Back at School with the Tucker Twins

by Nell Speed

  CHAPTER XIX.

  BACK IN THE TREAD-MILL.

  That is the way we looked on going back to school. It was not really atread-mill, nothing nearly so dreadful, but we considered ourselves verymuch put upon that the holidays could not last forever, that books hadto be studied, and rules either obeyed or punishments meted out if theywere broken.

  We had gone home knowing that demerits were going to have to be workedoff after the holidays, but as I have said before, it had had no moreeffect on our spirits than a threat of hell fire would have on anew-born babe. But babies must grow up and time will pass and holidayscome to an end, and here we were paying up for our foolishness on ourlast night at school before Christmas.

  Almost all the Junior class was in bad, and misery loves company, so welightened our labours all we could with sly jests and notes written toeach other instead of the pages of dictionary we were supposed to becopying.

  Of all punishments, copying dictionary seems to me to be the mostfutile. It was disagreeable enough, but of course punishments should bethat, but it was not only disagreeable but such a terrible waste oftime. I did not mind learning hymns, especially if I already knew them,but the pages of dictionary almost persuaded me to behave myself,--notquite, though.

  "When we get out of this, let's be either very good or very careful,"said Dum, as we finished up our first day in durance vile while the restof the school, all the good girls, had gone for a nice walk in thewoods. "I am liable to do something desperate if I get in bad again."

  "I am going to try," declared Mary, very penitent after having tomemorize a very long and very lugubrious hymn. "It may not pay to begood, but you've certainly got to pay to be bad."

  All of us tried to be good. We studied like Trojans (not that Trojansever did study as far as I know). I learned my history by heart andactually won a smile of approval from Miss Plympton. I knuckled down togeometry and if the figure was drawn exactly as it was in the book andthe same letters were used to designate the angles, I got on swimmingly.A slight change of letter upset me considerably, however. I never couldunderstand as I had under Miss Cox's reign. I was doing algebra as well,although the Juniors were supposed to be through with that delectablestudy; but I had started out so far behind that I had to keep on with itif I ever hoped to get my degree.

  English under Miss Ball continued to be delightful and all of us didgood work with her. She had a power of making knowledge desirable bymaking it interesting, and she made literature delightful because sheloved it herself and was never bored. The parallel reading she gave usto do was well chosen and broadening. One thing that especially pleasedme about Miss Ball was her cheerful outlook. She did not believe thatall good writing was through with,--that literature had died withTennyson and Thackeray. She read modern poets with as much pleasure asFather himself and actually gave some of the modern novels for parallelreading. Nor did she scorn the five cent magazines.

  She encouraged us to do original work. It was a great relief to have ateacher say: "Write what suits you," rather than to give out one of thetime-honoured hackneyed themes,--such as: My Afternoon Walk, or A QuietSunday Morning, or Thoughts on a Sunset.

  My head was so full of plots I could hardly concentrate on one. Thetrouble was I so often found my plot not to be so very original afterall. Miss Ball would say a story was very good but point out itssimilarity to noted productions, and I would realize that I had beenunconsciously influenced. She endeavoured to make us be ourselves at nomatter what cost. "A poor thing but mine own" was to be our motto.

  "If you want to be successful be modern at least," she would say. "Ifyou must imitate any one, imitate O. Henry or Ferber, even MontaguGlass. Don't try to write like Edgar Allan Poe. If you are going towrite like him, you will do it, anyhow, and a poor imitation of him isterrible. If any of you want to make a living with writing find out whatthe public likes and what the magazine editors want and do that just aswell as you can do it. You need not feel that you are hitching Pegasusto a plough and even if you do, ploughing is a very worthy occupationand there is poetry in it if taken properly." Then she read us some fromMasefield's "Everlasting Mercy":

  "The past was faded like a dream, There came the jingling of a team, A ploughman's voice, a clink of chain, Slow hoofs, and harness under strain. Up the slow slope a team came bowing, Old Callow at his autumn ploughing, Old Callow, stooped above the hales, Ploughing the stubble into wales. His grave eyes looking straight ahead, Shearing a long straight furrow red; His plough-foot high to give it earth To bring new food for men to birth. O wet red swathe of earth laid bare, O truth, O strength, O gleaming share, O patient eyes that watch the goal, O ploughman of the sinner's soul. O Jesus, drive the coulter deep To plough my living man from sleep."

