A Little Girl in Old Salem Part 13

"Well, that's what some of them said. Maybe your mother was an Injun!"

looking as if she had fixed the uncertain suspicion.

"No, she wasn't. She lived here part of the time. She was born in Boston."

They glanced at each other in a kind of upbraiding fashion.

"And you had to be put with the little children! Aren't there any schools in that place you came from? It's a heathen country. Our minister prays for it. Don't you have any churches either? What do people do when they are grown up if they never go to school?"

"Are you coming stiddy?"

"Is Mr. Chilian Leverett your real relation?"

"Oh, tell me--have you any other frock as pretty as this? My sister Hetty has a beautiful one, all lace and needlework. She's saving it to be married in."

"Martha, I dare you to a race!"

Two girls ran off as fast as they could. Betty Upham caught Cynthia's arm.

"I didn't say you were a real Injun. Debby Strang always gets things mixed up. But it is something queer----"

"East India;" in a tone of great dignity.

"Where the ships are coming from all the time? Is it prettier than Salem?"

"It's so different you can't tell. We do not have hardly any winter. And there are vines and flowers and temples to heathen G.o.ds, and the people _are_ yellow and brown."

"Do you suppose you will ever grow clear white?"

Cynthia had half a mind to be angry. Even Miss Elizabeth was fair, and Miss Eunice had such a soft, pretty skin.

"There, that's your corner. You're coming this afternoon?"

"Oh, I suppose so."

Miss Elizabeth was all bustle and hurry. It was clouding up a little. It hadn't been a real fair day, and the hot sun had dried the clothes too quick. She liked them to bleach on the line, it was almost as good as the gra.s.s. And Miss Drake couldn't stay and iron, they had sickness over to the Appletons and she had to go there. Everything was out of gear.

"I'd help with the ironing, if you would like," said Miss Winn.

"Well, the ironing isn't so much;" rather ungraciously. "You see, there were four blankets. I never touch an iron to them, but shake them good and fold them, and let them lay one night, then hang them on the line in the garret. The bulk of it was large. And a good stiff breeze blows out wrinkles. The wind hasn't blown worth a Continental;" complainingly.

"Did you like the school?" Miss Winn inquired in the hall.

"No, I didn't. And I don't seem to know anything;" in a discouraged tone.

"Oh, you will learn."

It was warm in the afternoon. Two of the boys were decidedly bad and were punished. They positively roared. Cynthia spelled, and spelled, and studied--"One and one are two," "one and two are three," and after a while it dawned on her that it was just one more every time. Why, she had known that all the time, only it hadn't been put in a table.

It grew very tiresome after a while. She asked if she couldn't have recess with the big girls, but was sharply refused. In truth the good dame grew very weary herself, and was glad when five o'clock came and she could go out in the garden and recruit her tired nerves.

The stage was stopping at the door. Oh, how glad she was to see Cousin Leverett. He smiled down in the flushed face.

"How did the school go?" he asked.

She hung her head. "I don't like it. I have to be with the little cla.s.s because I don't know tables, but I learned all the one times. That was easy enough when you came to see into it. But--nine and nine?"

"Eighteen," he answered promptly.

"And you answered it right offhand!" She gave a soft, cheerful laugh.

"Oh, do you suppose I shall ever know so much?"

"There was a time when I didn't know it."

"Truly?" She looked incredulous.

"Truly. And I had quite hard work remembering to spell correctly."

"I studied two lines. This morning I missed two words, but this afternoon I knew them all. And I can't write on the slate. The pencil wabbles so, and then it gives an awful squeak that goes all over you.

And I can't do sums. And there's all the tables to learn. And I don't like the teacher. I wish Miss Eunice could teach me. Or maybe Rachel might."

"I might help you a little. But you read well?"

"She said it was too--too"--she wrinkled up her forehead--"too affected, like a play-actor."

"Nonsense!" he cried disapprovingly. "We will see about some other school presently. Would you like to take a walk with me? I'm tired of the long stage-ride."

"Oh, so much!" She caught one hand in both of hers and gave a few skips of joy.

"Let us go over to the river."

Of course, he should have gone in and announced their resolve. But he was so used to considering only himself, and he realized that it must have been a tiresome day to her. They went over Lafayette Street, which was only a lane, and then turned up the stream.

Oh, how sweet the air was with the odorous dampness and the smell of new growths, tree and gra.s.s. The sun, low in the west, slanted golden gleams through the tree branches which chased each other over the gra.s.sy s.p.a.ces, as if they were quite alive and at merry-making. There were sedgy plants in bloom, jack-in-the-pulpit, and what might have been a lily, with a more euphonious name. Iridescent flies were skimming about, now and then a fish made a stir and dazzle. Squirrels ran up and down the trees and chattered, robins were singing joyously, the thrush with her soft, plaintive note. She glanced up now and then and caught his eye, and he felt she was happy. It was a delightful thing, after all, to render some one truly happy. Perhaps children were more easily satisfied, more responsive.

"Oh," he said presently, "we must go back or we will lose our supper, and Cousin Elizabeth will scold."

"I shouldn't think she would dare to scold you;" raising wondering eyes.

"Why not?" He wondered what reason she would give.

"Because you are a man."

"She scolds Silas."

"Oh, that is different."

"How--different? We are both men. He is quite as tall as I."