It was hours later when Venus Wubber set up a cry of discomfort that woke the others. Becky held up a match to the school clock and saw it pointed to six. For a moment she thought it had stopped the night before; then she realized that the windows were covered with snow, and that while it was dark in the room, it must be day outside.
The pile of coal that she had dumped into the room the night before was nothing but a heap of dust with three small pieces atop. There would be no fire to depend on now.
The room was already growing cold. She had some trouble in persuading the children, who thought it was still night, that exercise was necessary. But she finally got the stiff feet in use, and the lame arms in motion. She knew that exercise must be kept up, perhaps all day, if the children were to be spared. They marched, they sang, they played games in that dark room for hours, and it seemed to Becky that each hour was a day.
“I’ll never want to play pom, pull away, again as long as I live,” said Joan, and the other children echoed it. They were hungry and tired and cold and irritable. They were frightened, too, when they caught a glimpse of the snow wall that blocked the doorway.
“Will we ever get out again?” quavered Essie.
“I’ll get you out if you’ll all do what I tell you,” said Becky. She only half believed it, herself, but she must not let them know that. She encouraged, and petted, and pleaded; she devised games; she took part in all the calisthenics; she made marching in a dark room a funny play. The children clumped around after her on half-frozen feet, they cried over their aching hands, and they pleaded to be allowed to rest. But the girl was firm. By nine the wind had begun to die down. At eleven a little crack of light shone through the upper part of the sash, and they could see the reflection of a brilliant sun. And at two in the afternoon, when Becky was leading her weary flock through a “hopping march,” there was the sound of shovels outside—of shovels and voices and safety.
It was Dick’s voice that she heard first, and Dick’s anxious face peered through the schoolroom door when the drifts of snow had been plowed away. What he said was “Gee!” but there was relief and joy enough in that one word for Becky to remember all her days. After him came Mr. Peters and a procession of the neighborhood men, who pounced in turn upon the children.
Mr. Peters looked around at the cold stove, the cold room and the blue-faced children. “How did you keep them from freezing?” he asked.
“She marched us,” said one of the Trainer twins. “She’s kep’ us going it all day. We’re all in!”
“How about you?” inquired Mr. Peters, with a keen look at the heavy-eyed teacher.
But Becky was not too tired to smile. “All in, but all out!” she said.
CHAPTER XI
THE CALL OF THE PRAIRIE
The snow melted as rapidly as it fell. Five days later the roads were clear, and a delegation of homesteaders drove into Winner, and visited the commissioner of schools. Mr. Cleaver, dropping in for a call at the same place, met a delegation of them filing out.
“Who are your friends?” he asked, helping himself to a chair in Mr. Peters’ office.
“Committee from Crane Hollow. Come in to talk about your protégé who’s teaching out there. Seems there’s one homesteader out that way that’s making trouble about her. Man named Welp.”
“I know him,” said Mr. Cleaver grimly.
“Well, he’s got a son who wants that school. The Welp family are low down, good-for-nothing trash, but the boy’s different from the rest; was brought up by an uncle who gave him quite a bit of schooling. Young Welp applied for the school last summer, but I gave it to Miss Linville, on the ground that she’d had more education. Now the uncle is giving him a year of normal training which little Miss Linville never had, more’s the pity. And old Welp is talking big about this being her last term; that next year his boy will get the school.”
“Anything to the talk? You’re the one to decide that, I should say.”
“Well, it’s a mean sort of thing to decide. We’re doing our best to raise the standard of teachers out here, and I’ve talked education for them till I’m blue in the face. Technically, the young man’s had the better preparation.”
“Do the people out that way want him?”
“Want him! They want Miss Linville, and no one else. That’s what that delegation came in to tell me. They were solid for her before the blizzard—said she’d done wonders for the whole community, as well as the children—but now they’re determined to keep her. I don’t wonder they are; there wouldn’t be any children left to make a school if it hadn’t been for her. They would have been frozen stiff, just like that man they found two miles away from the schoolhouse the day after the storm.”
“You haven’t any idea of letting her go, have you? You’d be an idiot if you did.”
“No, I shan’t let her go, even if I have to eat my words about raising teaching standards. She may not have had the preparation, but she’s a fine girl, and a born teacher. We’re lucky to have her. No, I wouldn’t think of giving the place to Welp.”
“Then I suppose the delegation went away satisfied.”
“Well, partly. If Welp wins the contest on that land the young Linvilles will have to leave Tripp County. The delegation came partly to see if I couldn’t induce him to give up the contest.”
“Just how did they think you were going to bring that about?”
“Oh, they weren’t particular about the method. Persuasion or poison—anything, just so they could keep her. They’re dead set on that.”
“I don’t blame them. She’s a fine little woman. But I don’t know how you, or anyone else, for that matter, are going to get a wedge under Welp. He’s an ornery customer.”
“That’s what I told them. They were mighty disappointed; seemed to think I could put the man out of the country if I only wanted to. It was an amusing kind of interview, in spite of the earnestness of the committee. That fat, dark woman that headed the procession did most of the talking.”
“Name’s Wubber, isn’t it?”
