Everything went smoothly. The scholars learned their lessons well, and they learned also some things not in the text-books. For Fidelia threw herself into her work with an earnestness and skill which could not but win from the bright scholars and the well-disposed among her pupils a cheerful response; but she did none of them more good than she received herself.
Not only was she able to throw off the sadness and depression which had fallen upon her when she had been told of the state of her sister’s health, but she advanced a good many steps towards real womanhood. Before the winter was over, the neighbours “expected that there was considerable more in Fidelia Marsh than folks had generally thought,” and gave themselves leave to hope that the softness of Miss Eunice in bringing her up had not altogether spoiled her. She was going to do some good work in the world, it was owned, if the work she was doing in Halsey was a fair sample.
And Fidelia herself began to think this possible.
“I like it, Eunice. I feel that I can teach those things that I know well. And, when I have learned more, I hope I shall be successful in higher teaching.”
“If there is any teaching higher, in the best sense, than the teaching of the little children,” replied her sister. “Remember, it is easier to bend the twig than the tall sapling; and what you teach them out of their school-books makes but a small part of what they must learn from you.”
“Yes, if I were good—like you,” said Fidelia gravely.
But she did try to be faithful in all her teaching. To do their work well and honestly, to hate a lie, to live by the “golden rule,” and to remember everywhere and always, “Thou God seest me!” was the sum of her moral teaching as given to the school. Now and then a word was spoken quietly to one and another who seemed to need it, which went deeper than that, though Fidelia was not sure that she had a right to urge on others the duty and privilege of living up to the teaching and spirit of the Gospel, when she was not sure that she was so living herself.
But she came to surer and happier knowledge as the months went on. In her troubled moments, before she came home, she had said to herself that she needed Eunice, and she was right. And now she had Eunice, and her sweet words, dropped only now and then, did her good, and her beautiful life day by day did more. Her full content in that which God’s will had assigned to her, though it had brought loss and pain in the past, and involved now a daily expectation of death, wrought, with higher teaching still, to bring Fidelia to clearer light and stronger faith than she had ever yet enjoyed. And with these came first submission, and then joy in God’s will, for them both. But this came later, when her school-keeping days were over; and to the end, so greatly to be desired, Jabez helped a little, as well as Eunice.
For three whole months school life had gone on “without a hitch,” as Jabez said triumphantly, and the pupils and teacher together were beginning to discuss the propriety of giving a little time to special preparation for the closing examination, when something happened. A thaw came—a sudden fall of warm rain, which lasted a day and a night, and covered the ice on the mill-pond with water, and the neighbouring meadows as well. And then the frost came again strong and sharp, making mill-pond and meadows sheets of shining silver; and for once everything happened just right, for it was full moon, with clear skies—the brightest of moonlight.
Of course every scholar in the school was bound to be on the ice, and a great many besides; and Jabez and a few others voted themselves into the office of a safety committee to see to the rest, to keep the naughty ones out of mischief and the heedless ones out of danger. There were not skates enough in the town of Halsey for half who were there, but there were a good many pairs, and there were sleds, and those who had neither skates nor sleds could slide on their own feet; and all expected a good time, and most of them had it.