[CHAPTER XIV.]
A FLOWER-GARDEN IN DOORS.
Hal went to school bright and early the first Monday in September. It was about a mile to the place called the "Cross-roads," because from there the roads diverged in every direction. An old tumble-down house had been put in tolerable order, and some second-hand desks and benches arranged in the usual fashion. Just around this point, there was quite a nest of cottages belonging to the mill workmen.
The children straggled in shyly, eying the new master. Rather unkempt, some of them, and with not very promising faces, belonging to the poorer class of German and English; then others bright and tidy, and brimming over with mirthful smiles.
By ten o'clock sixteen had assembled. Hal gave them a short address, made a few rules, and attempted to classify them. They read and spelled a little, at least those who were able, when the bell on the factory rang out the hour of noon.
Three new ones came after dinner. Hal labored faithfully; but it was a relief to have the session close.
Before the week ended, however, the prospect became more inspiriting. There were twenty-three scholars, and some whom it would be a pleasure to teach. But, after all, it was not as delightful as working among the flowers,—the dear, beautiful children who gave only fragrance and loveliness continually.
He had been so tired every night, that he could do nothing but rest; and so he was glad to have Saturday come.