Glengarry School Days: A Story of Early Days in Glengarry

by Ralph Connor

  CHAPTER III

  THE EXAMINATION

  The two years of Archibald Munro's regime were the golden age of theschool, and for a whole generation "The Section" regarded that period asthe standard for comparison in the following years. Munro had a geniusfor making his pupils work. They threw themselves with enthusiasm intoall they undertook--studies, debate nights, games, and in everything themaster was the source of inspiration.

  And now his last examination day had come, and the whole Sectionwas stirred with enthusiasm for their master, and with grief at hisdeparture.

  The day before examination was spent in "cleaning the school." Thissemi-annual event, which always preceded the examination, was almost asenjoyable as the examination day itself, if indeed it was not moreso. The school met in the morning for a final polish for the morrow'srecitations. Then after a speech by the master the little ones weredismissed and allowed to go home though they never by any chance tookadvantage of this permission. Then the master and the bigger boys andgirls set to work to prepare the school for the great day. The boys weretold off in sections, some to get dry cedar boughs from the swamp forthe big fire outside, over which the iron sugar-kettle was swung to heatthe scrubbing water; others off into the woods for balsam-trees for theevergreen decorations; others to draw water and wait upon the scrubbers.

  It was a day of delightful excitement, but this year there was below theexcitement a deep, warm feeling of love and sadness, as both teacherand pupils thought of to-morrow. There was an additional thrill to theexcitement, that the master was to be presented with a gold watch andchain, and that this had been kept a dead secret from him.

  What a day it was! With wild whoops the boys went off for the dry cedarand the evergreens, while the girls, looking very housewifely withskirts tucked back and sleeves rolled up, began to sweep and otherwiseprepare the room for scrubbing.

  The gathering of the evergreens was a delightful labor. High up in thebalsam-trees the more daring boys would climb, and then, holding bythe swaying top, would swing themselves far out from the trunk and comecrashing through the limbs into the deep, soft snow, bringing half thetree with them. What larks they had! What chasing of rabbits along theirbeaten runways! What fierce and happy snow fights! And then, the triumphof their return, laden with their evergreen trophies, to find the bigfire blazing under the great iron kettle and the water boiling, and thegirls well on with the scrubbing.

  Then, while the girls scrubbed first the benches and desks, and last ofall, the floors, the boys washed the windows and put up the evergreendecorations. Every corner had its pillar of green, every window had itsframe of green, the old blackboard, the occasion of many a heartache tothe unmathematical, was wreathed into loveliness; the maps, with theirbewildering boundaries, rivers and mountains, capes, bays and islands,became for once worlds of beauty under the magic touch of the greenery.On the wall just over his desk, the master wrought out in evergreen anarching "WELCOME," but later on, the big girls, with some shy blushing,boldly tacked up underneath an answering "FAREWELL." By the time theshort afternoon had faded into the early evening, the school stood,to the eyes of all familiar with the common sordidness of its everydaydress, a picture of artistic loveliness. And after the master's littlespeech of thanks for their good work that afternoon, and for all theirgoodness to him, the boys and girls went their ways with that strangelyunnameable heart-emptiness that brings an ache to the throat, butsomehow makes happier for the ache.

  The examination day was the great school event of the year. It was thesocial function of the Section as well. Toward this event all the schoollife moved, and its approach was attended by a deepening excitement,shared by children and parents alike, which made a kind of holidayfeeling in the air.

  The school opened an hour later than ordinarily, and the children cameall in their Sunday clothes, the boys feeling stiff and uncomfortable,and regarding each other with looks half shy and half contemptuous,realizing that they were unnatural in each other's sight; the girlswith hair in marvelous frizzes and shiny ringlets, with new ribbons, andwhite aprons over their home-made winsey dresses, carried their unwontedgrandeur with an ease and delight that made the boys secretly envy butapparently despise them. The one unpardonable crime with all the boysin that country was that of being "proud." The boy convicted of "showeenoff," was utterly contemned by his fellows. Hence, any delight in newclothes or in a finer appearance than usual was carefully avoided.

