“WHO does?”
“Sam Barstow, or he wouldn't have selected me. I presume” (with the slightest possible and almost instinctive imitation of the reverend gentleman's manner) “his head is considered level.”
Mr. Peaseley withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. “I have,” he said to his companions, with a pained smile, “an important choir meeting to attend this afternoon. I fear I must be excused.” As he moved towards the door, the others formally following him, until out of the stranger's hearing, he added: “I wash my hands of this. After so wanton and unseemly an exhibition of utter incompetency, and even of understanding of the trust imposed upon him—upon US—MY conscience forbids me to interfere further. But the real arbiter in this matter will be—thank Heaven!—the mistress herself. You have only to confront her at once with this man. HER decision will be speedy and final. For even Mr. Barstow will not dare to force so outrageous a character upon a delicate, refined woman, in a familiar and confidential capacity.”
“That's so,” said Sperry eagerly; “she'll settle it. And, of course,” added the mill-owner, “that will leave us out of any difficulty with Sam.”
The two men returned to the hapless stranger, relieved, yet constrained by the sacrifice to which they felt they were leading him. It would be necessary, they said, to introduce him to his principal, Mrs. Martin, at once. They might still find her at the schoolhouse, distant but a few steps. They said little else, the stranger keeping up an ostentatious whistling, and becoming more and more incongruous, they thought, as they neared the pretty schoolhouse. Here they DID find Mrs. Martin, who had, naturally, lingered after the interview with Sperry.
She came forward to meet them, with the nervous shyness and slightly fastidious hesitation that was her nature. They saw, or fancied they saw, the same surprise and disappointment they had themselves experienced pass over her sensitive face, as she looked at him; they felt that their vulgar charge appeared still more outrageous by contrast with this delicate woman and her pretty, refined surroundings; but they saw that HE enjoyed it, and was even—if such a word could be applied to so self-conscious a man—more at ease in her presence!
“I reckon you and me will pull together very well, ma'am,” he said confidently.
They looked to see her turn her back upon him; faint, or burst out crying; but she did neither, and only gazed at him quietly.
“It's a mighty pretty place you've got here—and I like it, and if WE can't run it, I don't know who can. Only just let me know WHAT you want, ma'am, and you can count on me every time.”
To their profound consternation Mrs. Martin smiled faintly.