“He’s no business to do anything of the kind. This is my school; and I won’t have it.”
The captain was getting angry.
“I understood him to say that the school-house was leased to him, and that he was expected to get a substitute when unable to attend himself.”
“So he is; but not you, sir, not you. I don’t want any of your teaching. S’pose you’ll teach these young ones to disobey their fathers, and run off. No, sir. You are at liberty. I’ll teach myself.”
“That is a point you must settle with Mr. Drinkwater,” said the young man, quietly. “I have taken command here, and, without meaning to be disrespectful, propose to hold my position until relieved by Mr. Drinkwater.”
The captain absolutely foamed with rage.
“You’re an impudent puppy. You’ve no business here, no business in the place. You’ve disgraced yourself. After what I’ve done for you, too!” And the captain went into particulars as to what he had done, commencing a long way back in the young man’s history, and without giving his son a chance to speak, growing louder and fiercer as his tongue flew the faster. He was suddenly brought to a stop by a roar of laughter from the children. He turned to them in amazement, but not by him was their merriment caused.
While the captain was giving vent to his troubles, Miss Becky had stepped upon the platform, picked up a crayon, and commenced operations on the blackboard. As she proceeded, all eyes, with the exception of those belonging to the captain and his son, were fastened upon her; and the completion of her picture had brought forth the interrupting roar.
Becky had one talent which had long been hid; she had a genius for drawing; but never before had this peculiar talent been paraded for public inspection.