roots and logs and mud holes, and makinga perfect surface for the sleighs, however heavily loaded, except wherehere and there the pitch-holes or cahots came. These cahots, by the way,though they became, especially toward the spring, a serious annoyanceto teamsters, only added another to the delights that a sleigh-ride heldfor the boys.
To Hughie, the ride this evening was blissful to an unspeakable degree.He was overflowing with new sensations. He was going to spend the nightwith Thomas, for one thing, and Thomas as his host was quite a new anddifferent person from the Thomas of the school. The minister's wife,ever since the examination day, had taken a deeper interest in Thomas,and determined that something should be made out of the solemn, stolid,slow-moving boy. Partly for this reason she had yielded to Hughie'seager pleading, backing up the invitation brought by Thomas himselfand delivered in an agony of red-faced confusion, that Hughie should beallowed to go home with him for the night. Partly, too, because shewas glad that Hughie should see something of the Finch's home, andespecially of the dark-faced, dark-eyed little woman who so silently andunobtrusively, but so efficiently, administered her home, her family,and their affairs, and especially her husband, without suspicion on hispart that anything of the kind was being done.
In addition to the joy that Hughie had in Thomas in his new role ashost, this winter road was full of wonder and delight, as were all roadsand paths that wound right through the heart of the bush. The regularmade-up roads, with the forest cut back beyond the ditches at the sides,were a great weariness to Hughie, except indeed, in the springtime, whenthese ditches were running full with sun-lit water, over the mottledclay bottom and gravelly ripples. But the bush roads and paths, summerand winter, were filled with things of wonder and of beauty, and thisparticular winter road of the Finch's was best of all to Hughie, for itwas quite new to him, and besides, it led right through the mysterious,big pine swamp and over the butternut ridge, beyond which lay theFinch's farm. Balsam-trees, tamarack, spruce, and cedar made up thethick underbrush of the pine swamp, white birch, white ash, and blackwere thickly sprinkled through it, but high above these lesser treestowered the white pines, lifting their great, tufted crests in lonelygrandeur, seeming like kings among meaner men. Here and there the rabbitrunways, packed into hard little paths, crossed the road and disappearedunder the thick spruces and balsams; here and there, the sly, singletrack of the fox, or the deep hoof-mark of the deer, led off intounknown depths on either side. Hughie, sitting up on the bolster of thefront bob beside Billy Jack, for even the big boys recognized his right,as Thomas' guest, to that coveted place, listened with eager face andwide-open eyes to Billy Jack's remarks upon the forest and its strangepeople.
One thing else added to Hughie's keen enjoyment of the ride. BillyJack's bays were always in the finest of fettle, and pulled hard on thelines, and were rarely allowed the rapture of a gallop. But when theswamp was passed and the road came to the more open butternut ridge,Billy Jack shook the lines over their backs and let them out. Theirresponse was superb to witness, and brought Hughie some moments ofecstatic rapture. Along the hard-packed road that wound about among thebig butternuts, the rangey bays sped at a flat gallop, bounding clearover the cahots, the booming of the bells and the rattling of the chainsfurnishing an exhilarating accompaniment to the swift, swaying motion,while the children clung for dear life to the bob-sleighs and to eachother. It was all Billy Jack could do to get his team down to a trot bythe time they reached the clearing, for there the going was perilous,and besides, it was just as well that his father should not witnessany signs on Billy Jack's part of the folly that he was inclined toattribute to the rising generation. So steadily enough the bays trottedup the lane and between long lines of green cordwood on one side anda hay-stack on the other, into the yard, and swinging round the bigstraw-stack that faced the open shed, and was flanked on the right bythe cow-stable and hog-pen, and on the left by the horse-stable, came toa full stop at their own stable door.
"Thomas, you take Hughie into the house to get warm, till I unhitch,"said Billy Jack, with the feeling that courtesy to the minister's sondemanded this attention. But Hughie, rejecting this proposition withscorn, pushed Thomas aside and set himself to unhitch the S-hook on theoutside trace of the nigh bay. It was one of Hughie's grievances, anda very sore point with him, that his father's people would insiston treating him in the privileged manner they thought proper to hisfather's son, and his chief ambition was to stand upon his own legsand to fare like other boys. So he scorned Billy Jack's suggestion, andwhile some of the children scurried about the stacks for a little rompbefore setting off for their homes, which some of them, for the sake ofthe ride, had left far behind, Hughie devoted himself to the unhitchingof the team with Billy Jack. And so quick was he in his movements,and so fearless of the horses, that he had his side unhitched and wasstruggling with the breast-strap before Billy Jack had finished with hishorse.
