CHAPTER XI.

THE NEW TEACHER.

Persis had acted impulsively. Had she been too prompt in her decision? she asked herself that night, as she lay in her big four-posted bed. The mountains had already begun to show their influence upon her. She had always been a decided sort of person, who acted promptly, and without a dependence upon the opinions of others. She was too sore and hurt at first to consider whether her action would bring sorrow to any one, but she had told herself that no other course was possible. The right of it was a question which she allowed her own share in the matter alone to determine. For the present she could see only the fact that she had been led to believe what was not strictly true, and the truth, as she perceived it, made it impossible for her to live any longer in the old relation till she should have adjusted herself to present conditions. There returned to her a hundred incidents which her fancy imbued with a deeper meaning than she had recognized in them before. Every little possible indifference she magnified; each word of censure returned doubly charged with bitterness, and yet the longing for mother and home increased day by day.

Mr. Temple listened rather dubiously to his wife’s account of the stranger within their gates. “You don’t know anything about her, Martha,” he said. “I certainly don’t approve of taking in a stranger that way. Where did she come from? Who sent her here?”

“She came herself,” Mrs. Temple replied. And then she recounted what Persis had said.

“Humph!” Mr. Temple ejaculated. “She got around you that way, did she?”

“Oh, but Jim, any one can see that she is a lady, and I believe that nice-looking young man who stopped here with her that day is at the bottom of all her trouble,” Mrs. Temple said, emphatically. “Perhaps she’s had a falling out with him, or perhaps he’s some way mixed up with her business affairs. There are queer things like that always happening. Maybe she had to give up her fortune or marry him, and she’s taken this way so as not to be persecuted.”

“That’s just like a woman. She always scents a love affair,” returned Mr. Temple.

“Well, you’ll see.” Mrs. Temple maintained her belief.

“All right,” Mr. Temple rejoined. “The next time any of us goes over to the Bridge we’ll inquire if a Miss Maitland stopped there, and if anybody knows anything about her. Meanwhile, I suppose it won’t hurt for her to stop here till the teacher comes, anyhow; but I wash my hands of any mess you get into. If you find yourself getting into trouble, you’ll have to make your own way out of it. You always were too soft, Martha.” This last was said with a smile. Mr. Temple would not, for the world, have had his wife any less tender-hearted, and he himself was very much interested in the new arrival.

Mrs. Temple took advantage of the smile, and followed it up with, “Jim, won’t you see the trustees and find out about that Miss Collins? If she doesn’t come, it’ll be like a providence for Miss Maitland to be right on hand.”

“Humph! Yes, I’ll see, but I reckon it won’t do any good,” mentally determining that it should, and feeling rather important over being able to solve the difficulty of providing a substitute for the delinquent Miss Collins.

He came in with a beaming smile on Sunday evening and looked over knowingly at his wife. “Well, Martha,” he said, “Miss Collins ain’t coming, after all. Some of the trustees went up to Staunton to see about her, and the truth of the matter is, she’s been trying to get out of coming here, because she found she could get a school nearer home.”

“Why didn’t she say so?” exclaimed Mrs. Temple.

“Oh, she thought she’d play sick, and slip out of it that way. Made it easier, she thought.”

“Well, have they got another teacher?” Mrs. Temple asked, eagerly.

“No, not exactly. They said if Miss Maitland could give satisfactory references, and could show her certificate, and all that, they’d try her, if she wanted to apply.” He looked over to where Persis was sitting.

“But I can’t,” she made answer. “I cannot show any certificate or diploma. All I can do is to take an examination.” Persis looked distressed.

“Pshaw! that’s too bad,” returned Mr. Temple. But, seeing the look on her face, he added, “Maybe we can fix it up somehow. Suppose you go up to the village with me to-morrow and see the trustees. Perhaps if you talk it over you can make out to get the school.”

“Oh, you are very kind. I will go, gladly.”

“The only one you’re likely to have any trouble with is Dr. Rivers,” Mr. Temple informed her. “He’s a great stickler on education, and if you can contrive to convince him that you know a heap, he’ll give in. We are to meet at his house.”

“And Mr. Boone is the next fussiest,” Mrs. Temple told her. “If you can manage those two you are all right.”

Both these good friends looked the girl over critically as she appeared to take her drive with Mr. Temple the next day. She had given some care to her toilet. “I will try to look my best,” she said to herself; “then, perhaps, they will take it for granted that I am what I appear to be, even if I cannot carry my family tree under my arm.” Her gloves and shoes were faultless; her gown a well-fitting one of handsome material, but made simply; her hat matched it; and, surveying herself in the glass, Persis felt the first pleasurable excitement she had known since she left home. She was going, perhaps, to solve the difficulty of earning her bread.

