CHAPTER IV.
"LET'S MAKE FRIENDS!"
The beams of the afternoon sun streamed gayly through the windows ofMiss Harrow's school-room, and fell, like a crown of light, on the headof the young teacher, as she sat at her desk making copies for herpupils. It was writing afternoon, and on this particular occasion, thatwhich was considered a high reward was to be given to the most diligentchild.
Whoever showed the greatest interest, neatness and industry, was tobe allowed to remain for a few hours after the closing of the school,in order to make a wreath of evergreen to decorate a certain picturein Miss Elinor's apartment. The Christmas holidays were near, and thelittle school-room had already received, at the willing hands of thechildren, a thorough dressing with laurel, pine, and hemlock-boughs.It had been for a week past the great delight of the pupils to weave,after school-hours, festoons for the whitewashed walls, and garlandsfor Miss Milly's desk.
Many were the regrets that the work was now almost over.
Miss Elinor's gentle ways had, from the first, made her a greatfavorite. There were never any rebellions, any doubtful conduct, in thefew classes she undertook to hear recite in her sick-room. Her veryinfirmity endeared her to the hearts of her scholars.
This wreath for an engraving that hung at the foot of her bed, was theonly Christmas-green Elinor desired to have placed in her apartment,and on that account, as well as from devotion to her personally, manypairs of little hands were eager to achieve the honor of the task. Verypatient, therefore, were their youthful owners with their writing, thisafternoon,--very exact were they to cross the t's, dot the i's, andavoid pens, as Melinda expressed it, "that scratched like sixty."
Miss Milly had done very wisely in holding out this reward, for neverbefore had such attention and such care been visible in the class.Nelly sat at her high desk, as busy and as excited to win as any childthere. Her copy-book lay before her, and though she had not as yetreached beyond "pot-hooks and trammels," she was quite as likely tocome off victor as those who wrote with ease and accuracy, because itwas not a question of penmanship, but of neatness and industry, as Ihave already said; for the first quality, the books themselves were tospeak; and Miss Milly's watchful eyes were the judges of the latter,as, from time to time, she raised them from her own writing and scannedthe little group.
Scratch, scratch, scratch went the pens, and papers rustled, andfingers flew about their work till the hour being up, Miss Milly rangher bell as a signal for perfect silence.
"It is time to put away your pens, children," she said, in a clearvoice; and at once they were laid aside.
Nelly was just placing her blotting paper between the leaves of herwriting-book, when a sorrowful exclamation near her made her turn herhead. This exclamation came from Melinda, who sat a few benches off.Her eyes were fixed with a look of most profound distress on a largeblot which a drop of ink from her pen had just left in the centre ofthe day's copy. Her sleeve had accidentally swept over it too,--andthere it was, a great, black disfigurement! And on this afternoon ofall others! Melinda wrote a very pretty hand. She was an ambitiousgirl, and had done her very best, that she might win the prize.Nelly saw the tears rise in her eyes, and her cheeks flush with thebitterness of her disappointment.
"Oh, dear!" cried Lucy Rook, a little girl, who sat next; "Oh, dear!there's a blot, Melindy!"
"Yes," was the answer; "I wonder if I could scratch it out, so that thepage will look neatly again. Lucy, lend me your knife, will you?"
Mistress Lucy looked straight at Melinda, and laughed a little cruel,mocking laugh. In the rattle of papers and temporary confusion of theroom, she thought herself unheard by the teacher.
"Who wouldn't play tag, yesterday, eh?" asked Lucy. "Who spoiled thegame; did you hear anybody say?"
"Why, I did, I s'pose," spoke Melinda roughly; "and what of it?"
"I guess I want my knife, myself, that's all," was Lucy's reply. "Idon't think I could conclude to lend it to-day," and she laughed again.
Nelly involuntarily put her hand in her pocket, where lay a littlepenknife Nancy had given her, as a keepsake, a few weeks before. Thethought flashed through her mind, "Shall I, or shall I not?" and thenext moment she reached over, and the little knife was glitteringon Melinda's blotted copy. She did not speak; she only blushed, andsmiled, and nodded pleasantly, to show her good-will. Melinda looked ather with a frowning brow. Then a better impulse seemed to prevail; sheglanced gratefully back at Nelly, and taking up the penknife began togive some doleful scratches over the blot.
Presently, however, Miss Milly's command was heard from the desk:
"All arms to be folded!" Melinda, with a sigh, folded hers, and satlike a picture of despair. The books were then collected, and examinedcarefully, while the scholars began to prepare to go home. Nelly wasquite ready, when she was startled by hearing Miss Milly pronounce hername to the school as the winner of the prize.