"Man! you're a regular farmer," said Billy Jack, admiringly, "onlyyou're too quick for the rest of us."
Hughie, still struggling with the breast-strap, found his heart swellwith pride. To be a farmer was his present dream.
"But that's too heavy for you," continued Billy Jack. "Here, let downthe tongue first."
"Pshaw!" said Hughie, disgusted at his exhibition of ignorance, "I knewthat tongue ought to come out first, but I forgot."
"Oh, well, it's just as good that way, but not quite so easy," saidBilly Jack, with doubtful consistency.
It took Hughie but a few minutes after the tongue was let down tounfasten his end of the neck-yoke and the cross-lines, and he wasbeginning at his hame-strap, always a difficult buckle, when Billy Jackcalled out, "Hold on there! You're too quick for me. We'll make themcarry their own harness into the stable. Don't believe in making a horseof myself." Billy Jack was something of a humorist.
The Finch homestead was a model of finished neatness. Order was its law.Outside, the stables, barns, stacks, the very wood-piles, evidenced thatlaw. Within, the house and its belongings and affairs were perfectin their harmonious arrangement. The whole establishment, without andwithin, gave token of the unremitting care of one organizing mind, for,from dark to dark, while others might have their moments of rest andcareless ease, "the little mother," as Billy Jack called her, was everon guard, and all the machinery of house and farm moved smoothly and topurpose because of that unsleeping care. She was last to bed and firstto stir, and Billy Jack declared that she used to put the cats to sleepat night, and waken up the roosters in the morning. And through it allher face remained serene, and her voice flowed in quiet tones. BillyJack adored her with all the might of his big heart and body. Thomas,slow of motion as of expression, found in her the center of his somewhatsluggish being. Jessac, the little dark-faced maiden of nine years,whose face was the very replica of her mother's, knew nothing in theworld dearer, albeit in her daily little housewifely tasks she feltthe gentle pressure of that steadfast mind and unyielding purpose. Herhusband regarded
her with a curious mingling of reverence and defiance,for Donald Finch was an obstinate man, with a man's love of authority,and a Scotchman's sense of his right to rule in his own house. But whilehe talked much about his authority, and made a great show of absolutismwith his family, he was secretly conscious that another will thanhis had really kept things moving about the farm; for he had long agolearned that his wife was always right, while he might often be wrong,and that, withal her soft words and gentle ways, hers was a will likesteel.
Besides the law of order, another law ruled in the Finch household--thelaw of work. The days were filled with work, for they each had theirshare to do, and bore the sole responsibility for its being well done.If the cows failed in their milk, or the fat cattle were not up to themark, the father felt the reproach as his; to Billy Jack fell the careand handling of the horses; Thomas took charge of the pigs, and thegetting of wood and water for the house; little Jessac had her dailytask of "sorting the rooms," and when the days were too stormy or thesnow too deep for school, she had in addition her stent of knitting orof winding the yarn for the weaver. To the mother fell all the rest. Atthe cooking and the cleaning, and the making and the mending, all finearts with her, she diligently toiled from long before dawn till afterall the rest were abed. But besides these and other daily householdduties there were, in their various seasons, the jam and jelly, thepumpkin and squash preserves, the butter-making and cheese-making, andmore than all, the long, long work with the wool. Billy Jack used to saythat the little mother followed that wool from the backs of her sheepto the backs of her family, and hated to let the weaver have his turnat it. What with the washing and the oiling of it, the carding and thespinning, the twisting and the winding, she never seemed to be done. Andthen, when it came back from the weaver in great webs of fulled-clothand flannel and winsey, there was all the cutting, shaping, and sewingbefore the family could get it on their backs. True, the tailor wascalled in to help, but though he declared he worked no place else as heworked at the Finch's, it was Billy Jack's openly expressed opinion that"he worked his jaw more than his needle, for at meal-times he gave hisneedle a rest."
