“And the finger of destiny points to us?” she smiled.
“Probably,” said I. “You’d hardly expect the Eckstroms to tackle the job!”
That night we began by consulting Bert. Bert is one of the best men I know, and he applies the latest methods to growing cauliflowers; but he’s a New England farmer, none the less, and he has the true “rural mind.”
“’Vocational education!’” he exclaimed. “We got more education than we kin afford now. Taxes are way up, an’ the school appropriation’s the biggest one we have–$19,000, to only $7,000 for the roads! And then you talk about more! We got along pretty well without it so far.”
“Have you, though?” said Stella. “You’ve got a high school, but how many boys have you got in it?”
“I dunno,” said Bert.
“That’s it. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about what your schools are doing. You must be on the school committee!”
Bert grinned at this. “No, I ain’t,” he said, “but I guess I’m ez good ez them that are. They do say Buckstone–you know, the man who runs the meat market–engages teachers on their looks.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Stella; “looks mean a lot to children.”
“Not the kind Buckie’s after, I reckon,” said Bert. “But you two go run your farm an’ don’t worry about this town. We’ll git along.”