  Ranald always hated new clothes. He felt them an intolerable burden. Hedid not mind his new homespun, home-made flannel check shirt of mixedred and white, but the heavy fulled-cloth suit made by his Aunt Kirstyfelt like a suit of mail. He moved heavily in it and felt queer, andknew that he looked as he felt. The result was that he was in no genialmood, and was on the alert for any indication of levity at his expense.

  Hughie, on the contrary, like the girls, delighted in new clothes.His new black suit, made down from one of his father's, with infiniteplanning and pains by his mother, and finished only at twelve o'clockthe night before, gave him unmixed pleasure. And handsome he looked init. All the little girls proclaimed that in their shy, admiring glances,while the big girls teased and petted and threatened to kiss him. Ofcourse the boys all scorned him and his finery, and tried to "take himdown," but Hughie was so unfeignedly pleased with himself, and moved soeasily and naturally in his grand attire, and was so cheery and frankand happy, that no one thought of calling him "proud."

  Soon after ten the sleighloads began to arrive. It was a mild winterday, when the snow packed well, and there fluttered down through thestill air a few lazy flakes, large, soft, and feathery, like bits of theclouds floating white against the blue sky. The sleighs were driven upto the door with a great flourish and jingle of bells, and while themaster welcomed the ladies, the fathers and big brothers drove thehorses to the shelter of the thick-standing pines, and unhitching them,tied them to the sleigh-boxes, where, blanketed and fed, they remainedfor the day.

  Within an hour the little school-house was packed, the children crowdedtight into the long desks, and the visitors on the benches along thewalls and in the seats of the big boys and girls. On the platform weresuch of the trustees as could muster up the necessary courage--old PeterMacRae, who had been a dominie in the Old Country, the young ministerand his wife, and the schoolteacher from the "Sixteenth."

  First came the wee tots, who, in wide-eyed, serious innocence, wentthrough their letters and their "ox" and "cat" combinations andpermutations with great gusto and distinction. Then they were dismissedto their seats by a series of mental arithmetic questions, sumsof varying difficulty being propounded, until little white-haired,blue-eyed Johnnie Aird, with the single big curl on the top of his head,was left alone.

  "One and one, Johnnie?" said the master, smiling down at the rosy face.

  "Three," promptly replied Johnnie, and retired to his seat amid thedelighted applause of visitors and pupils, and followed by the proud,fond, albeit almost tearful, gaze of his mother. He was her baby, bornlong after her other babies had grown up into sturdy youth, and all thedearer for that.

  Then up through the Readers, till the Fifth was reached, the examinationprogressed, each class being handed over to the charge of a visitor, whoforthwith went upon examination as truly as did the class.

  "Fifth class!" In due order the class marched up to the chalk line onthe floor in front of the master's desk, and stood waiting.

  The reading lesson was Fitz-Greene Halleck's "Marco Bozzaris," aselection of considerable dramatic power, and calling for a somewhatspirited rendering. The master would not have chosen this lesson, but hehad laid down the rule that there was to be no special drilling of thepupils for an exhibition, but that the school should be seen doing itsevery-day work; and in the reading, the lessons for the previous daywere to be those of the examination day. By an evil fortune, the readingfor the day was the dramatic "Marco Bozzaris." The master shiveredinwardly as he thought of the possibility of Thomas Finch, with hisstolidly mono
tonous voice, being called upon to read the thrilling linesrecording the panic-stricken death-cry of the Turk: "To arms! They come!The Greek! The Greek!" But Thomas, by careful plodding, had climbed tofourth place, and the danger lay in the third verse.

  "Will you take this class, Mr. MacRae?" said the master, handing him thebook. He knew that the dominie was not interested in the art of readingbeyond the point of correct pronunciation, and hence he hoped the classmight get off easily. The dominie took the book reluctantly. What hedesired was the "arith-MET-ic" class, and did not care to be "put off"with mere reading.

  "Well, Ranald, let us hear you," he rather growled. Ranald went at hiswork with quiet confidence; he knew all the words.

  "Page 187, Marco Bozzaris.

  "At midnight in his guarded tent, The Turk lay dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power."

  And so on steadily to the end of his verse.

  "Next!"