But though Hughie, of course, knew nothing of this toiling and moiling,he was distinctly conscious of an air of tidiness and comfort andquiet, and was keenly alive to the fact that there was a splendid supperwaiting him when he got in from the stables with the others, "hungry asa wild-cat," as Billy jack expressed it. And that WAS a supper! Friedribs of fresh pork, and hashed potatoes, hot and brown, followed bybuckwheat pancakes, hot and brown, with maple syrup. There was tea forthe father and mother with their oat cakes, but for the children no suchluxury, only the choice of buttermilk or sweet milk. Hughie, it is true,was offered tea, but he promptly declined, for though he loved it wellenough, it was sufficient reason for him that Thomas had none. It took,however, all the grace out of his declining, that Mr. Finch remarkedin gruff pleasantry, "What would a boy want with tea!" The supper wasa very solemn meal. They were all too busy to talk, at least so Hughiefelt, and as for himself, he was only afraid lest the others should"push back" before he had satisfied the terrible craving within him.
After supper the books were taken, and in Gaelic, for though DonaldFinch was perfectly able in English for business and ordinary affairsof life, when it came to the worship of God, he found that only in theancient mother tongue could he "get liberty." As Hughie listened to thesolemn reading, and then to the prayer that followed, though he couldunderstand only a word now and again, he was greatly impressed with therhythmic, solemn cadence of the voice, and as he glanced through hisfingers at the old man's face, he was surprised to find how completelyit had changed. It was no longer the face of the stern and stubbornautocrat, but of an earnest, humble, reverent man of God; and Hughie,looking at him, wondered if he would not be altogether nicer withhis wife and boys after that prayer was done. He had yet to learn howobstinate and even hard a man can be and still have a great "gift inprayer."
From the old man's face, Hughie's glance wandered to his wife's, andthere was held fascinated. For the first time Hughie thought it wasbeautiful, and more than that, he was startled to find that it remindedhim of his mother's. At once he closed his eyes, for he felt as if hehad been prying where he had no right.
After the prayer was over they all drew about the glowing polishedkitchen stove with the open front, and set themselves to enjoy that hourwhich, more than any other, helps to weave into the memory the thoughtsand feelings that in after days are associated with home. Old Donalddrew forth his pipe, a pleased expectation upon his face, and aftercutting enough tobacco from the black plug which he pulled from histrousers pocket, he rolled it fine, with deliberation, and packed itcarefully into his briar-root pipe, from which dangled a tin cap; thendrawing out some live coals from the fire, he with a quick motion pickedone up, set it upon the top of the tobacco, and holding it there withhis bare finger until Hughie was sure he would burn himself, puffed withhard, smacking puffs, but with a more comfortable expression than Hughiehad yet seen him wear. Then, when it was fairly lit, he knocked off thecoal, packed down the tobacco, put on the little tin cap, and sat backin his covered arm-chair, and came as near beaming upon the world asever he allowed himself to come.
"Here, Jessac," he said to the little dark-faced maiden slipping aboutthe table under the mother's silent direction. Jessac glanced at hermother and hesitated. Then, apparently reading her mother's face, shesaid, "In a minute, da," and seizing the broom, which was much tallerthan herself, she began to brush up the crumbs about the table withamazing deftness. This task completed, and the crumbs being thrown intothe pig's barrel which stood in the woodshed just outside the door,Jessac set her broom in the corner, hung up the dust-pan on its propernail behind the stove, and then, running to her father, climbed upon his knee and snuggled down into his arms for an hour's luxuriouslaziness before the fire. Hughie gazed in amazement at her temerity, forDonald Finch was not a man to take liberties with; but as he gazed,he wondered the more, for again the face of the stern old man wastransformed.
"Be quaet now, lassie. Hear me now, I am telling you," he admonishedthe little girl in his arms, while there flowed over his face a look ofhalf-shamed delight that seemed to fill up and smooth out all its severelines.
Hughie was still gazing and wondering when the old man, catching hisearnest, wide-open gaze, broke forth suddenly, in a voice nearly jovial,"Well, lad, so you have taken up the school again. You will be having afine time of it altogether."
The lad, startled more by the joviality of his manner than by thesuddenness of his speech, hastily replied, "Indeed, we are not, then."
"What! what!" replied the old man, returning to his normal aspect ofseverity. "Do you not know that you have great privileges now?"
"Huh!" grunted Hughie. "If we had Archie Munro again."
"And what is wrong with the new man?"
"Oh, I don't know. He's not a bit nice. He's--"
"Too many rules," said Thomas, slowly.
