There was a pause. No one ever commented upon Sam's stories; there was no need. To deprecate them would be to stir up, who knew what, of oblique reflection upon one's ancestors. For any of those not immediately interested to interfere would be to invite Sam's attention to their cases.
"Did you hear that the school-teacher leaves next week?" asked Hiram.
"No. Why?" asked Jack Mackinnon, glad of a chance of hearing his own voice.
"Because he says he can't afford to keep himself here and his wife in Toronto on three hundred a year."
"Then he'd better get," said old Mrs. Slick, as she took the packet of cream of tartar Hiram was weighing. "He'd better get." She hobbled out, giving malevolent sniffs at the thought of the teacher's extravagant ideas.
"Yes, he's going," continued Hiram. "He's going, and there's a school meeting to-morrow."
Andrew Cutler, Hiram Green and Ben Braddon were school trustees, and it had occurred to each of them that Sam Symmons' Suse would be sure to apply for the position. She held a county certificate permitting her to teach for three years.
"I wonder," Andrew said that morning to his aunt, Miss Hannah Myers, "I wonder if Suse will know enough to apply for the place."
"Not she! too empty-headed," said Miss Myers, briskly. "I'll go down this afternoon and tell her what I think of her, and make her apply."
"Do," said Andrew, heartily.