“My! but you all look nice!” Mrs. Temple observed, approvingly; and Persis smiled, gratified by the hearty praise.

It was something of an ordeal, after all. These men, in their rough clothes, were gentlemen, however, men who read much, and whose old libraries, descending from father to son, showed that more than one generation had been inclined towards literary tastes. They represented the most important men of the neighborhood and of the village, and were authorities upon all momentous questions concerning the dwellers therein.

Dr. Rivers seemed to be specially formidable. He questioned and cross-questioned, and at last launched out into a hot argument on some point to the modern acceptation of which Persis held. The doctor waxed more and more ferocious, and as the two kept up a brisk passage-at-arms, the remaining three trustees lapsed into silence and listened with attention. At last Persis made a specially good point. She was thoroughly at home with her subject, and her college training stood her in good stead, even though she could show no diploma. She was not to be won over to the doctor’s way of thinking, and was so spirited in her defence that the listeners smiled more than once.

At last the young applicant was surprised to see the doctor throw himself back in his chair and laugh heartily. “Well, Miss Maitland,” he said, “I haven’t enjoyed such a tilt since I can’t tell you when. I don’t know but that you have the best of me. What do you think, gentlemen?”

“That Miss Maitland has proved herself no mean opponent,” said Mr. Boone. “She certainly gave a Roland for your Oliver, doctor. I should like, if you have no objection, to ask Miss Maitland to show her qualifications in mathematics.”

“A written examination, do you propose?”

“Do you agree, Miss Maitland?”

“Readily. I am quite at your service.”

The four men put their heads together, and from the doctor’s book-shelves selected one or two old books, from which problems were chosen for Persis to solve. Here, too, she acquitted herself well, and the trustees withdrew to the porch for a conference, while Persis was left to await her fate.

Dr. Rivers was spokesman on their return to the office where the interview had taken place. “In view of the lateness of the season, Miss Maitland,” he said, “we are willing to waive the question of any other reference than that which Mr. Temple personally offers. He declares himself entirely willing to stand responsible for you.”

Persis looked up at Mr. Temple with a gratified smile. He had not told her that he would do this, and she had not expected it. He looked slightly embarrassed, but bowed gravely to Dr. Rivers as he made this announcement.

“And we think it but fair,” the doctor continued, “to add that the examination to which you have been subjected was not an ordinary one, but of a much higher standard than that usually required. You have our hearty congratulations for having passed it successfully. All that remains is the question of discipline; we hope you will be able to maintain good order. The children you are to teach, with one or two exceptions, are not of the better class, and what we really need is a teacher who has tact rather than a profound knowledge of the classics.”

“I think I can manage them,” replied Persis. “I will do my best.”

“I believe that,” returned the doctor, kindly. “Now, my dear young lady, we feel ourselves responsible for you to the community, and at the same time you are under our protection. I trust in any difficulty that you will feel yourself free to consult any one of us. Personally I can say that I shall be happy at any time to place myself at your service.”

“Professionally?” put in Mr. Boone, facetiously.

The doctor waived aside such an imputation. “Far from it. Marshall, my dear sir, Miss Maitland, I trust, understands.”

“Oh, I do, and I thank you very much, and all of you.” And Persis turned, making a pretty little gesture, which included the five men.

“And I shall also be delighted,” the doctor continued, with a twinkle in his eye, “at any time to discuss such questions as we have had under consideration this morning.”

Persis laughed. The old man was really delightful, and she promised him that she would take advantage of any such opportunity afforded her.

“You will be ready to begin to-morrow?” was the final question, which was answered in the affirmative, and the newly appointed teacher went off, feeling very well satisfied with her success.

She had, indeed, done a better morning’s work than she realized; for as an entire stranger, dropped suddenly in their midst, surrounded by mystery, she had been approached with caution and reserve; but her lack of self-consciousness, her gentle dignity, and evident sincerity won her the recognition she deserved.

Mr. Temple was scarcely less pleased. “Well, you couldn’t have done better if you’d known them for years, and had studied the doctor’s blind side,” he told her. “Dr. Rivers is right strong in his prejudices, but if he is once convinced he is like flint. You’ve got about the best backer you could find in this neighborhood. He prides himself upon being able to read character, and I’ll warrant you’ll find you’ve won a pretty favorable opinion. I never saw him more gracious.”

“I am so glad,” rejoined Persis; “and, oh, Mr. Temple, I want to thank you for standing by me. It is so very, very kind, so good of you to believe so entirely in an absolute stranger, and to answer for me. I can never forget it.”