"Aha!" said his father, with a note of triumph in his tone; "so that'sit, is it? He will be bringing you to the mark, I warrant you. Andindeed it's high time, for I doubt Archie Munro was just a little softwith you."
The old man's tone was aggravating enough, but his reference to the oldmaster was too much for Hughie, and even Thomas was moved to words morethan was his wont in his father's presence.
"He has too many rules," repeated Thomas, stolidly, "and they will notbe kept."
"And he is as proud as he can be," continued Hughie. "Comes along withhis cane and his stand-up collar, and lifts his hat off to the biggirls, and--and--och! he's just as stuck-up as anything!" Hughie'svocabulary was not equal to his contempt.
"There will not be much wrong with his cane in the Twentieth School, Idare say," went on the old man, grimly. "As for lifting his hat, it istime some of them were learning manners. When I was a boy we were madeto mind our manners, I can tell you."
"So are we!" replied Hughie, hotly; "but we don't go shoween o
ff likethat! And then himself and his rules!" Hughie's disgust was quiteunutterable.
"Rules!" exclaimed the old man. "Ay, that is what is the trouble."
"Well," said Hughie, with a spice of mischief, "if Thomas is late forschool he will have to bring a note of excuse."
"Very good indeed. And why should he be late at all?"
"And if any one wants a pencil he can't ask for it unless he getspermission from the master."
"Capital!" said the old man, rubbing his hands delightedly. "He's theright sort, whatever."
"And if you keep Thomas home a day or a week, you will have to write tothe master about it," continued Hughie.
"And what for, pray?" said the old man, hastily. "May I notkeep--but--Yes, that's a very fine rule, too. It will keep the boys fromthe woods, I am thinking."
"But think of big Murdie Cameron holding up his hand to ask leave tospeak to Bob Fraser!"
"And why not indeed? If he's not too big to be in school he's not toobig for that. Man alive! you should have seen the master in my schooldays lay the lads over the forms and warm their backs to them."
"As big as Murdie?"
"Ay, and bigger. And what's more, he would send for them to their homes,and bring them strapped to a wheel-barrow. Yon was a master for you!"
Hughie snorted. "Huh! I tell you what, we wouldn't stand that. And wewon't stand this man either."
"And what will you be doing now, Hughie?" quizzed the old man.
"Well," said Hughie, reddening at the sarcasm, "I will not do much, butthe big boys will just carry him out."
"And who will be daring to do that, Hughie?"
"Well, Murdie, and Bob Fraser, and Curly Ross, and Don, and--and Thomas,there," added Hughie, fearing to hurt Thomas' feelings by leaving himout.
"Ay," said the old man, shutting his lips tight on his pipestem andpuffing with a smacking noise, "let me catch Thomas at that!"
"And I would help, too," said Hughie, valiantly, fearing he had exposedhis friend, and wishing to share his danger.
"Well, your father would be seeing to that," said the old man, withgreat satisfaction, feeling that Hughie's discipline might be safelyleft in the minister's hands.
There was a pause of a few moments, and then a quiet voice inquiredgently, "He will be a very big man, Hughie, I suppose."
"Oh, just ordinary," said Hughie, innocently, turning to Mrs. Finch.
"Oh, then, they will not be requiring you and Thomas, I am thinking, tocarry him out." At which Hughie and Billy Jack and Jessac laughed aloud,but Thomas and his father only looked stolidly into the fire.
"Come, Thomas," said his mother, "take your fiddle a bit. Hughie willlike a tune." There was no need of any further discussing the newmaster.
But Thomas was very shy about his fiddle, and besides he was not ina mood for it; his father's words had rasped him. It took the unitedpersuasions of Billy Jack and Jessac and Hughie to get the fiddle intoThomas' hands, but after a few tuning scrapes all shyness and moodinessvanished, and soon the reels and strathspeys were dropping from Thomas'flying fingers in a way that set Hughie's blood tingling. But when thefiddler struck into Money Musk, Billy Jack signed Jessac to him, andwhispering to her, set her out on the middle of the floor.
"Aw, I don't like to," said Jessac, twisting her apron into her mouth.