  The next was "Betsy Dan," the daughter of Dan Campbell, of "The Island."Now, Betsy Dan was very red in hair and face, very shy and very nervous,and always on the point of giggles. It was a trial to her to read onordinary days, but to-day it was almost more than she could bear. Tomake matters worse, sitting immediately behind her, and sheltered fromthe eye of the master, sat Jimmie Cameron, Don's youngest brother.Jimmie was always on the alert for mischief, and ever ready to go offinto fits of laughter, which he managed to check only by grabbing tighthold of his nose. Just now he was busy pulling at the strings of BetsyDan's apron with one hand, while with the other he was hanging onto hisnose, and swaying in paroxysms of laughter.

  Very red in the face, Betsy Dan began her verse.

  "At midnight in the forest shades, Bozzaris--"

  Pause, while Betsy Dan clutched behind her.

  "--Bozzaris ranged--"

  ("Tchik! tchik!") a snicker from Jimmie in the rear.

  "--his Suliote band, True as the steel of--"

  ("im-im,") Betsy Dan struggles with her giggles.

  "Elizabeth!" The master's voice is stern and sharp.

  Betsy Dan bridles up, while Jimmie is momentarily sobered by themaster's tone.

  "True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persians thousands stood--"

  ("Tchik! tchik! tchik,") a long snicker from Jimmie, whose nose cannotbe kept quite in control. It is becoming too much for poor Betsy Dan,whose lips begin to twitch.

  "There--"

  ("im-im, thit-tit-tit,") Betsy Dan is making mighty efforts to hold inher giggles.

  "--had the glad earth (tchik!) drunk their blood, On old Pl-a-a-t-t-e-a-'s day."

  Whack! whack!

  "Elizabeth Campbell!" The master's tone was quite terrible.

  "I don't care! He won't leave me alone. He's just--just (sob)pu--pulling at me (sob) all the time."

  By this time Betsy's apron was up to her eyes, and her sobs were quitetempestuous.

  "James, stand up!" Jimmie slowly rose, red with laughter, and coveredwith confusion.

  "I-I-I di-dn't touch her!" he protested.

  "O--h!" said little Aleck Sinclair, who had been enjoying Jimmie's prankhugely; "he was--"

  "That'll do, Aleck, I didn't ask you. James is quite able to tell mehimself. Now, James!"

  "I-I-I was only just doing that," said Jimmie, sober enough now, andterrified at the results of his mischief.

  "Doing what?" said the master, repressing a smile at Jimmie's woebegoneface.

  "Just-just that!" and Jimmie touched gingerly with the point of hisfinger the bows of Betsy Dan's apron-strings.

  "Oh, I see. You were annoying Elizabeth while she was reading. No wondershe found it difficult. Now, do you think that was very nice?"

  Jimmie twisted himself into a semicircle.

  "N-o-o."

  "Come here, James!" Jimmie looked frightened, came round the class, andup to the master.

  "Now, then," continued the master, facing Jimmie round in front of BetsyDan, who was still using her apron upon her eyes, "tell Elizabeth youare sorry."

  Jimmie stood in an agony of silent awkwardness, curving himself invarying directions.

  "Are you sorry?"

  "Y-e-e-s."

  "Well, tell her so."

  Jimmie drew a long breath and braced himself for the ordeal. He stood amoment or two, working his eyes up shyly from Betsy Dan's shoes toher face, caught her glancing at him from behind her apron, and began,"I-I-I'm (tchik! tchik) sor-ry," (tchik). Betsy Dan's look was too muchfor the little chap's gravity.

  A roar swept over the school-house. Even the grim dominie's facerelaxed.

  "Go to your seat and behave yourself," said the master, giving Jimmie aslight cuff. "Now, Margaret, let us go on."

  Margaret's was the difficult verse. But to Margaret's quiet voice andgentle heart, anything like shriek or battle-cry was foreign enough, sowith even tone, and unmodulated by any shade of passion, she read thecry, "To arms! They come! The Greek! The Greek!" Nor was her voice tobe moved from its gentle, monotonous flow even by the battle-cry ofBozzaris, "Strike! till the last armed foe expires!"

  "Next," said the dominie, glad to get on with his task.

