[CHAPTER III]
MR. AMES TELLS A STORY
The next day was Sunday. For a week the weather had been suggestive of early December rather than the first week in October, but to-day it had relented and there was a warmth and balminess in the air that would have coaxed a hermit out of his cell. There was nothing of the hermit about Hansel and so he required very little coaxing. There was church in the morning at Bevan Hills, and the boys who lived on the grounds—the “Schoolers,” as they were called—walked thither in two squads under the care of Mr. Ames and Mr. Foote. They were required to walk, if not exactly in procession, at least in an orderly manner on the way to church, but coming home, as there was a full hour between the close of service and the time for dinner, restrictions were largely removed, and the fellows loitered or made excursions afield about as they chose. Mr. Ames’s squad was always the larger of the two, since he was rather more popular than Mr. Foote, and allowed the boys greater liberty, at the same time maintaining, seemingly with little trouble, a far better discipline. As Harry Folsom explained to Hansel on the way back:
“You don’t mind doing what Bobby tells you to, somehow. But Foote—oh, I don’t know; you always feel like worrying him; and he’s not a half bad sort, either. Bobby, though, seems more like one of us fellows; I guess he understands what a fellow wants and—and all that, you know.”
The sun was pretty warm on the way back, and when they left the road to take the well-worn path across the green—a route which cut off a full quarter of a mile of the distance between village and school—some one proposed a halt for rest before they tackled the slope.
“That’s a good suggestion,” answered Mr. Ames, seating himself on the grass in the shade and fanning himself with his hat. “I wanted to make it myself, fellows, but I was afraid you’d think I was getting old and infirm.”
The fellows followed his example and threw themselves down on the grass out of the sunlight, all save one or two who roamed away into the little patch of forest across the dusty road to see how the chestnut crop was coming along. For a time the conversation, what little there was, was half-hearted and desultory. The explorers returned with an encouraging report, and proceeded to cool off. Presently, one of the older boys sat up and turned to the instructor.
“Tell us a story, Mr. Ames,” he said, and there was an immediate and unanimous indorsement of the request. Mr. Ames smiled and looked at his watch.