“Yes, she’s a neighbor of Miss Linville’s, and strong for her. Says she has more ee-nergy than any one she ever saw. ‘That’s what I admire,’ she told me. ‘I got a lot of it in me, and I always like to see it in others. Mighty few girls of her age has got her git up and git.’”
“She’s right about that,” said Mr. Cleaver heartily.
“You’re sold to her, too, are you?”
“I am that. And I’m not the only one in my family that is. She spent Christmas day with us, and my wife fell for her, hard. I don’t know when I’ve seen her taken with anyone as she was by that slip of a girl. When she read the story of Becky’s siege during the blizzard she said it didn’t surprise her, she knew that the girl would stand up under anything. She’s a plucky kid; just see how she’s carried on during this hard year, keeping that family fed and mothered, besides running the school! She never was used to hard living before, either; it must have been tough work for her out here in the beginning.”
“Yes, she’s got a lot of grit. You can see that by her work in school. Country teaching is a good test of a young person, with the long walks, the building of fires and the carrying of water, besides the lessons. Miss Linville has done every bit of that herself, rather than hire one of the big boys to do it, as most of my teachers do. Oh, she’s done a lot for that community—parents as well as children. You may be sure I’ll not let her go as long as I can keep her.”
“I wish that Welp would let her alone. Don’t believe he’ll ever succeed in getting the claim away from them, but he can keep them stirred up, just as he’s done ever since they arrived.”
“Maybe the neighbors will be able to do something with him. They left saying that if no one else could get him out they were going to take matters into their own hands.”
“What did they mean?”
“I didn’t inquire. Better not be too inquisitive in a country where the sheriff lives miles away from trouble.”
* * * *
The same delegation that had waited upon Mr. Peters visited the Crane Hollow school a few days later. It had been a hard day for Becky, for the children had been unusually trying and stupid, and in the absence of Ole, who was out of school for the day, the two Welp boys had been impertinent and disorderly. At the noon period, while the children were out playing with what was left of the snow, Becky was bent over spelling papers. She was smiling as she corrected Joan’s, who had found time, while waiting for the others to finish, to add to her sheet a few patriotic thoughts:
My Contry is avey swee land of libery of tey I sing
Oh say can you see by the danser lee light
Oh buetiful for spay shuss skies for am burst wave of grane
“One hundred per cent on the lesson that she commits to memory,” thought Becky. “About six per cent on the extemporaneous spelling. Which side of her paper is the real test?”
There was a bang on the window, and a snowball crashed through the glass, and struck the hot stove, hissing as it melted. Becky looked out of the window, but there was no sign of the culprit. She covered the broken pane with a piece of pasted paper, and went on with her work. When the pupils filed in in response to the school bell, she questioned them about the broken glass. All denied it, Peter Welp the most vociferously of all.
“It was you that threw it, Pete Welp,” accused Shirley Lambert.
“It was not, you little liar!”
“It was him, Miss Linville,” put in one of the Trainer twins. “He was aiming at me when he did it.” And there were several other voices that rose in the accusation.
Becky was pleasant, but firm. “Peter, the school commissioner won’t mend our windows for us. Ask your father to send us a pane of glass, and you and William can set it for us.”
“You see me doing that, don’t you?” inquired Pete, for the benefit of the school. “You can’t prove that I broke that window. If you say I did you’re a liar. Whoever says I did it is a liar, and he’s got to fight me.”
“It will be an all-school fight, then,” said Becky, trying to smile. “They all seem to think it was you, Peter.”
“They’ve got another think coming, then. I’ll never pay a cent for that glass, and you can’t make me.” He approached her in the aisle, and glared at her threateningly. “My father’ll back me up in it, too. He says if you get too fresh with me he’ll show you what’s what!”
“Take off your cap, and go back to your seat, Peter.”
In the absence of Ole, Pete dared to defy authority. “Nobody’s going to make me,” he repeated.
“You’ll either go back to your seat or else you’ll go home.”
“I’ll not do neither one.”
Becky hesitated a moment. She, too, realized that Ole was not there. But she had known for a long time that this conflict was bound to come, and that when it came she would have to meet it.
“You’ll have to, Peter,” she said firmly.
Pete had seen the hesitation, and knew that Becky was afraid. He advanced a step toward her with clenched fists and cloudy face.
Marietta, who was slower than the others, came through the outer door. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Pete Welp,” she said. “Your sisters wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for the teacher.”
Pete curved his backbone, in cruel imitation. “Shut up, Crip, or I’ll break your humpy back,” he growled.
All of the bottled-up wrath of the past year seethed inside of Becky. She had started school with the idea of letting bygones be bygones with the Welps, and in all these months she had never let fall any sign of her past resentment. But at the taunt to the crippled child the old fury that she had felt the day that Phil and Autie were lassoed came rushing over her. She understood how it was that civilization often dropped back into savagery. It was not kindness that could tame Pete Welp; it was justice that was needed—a rude, rough justice that he could understand. From that moment she knew that she must win in the battle of wills.