  The master breathed freely, when, alas for his hopes, the minister spokeup.

  "But, Margaret, do you think Bozzaris cheered his men in so gentle avoice as that?"

  Margaret smiled sweetly, but remained silent, glad to get over theverse.

  "Wouldn't you like to try it again?" suggested the minister.

  Margaret flushed up at once.

  "Oh, no," said his wife, who had noticed Margaret's flushing face."Girls are not supposed to be soldiers, are they, Margaret?"

  Margaret flashed a grateful look at her.

  "That's a boy's verse."

  "Ay! that it is," said the old dominie; "and I would wish very much thatMrs. Murray would conduct this class."

  But the minister's wife would not hear of it, protesting that thedominie could do it much better. The old man, however, insisted, sayingthat he had no great liking for this part of the examination, andwould wish to reserve himself, with the master's permission, for the"arith-MET-ic" class.

  Mrs. Murray, seeing that it would please the dominie, took the book,with a spot of color coming in her delicate, high-bred face.

  "You must all do your best now, to help me," she said, with a smile thatbrought an answering smile flashing along the line. Even Thomas Finchallowed his stolid face a gleam of intelligent sympathy, which, however,he immediately suppressed, for he remembered that the next turn washis, and that he must be getting himself into the appearance of doggeddesperation which he considered suitable to a reading exercise.

  "Now, Thomas," said the minister's wife, sweetly, and Thomas plungedheavily.

  "They fought like brave men, long--"

  "Oh, Thomas, I think we will try that man's verse again, with the criesof battle in it, you know. I am sure you can do that well."

  It was all the same to Thomas. There were no words he could not spell,and he saw no reason why he should not do that verse as well asany other. So, with an extra knitting of his eyebrows, he set forthdoggedly.

  "An-hour-passed-on-the-Turk-awoke-that-bright-dream-was-his-last."

  Thomas's voice fell with the unvarying regularity of the beat of atrip-hammer.

  "He-woke-to-hear-his-sentries-shriek-to-arms-they-come-the-Greekthe-Greek-he-woke--"

  "But, Thomas, wait a minute. You see you must speak these words, 'Toarms! They come!' differently from the others. These words were shriekedby the sentries, and you must show that in your reading."

  "Speak them out, man," said the minister, sharply, and a littlenervously, fearing that his wife had undertaken too great a task, andhating to see her defeated.

  "Now, Thomas," said Mrs. Murray, "try again. And remember the sentriesshrieked these words, 'To arms!' and so on."

  Thomas squared his shoulders, spread his feet apart, added a wrinkleto his frown, and a deeper
note of desperation to his tone, and beganagain.

  "An-hour-passed-on-the-Turk-awoke-that-bright-dream-was--"

  The master shuddered.

  "Now, Thomas, excuse me. That's better, but we can improve that yet."Mrs. Murray was not to be beaten. The attention of the whole school,even to Jimmie Cameron, as well as that of the visitors, was nowconcentrated upon the event.

  "See," she went on, "each phrase by itself. 'An hour passed on: the Turkawoke.' Now, try that far."

  Again Thomas tried, this time with complete success. The visitorsapplauded.

  "Ah, that's it, Thomas. I was sure you could do it."

  Thomas relaxed a little, but not unduly. He was not sure what was yetbefore him.

  "Now we will get that 'sentries shriek.' See, Thomas, like this alittle," and she read the words with fine expression.

  "You must put more pith, more force, into those words, Thomas. Speakout, man!" interjected the minister, who was wishing it was all over.

  "Now, Thomas, I think this will be the last time. You have done verywell, but I feel sure you can do better."

  The minister's wife looked at Thomas as she said this, with sofascinating a smile that the frown on Thomas' face deepened into ahideous scowl, and he planted himself with a do-or-die expression inevery angle of his solid frame. Realizing the extreme necessity of themoment, he pitched his voice several tones higher than ever before inhis life inside a house and before people, and made his final attempt.

  "An-hour-passed-on: the-Turk-awoke: That-bright-dream-WAS-his-last."

  And now, feeling that the crisis was upon him, and confusing speedwith intensity, and sound with passion, he rushed his words, withever-increasing speed, into a wild yell.