"Come away, Jessac," said her mother, quietly, "do your best." AndJessac, laying aside shyness, went at her Highland reel with the sameserious earnestness she gave to her tidying or her knitting. Daintilyshe tripped the twenty-four steps of that intricate, ancient dance ofthe Celt people, whirling, balancing, poising, snapping her fingers,and twinkling her feet in the true Highland style, till once more herfather's face smoothed out its wrinkles, and beamed like a harvest moon.Hughie gazed, uncertain whether to allow himself to admire Jessac'sperformance, or to regard it with a boy's scorn, as she was only agirl. And yet he could not escape the fascination of the swift, rhythmicmovement of the neat, twinkling feet.
"Well done, Jessac, lass," said her father, proudly. "But what would theminister be saying at such frivolity?" he added, glancing at Hughie.
"Huh! he can do it himself well enough," said Hughie, "and I tell youwhat, I only wish I could do it."
"I'll show you," said Jessac, shyly, but for the first time in his lifeHughie's courage failed, and though he would have given much to be ableto make his feet twinkle through the mazes of the Highland reel, hecould not bring himself to accept teaching from Jessac. If it had onlybeen Thomas or Billy Jack who had offered, he would soon enough havebeen on the floor. For a moment he hesitated, then with a suddeninspiration, he cried, "All right. Do it again. I'll watch." But themother said quietly, "I think that will do, Jessac. And I am afraidyour father will be going with cold hands if you don't hurry with thosemitts." And Jessac put up her lip with the true girl's grimace and wentaway for her knitting, to Hughie's disappointment and relief.
Soon Billy Jack took down the tin lantern, pierced with holes intocurious patterns, through which the candle-light rayed forth, and wentout to bed the horses. In spite of protests from all the family, Hughieset forth with him, carrying the lantern and feeling very much thefarmer, while Billy Jack took two pails of boiled oats and barley, witha mixture of flax-seed, which was supposed to give to the Finch's teamtheir famous and superior gloss. When they returned from the stable theyfound in the kitchen Thomas, who was rubbing a composition of tallow andbees-wax into his boots to make them water-proof, and the mother, whowas going about setting the table for the breakfast.
"Too bad you have to go to bed, mother," said Billy Jack, strugglingwith his boot-jack. "You might just go on getting the breakfast, andwhat a fine start that would give you for the day."
"You hurry, William John, to bed with that poor lad. What would hismother say? He must be fairly exhausted."
"I'm not a bit tired," said Hughie, brightly, his face radiant with thedelight of his new experiences.
"You will need all your sleep, my boy," said the mother, kindly, "forwe rise early here. But," she added, "you will lie till the boys arethrough with their work, and Thomas will waken you for your breakfast."
"Indeed, no! I'm going to get up," announced Hughie.
"But, Hughie," said Billy Jack, seriously, "if you and Thomas are goingto carry out that man to-morrow, you will need a mighty lot of sleepto-night."
"Hush, William John," said the mother to her eldest son, "you mustn'ttease Hughie. And it's not good to be saying such things, even in fun,to boys like Thomas and Hughie."
"That's true, mother, for they're rather fierce already."
"Indeed, they are not that. And I am sure they will do nothing that willshame their parents."
To this Hughie made no reply. It was no easy matter to harmonize thethought of his parents with the exploit of ejecting the master from theschool, so he only said good night, and went off with the silent Thomasto bed. But in the visions of his head which haunted him the night long,racing horses and little girls with tossing curls and twinkling feetwere strangely mingled with wild conflicts with the new master; and itseemed to him that he had hardly dropped off to sleep, when he wasawake again to see Thomas standing beside him with a candle in his hand,announcing that breakfast was ready.
"Have you been out to the stable?" he eagerly inquired, and Thomasnodded. In great disappointment and a little shamefacedly he made hisappearance at the breakfast-table.
It seemed to Hughie as if it must be still the night before, for it wasquite dark outside. He had never had breakfast by candle-light beforein his life, and he felt as if it all were still a part of his dreams,until he found himself sitting beside Billy Jack on a load of saw-logs,waving good by to the group at the door, the old man, whose face in thegray morning light had resumed its wonted severe look, the quiet, littledark-faced woman, smiling kindly at him and bidding him come again, andthe little maid at her side with the dark ringlets, who glanced at himfrom behind the shelter of her mother's skirts, with shy boldness.
As Hughie was saying his good bys, he was thinking most of the twinklingfeet and the tossing curls, and so he added to his farewells, "Goodby, Jessac. I'm going to learn that reel from you some day," and then,turning about, he straight-way forgot all about her and her reel, forBilly Jack's horses were pawing to be off, and rolling their solemnbells, while their breath rose in white clouds above their heads,wreathing their manes in hoary rime.
