“Hughie,” she replied. “He is looking miserable, and somehow he is different.”
“Oh, nonsense! He eats well enough, and sleeps well enough,” said her husband, making light of her fears.
“There's something wrong,” repeated his wife. “And he hates his school.”
“Well, I don't wonder at that,” said her husband, sharply. “I don't see how any boy of spirit could take much pleasure in that kind of a school. The boys are just wasting their time, and worse than that, they have lost all the old spirit. I must see to it that the policy of those close-fisted trustees is changed. I am not going to put up with those chits of girls teaching any longer.”
“There may be something in what you say,” said his wife, sadly, “but certainly Hughie is always begging to stay at home from school.”
“And indeed, he might as well stay home,” answered her husband, “for all the good he gets.”
“I do wish we had a good man in charge,” replied his wife, with a great sigh. “It is very important that these boys should have a good, strong man over them. How much it means to a boy at Hughie's time of life! But so few are willing to come away into the backwoods here for so small a salary.”
Suddenly her husband laid down his pipe.
“I have it!” he exclaimed. “The very thing! Wouldn't this be the very thing for young Craven. You remember, the young man that Professor MacLauchlan was writing about.”
His wife shook her head very decidedly.