Glengarry School Days-a story of early days in Glengarry

by Connor, Ralph

  "Be quaet now, lassie. Hear me now, I am telling you," he admonished the little girl in his arms, while there flowed over his face a look of half-shamed delight that seemed to fill up and smooth out all its severe lines.

  Hughie was still gazing and wondering when the old man, catching his earnest, 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 a fine time of it altogether."

  The lad, startled more by the joviality of his manner than by the suddenness of his speech, hastily replied, "Indeed, we are not, then."

  "What! what!" replied the old man, returning to his normal aspect of severity. "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's it, is it? He will be bringing you to the mark, I warrant you. And indeed it's high time, for I doubt Archie Munro was just a little soft with you."

  The old man's tone was aggravating enough, but his reference to the old master was too much for Hughie, and even Thomas was moved to words more than was his wont in his father's presence.

  "He has too many rules," repeated Thomas, stolidly, "and they will not be kept."

  "And he is as proud as he can be," continued Hughie. "Comes along with his cane and his stand-up collar, and lifts his hat off to the big girls, and—and—och! he's just as stuck-up as anything!" Hughie's vocabulary was not equal to his contempt.

  "There will not be much wrong with his cane in the Twentieth School, I dare say," went on the old man, grimly. "As for lifting his hat, it is time some of them were learning manners. When I was a boy we were made to mind our manners, I can tell you."

  "So are we!" replied Hughie, hotly; "but we don't go shoween off like that! And then himself and his rules!" Hughie's disgust was quite unutterable.

  "Rules!" exclaimed the old man. "Ay, that is what is the trouble."

  "Well," said Hughie, with a spice of mischief, "if Thomas is late for school 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 gets permission from the master."

  "Capital!" said the old man, rubbing his hands delightedly. "He's the right sort, whatever."

  "And if you keep Thomas home a day or a week, you will have to write to the master about it," continued Hughie.

  "And what for, pray?" said the old man, hastily. "May I not keep—but—Yes, that's a very fine rule, too. It will keep the boys from the woods, I am thinking."

  "But think of big Murdie Cameron holding up his hand to ask leave to speak to Bob Fraser!"

  "And why not indeed? If he's not too big to be in school he's not too big for that. Man alive! you should have seen the master in my school days 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 we won'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, but the 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 him out.

  "Ay," said the old man, shutting his lips tight on his pipestem and puffing with a smacking noise, "let me catch Thomas at that!"

  "And I would help, too," said Hughie, valiantly, fearing he had exposed his friend, and wishing to share his danger.

  "Well, your father would be seeing to that," said the old man, with great satisfaction, feeling that Hughie's discipline might be safely left in the minister's hands.

  There was a pause of a few moments, and then a quiet voice inquired gently, "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, to carry 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 will like a tune." There was no need of any further discussing the new master.

  But Thomas was very shy about his fiddle, and besides he was not in a mood for it; his father's words had rasped him. It took the united persuasions of Billy Jack and Jessac and Hughie to get the fiddle into Thomas' hands, but after a few tuning scrapes all shyness and moodiness vanished, and soon the reels and strathspeys were dropping from Thomas' flying fingers in a way that set Hughie's blood tingling. But when the fiddler struck into Money Musk, Billy Jack signed Jessac to him, and whispering 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." And Jessac, laying aside shyness, went at her Highland reel with the same serious earnestness she gave to her tidying or her knitting. Daintily she tripped the twenty-four steps of that intricate, ancient dance of the Celt people, whirling, balancing, poising, snapping her fingers, and twinkling her feet in the true Highland style, till once more her father's face smoothed out its wrinkles, and beamed like a harvest moon. Hughie gazed, uncertain whether to allow himself to admire Jessac's performance, or to regard it with a boy's scorn, as she was only a girl. And yet he could not escape the fascination of the swift, rhythmic movement of the neat, twinkling feet.

  "Well done, Jessac, lass," said her father, proudly. "But what would the minister be saying at such frivolity?" he added, glancing at Hughie.

  "Huh! he can do it himself well enough," said Hughie, "and I tell you what, I only wish I could do it."

  "I'll show you," said Jessac, shyly, but for the first time in his life Hughie's courage failed, and though he would have given much to be able to make his feet twinkle through the mazes of the Highland reel, he could not bring himself to accept teaching from Jessac. If it had only been Thomas or Billy Jack who had offered, he would soon enough have been on the floor. For a moment he hesitated, then with a sudden inspiration, he cried, "All right. Do it again. I'll watch." But the mother said quietly, "I think that will do, Jessac. And I am afraid your father will be going with cold hands if you don't hurry with those mitts." And Jessac put up her lip with the true girl's grimace and went away for her knitting, to Hughie's disappointment and relief.

  Soon Billy Jack took down the tin lantern, pierced with holes into curious patterns, through which the candle-light rayed forth, and went out to bed the horses. In spite of protests from all the family, Hughie set forth with him, carrying the lantern and feeling very much the farmer, while Billy Jack took two pails of boiled oats and barley, with a mixture of flax-seed, which was supposed to give to the Finch's team their famous and superior gloss. When they returned from the stable they found in the kitchen Thomas, who was rubbing a composition of tallow and bees-wax into his boots to make them water-proof, and the mother, who was going about setting the table for the breakfast.

  "Too bad you have to go to bed, mother," said Billy Jack, struggling with his boot-jack. "You might just go on getting the breakfast, and what a fine start that would give you for the day."

  "You hurry, William John, to bed with that poor lad. What would his mother say? He must be fairly exhausted."

  "I'm not a bit tired," said Hughie, brightly, his face radiant with the delight of his new experiences.


