It was my first appearance in a long dress, and it troubled me greatly; but by dint of holding it up, as ladies do now-adays, I succeeded in getting to the schoolhouse, where I found my pupils arrayed in their best; Ike Ross having in his shirt bosom the selfsame glass breastpin which I had sported at Dell Thompson’s party. Not wishing the spectators to lose any of the exercises, I sat in grim silence, awaiting their arrival: but my waiting was all in vain; for, with the exception of Mrs. Randall and Dr. Clayton, the latter of whom came in the capacity of Inspector, not a single individual was present! Not a parent—not a friend, nor a foe—and still, if the examination had not been held, those who stayed away would have ridiculed me, and voted my school even a worse failure than they did. So much for consistency. Parents, I think, are not sufficiently aware of the great good their occasional presence in the schoolroom will do, both to teacher and scholar; the latter of whom will almost invariably study harder and strive to have better lessons, if there is a prospect of their father or mother’s hearing them recite; while the former, feeling that an interest is taken in them, will also be incited to fresh efforts for the improvement of those committed to their charge.
But not thus thought the people of Pine Hill. Satisfied that an examination was going on, they stayed at home, expressing their surprise when they heard that nobody was there, wondering what it meant, and saying “folks ought to be ashamed for not going!” As if to make amends for their neglect, Dr. Clayton, in his closing remarks, said some very complimentary things concerning my school, which he bade the children repeat to their parents; and such is human nature, that, when I had received my Eight Dollars, and was gone, the District, in speaking of me, said, “I wasn’t the worst teacher, after all.”
About four o’clock, there came up a thunder shower, which caused both Mrs. Randall and the scholars to hasten home. Dr. Clayton, on the contrary, was in no hurry. “It was, perhaps, the last opportunity he would have of seeing me,” he said, “and he meant to improve it.”
It was not very far to Meadow Brook I thought, and so I at last ventured to say.
“I know that,” he replied; “but people might talk were I to call on you, and I do not wish to do anything which will affect you unpleasantly.”
“I don’t care what folks say,” arose to my lips, but its utterance was prevented by a flash of lightning and a thunder crash, which made me shriek aloud, while I covered my face with my hands.
I shall not describe the way which Dr. Clayton took to calm my fright, for all who have passed through a similar experience can imagine it; but the remembrance of that thunder-storm lingered in my memory long after I had forgotten the night when I sat with him in the soft moonlight beneath the old oak tree. When the storm had ceased and the sun was again shining on the tree-tops at the west, he left me, placing on my hand at parting a little gold ring, on which was inscribed, simply, “Rose.”
“It was the gift of friendship,” he said—“nothing more;” and he wished me to wear it “for the sake of the few pleasant hours we had spent together.”
I suppose it was wrong in me to accept it. I thought so then, but I could not refuse it; and remembering the fate of the one sent by Herbert Langley to Anna, I resolved upon keeping it a secret, and only wearing it when I was alone. For a long time I sat in the deserted schoolroom, while the damp air, which came through the open window, fell upon my uncovered neck and arms, nor was I reminded of the lapse of time until it began to grow dark around me; then hastily throwing on my things, I started for Mr. Randall’s, wetting my feet, for I had no rubbers with me. As the result of this, when I awoke next morning I was conscious of a pain in my head, a soreness in my throat, and an aching of my back, quite as unexpected as it was disagreeable. I had taken a violent cold, and Mrs. Randall, when she saw how pale I was and how faint I appeared, said I must not go to school. George, she said, would go and tell the scholars, and I must stay there until my father came for me at night, as had been arranged the week before. To this plan I finally yielded, and all the day long I hovered over the fire, which, in the little sitting-room, was kindled for my comfort.
At night, when my father came for me, I was almost too weak to stand alone; but the excitement of riding imparted to me an artificial strength, which wholly deserted me the moment I reached home, and for many days I kept my bed, attended by Dr. Clayton, who accidently heard of my illness, and who came daily to see me. Grandma, who was something of a nurse, proposed several times that he be dismissed, saying he only made me worse, for I was always more feverish and restless after one of his visits! But the doctor, to whom she one day made the suggestion, said he should not leave me until I was well, and when she asked him how he accounted for my rapid pulse and flushed cheeks, whenever he was present, he very gravely replied, that “possibly my heart might be affected—the symptoms seemed much like it,” adding, as he saw the look of concern on grandma’s face, “but I think I can cure that, don’t you, Rose?” turning to me, and taking my hand to see how fast my pulse did beat!