Harry bit his lip. This was just what he didn’t want the scholars to know; and they never would have known how he had been outwitted, but for Becky’s confession. She was altogether too penitent.
“That will do, Miss Becky. You have said quite enough. I shall expect better conduct from you in the future.”
“I mean to try, sir.”
Becky returned to her seat. She did try hard that day; and not only that day, but every day, found her trying, and succeeding, too. She diligently applied herself to the studies assigned her, watched her conduct carefully, and in a very short time Harry Thompson had reason to be proud of his pupil. She gave Teddy a helping hand, also. She was pained to hear the laugh when Teddy blundered; so every night at home Teddy was carefully tutored by his sister for the next day’s task; and in a short time he, too, accomplished wonders.
As soon as the brain was trained to systematized labor, Becky’s sharp eyes traced the difference in her attire and that of the girls about her; and very soon improvement was noticed in this. Mrs. Thompson, whose visits to the brown house were now of daily occurrence, taught her to sew. Material was readily found among the stock of presents the sailor husband had been accustomed to bring his wife, and which had never been made up; and thus Becky was as neat and well dressed a girl as there was in the school. She made quick progress with her studies. In one branch she excelled all—that of drawing. Harry had introduced this as a pleasant study, with no idea that Becky had such a genius for it as she rapidly displayed.
Mr. Drinkwater continued ill all the winter, and Harry kept the school, by his orders; for, contrary to his expectations, Captain Thompson did not come into the school. The shrewd proprietor evidently discovered the trick to bring about a reconciliation, and, with his usual obstinacy, defeated the well laid plan. And so, autumn gave place to winter, and the snow lay heavily on the ground. Winter, in turn, gave place to spring, with all its opening beauties; and school was over.
Harry Thompson stood upon the steps of the school-house, the door locked behind him for the last time, the key in his hand. His scholars had gone; up and down the road he could hear their merry voices, as they wended their ways homeward. But one was left to keep him company—Becky Sleeper. She stood beside him, anxiously watching his troubled face; for the master was looking across the road at the home of his childhood, where he could not now enter. He was bitterly disappointed in his labors; they had not brought about the reconciliation for which he had plotted, and which, for his mother’s sake, he had so longed for. He turned, with a sigh, to Becky.
“Well, little one, school is over.”
“Yes, Harry. It’s been a pleasant time for me. How can I thank you for having been so kind to me, for having taught me so much, and being such a dear, kind friend?”