  "He-woke-to-hear-his-sentries-shriek-to-arms-theycome-the-Greek-THE-GREEK!"

  There was a moment of startled stillness, then, "tchik! tchik!" It wasJimmie again, holding his nose and swaying in a vain effort to control aparoxysm of snickers at Thomas' unusual outburst.

  It was like a match to powder. Again the whole school burst into aroar of uncontrollable laughter. Even the minister, the master, and thedominie, could not resist. The only faces unmoved were those of ThomasFinch and the minister's wife. He had tried his best, and it was toplease her, and she knew it.

  A swift, shamed glance round, and his eyes rested on her face. Thatface was sweet and grave as she leaned toward him, and said, "Thank you,Thomas. That was well done." And Thomas, still looking at her, flushedto his hair roots and down the back of his neck, while the scowl on hisforehead faded into a frown, and then into smoothness.

  "And if you always try your best like that, Thomas, you will be a greatand good man some day."

  Her voice was low and soft, as if intended for him alone, but in thesudden silence that followed the laughter it thrilled to every heart inthe room, and Thomas was surprised to find himself trying to swallow alump in his throat, and to keep his eyes from blinking; and in his face,stolid and heavy, a new expression was struggling for utterance. "Here,take me," it said; "all that I have is thine," and later days broughtthe opportunity to prove it.

  The rest of the reading lesson passed without incident. Indeed, therepervaded the whole school that feeling of reaction which always succeedsan emotional climax. The master decided to omit the geography andgrammar classes, which should have immediately followed, and have dinnerat once, and so allow both children and visitors time to recover tonefor the spelling and arithmetic of the afternoon.

  The dinner was an elaborate and appalling variety of pies and cakes,served by the big girls and their sisters, who had recently leftschool, and who consequently bore themselves with all proper dignity andimportance. Two of the boys passed round a pail of water and a tin cup,that all the thirsty might drink. From hand to hand, and from lip tolip the cup passed, with a fine contempt of microbes. The only pointof etiquette insisted upon was that no "leavings" should be allowed toremain in the cup or thrown back into the pail, but should be carefullyflung upon the floor.

  There had been examination feasts in pre-historic days in the Twentiethschool, when the boys indulged in free fights at long range, using asmissiles remnants of pie crust and cake, whose consistency rendered themdeadly enough to "bloody" a nose or black an eye. But these barbaricencounters ceased with Archie Munro's advent, and now the boys vied witheach other in "minding their manners." Not only was there no snatchingof food or exhibition of greediness, but there was a severe repressionof any apparent eagerness for the tempting dainties, lest it should besuspected that such were unusual at home. Even the little boys felt thatit would be bad manners to take a second piece of cake or pie unlessspecially pressed; but their eager, bulging eyes revealed only tooplainly their heart's desire, and the kindly waiters knew their dutysufficiently to urge a second, third, and fourth supply of the toothsomecurrant or berry pie, the solid fruit cake, or the oily doughnut, tillthe point was reached where desire failed.

  "Have some more, Jimmie. Have a doughnut," said the master, who had beenadmiring Jimmie's gastronomic achievements.

  "He's had ten a'ready," shouted little Aleck Sinclair, Jimmie's specialconfidant.

  Jimmie smiled in conscious pride, but remained silent.

  "What! eaten ten doughnuts?" asked the master, feigning alarm.

  "He's got four in his pocket, too," said Aleck, in triumph.

  "He's got a pie in his own pocket," retorted Jimmie, driven toretaliate.

  "A pie!" exclaimed the master. "Better take it out. A pocket's not thebest place for a pie. Why don't you eat it, Aleck?"

  "I can't," lamented Aleck. "I'm full up."

  "He said he's nearly busted," said Jimmie, anxiously. "He's got apain here," pointing to his left eye. The bigger boys and some of thevisitors who had gathered round shouted with laughter.

  "Oh, pshaw, Aleck!" said the master, encouragingly, "that's all right.As long as the pain is as high up as your eye you'll recover. I tell youwhat, put your pie down on the desk here, Jimmie will take care of it,and run down to the gate and tell Don I want him."

