That little allusion to her father, coming so suddenly, had almost made Tora break down in the midst of her abounding courage. The past came up in vivid pictures where scenes of sorrow were predominant. Her weak, ever-ailing little baby sister had floated quietly across the dark river. The stricken mother sank, and soon followed her child to the churchyard. The father's hand, that had first guided an editor's pen, and then in his long decline that of a mere copyist, grew weaker and weaker, and finally the last loving pressure was given to his daughter, and then that hand lay still and white. Its work on earth was done, and the brother and sister were left alone. Courageous and loving, they had both struggled on. Her end was attained, but he was at the beginning of the steady conflict before him. How would he bear himself in the battle? If she could only know whether his surroundings would be as pleasant and homelike as her own, and his heart as full of hope and quiet trust! Would he be borne safely through the privations and temptations of his university life? A prayer went silently up to the Father of all for that absent brother, and then the practical little sister was soon deep in the stir of bringing all things to order in her new home. Physical effort brought back the resolute cheerfulness so natural to the little schoolmistress, and she hummed to herself a simple song of long ago, to which she could always hear the buzzing accompaniment of that stranger who had proved to her a faithful, untiring benefactor and friend.
CHAPTER III.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
The winter had been unusually long. For nearly six months the ground had been continually white. Not that it had been clothed by an ever-smooth, fair mantle. The snow had been tossed and whirled by the wild winds till it was fitfully heaped, now in the meadows, and now banked up against the very hill-sides. But for the dark woods as landmarks, the face of the country would have seemed to be utterly changed. The ice-covered streams were hidden away out of sight, and the wide ponds appeared but as smooth pastures.
A path from the little-frequented road had been kept open to the schoolhouse. Week by week this narrow way to the seat of learning had been walled higher and higher, until at last the rustic scholars seemed passing through a stately white marble corridor as they filed along towards the well-known door.
The first days of April had come and gone without a flower-bud to greet them. The weather had suddenly grown soft and mild, and a drizzling rain had been falling all night.
Nils appeared early at school; but the tidy mistress had already cleared away all traces of her modest breakfast, and was ready to bid him welcome more as a visitor than a scholar. They had some pleasant chat together, and then the teacher said seriously, as she laid her hand on the boy's shoulder, "You must try as hard as you can, Nils, to do well, or I am afraid you will not 'go up' this year."
"I do try—I try as hard as I can!" he said. Tears suddenly filled his large eyes as he added, "I am not like other boys, and I know it."