Forty pairs of eyes scanned with interest the advancing figure of the schoolmaster. He was very tall, very thin, with a pimply face, and bright red hair, and a cast in his right eye. He would hardly have been selected, either by a sculptor or an artist, as a model of manly beauty; and this was the impression made upon the youthful observers.
“Ain’t he a beauty?” said Henry Frye, in a low voice.
“Beats the deacon all hollow,” said John Sandford; “and that’s saying a good deal.”
“He’s got the family backbone,” said Julius, who had been long enough in the town to become well acquainted with the appearance of most of the inhabitants.
“That’s so, Julius.”
By this time the teacher had come within a few feet of his future scholars.{118}
“Boys,” said he, majestically, “I am Mr. Slocum, your teacher.”
The boys looked at him, and two of the younger ones said, “Good-morning.”
“You will at once enter the schoolhouse,” said the new teacher, with dignity.
“Isn’t the bell going to ring?” asked Henry Frye.