Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE SCHOOL.

  A week passed away, and nothing occurred in the little school to makeMary think again of her fears. Ellen seemed to like being a teacher; andif she laughed and talked and played with her pupils a little more thanwas quite consistent with her new dignity, they liked her all the betterfor it, and learned, from a wish to please her, more than they wouldperhaps have done if more constrained. As for Mary, Mrs. Maclean said,"It was just a wonder to see how that young bit of a thing, that wasnothing but a child herself, would sit sewing so steady like, and neverseem to be thinking of any thing but her work; and yet if any of theyoung ones got in a snarl, and Miss Ellen's voice only sounded quicklike, she was up in a minute, and helped them so quietly along thatthey hardly knowed that she was a helping till they got through."

  Ellen had even exerted herself to rise early, that she might be readyfor her scholars; but the second Monday morning after the commencementof her labors she seemed to find this an unusually difficult task, andwhen Mary, who had been some time below stairs, came back to tell herthat it was eight o'clock and breakfast was ready, and unless shedressed herself quickly the children would be there before their roomwas in order, she exclaimed, "Those children! I am sure I wish I hadnever seen them or heard of them. It is bad enough to have to teach thestupid things, without being obliged to get up at daybreak for them."

  "Daybreak, Ellen!" said Mary, moving the window-curtain and letting in astream of sunshine.

  "Well, I don't care what time it is, Mary, it is earlier than I chooseto get up, and earlier than I would get up, if it was not for them; andthere would be some comfort in it if one thought they would ever learnany thing: but for such a stupid set!"

  "Stupid, Ellen!--why Mrs. Maclean and I have just been saying whatbright intelligent children they were."

  "Well," said Ellen, who had now talked herself into a really angry mood,"I suppose they do not learn because they have such a stupid teacher inme. I dare say if you will hear their lessons, they will do better."

  "No, Ellen, I think they do learn--learn more with you than they woulddo with a grave, quiet person like me."

  "I do think, Mary, you are the most contradictory person I ever saw inmy life. When I hoped the children might be clever, you were sure theywould be stupid; and now that I think them stupid, you have found outthat they are wonderfully intelligent."

  Mary finding that whatever she said tended only to increase Ellen'sdispleasure, did not remind her that the fears she had expressed hadbeen quite as much of the impatience of the teacher as of the stupidityof the scholars.

  Mrs. Maclean's call to breakfast on this morning was quickly and gladlyobeyed by Mary, for she thought Ellen's irritation would subside soonerif she was alone. At any rate, thought Mary, when Ellen comes to sayher prayers, her ill-humor will pass away. With this hope she went tothe breakfast table, and when Ellen followed, received her socheerfully, that her frowns soon began to wear away and the tones of hervoice to grow more pleasant. They had not yet risen from the table whenAnna Melville rushed in, sparkling with joyous expectation.

  "Mary and Ellen, papa is going to carry us to see the caravan of animalsat N., and if you were not going to have school to-day, he would carryyou with us. Must you have school? Can't you manage so as to go?"

  Mary was delighted at the prospect of such a pleasure for Ellen, and sheanswered quickly, "We cannot both go, Anna--but Ellen can."

  "I am sure, Mary, I don't see how I can go any more than you. Any onewould think, to hear you, that I did nothing at all in the school."

  "You know, Ellen, that I cannot mean that, for you do a great deal morethan I, but I can take your place and give you a holiday for one day."

  "Yes, and have Uncle Villars think when he comes back again that I havedone nothing but amuse myself while you were at work. I thank you,Anna--but I cannot go to see caravans. I must stay and keep school."

  Anna stood irresolute.

  "Mary, cannot you go?" said she at last.

  "Thank you, Anna," said Mary, "but I should not enjoy it unless Ellencould go too."

  "Mary, I beg you will not stay at home on my account."