The truth was that the chivalric spirit of these Virginia gentlemen had been deeply stirred; that she was worthy was almost of less account than that she was a woman, young, unprotected, and trustful, who had appeared suddenly among them desiring to win her way honestly. Not one of these men who did not immediately place his own daughter in such a position; and not only were their hospitable instincts aroused, but those which should belong to the disinterested chivalry which asks no questions beyond that which is answered by “a maiden in distress.”

And therefore the following morning Persis started out to take up these new duties. In one week what changes! and what wind of good fortune it was that blew her this way!

She approached the weather-beaten little old school-house with varied emotions, the past and the future curiously mingled,—curiosity, a little dread, a deal of confident belief in her being able to fulfil the calling of a successful school-mistress, and, lastly, that strange tumult at heart, born of the fact that here she and Basil had stood on that day which she could now never forget. On the porch, over whose floors the feet of shy little urchins were now treading, she had spent an hour with Basil—with Basil; and if she had permitted it——No. She gave her head a little shake, and smiled down at the small Mattie who was to be her companion to and from school.

The little country children stared hard at the new teacher, at her neat, pretty frock, at the golden-rod in her belt, and the day went fairly well.

“Blessed be work!” Persis said to herself, as, tired, but more glad of spirit than she had hoped to be, she took her way home.

She threw herself heart and soul into her labors. Persis never did anything by halves. It was all or nothing. Renunciation could not be made in part any more than could acceptance of a duty be made in a faint-spirited way. Connie spoke truly when she said that whatever Persis did she did well.

At first the excitement and newness of the position prevented monotony, but as the weeks wore on and the cold weather approached, there were many nights when the weary teacher went heart-sick and homesick to bed. The little elegancies and luxuries of life were missing here, and although kindness prevailed, nothing could make up for mother-love and the comradeship of life-long friends. The only link which existed between herself and the old home was the newspaper which came regularly, and to which Persis had subscribed. “I can keep up with them in that way,” she told herself, “and if anything dreadful happens, I shall know it, and then——” What she might do in such an event she did not dare to ask. The sharp, sharp pain was giving way to a dull ache, and the quiet of the mountains was beginning to pervade her spirit. The children at school were commencing to show timid expressions of affection towards their new teacher. Autumn flowers and bright leaves were laid upon her desk, rosy apples and little hoards of nuts were awkwardly offered, and one day a little bit of a tot, who was deeply in love with his teacher, appeared hugging a wee tortoise-shell kitten.

“We’ve got three more at home,” he piped up, as he came running in, “and mother said I might give you this one.” He had lugged the small creature all the way from where he lived, a distance of three or four miles.

Persis snuggled her face against kitty’s little furry coat, and was as pleased as a child at the gift. She knew Mrs. Temple was too kindly disposed to all creatures to object to another member being brought into her household, for tame chickens, ducks, and turkeys were wont to wander into her kitchen, and cats galore roamed at will about the premises.

The kitten behaved very discreetly during school hours, and was given a sumptuous luncheon. Persis carried it home in her arms. Something of her very own to love. She inwardly thanked the small scholar over and over again, for the little kitten became a great comfort, watched for her return from school each day, and lay in her lap, or on her writing-table, at night.

Poor Persis had few letters to write these days, for she had resolved to correspond with no one for the present, and but for magazines, with which she provided herself, would have had many dreary evenings.

The mountains in autumn. She had told Basil that she would like to see them at all seasons. And what a constant source of pleasure they were, gorgeous in their coloring on clear days, or wrapped in the soft purple haze which the season brought!

“You all seem like you had been raised in the mountains, you’re that fond of them,” Mrs. Temple said to her one Sunday as they were on their way home from church.

“I am fond of them,” Persis replied. “I love them dearly. There is something so peaceful about their silent, immovable peaks, and yet they are never surrounded by just the same conditions. They do not change themselves, yet they appear to. I think help does come from them,” she added, half to herself.

“I’ve often thought that,” was the unexpected response. This plain, motherly, domestic Mrs. Temple was wonderfully sympathetic. Her intuitions were very quick, and more often than Persis knew she felt a responsiveness to the girl’s remarks.

Little Mattie adored “Miss Anne,” but the village girls looked upon her with a reserved admiration. They didn’t understand her, and that she held aloof from social gatherings was attributed to her being either “stuck up,” or, as some maliciously averred, she was “probably afraid to associate with people who might find her out,” for she gave no confidences. Golden silence had, at last, come to form a large part of Persis’s code.

[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]