  Aleck, with great care and considerable difficulty, extracted from hispocket a segment of black currant pie, hopelessly battered, but stillintact. He regarded it fondly for a moment or two, and then, with a verydubious look at Jimmie, ran away on his errand for the master.

  It took him some little time to find Don, and meanwhile the master'sattention was drawn away by his duty to the visitors. The pie left toJimmie's care had an unfortunately tempting fringe of loose pieces aboutit that marred its symmetry. Jimmie proceeded to trim it into shape. Soabsorbed did he become in this trimming process, that before he realizedwhat he was about, he woke suddenly to the startling fact that the piehad shrunk into a comparatively insignificant size. It would be worsethan useless to save the mutilated remains for Aleck; there was nothingfor it now but to get the reproachful remnant out of the way. He wasso busily occupied with this praiseworthy proceeding that he failed tonotice Aleck enter the room, flushed with his race, eager and once moreempty.

  Arriving at his seat, he came upon Jimmie engaged in devouring the pieleft in his charge. With a cry of dismay and rage he flung himself uponthe little gourmand, and after a short struggle, secured the preciouspie; but alas, bereft of its most delicious part--it was picked cleanof its currants. For a moment he gazed, grief-stricken, at the leathery,viscous remnant in his hand. Then, with a wrathful exclamation, "Here,then, you can just take it then, you big pig, you!" He seized Jimmie bythe neck, and jammed the sticky pie crust on his face, where it stucklike an adhesive plaster. Jimmie, taken by surprise, and renderednerveless by the pangs of an accusing conscience, made no resistance,but set up a howl that attracted the attention of the master and thewhole company.

  "Why, Jimmie!" exclaimed the master, removing the doughy mixture fromthe little lad's face, "what on earth are you trying to do? What iswrong, Aleck?"

  "He ate my pie," said Aleck, defiantly.

  "Ate it? Well, apparently not. But never mind, Aleck, we shall ge
t youanother pie."

  "There isn't any more," said Aleck, mournfully; "that was the lastpiece."

  "Oh, well, we shall find something else just as good," said the master,going off after one of the big girls; and returning with a doughnutand a peculiarly deadly looking piece of fruit cake, he succeeded incomforting the disappointed and still indignant Aleck.

  The afternoon was given to the more serious part of the schoolwork--writing, arithmetic, and spelling, while, for those whoseambitions extended beyond the limits of the public school, the masterhad begun a Euclid class, which was at once his despair and hispride. In the Twentieth school of that date there was no waste of thechildren's time in foolish and fantastic branches of study, in showyexercises and accomplishments, whose display was at once ruinous tothe nerves of the visitors, and to the self-respect and modesty ofthe children. The ideal of the school was to fit the children for thestruggle into which their lives would thrust them, so that the boy whocould spell and read and cipher was supposed to be ready for his lifework. Those whose ambition led them into the subtleties of Euclid'sproblems and theorems were supposed to be in preparation for somewhathigher spheres of life.

  Through the various classes of arithmetic the examination proceeded, thelittle ones struggling with great seriousness through their additionand subtraction sums, and being wrought up to the highest pitch ofexcitement by their contest for the first place. By the time the fifthclass was reached, the air was heavy with the feeling of battle. Indeed,it was amazing to note how the master had succeeded in arousing in thewhole school an intense spirit of emulation. From little Johnnie Aird upto Thomas Finch, the pupils carried the hearts of soldiers.

  Through fractions, the "Rule of Three," percentages, and stocks, thesenior class swept with a trail of glory. In vain old Peter MacRaestrewed their path with his favorite posers. The brilliant achievementsof the class seemed to sink him deeper and deeper into the gloom ofdiscontent, while the master, the minister and his wife, as well asthe visitors, could not conceal their delight. As a last resort the olddominie sought to stem their victorious career with his famous problemin Practice, and to his huge enjoyment, one after another of the classhad to acknowledge defeat. The truth was, the master had passed lightlyover this rule in the arithmetic, considering the solution of problemsby the method of Practice as a little antiquated, and hardly worthy ofmuch study. The failure of the class, however, brought the dominie hishour of triumph, and so complete had been the success of the examinationthat the master was abundantly willing that he should enjoy it.