"I find," said Miss Harrow, "that almost every child has taken unusualpains to-day, in writing; and I am pleased to see it, I can assure you.Where all have been so careful, it is very difficult to find one whostands highest; Nelly Box, however, I think deserves the reward. Never,before, has she evinced such diligence and patience; hoping that shewill always do as well in future, I give her permission to go up toMiss Elinor's room to begin the wreath, at once. Elinor will give youinstructions, Nelly, and perhaps tell you some little story while youare busy with your task."
At first Nelly's face shone with delighted triumph, at the news ofher success. But in a little while she began to realize that manyof the pupils were sorely disappointed at this award not falling onthemselves, and the thought dampened her ardor. She had reached thedoor to leave the room, when Miss Milly added:
"Melinda, I am glad to see that you, too, have been attentive andanxious to do well. If it were not for this huge blot, I should havegiven the palm to you."
"I couldn't help it," said Melinda, eagerly. "I was just folding it up,when it happened. I am as sorry as can be."
"Are you?" said Miss Milly, kindly.
"Yes," broke in Nelly, with honest warmth; "and it was an--an_accident_, as I think they call it, Miss Milly. The girls who saw it,say so. The ink just dropped right down, _ker-splash_."
Melinda held down her head and looked conscious.
"Well, then," said the good teacher, smiling at the "_ker-splash_," "ifit was an accident, I think we will have _two_ wreath-makers, insteadof one. Melinda may go up-stairs with Nelly, if she wishes, and bothare to be very quiet and orderly, for Miss Elinor is not quite as wellas usual, to-day."
Melinda glanced towards Nelly, and was silent. She did not like to go,under such circumstances as these. She wished the honor of making thewreath, it is true, but she did not desire that distinction to bebestowed upon her as _a favor_. She felt galled too, that this veryfavor was accorded to her through Nelly Box's means,--little Nelly,whom, every day, she had been in the habit of cuffing about as thoughshe were an animal of totally inferior condition. She happened to raiseher eyes, however, and they fell on the glad, beaming face of this sameNelly Box, who stood waiting for her. It was so evident that Nelly'sgood-will towards her was sincere, it was so plain that this littleschoolmate of hers desired to be friends with her, and to forget andforgive all the unpleasantness of the past, that Melinda could notresist the good impulse which impelled her onward. A feeling of shameand awkwardness was all that hindered her from accompanying Nellyup-stairs at once. She stood looking very foolish, her glance on thefloor, and her fingers twitching at the upturned corner of her apron.
"Come, Melinda," said Miss Milly, in a gentle, but brisk tone; "don'tkeep Nelly waiting."
The young girl could resist no longer. She smiled, in spite ofherself, a great, ear-to-ear, bashful, happy, half-ashamed smile, andfollowed Nelly slowly up-stairs to Miss Elinor's room, where theyfound her bolstered up in bed, as usual, and quite ready to give theminstructions how to form her wreath. A sheet was already spread in themiddle of the floor, and
on this was a pile of evergreens.
"What, _two_!" said Miss Elinor, smiling, as they entered. "I am gladto see you both, although I expected but one. How is your mother,Melinda?"
"Better, ma'am," said Melinda; "she is coming to see you next week, ifshe is well enough. What shall we do first, Miss Elinor?"
The sick girl told the children how to begin, and, half sitting upin bed as she was, showed them how to tie together the fragments ofevergreen with strings, so as to form the wreath. At first, the girlsthought it hard work enough. The little sprays of hemlock would standup, as Nelly termed it, "seven ways for Sunday," and all they could dodid not bring them into shape.
Miss Elinor could not help them much more than to give directions. Shelay looking at them from her bed, half amused, and entirely interestedin the proceedings.
"Dear, dear!" said Melinda, after she had endeavored several times,quite patiently for her, to force a sprig to keep its place; "dear me,I don't think we can ever make this 'ere wreath look like anything butfather's stump fences. Just see how that hemlock sticks out!"
"Well," said Miss Elinor, "I like to see stump fences, very muchindeed, Melinda. I think they are beautiful. The great roots look likethe hands of giants, with the fingers stretched out to grasp something.So you see, I don't mind if you make my wreath look like them."
"Father says stump fences are the very best kind," remarked Melinda,knowingly.
"I guess not the _very best_, Melindy," Nell ventured to say.
"Yes, they are," persisted Melinda, with a toss of her head; "fathersays they last _forever_,--and he _knows_, for he has tried 'em!"
The young teacher smiled, and turned away her head.
"Did you ever see a church dressed with evergreens, Miss Elinor?" askedone of the children.