  "You will need all your sleep, my boy," said the mother, kindly, "for we rise early here. But," she added, "you will lie till the boys are through 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 going to carry out that man to-morrow, you will need a mighty lot of sleep to-night."

  "Hush, William John," said the mother to her eldest son, "you mustn't tease 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 will shame their parents."

  To this Hughie made no reply. It was no easy matter to harmonize the thought of his parents with the exploit of ejecting the master from the school, so he only said good night, and went off with the silent Thomas to bed. But in the visions of his head which haunted him the night long, racing horses and little girls with tossing curls and twinkling feet were strangely mingled with wild conflicts with the new master; and it seemed to him that he had hardly dropped off to sleep, when he was awake 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 Thomas nodded. In great disappointment and a little shamefacedly he made his appearance at the breakfast-table.

  It seemed to Hughie as if it must be still the night before, for it was quite dark outside. He had never had breakfast by candle-light before in 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 the gray morning light had resumed its wonted severe look, the quiet, little dark-faced woman, smiling kindly at him and bidding him come again, and the little maid at her side with the dark ringlets, who glanced at him from behind the shelter of her mother's skirts, with shy boldness.

  As Hughie was saying his good bys, he was thinking most of the twinkling feet and the tossing curls, and so he added to his farewells, "Good by, 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, for Billy Jack's horses were pawing to be off, and rolling their solemn bells, 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 flourishing his whip. The bays straightened their backs, hung for a few moments on their tugs, for the load had frozen fast during the night, and then moved off at a smart trot, the bells solemnly booming out, and the sleighs creaking over the frosty snow.

  "Man!" said Hughie, enthusiastically, "I wish I could draw logs all winter."

  "It's not too bad a job on a day like this," assented Billy Jack. And indeed, any one might envy him the work on such a morning. Over the treetops the rays of the sun were beginning to shoot their rosy darts up into the sky, and to flood the clearing with light that sparkled and shimmered upon the frost particles, glittering upon and glorifying snow and trees, and even the stumps and fences. Around the clearing stood the forest, dark and still, except for the frost reports that now and then rang out like pistol shots. To Hughie, the early morning invested the forest with a new beauty and a new wonder. The dim light of the dawning day deepened the silence, so that involuntarily he hushed his voice in speaking, and the deep-toned roll of the sleigh-bells seemed to smite upon that dim, solemn quiet with startling blows. On either side the balsams and spruces, with their mantles of snow, stood like white-swathed sentinels on guard—silent, motionless, alert. Hughie looked to see them move as the team drove past.

  As they left the more open butternut ridge and descended into the depths of the big pine swamp, the dim light faded into deeper gloom, and Hughie felt 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 his lips, and gazed around into the deep forest glooms with new eyes. The mystery and wonder of the forest had never struck him before. It had hitherto 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 its beauty 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 this was 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 got that 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 if they've got 'em already, making out their mothers like an old white pine. 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' all right. 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 places like this when it's gettin' on towards midnight, and about daylight it's almost as bad."

  "What are they like?" asked Hughie, upon whom the spell of the forest lay.

  "Oh, mighty queer. Always crawl up on your back, and ye can't help twistin' 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 the clearing," 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 with you."

  "Wish you would," said Billy Jack, heartily. "Come again soon. And don't carry 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 set off with Thomas for the school. But neither Hughie nor Thomas had any idea of the thrilling experiences awaiting them in the Twentieth School before the week was done.

  CHAPTER V

  THE CRISIS

  The first days of that week were days of strife. Murdie Cameron and Bob Fraser and the other big boys succeeded in keeping in line with the master's rules and regulations. They were careful never to be late, and so saved themselves the degradation of bringing an excuse. But the smaller boys set themselves to make the master's life a burden, and succeeded beyond their highest expectations, for the master was quick of temper, and was determined at all costs to exact full and prompt obedience. There was more flogging done those first six days than during any six months of Archie Munro's rule. Sometimes the floggings amounted to little, but sometimes they were serious, and when those fell upon the smaller boys, the girls would weep and the bigger boys would grind their teeth and swear.

  The situation became so acute that Murdie Cameron and the big boys decided that they would quit the school. They were afraid the temptation to throw the master out would some day be more
than they could bear, and for men who had played their part, not without credit, in the Scotch River fights, to carry out the master would have been an exploit hardly worthy of them. So, in dignified contempt of the master and his rules, they left the school after the third day.

  Their absence did not help matters much; indeed, the master appeared to be relieved, and proceeded to tame the school into submission. It was little Jimmie Cameron who precipitated the crisis. Jimmie's nose, upon which he relied when struggling with his snickers, had an unpleasant trick of failing him at critical moments, and of letting out explosive snorts of the most disturbing kind. He had finally been warned that upon his next outburst punishment would fall.

  It was Friday afternoon, the drowsy hour just before recess, while the master was explaining to the listless Euclid class the mysteries of the forty-seventh proposition, that suddenly a snort of unusual violence burst upon the school. Immediately every eye was upon the master, for all had heard and had noted his threat to Jimmie.

  "James, was that you, sir?"

  There was no answer, except such as could be gathered from Jimmie's very red and very shamed face.

  "James, stand up!"

  Jimmie wriggled to his feet, and stood a heap of various angles.

  "Now, James, you remember what I promised you? Come here, sir!"

  Jimmie came slowly to the front, growing paler at each step, and stood with a dazed look on his face, before the master. He had never been thrashed in all his life. At home the big brothers might cuff him good-naturedly, or his mother thump him on the head with her thimble, but a serious whipping was to him an unknown horror.