  Then followed the judging of the copy-books. The best and cleanest bookin each class was given the proud distinction of a testimonial writtenupon the first blank page, with the date of the examination and thesignatures of the examiners attached. It was afterwards borne home intriumph by the happy owner, to be stored among the family archives,and perhaps among the sacred things that mothers keep in their holy ofholies.

  After the copy-books had been duly appraised, there followed an hourin which the excitement of the day reached its highest mark. The wholeschool, with such of the visitors as could be persuaded to join, wereranged in opposing ranks in the deadly conflict of a spelling-match. Themaster, the teacher from the Sixteenth, and even the minister's wife,yielded to the tremendous pressure of public demand that they shouldenter the fray. The contest had a most dramatic finish, and it was feltthat the extreme possibility of enthusiasm and excitement was reachedwhen the minister's wife spelled down the teacher from the Sixteenth,who every one knew, was the champion speller of all the country that laytoward the Front, and had a special private armory of deadly missileslaid up against just such a conflict as this. The tumultuous triumphof the children was not to be controlled. Again and again they followedHughie in wild yells, not only because his mother was a great favoritewith them all, but because she had wrested a victory from the championof the Front, for the Front, in all matters pertaining to culture andfashion, thought itself quite superior to the more backwoods country ofthe Twentieth.

  It was with no small difficulty that the master brought the school tosuch a degree of order that the closing speeches could be received withbecoming respect and attention. The trustees, according to custom, wereinvited to express their opinion upon the examination, and upon schoolmatters generally. The chairman, John Cameron, "Long John," as he wascalled, broke the ice after much persuasion, and slowly rising fromthe desk into which he had compressed his long, lank form, he made hisspeech. Long John was a great admirer of the master, but for all that,and perhaps because of that, he allowed himself no warmer words ofcommendation than that he was well pleased with the way in whichthe children had conducted themselves. "They have done credit tothemselves," he said, "and to their teacher. And indeed I am sorry he isleaving us, for, so far, I have heard no complaints in the Section."

  The other trustees followed in the path thus blazed out for them by LongJohn. They were all well pleased with the examination, and they wereall sorry to lose the master, and they had heard no complaints. Itwas perfectly understood that no words of praise could add to the hightestimony that they "had heard no complaints."

  The dominie's speech was a little more elaborate. Somewhat reluctantlyhe acknowledged that the school had acquitted itself with "veryconsiderable credit," especially the "arith-MET-ic" class, and indeed,considering all the circumstances, Mr. Munro was to be congratulatedupon the results of his work in the Section. But the minister's warmexpression of delight at the day's proceedings, and of regret at thedeparture of the master, more than atoned for the trustees' cautioustestimony, and the dominie's somewhat grudging praise.

  Then came the moment of the day. A great stillness fell upon the schoolas the master rose to make his farewell speech. But before he couldsay a word, up from their seats walked Betsy Dan and Thomas Finch,and ranged themselves before him. The whole assemblage tingled withsuppressed excitement. The great secret with which they had beenburdening themselves for the past few weeks was now to be out. SlowlyThomas extracted the manuscript from his trousers pocket, and smoothedout its many folds, while Betsy Dan waited nervously in the rear.

  "Oh, why did they set Thomas to this?" whispered the minister's wife,who had a profound sense of humor. The truth was, the choice of theschool had fallen upon Ranald and Margaret Aird. Margaret was quitewilling to act, but Ranald refused point-blank, and privately persuadedThomas to accept the honor in his stead. To this Thomas agreed, all themore readily that Margaret, whom he adored from a respectful distance,was to be his partner. But Margaret, who would gladly have beenassociated with Ranald, on the suggestion that Thomas should take hisplace, put up her lower lip in that symbol of scorn so effective withgirls, but which no boy has ever yet accomplished, and declared thatindeed, and she would see that Tom Finch far enough, which plainlymeant "no." Consequently they had to fall back upon Betsy Dan, who, inaddition to being excessively nervous, was extremely good-natured.And Thomas, though he would greatly have preferred Margaret as hisassistant, was quite ready to accept Betsy Dan.