  Anna saw that neither of the sisters was going, and she bade them goodmorning, and left the house with a much more serious face and moresedate step than that with which she entered it, for ill-humor has theproperty of making all unhappy who come within its reach. As Anna openedthe door, Mr. Maclean's market-cart drove up with Susy and Martha. Thechildren stood for a moment, after leaving the cart, to look at her, andbefore she was out of hearing Ellen was calling from the house, "Susy,Martha, if you stand all day staring there I might as well have pleasedmyself by going with Anna Melville, as have stayed at home to teachyou."

  "Did you want to go, Miss Ellen?"

  "That is of no consequence," said Ellen, "for if I wanted to go ever somuch I could not."

  "Oh yes--but you could," said the kind-hearted girls; "now do go, andwe'll get our lessons just the same, and say them all to you to-morrow."

  "That may suit you just as well, but your father would hardly be willingto pay his money if you were left to get your lessons by yourselves."

  "Oh, I'm sure my papa wouldn't mind about it."

  Ellen impatiently pushed the child nearest to her into the room, saying,"I do wish you would go to your lessons, and hush talking about whatdoes not concern you!"

  It will readily be believed that Mary had to help Ellen and the childrenthrough many a "snarl," to borrow Mrs. Maclean's significant, though notvery elegant expression, on this day. But the evil did not stop there.Three of the girls were sent home weeping and indignant, to complainthat Ellen Leslie had called them by some unkind or disgraceful epithet.These girls brought back the next morning messages from their parents,intimating that they were sent to school to Mary Leslie, and that it washoped she would teach them herself. Poor Mary! she scarce knew how tomeet this difficulty. To comply with the request would grievously woundand displease Ellen, who had really, till this unlucky day, given nojust cause of complaint; not to comply with it would as certainlydisplease several of those on whose support her school depended. Butbetter lose their support--better lose any thing, Mary said to herself,than create unkind feelings between Ellen and myself. So she tried topacify the children and satisfy the parents without making any change inthe arrangements of the school.--Perhaps, had Ellen seconded herefforts, she would have succeeded, but Ellen could not forget themortification she had received from this affair, and scarce a day passedthat she did not by some petulant word or action increase thedissatisfaction of her pupils or their parents, till one by one theywere withdrawn. With them went the most certain profits of the sisters;yet it was with real satisfaction that Mary saw the door close upon thelast scholar who left them, for she hoped now to see Ellen againcheerful and pleased as when they first came to Mrs. Maclean's. Sheturned smilingly towards her from the window at which she was standing,to express her satisfaction, and was surprised to find her weepingbitterly.

  "Ellen, my own dear little sister, what is the matter? Surely you arenot sorry that those children are gone who have plagued you so."

  "No, Mary, I am not sorry they are gone, but I am sorry that I made themgo. I know they all hate me, Mary, and their fathers and mothers hateme."

  "Ellen--my dear Ellen--people don't _hate_ each other for such littlethings."

  "Oh yes, Mary--I heard the children say they hated me. Nobody will everlove me, and I can't help it--I am sure I can't help it; for I try to begood like you--but I can't, Mary--I can't. I wish I was dead, and buriedwith poor papa and mamma."

  "Ellen--my dear Ellen! this is very wicked and very cruel, Ellen. Youknow that I love you, Ellen--that I love you dearly--better than I loveany thing else in the world, and yet you want to die and leave me hereby myself: what would I do without my own little sister!" Mary's voicebecame choked, and she too sobbed aloud. Ellen felt then that she hadindeed been wicked and cruel to desire any thing which might gr
ieve thisloving sister. From this time she did try, and try successfully, tocontrol her temper towards Mary herself, rarely being betrayed into anypetulance towards her; or, if she were, endeavoring the next moment toatone for it, by double tenderness of manner and speech. But, impressedwith the conviction that she was disliked by all others, she becamedaily more and more irritable towards them, more and more careless anddefying in her manner, till she created the very dislike she had atfirst only fancied. Naturally affectionate, Ellen could not but sufferunder a consciousness of this dislike, and hence the gloomydissatisfaction which I noticed in her countenance on my first visit toMary and herself after my return to H----.