"Often," said the sick girl; "not here, in the village, but in thecity. I have not been able to attend church much since we have beenhere. They entwine garlands around the high pillars, and put wreaths oflaurel over the arched windows. The reading-desk and pulpit have theirshare too, and above the altar is placed a beautiful cross. Sometimesthe font is filled with delicate white flowers, that are renewed eachSabbath as long as the evergreens are permitted to remain."
"I wish I could see a church looking like that," remarked Nelly,stopping in her work, and looking meditatively about her.
"Miss Elinor," said Melinda, "what do they mean when they say 'as pooras a church-mouse?' Why are _church_-mice poorer than house-mice?"
"Because," was the reply, "in churches there are no nice pantries,filled with bread and meat, for the little plagues to feed upon. Nostray crumbs lie on the floor,--no pans of milk are to be found atwhich to sip. So, you see, church-mice _have_ a right to be consideredpoor."
"Well," said Melinda, "how funny! I never thought of that before."
"Once," continued her teacher, "I saw an odd scene with a church-mouse.I'll tell you about it. I was visiting in the country, a great manymiles from here; such a kind of country as you can have but a faintidea of, unless you should see it yourself. It was out West. The housesthere are not like those you have always been accustomed to see, butare built of the trunks of trees. They are called log cabins. The gaps,or holes, between these logs are filled with mud and moss, which keepout the rain in summer, and the wind and snow in winter."
"What do they do for windows?" asked Nell.
"Some of them have none,--others make an opening in the logs; a smallshutter, hinged with stout leather, is its only protection in timeof storms. Glass is too expensive to be used, for the people are verypoor. Well, I was visiting once a family who lived in one of these loghuts. It was somewhat better than its neighbors, certainly, and muchlarger, but it was not half as comfortable as the little house we arein. It was in October, and I remember as I lay awake in bed, at night,I felt the autumn wind whistle over me. It makes my nose cold to thinkof it," laughed Elinor. "When Sunday came, I was surprised to findthat, although the church was five miles distant, no one thought ofstaying at home.
"'What!' said my uncle, 'do you think, Elinor, we are short-walkChristians? No indeed,--five miles through the woods is nothing to uswhen a good, sound sermon, and a couple of beautiful hymns are at theend of it!'"
"It was your uncle, then, you were visiting?" questioned Melinda.
"Yes; he had moved out West some years before, bought a farm, and builthimself a log cabin. He lives there now, and is fast making a fortune."
"Is he?" said Nell. "Did you go to the church, Miss Elinor, in thewoods?"
"Yes; no one stayed at home. We had the dinner-table set before westarted, which was early, on account of the distance. I think it wasabout half past eight o'clock in the morning (for we did not want tohurry), when uncle shut the cabin door, and saw that everything wasright."
"Didn't you lock it?" asked Melinda.
"Lock what?"
"The door."
"No. Not a man, woman, or child thinks of locking doors, out in thatwild country. Thieves don't seem to be found there, and everybodytrusts his neighbor. If a tramper comes along, he is welcome to go inand help himself to whatever he wants. It is not an unusual thing onreaching home, after an absence of an hour or so, to find a poor, tiredtraveller, asleep in his chair, before the fire. Besides," said MissElinor, with a twinkle in her eyes, "there is another excellent reasonwhy the farmers out there never think of locking their doors."
"Oh, I know!" cried Melinda; "I know!"
"Well, why is it?"
"They have no locks!" And the two children began to laugh as if theyhad never heard anything so funny in all their lives.
"I like that," said Nell; "I want to live in just such an honestcountry, and where they are good to poor travellers, too. That's thesplendid part. I feel as if I wanted to settle there, this very minute.Well, Miss Elinor, don't forget about going to church."
"We got off the track so, I had nearly forgotten what my story isabout," said Miss Elinor. "We started very early to go to church.Uncle had no wagon, so driving was out of the question; but he had abeautiful mare called 'Lady Lightfoot,' and an old side-saddle, whichmy aunt had owned ever since she was a girl. It was settled that myaunt and I were to take turns riding on Lady Lightfoot, so thatneither should get too fatigued. Uncle and cousin Robert were to walk,and Lightfoot's pretty little long-legged colt ambled in the rear.My aunt took the first ride, and I was talking quietly to uncle andRobert, when I saw, bounding along a rail fence at the side of theroad, the old fat cat, Wildfire. Her name just suited her, for she wasone of the most restless, proud, affectionate, daring cats I had everseen.
"'Why!' I exclaimed; 'see Wildfire on the fence! she will get lost,--wemust send her home.'