But Ole was not there. And Pete towered above her; the teacher would be a child in his hands. Strength could not be allowed to win; it must be a contest of wits. She withdrew a step or two as though frightened. Peter followed, menacingly. Becky stepped back farther, and again Peter followed. The girl gave a quick glance toward the outside door, now only a yard away. If Marietta had only left it ajar!
Step by step she backed toward it, as though intimidated. Step by step Peter followed, his face glowering, his fists ready. The little Wubbers shivered in their seats. Becky stretched out her arm behind her, and felt for the knob of the door. It was within her grasp. Pete brushed Marietta aside and came closer. Becky swung the door open wide, and, wheeling suddenly, gave the half-grown boy a mighty push. He was head and shoulders taller than she, but it was an unexpected assault. He was thrust through the doorway. Before he could turn back to the attack twenty eager hands had banged the door shut, and Becky turned the key in the lock.
Pete pounded at the door, but it stood firm. Becky went directly to the lessons. Paying as little attention as possible to the roars and threats outside, she called out a class, and began the arithmetic lesson. She felt sure that Pete could not get into the room, and that his brother would not attempt to get out and join him. Bill sat with a tamed expression, and the two little Welp girls cowered shamefacedly in their seats.
“Leave me in!” shouted Pete.
Becky shook the coal stove vigorously to drown out the noise, but gave no other evidence of attention.
“My father will make it hot for you! He’ll show you if you can put me out o’ school!”
“If your mother were cooking potatoes for your family of six, and she only had three potatoes, how would she divide them?” she asked Crystal.
“The baby don’t eat potatoes,” said the little girl.
“But suppose they all ate them, and your mother only had three, what would she do?”
Crystal was short on reasoning, but long on economy. “Mash ’em,” said she. The school room filled with laughter which Pete, outside, felt was directed at him. He grew more noisy, and the lesson went on to the accompaniment of shrill catcalls, snowballs and threats, aimed at both teacher and schoolhouse. Becky tried to act as unconcerned as though that were a part of every day’s program, but it was hard to get the children back to work. So it was a relief when wheels sounded outside, the catcalls stopped, and a procession of parents filed into the room. Mrs. Wubber led the way, carrying a large bundle which she set on Becky’s table. Becky found chairs and empty desks for the other visitors, but Mrs. Wubber declined a seat. The children looked at her wide-eyed as she stepped to the front of the room, settled her hat more firmly, and addressed those assembled:
Ladies, gentlemen, childern, and Miss Linville:
When anything happens that is more than of average occurrence it is quite fitting that it be celebrated in some way. So it is with the Fourth of July and Christmas, which, while not much observed in this part of the country, is more observed in some other parts. Especially if there is a brave deed do we observe it with medals or monuments or other rewards.
We are here today, childern and fellow citizens, to rememberate a recent happening which was as brave as the winter in Valley Forge or the freeing of the slaves. I refer, as you all know, to the blizzard in Tripp County, which would have robbed us of our nearest and dearest if it had not been for the ee-nergy, the wisdom and the couringe of one person. Also the good horse-sense of that person, whom you all know.
Becky gave a little gasp. What was coming next?
The people of Tripp County are not rich in material wealth, but their hearts are true and they know a good deed when they see one. Also they know how to be grateful for favors, such as having their children restored to them with no damage but an empty stummick, after a night of sleepless worry on our parts.
We feel that such bravery and couringe should not go unnoticed and
unrewarded. So we have asked small contributions from parents in this district, and I am glad to say that with but one exception, all compiled. With these funds we have purchased a slight token of our esteem, which I now take pleasure in presenting to your teacher, our friend, and the heroween of Tripp County—Miss Rebecca Linville.
The room rang with the applause. Mrs. Wubber wiped her hot face, and reached for the package on the table. She unwrapped the paper, and placed the contents in Becky’s hands. It was a giant vase, over two feet high. A vase that in its past life had been covered with putty or plaster. Into this soft surface had been pressed such ornamental objects as marbles, screws, buttons, shells, tobacco tags, keys, cruet tops, and suspender buckles. These had been allowed to set, and the putty to harden, after which the vase had received a coat of bronze paint that gave a most regal effect to the commonplace articles embedded therein. Nothing more hideous could have been conceived, but the eyes of the homesteaders, as well as the children, glistened with admiration as they beheld its glories.
A year before the gift would have been comic to Becky. But now she saw only the friendship and the gratitude that had prompted it. She knew from what poverty-stricken homes had gone the pennies that had purchased it, and the pitiful stock from which a present could be selected in that homesteading country. There was real gratitude and tenderness in her voice as she tried to return thanks for the gift. The school work was stopped, and there was a program of music before the school was dismissed.
Mrs. Wubber, once off the lecture platform, became easy and colloquial. “We ’lowed you must be havin’ trouble with those Welps, just as we came,” she said. “That Pete was peltin’ the school door good and proper. You should have seen him scuttle when we druv up.”
Becky explained the discord of the afternoon. “It was I who put him out,” she concluded with a sigh. “But I suppose the same trouble will start all over in the morning. He threatened to bring his father back and ‘settle me.’ I suppose I’m in for another fight, and I’m afraid there won’t be another open door handy next time.”
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