They had a profound and immediate effect—exactly the opposite of what he had expected.
The school had just been dismissed; the children were still in sight, dispersing this way and that. Sidonie lingered a moment at her desk, putting it in order; Claude, taking all the time he could, was getting his canoe-paddle from a corner; Crébiche was waiting, by the master’s command, to repair some default of the day; and Toutou, outside on his knees in the grass catching grasshoppers, was tarrying for his sister; when four or five of the village’s best men came slowly and hesitatingly in. It required no power of divination for even the pre-occupied schoolmaster to guess the nature of their errand. ’Mian was not among them. Catou was at their head. They silently bowed. The schoolmaster as silently responded. The visitors huddled together. They came a step nearer.
“Well,” said Catou, “we come to see you.”
“Sirs, welcome to Gran’ Point’ school.—Sidonie, Crébiche, Claude, rest in yo’ seats.”
“Mo’ betteh you tu’n ’em loose, I t’ink,” said Catou amiably; “ain’t it?”
“I rather they stay,” replied Bonaventure. All sat down. There was a sustained silence, and then Catou said with quiet abruptness:
“We dawn’t want no mo’ school!”
“From what cause?”
“’Tain’t no use.”
“Sir—sirs, no use? ’Tis every use! The schoolhouse? ’tis mo’ worth than the gole mine. Ah! sirs, tell me: what is gole without education?”