"'Lost, eh?' said Cousin Robert; 'I reckon not. If any one can loseWildfire, I'll give him a treat in the strawberry patch next summer,and no mistake.'
"'But what shall we do?' I asked; 'we don't want her to go to churchwith us. Make her go home, Robert, do.'
"'Not a bit of it,' said Robert, laughing; 'did you never see a cat goto meeting before? Wildfire has attended regularly, every summer, forthe last three years. She always follows us. The minister would notknow how to preach without her.'
"'But,' said I, 'how it must look! a cat in church! A dog would not beso bad. But a cat! Go home, Wildfire!' and I took off my red shawl andshook it at her, and stamped my foot.
"Robert laughed again, and told me it was no use; that they had oftentried to send her back, and sometimes had fastened her up, but thatshe almost always broke loose, and would come bounding after them,kicking her heels in the air, as though to show her utter defianceof any will but her own. When I shook my shawl at her, she just rosequietly up on her hind legs, and while her green eyes darted flames ofanger, she ruffled her fur as cats do when attacked by dogs, indicatingas plainly as possible that go she would; and go, indeed, she did.Robert saw I was mortified at the thought of walking to meeting incompany with a cat, and he told me I needn't be ashamed, because thechurches out there were vast
ly different from those I had been in thehabit of attending. 'Women,' said he, 'who can't afford them, comewithout hats, and men, on hot days, walk up to their seats in theirshirt-sleeves, with their house-dogs tagging after them. I counted tendogs in meeting once. The animals seem to understand the necessity forgood behavior, for they are as quiet as their masters; perhaps more so,sometimes. They lie down under the seats of their friends, and go tosleep, only opening their eyes and mouths now and then to snap at someflies, buzzing around their noses. Wildfire does the same. Our bench isnear the door, and we could easily put her out if she did not behaveas becomes a good, well-reared cat. If people didn't _know_ that shefollowed us each Sunday, they would never find it out from her behaviorin meeting-time.'
"Seeing there was no help for it, and understanding there was no fearof mortification, I dismissed the thought of Wildfire from my mind.Shortly afterwards, my aunt dismounted to give me my turn. CousinRobert helped me on, handed me the lines, and gently touching LadyLightfoot with my twig-whip, I began to trot a little away from theparty. The road was magnificent. None, my dear children, in our villagecan compare with it. The earth was smooth and hard, and but very littlebroken by wheels. Something in the character of the soil kept itgenerally in this condition. We had just entered the woods. Overheadthe stately branches of old trees met and laced themselves together.It was like one long arbor. Scarcely any sunshine came through on theroad, and when it did, the little wavy streaks looked like threadsof gold. The morning was mild and cool, almost too cool for the fewautumn birds that twittered their cheerful songs far and near. I wasenjoying myself very much, when, suddenly, I heard a snorting noisejust beside me. I could not imagine what it was. I looked down, andthere--what do you think I saw?"
"Wildfire!" cried the two children.
"Yes, it was Wildfire, on the full trot, snorting at me her delight inthe race. I slackened my pace, and the cat and I walked peaceably allthe rest of the way to the meeting-house.
"When we arrived there, I was as much surprised as amused at the scenewhich presented itself. The church was a nice, neatly-painted building,in the midst of a small clearing."
"Clearing?" said Nell.
"A clearing is a piece of ground from which the trees have beenremoved. One or two young oaks, however, were left in this instance,to serve as hitching posts, if any should be required, which was veryseldom the case.
"Many of the farmers of the vicinity had arrived when we got there.They had unharnessed their animals and left them to graze around themeeting-house, a young colt accompanying almost every turn-out. At thefirst glance I thought the spot was full of colts, such a frisking andwhisking was going on around the entrance. One impertinent little thingeven went so far as to poke its head in the door-way and take a surveyof the congregation.
"Some of the families who attended there, came from ten to fifteenmiles,--for the country was by no means thickly settled. A largedinner-basket, nicely packed under the wagon-seat, showed which thesefamilies were.
"All the people were more or less roughly dressed; none were attired ina way that looked like absolute poverty.
"Cousin Robert aided me to dismount, left Lady Lightfoot and her coltfree to graze with the other animals, and with aunt and uncle we wentin the church. The walls were plaster, with no lime or wood-work toimprove their appearance. Behind a pine desk at one end of the room satthe minister. A bunch of white pond-lilies, which some one had justgiven him, rested beside the Bible lying before him."
"And Wildfire,--where was Wildfire?" asked Nelly, with great eagerness.
