“All right, captain,” replied Becky; “We’ll go. I’ve been preparing myself for torture in this blessed book.”
“What book’s that—the Bible, hey?” said the captain.
“It’s ‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs,’ captain; but I can’t find anything about school in it.”
“Pshaw!” said the captain; “let such books alone. Come, stir your stumps, or you’ll be late. Now, recollect, if you give me any trouble—”
“Cap’n Thompson, you needn’t be afraid of them young ones; they won’t eat you!” cried Aunt Hulda, sticking her head out of the kitchen doorway. “If you and that big Irish lubber can’t handle ’em, better call on the committee; they’ll help you.”
The taunt was so bitter that the captain raised his whip; but, recollecting the sex of his opponent, he turned away, with a muttered “Hang it!” and strode into the road. Teddy and Becky followed, and Phil brought up the rear. The march schoolward was devoid of stirring incidents. Occasionally Becky, annoyed at the strict guard kept over them, would dart to the side of the road. The captain and Phil would run after her, only to find her picking a flower, or cutting a switch. The captain would stalk on again, and the captives would exchange mischievous glances, while Phil would grow red in the face with suppressed laughter.
The captain had consumed more time than he intended in mustering his recruits; and it was past nine o’clock when he reached the school-house. His “chicks,” having exhausted their stock of cheers, had filed into the school-room, and not averse to Phil’s recommendation, had indulged in a noisy but good-humored frolic, in which they were joined by some twenty later arrivals. They were in the midst of an animated game of tag, when three distinct raps upon the teacher’s desk made them aware of the presence of a stranger. In an instant there was profound silence in the room, and all eyes were turned upon the new-comer. He was a young man, of medium height, broad-shouldered and full-chested, every movement of his person showing in its powerful grace the effects of physical culture and out-door exercise. His face was equally powerful; piercing black eyes, browned skin, and a determined lock of the under jaw, showed a strong will and a daring spirit. Yet an occasional comical quiver about his eyes, and a lifting of his slight moustache by a half smile, and a genial glow of good humor which beamed through its sternness, as the ruddy cheek glowed under the brown coating, gave token of the nobility of power, by its kinship to gentleness and good humor. To all this were added a high forehead and an abundance of short, curly locks, so that the person of the stranger was not only calculated to command respect, but admiration as well.
“My young friends,” said he, “I bear a message from your teacher. He was taken suddenly ill last Friday night; he is somewhat better this morning, we think, but unable to be here with you. He has asked me to take his place, and wishes you to be patient with one who is a new hand at keeping school. That’s myself,” with a smile. “Will you take me?”
“O, yes, sir!” “Yes, sir!” in full chorus.