  "If you can hitch your Pegasus to a plough and 'bring new food for mento birth' you have done a better deed than if you had soared in theskies all the time in the wake of some great men. I consider O. Henry anunconscious philanthropist. He has opened our eyes to the charm of theusual."

  Such lessons as these gave us strength to bear with the extremeboresomeness of other classes.

  We worked off the demerits against us, and by being both good andcareful we got no more to sadden our days. Our dummies were neatlyfolded up and seldom brought out. Just to show that we were still humanbeings, we did have an occasional spread, and once Miss Plympton letTweedles and me go under the chaperonage of Miss Ball down to tea withdear old Captain Pat Leahy, the one-legged gate keeper at the crossing.He was so glad to see us he almost wept. He had sent us a formalinvitation but doubted Miss Plympton's giving her consent.

  "An' the poosies have been a lickin' uv their furrr all morning to getrready for the coompany an' I got me neighbourr, Mrs. Rooney, to bake mea poond cake for tay."

  "Why, Captain, we did not dream you would go to any trouble for us. Butwe certainly do adore pound cake, and isn't that a beauty?" enthusedDee.

  The little table was set ready for tea. You remember how the Captain'sgate house looked. It was very tiny, so tiny that you did not see howany one could live in it, but he declared he had more room than heneeded. The lower berth from a wrecked Pullman served him as seat by dayand bed by night. A doll-baby-sized cooking stove, very shiny and black,was at one side, while a shelf over it was covered with all the chinaand cooking utensils he needed. A little table, just like the one onsleepers, was hooked in between the seats and a very dainty repast wasspread thereon. There were at least a dozen cats but all of them werehandsome and healthy and very polite. There had been eight the winterbefore, counting Oliver, the one we took back to Captain Leahy.

  "They will mooltiply an' I have a harrd time findin' good homes forthim. Bett here behind the stove, has presinted Oliverr wid some schtipbrothers and sisters. The good Lorrd knows what I am to do wid 'em."

  "Please, please let me hold some of them!" and Dee was down on her kneesin the corner near Bett's bed. "Look! Look! Their eyes are open! Four ofthem! Oh, I do want all of them so bad."

  Bett seemed perfectly willing to trust Dee with an armful of kittens,indeed I think she was rather relieved to be rid of the care of them fora while, as she sidled out of the door and went trotting up the road,her large handsome tail waving joyously.

  "Now she's gone to the cloob or maybe to a suffragette meetin'. PoorBett has a schtoopid life, confined as she is to rraisin' sooch larrgefamilies," and the old man gave one of his rich vibrant laughs thatwarmed the cockles of your heart.

  We talked of Miss Peyton and how much we liked her, but since Miss Ballwas a member of the faculty, we refrained from our criticisms of MissPlympton, although we knew that Captain Leahy was dying to hear allabout our latest scrapes and how we got out of them and what we had tosay of our stern principal. She really was not nearly so stern as wegave her credit for, but we were nothing but girls and young people ar
ealways extreme in their opinions. Everybody is either perfectly lovelyor perfectly horrid in their eyes. When I look back on my days atGresham I realize that Miss Plympton's chief fault was that she had nohumour, and surely lacking that God-given attribute was not her fault.

  We enjoyed that tea greatly. Captain Leahy certainly had his share andmore of humour and his keen comments were a never failing source ofdelight. Miss Ball was young and full of spirits and good stories, andthe little gate house actually rocked with laughter.

  We devoured every crumb of Mrs. Rooney's pound cake and the host had tofill his little blue tea pot three times before our thirst was quenched.Of course Dee had to save a little milk for the kittens and CaptainLeahy seemed to think it was perfectly _au fait_ for her to let them lapfrom her saucer, although Dum and I are of one mind about eating at thetable with cats. Now I don't mind a dog at the table at all, provided itis a polite dog who does not help himself until he is told to; but cats!Ugh! They are entirely too promiscuous, as Mammy Susan says.