Papa's own girl: A novel

by Marie Stevens Howland

“Which one?”

“I must not say, because she asked me to not tell, and I promised. I wish I had not, for I do not like to confess this promise to you.” Clara was sorely troubled. She knew this teacher had a real affection for her, as, indeed, all her teachers had, for she was frank and straightforward always, never shirked any task, and was the life of all recitations in which she took part. She asked questions and explanations innumerable, and would never quit studying any difficult point until she had thoroughly mastered it. Such pupils are ever the delight and the support of the faithful teacher; and no matter whether personally sympathetic, or charming in other ways, they are sure to be honored and treated with great consideration by any teacher worthy of the name. There is no surer test of a teacher’s utter incapacity than that his favorites are the pretty, wheedling shirks of the classroom.

Miss Marston was silent for a little time after Clara’s expression of regret, and then she said kindly, “That is well said, Clara. Of course, you must keep your promise; but do you not see that you were wrong to borrow a book which your fellow-student was ashamed to have known she possessed?”

“I cannot say she was ashamed of having this book. I feel certain that if she had read it as carefully as I have, she would not have made the request. I could never be ashamed to own such a book as this.”

“That is no argument. You are too young and inexperienced to judge of books, and when your teachers forbid the reading of certain kinds of literature, it is because they know that their influence is baneful. Remember the old adage, ‘Touch pitch and be defiled.’”

“But I am sure this is not pitch,” Clara answered, spiritedly; “and I do not think there is so much wisdom in that old saying—or at least it is often misapplied. My mother used to make a great effort to keep Dan and me from playing with certain children; but my father always declared that we ought to play with poor, neglected children, who sought our society; because, as he said, if our manners were more gentle than theirs, the result would be a culture to them which we had no right to withhold. When my mother quoted this adage, he used to say, ‘Pitch will not stick to ice,’ meaning that the badness of these children would not hurt us if we loved the good and the beautiful, and sought it everywhere, as he had taught us to do.”

“Then you wish me to understand, I presume, that you set your judgment against mine, and will read pernicious books if it pleases you to do so?”

Clara looked hurt by this, and her faith in Miss Marston received a shock. Why could not this good, wise teacher understand at once, without so many words? By yielding graciously, Clara was sure of caressing words and the old mutual trust. She was tempted to do so, because her love of approval by those she admired was a strong passion. While different motives struggled for control, she remembered certain words of Dr. Forest, in his last conversation with her, in his study, the evening before she left, when he had held her on his knees and talked to her very seriously upon many matters, some of which he had never broached before. “Be magnanimous always to those who fail,” he had said; but Clara had never dreamed that one of her teachers would be “weighed in the balance and found wanting.” She had at the time thought only of her class-mates, who might fail in many ways. So when she spoke, as she did after a little pause, she had determined to rise or fall in her teacher’s estimation, as she must, by the expression only of the best and most honest sentiments of her heart.

“You have been so good to me, Miss Marston,” she said, and her words came with some difficulty—“you must know I am anxious to keep your good opinion of me; but I must be true to myself, and I will. I cannot think nor feel that this book is not good and moral. It has wakened my best feelings. In the story the wife, Fernande, ceases to love her husband, and loves some one else. The reader must feel the deepest sympathy for poor Jaques, who dies that he may not stand in the way of his wife’s happiness. I constantly felt, as I read, that if I were Fernande, I would torture myself sooner than let myself grow cold to such a grand, noble creature as Jaques. I am perfectly sure, if I were ever in a like position, I should be much more careful to take the wisest course from having read this book.”

“You are very different from other girls, Clara. It will not make you vain to tell you that you are eminently superior to most of them; but I fear you lack respect for your elders. You are self-willed; but I know you wish to do right. We will say no more about it;” and she took the young girl’s hand in both hers and caressed it softly. Love always won Clara. She was a creature of tender emotions; to see Miss Marston yielding touched her profoundly, and she said quickly, her eyes full of tears, “I must do just right about this, or I shall be horridly unhappy. You have known papa many years, and he spoke of you in the highest praise; but I have found you nobler and better than even he could tell me. You know he is what they call a liberal—a ‘free-thinker,’ as some say—and he is so just and noble in all his words and acts that I believe he must be right in his principles, though mamma does not think so. I know that you too are a ‘liberal’”—Miss Marston started—“O, I know. I have often heard you talking to other teachers, and I notice you take the very views that my father does of many things. Now, I will tell you what I will do. Will you promise me one little thing without asking what it is?”