"She followed us in, very demurely, and the moment that her favorite,Robert, sat down, she curled herself in a round, soft ball at his feet,and went to sleep. I was soon so interested in the sermon that I forgotall about her. The minister's text seemed to have been suggested byhis flowers. It was 'Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet, I say unto you, that evenSolomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore,if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrowis cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye oflittle faith?' The sermon was not well delivered, because of the lackof knowledge in the preacher, but it was pure and sound, and full ofa true, tender, and loving regard for the welfare of that people inthe wilderness. The heartiness with which all present joined in theclosing hymn, proved that the effect of the discourse was a good oneon the congregation. Just as the last note died away, my attention wassuddenly attracted to a little moving object near the door. I lookedtwice before I could realize that it was a mouse. It peered about withits pretty, bright eyes, as if it were too frightened and bewilderedto know what to do next. It was a little thing, and must have strayedunknowingly away from its companions.
"From a slow, stealthy sound, that came all at once from CousinRobert's feet, I knew that Wildfire had seen it too, and was preparingan attack. The minister was pronouncing the final benediction, however,and I did not dare to look around, for fear of attracting attention.Scarcely was the closing word uttered, when there was a sudden springfrom the cat, and a shrill squeak on mousey's part. Proudly lashing hertail, like a panther, Wildfire laid her victim, in an instant, deadat her young master's feet, (we sat very near the door, I believe Itold you,) gazing in his face with such an air of triumph, and such ananxious request for praise in her glittering eyes, that cousin Robert,very thoughtlessly, as it seemed to me, stooped and patted her head."
"Did she eat it?" asked Melinda.
"No," replied the sick girl; "she left it lying there, on the floor,and followed us unconcernedly out, as if there were not such a thing asa mouse in the world. She had no desire to be left behind."
"Perhaps," said Melinda, "as it was a church-mouse, she thought it toopoor to eat. I wish I had such a cat as Wildfire, Miss Elinor."
"And so do I," cried Nelly. "I'll teach my cat, Nancy, to be knowing,just like her. Look at the wreath, Miss Elinor! Hasn't it grownhandsome while you were telling about Wildfire? It don't seem a bitlike a stump fence now, does it?"
It was, indeed, very beautiful. Miss Elinor raised herself on her elbowand said so, as she looked at it. All that it wanted now, she toldthem, was a few scissors clips on the ends of the longest sprays, tomake them even with the others.
Melinda leaned it against the wall, and clipped away with great careand precision. Nelly stood gazing at it lovingly and admiringly.
Before the children were quite ready to go home, Miss Milly came in andhung the precious wreath on a couple of nails which she drove for thatpurpose, over the picture, for which it was intended. It represented alittle bare-footed gypsy-girl dancing a wild, fantastic dance, with herbrown arms flung gracefully out, and mischief and innocent fun gleamingin her black eyes.
"Of all the engravings I have ever seen," said Miss Elinor, "this oneis the best calculated for an evergreen frame. Thank you, dears, formaking it. I hope each of you will pass a merry Christmas and a happyNew Year."
As the two children went down the stairs together, Nelly said,
"Isn't she good, Melindy?"
Melinda was not accustomed to behave herself for so great a length oftime; her stock of good conduct was now pretty nearly exhausted, so sheanswered rather sharply,
"Of course she is. I know that as well as you, without bein' told."
Nelly felt something choking her in her throat.
"_I will not_," she said firmly to herself, "I will not answer back.I'll do as Martin says, and make a friend of Melindy, if I can. Sheisn't so very bad, after all. Why, I do believe I rather like her."
They gathered their books together in the school-room. Melinda openedthe door first, to go.
"Well, good-bye," she said, gruffly, looking back at Nell.
"Good-bye," replied Nelly; and then she added, bravely, "Oh, Melindy,we needn't quarrel any more, need we? _I_ don't wish to, do you? Let usbe friends; come, shake hands."
Melinda turned very red, indeed.
"I am
not going to be forced to make friends with any one," she said,in a most forbidding voice.
She gave the school-door a terrific bang as she spoke, and darted offhomeward.
But in that last rough action the final trace of the ill-will she boreNelly disappeared forever.
The next morning, as the family were sitting at breakfast, there came aknock at the door. Comfort, hastily setting her dress to rights, wentto answer it. There stood Melinda, her school-books in one hand, and inthe other, two of the biggest and roundest and reddest apples she hadbeen able to find in all her father's bins.
"Give them to Nelly, if you please," she said.
"And I declar'," added Comfort, when she came in and told the family,"the minit she spoke that ar' she ran off frightened like, and in amos' drefful hurry."
From that day Melinda and Nelly were friends.
Nelly's First Schooldays Page 4