CHAPTER IX
It was not long before a barn-like building of slatted shingles appearedin a clearing off the road, two or three miles below Steve's. It stoodon log foundations, as if on account of its importance, and had a doorat one end of its road-facing wall instead of in the middle, as ordinaryhouses had, and two windows with small square panes of glass stared outon the road.
Drovers and teamsters on the roads, as they passed, halted-up to listento the children singing, and went on their way with oaths of admiration,throats and eyes aching sometimes at the memories and vivid pictures thesound brought them.
Behind the school was the bark-thatched hut which had been run up forthe Schoolmaster to live in. Donald Cameron had given the plot of landfor the school and he had promised to sell the Schoolmaster a few acresbeside it, if he wanted to make use of his spare time to clear the land,put in a crop, or make a garden. Mr Farrel soon intimated that he did,and came to terms with Donald Cameron.
At first no more than a dozen children went to school. Some walked,others came tumbling into the clearing, two or three a-back of a stolid,jog-trotting, old horse, others arrived packed together in aspring-cart. At the back of the clearing was a fenced paddock into whichthe horses were turned during school hours.
They were a merry company of young warrigals, these children of thehills, when they poured out of the school doorway, played in theclearing at midday, munching their crusty lunches, or chased in thehorses, as a preliminary to scrambling on to them and racing each otherhelter-skelter down the bush tracks, spreading and straggling in everydirection to their homes.
The Schoolmaster governed them all with an easy familiarity. He had aneager, boyish way of talking when he explained a peculiarity ofspelling, or grammar, or a story from history--a light reckless humourthat made Mrs. Cameron, if she were sitting by the window, sewing, lookup uneasily, her serene face disturbed, her eyes mildly reproving. Butthe children laughed and loved the flippancies. They scratched andscraped the better for being on good terms with the Schoolmaster,although Mrs. Cameron was afraid that they had not a proper respect forhim and that he was not dignified enough with them.
She was not the only woman who sat on the seat by the window. SometimesMrs. Ross or Mrs. Morrison took a turn there and knitted or stitched asthey watched to see that the Schoolmaster's behaviour was all that mightbe expected. They knew nothing of Mr. Farrel's history or antecedents.As far as they were concerned he was a broken-down Irishman who had cometo make his fortune on the goldfields and lost any money he had. Thatwas his story; and that he wanted to live a quiet life for awhile, awayfrom the temptations and risks of the scramble for gold. His manner andair were decorous enough to make them believe it; and after the firstfew visits of inspection they were satisfied not to make any more. OnlyMary Cameron was concerned as to the nature of some of the seeds he wassowing in the minds of the young generation. She had heard himdescribing the state of Ireland under His Most Gracious Majesty GeorgeIII. to the older boys and girls, and on another occasion had heard himtelling them that the exports of Great Britain were cotton and woollengoods, coal and iron, and convicts to New South Wales and Van Diemen'sLand.
"Did you have good lessons to-day, Davey," she asked one evening whenher son was poring over his books.
"Not half as good as yesterday, when you were there, mother," he said.
"Why, how was that?" she asked.
"Oh, Mr. Farrel says more things to make us laugh when you're there," hesaid, going on with his writing, painstakingly. "He made me do sums allthis morning, and I'd never have got them right if Deirdre hadn't helpedme. He lets her sit next me, now."
When school was out, a day or two later, Mrs. Cameron rose from her seatby the window. She tied her bonnet strings.
The Schoolmaster hummed the tune the children had been singing beforethey clattered out for the day; it was an old English folk song that hehad taught them. As he put away his books and pencils, his eyes wanderedtowards Mrs. Cameron once or twice. Her back was to him; she was lookingout of the window.
He strode over to her. He knew she was displeased. His eyes had theguilty look of awaiting reproof, the glad light of the miscreant whoknows that he has done wrong but has enjoyed doing it. He had notadmitted to himself even that his reason for talking to make thechildren laugh and pointing a story from history with a radical orcynical moral, was that her anxiety about the instruction they weregetting might not be quite lulled. He did not want her to give up comingto the school and cease to occupy the seat by the window occasionally.
But there was something in her face this afternoon that he had not seenthere before.
"It was a pity to talk to the children the way you did to-day," she saidsimply.
"Facts, Mrs. Cameron!" he cried gaily. "The facts of life presented inan interesting form are far more important to boys and girls than aknowledge of--let us say--geography."
"It was geography, among other things, we asked you to teach them," shereplied.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am."
His pride was cut to the quick; he bowed, awkwardly.
"I shan't be coming to the school any more, Mr. Farrel," she said aftera few moments. There was an odd mixture of dignity and humility in herbearing.
"We're all grateful to you for what you have done in teaching thechildren. I knew from the first that you were to be trusted--that noharm would come of your schooling--and Davey has told me that it is onlywhen I am here that you talk as you have done to-day. You know I've beencoming for my own learning and not to see that you taught properly. Icame often because I wanted to learn, and keep up with Davey ... so thatI could help him by-and-by, perhaps."
There was an unmistakable break in her voice.
"It was not very kind ... to laugh at me."
She took the wild flowers from the jar of water on her table by thewindow, as she always did, and went to the door.
It had been very pleasant for her to sit on the bench under the window,hearing the children sing old country songs, and listening to theSchoolmaster telling them of other parts of the world, of rules ofspeech and calculation, of the nature of the earth, the heavens, thestars and the sea, of kingdoms, strange peoples, and their histories andoccupations. The sunlight had come through the open window; and abreeze, bearing the honey fragrance of the white-gum blossoms fleecingthe trees on the edge of the clearing, had fanned her face. She was sosorry to be giving up those days in the school-room that a mist of tearsstood in her eyes as she glanced about it. She had felt an innocent,almost childish pleasure in them, and in learning with the children.
"Mrs. Cameron--"
The Schoolmaster sprang after her. The trouble in his face surprisedher.
"Don't say that I--that I--that you think I could--"
He was not able to say "laugh at you." But she had gone.
He dropped into her chair by the window and threw his arms across thetable.
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