"Git-ep, lads," said Billy Jack, hauling his lines taut and flourishinghis whip. The bays straightened their backs, hung for a few momentson their tugs, for the load had frozen fast during the night, and thenmoved off at a smart trot, the bells solemnly booming out, and thesleighs creaking over the frosty snow.
"Man!" said Hughie, enthusiastically, "I wish I could draw logs allwinter."
"It's not too bad a job on a day like this," assented Billy Jack. Andindeed, any one might envy him the work on such a morning. Over thetreetops the rays of the sun were beginning to shoot their rosy dartsup into the sky, and to flood the clearing with light that sparkled andshimmered upon the frost particles, glittering upon and glorifying snowand trees, and even the stumps and fences. Around the clearing stood theforest, dark and still, except for the frost reports that now and thenrang out like pistol shots. To Hughie, the early morning invested theforest with a new beauty and a new wonder. The dim light of the dawningday deepened the silence, so that involuntarily he hushed his voice inspeaking, and the deep-toned roll of the sleigh-bells seemed to smiteupon that dim, solemn quiet with startling blows. On either sidethe balsams and spruces, with their mantles of snow, stood likewhite-swathed sentinels on guard--silent, motionless, alert. Hughielooked to see them move as the team drove past.
As they left the more open butternut ridge and descended into the depthsof the big pine swamp, the dim light faded into deeper gloom, and Hughiefelt as if he were in church, and an awe gathered upon him.
"It's awful still," he said to Billy Jack in a low tone, and Billy Jack,catching the look in the boy's face, checked the light word upon hislips, and gazed around into the deep forest glooms with new eyes. Themystery and wonder of the forest had never struck him before. It hadhitherto been to him a place for hunting or for getting big saw-logs.But to-day he saw it with Hughie's eyes, and felt the majesty of itsbeauty and silence. For a long time they drove without a word.
"Say, it's mighty fine, isn't it?" he said, adopting Hughie's low tone.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Hughie. "My! I could just hug those big trees.They look at me like--like your mother, don't they, or mine?" But thiswas beyond Billy Jack.
"Like my mother?"
"Yes, you know, quiet and--and--kind, and nice."
"Yes," said Thomas, breaking in for the first time, "that's just it.They do look, sure enough, like my mother and yours. They have both gotthat look."
"Git-ep!" said Billy Jack to his team. "These fellows'll be ketchin'something bad if we don't get into the open soon. Shouldn't wonder ifthey've got 'em already, making out their mothers like an old whitepine. Git-ep, I say!"
"Oh, pshaw!" said Hughie, "you know what I mean."
"Not much I don't. But it don't matter so long as you're feelin' allright. This swamp's rather bad for the groojums."
"What?" Hughie's eyes began to open wide as he glanced into the forest.
"The groojums. Never heard of them things? They ketch a fellow in placeslike this when it's gettin' on towards midnight, and about daylight it'salmost as bad."
"What are they like?" asked Hughie, upon whom the spell of the forestlay.
"Oh, mighty queer. Always crawl up on your back, and ye can't helptwistin' round."
Hughie glanced at Thomas and was at once relieved.
"Oh, pshaw! Billy Jack, you can't fool me. I know you."
"I guess you're safe enough now. They don't bother you much in theclearing," said Billy Jack, encouragingly.
"Oh, fiddle! I'm not afraid."
"Nobody is in the open, and especially in the daytime."
"Oh, I don't care for your old groojums."
"Guess you care more for your new boss yonder, eh?" said Billy Jack,nodding toward the school-house, which now came into view.
"Oh," said Hughie, with a groan, "I just hate going to-day."
"You'll be all right when you get there," said Billy Jack, cheerfully."It's like goin' in swimmin'."
Soon they were at the cross-roads.
"Good by, Billy Jack," said Hughie, feeling as if he had been on a long,long visit. "I've had an awfully good time, and I'd like to go back withyou."
"Wish you would," said Billy Jack, heartily. "Come again soon. And don'tcarry out the master to-day. It looks like a storm; he might get cold."
"He had better mind out, then," cried Hughie after Billy Jack, and setoff with Thomas for the school. But neither Hughie nor Thomas had anyidea of the thrilling experiences awaiting them in the Twentieth Schoolbefore the week was done.