  The interval of waiting while Thomas deliberately smoothed out thecreases of the paper was exceedingly hard upon Betsy Dan, whose facegrew redder each moment. Jimmie Cameron, too, who realized that theoccasion was one of unusual solemnity, was gazing at Thomas withintense interest growing into amusement, and was holding his fingersin readiness to seize his nose, and so check any explosion of snickers.Just as Thomas had got the last fold of his paper straightened out, andwas turning it right end up, it somehow slipped through his fingers tothe floor. This was too much for Jimmie, who only saved himself fromutter disgrace by promptly seizing his nose and holding on for dearlife. Thomas gave Jimmie a passing glare and straightened himself upfor his work. With a furious frown he cleared his throat and began ina solemn, deep-toned roar, "Dear teacher, learning with regret that youare about to sever your connection," etc., etc. All went well untilhe came to the words, "We beg you to accept this gift, not for itsintrinsic value," etc., which was the cue for Betsy Dan. Bu
t Betsy Danwas engaged in terrorizing Jimmie, and failed to come in, till, after anawful pause, Thomas gave her a sharp nudge, and whispered audibly, "Giveit to him, you gowk." Poor Betsy Dan, in sudden confusion, whipped herhand out from under her apron, and thrusting a box at the master, saidhurriedly, "Here it is, sir." As Thomas solemnly concluded his address,a smile ran round the room, while Jimmie doubled himself up in hisefforts to suppress a tempest of snickers.

  The master, however, seemed to see nothing humorous in the situation,but bowing gravely to Thomas and Betsy Dan, he said, kindly, "Thank you,Thomas! Thank you, Elizabeth!" Something in his tone brought the schoolto attention, and even Jimmie forgot to have regard to his nose. Fora few moments the master stood looking upon the faces of his pupils,dwelling upon them one by one, till his eyes rested upon the wee tots inthe front seat, looking at him with eyes of innocent and serious wonder.Then he thanked the children for their gift in a few simple words,assuring them that he should always wear the watch with pride andgrateful remembrance of the Twentieth school, and of his happy daysamong them.

  But when he came to say his words of farewell, and to thank them fortheir goodness to him, and their loyal backing of him while he was theirteacher, his voice grew husky, and for a moment wavered. Then, aftera pause, he spoke of what had been his ideal among them. "It is a goodthing to have your minds trained and stored with useful knowledge, butthere are better things than that. To learn honor, truth, and right; tobe manly and womanly; to be self-controlled and brave and gentle--theseare better than all possible stores of learning; and if I have taughtyou these at all, then I have done what I most wished to do. I haveoften failed, and I have often been discouraged, and might have given upwere it not for the help I received at my worst times from our ministerand from Mrs. Murray, who often saved me from despair."

  A sudden flush tinged the grave, beautiful face of the minister's youngwife. A light filled her eyes as the master said these words, for sheremembered days when the young man's pain was almost greater than hecould bear, and when he was near to giving up.

  When the master ceased, the minister spoke a few words in appreciationof the work he had done in the school, and in the whole Section, duringhis three years' stay among them, and expressed his conviction that manya young lad would grow into a better man because he had known ArchibaldMunro, and some of them would never forget what he had done for them.

  By this time all the big girls and many of the visitors were openlyweeping. The boys were looking straight in front of them, their facesset in an appearance of savage gloom, for they knew well how near theywere to "acting like the girls."

  After a short prayer by the minister, the children filed out past themaster, who stood at the door and shook hands with them one by one. Whenthe big boys, and the young men who had gone to school in the wintermonths, came to say good by, they shook hands silently, and then stoodclose about him as if hating to let him go. He had caught for them inmany a close base-ball match; he had saved their goal in many a fierceshinny fight with the Front; and while he had ruled them with an ironrule, he had always treated them fairly. He had never failed them; hehad never weakened; he had always been a man among them. No wonder theystood close about him and hated to lose him. Suddenly big Bob Frasercalled out in a husky voice, "Three cheers for the captain!" and everyone was glad of the chance to let himself out in a roar. And that wasthe last of the farewells.