The Morning Glory Club Part 11

That was news to Will. He had thought always that common school teachers' duties consisted of hearing children recite, and the maintaining of discipline in the schoolroom.

"Do you mean to say," he said, in surprise, "that you think something of, or rather like, every one of those dirty little kids?"

"Like them!" replied Barbara, warmly; "I love them. How could I teach if I did not?"

"I--I didn't know, I never thought about it before," he stammered. He had learned something. He had heard her speak the word "love" with feeling, and by it he knew the destiny that he had hoped for, and was humbled. They had reached Mrs. Tweedie's gate and stopped.

"Barbara," said Will, "you don't mind if I walk home with you from the school sometimes, do you?"

"No," she replied, after a pause. "I am glad to have you--sometimes."

"And the other times, Barbara?" he asked, and then quickly added, "Pardon me, I have no right to ask; but I may come if not too often?"

"Yes," replied Barbara, and then went quickly up the walk to the door.

"Good night," Will called after her, and then slowly walked toward home filled with thoughts of higher ideals, of Barbara, and his new love--for her. What were her thoughts of him? he wondered. Did she ever think of him at all? He knew something of what others were thinking and saying, but Barbara-- He knew that many believed that while away from home he had led a dissolute life, and that he had been expelled from college because of some dishonourable act. Barbara surely had heard these stories about him--they were all lies--but how was she to know? Until then he had not cared what people said, but now-- Was he worthy even to try to win her? Thus far in his life he had accomplished nothing. What had he to offer her--not in money or position--but as a man?

Chapter VII

Cla.s.sics and Women

THE committee on plays was in session at the home of Mrs. Doctor Jones.

During the first fifteen minutes of the meeting its members had annihilated the works of the poets and dramatists up to the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

"We really ought to give something from Shakespeare," Mrs. Tweedie was saying.

"What do folks in Manville know about him?" asked Mrs. Stout. "I say we ought to give somethin' they can understand."

"My dear Mrs. Stout," replied Mrs. Tweedie, "that is just the reason why we ought to give something from his works. The people of Manville ought to know something of one of the world's greatest poets. If they do not, it is clearly the duty of the Morning Glory Club to a.s.sist in their enlightenment."

"Well, perhaps we can get 'em to come once," retorted Mrs. Stout, "but you can be sure they won't get caught a second time. I think that Shakespeare's too high-toned for folks 'round here, but go ahead if you want to, I've had my say." Mrs. Stout always had her say, and some of the ladies, particularly Mrs. Tweedie, wished that she did not have it quite so often.

"Of course," said Miss Sawyer, "we could not dream of attempting the production of the whole of one of Shakespeare's plays, but there are many beautiful scenes that we could undertake and be reasonably sure of success."

"That's a good idea; why not give several scenes instead of one play?"

suggested Mrs. Jones.

"Good!" exclaimed f.a.n.n.y Tweedie. "Then we could all have star parts."

"f.a.n.n.y," rebuked Mrs. Tweedie, "our personal ambition must not be considered, and I sincerely hope that a spirit of self-sacrifice will be manifested, if necessary, when we come to the a.s.signment of parts. Your idea, Mrs. Jones, is to give scenes from different plays?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jones replied; "then if one or more of the scenes were unsuccessful, we could redeem ourselves with the others."

"True," said Mrs. Tweedie, wisely, and then turning to Miss Sawyer, asked: "What scenes would you suggest?"

As Miss Sawyer was considered the best read woman in Manville, she was always the first to be appealed to for advice in regard to such matters, though her shyness--often mistaken for modesty--made her opinion difficult to obtain.

"During the past week," she began, "I have been looking over my Shakespeare (Mrs. Tweedie's suggestion) and have found several scenes that we might consider. I would suggest first the trial scene from the 'Merchant of Venice,' and--"

"That would be great!" interrupted f.a.n.n.y Tweedie. "Mrs. Stout could be the judge--I'd like to play Portia myself--and ma would be a lovely Shylock."

"f.a.n.n.y," said Mrs. Tweedie, severely, "there are others to be consulted in this matter." She was provoked, not so much by f.a.n.n.y's suggestion, as by the t.i.tter it caused.

"Why, ma," f.a.n.n.y continued, "you know that we talked it over at home, and--" a warning glance from her mother told f.a.n.n.y that she had said too much, and she suddenly subsided. At a word from Mrs. Tweedie, Miss Sawyer continued:

"There is the balcony scene from 'Romeo and Juliet,' and in 'As You Like It' there are many beautiful--"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "let's give the scene in the forest where Rosalind, or somebody, hangs valentines on the bushes--it's lovely."

"Very beautiful," murmured Miss Sawyer. "And in the 'Merry Wives of Windsor' there are many amusing--"

"I didn't know that Shakespeare was funny," blurted Mrs. Stout.

"Not funny," corrected Mrs. Tweedie, "amusing; his wit is of the keenest."

"Same thing, ain't it?" said Mrs. Stout. "Ain't there a play about the taming of somebody?"

"The 'Taming of the Shrew,'" Miss Sawyer responded, quickly.

"That's it. Why wouldn't that be a good play for us?" laughed Mrs.

Stout.

"I don't like the name," Mrs. Tweedie replied. "It savours too much of the domineering of the _other s.e.x_."

"Well," said Mrs. Stout, "we might change the name."

"Change the name!" exclaimed the horrified ladies.

"Change the name of one of Shakespeare's plays!" groaned Miss Sawyer.

"What name, may I ask," said Mrs. Tweedie, majestically, "would you subst.i.tute?"

Mrs. Stout was thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture that she had caused, and was laughing in a most provoking manner.

"We might call it the 'Un-taming of the Shrews,'" she replied, and then added: "See here, I don't see any terrible harm in changin' the name of anything. You changed yours, Mis' Tweedie, didn't you?"

"No," snapped Mrs. Tweedie, "I added a name to the one I already had."

Mrs. Tweedie always wrote her name Aurelia Scraggs Tweedie. (Scraggs was a famous actor--three times removed--the moves, hasty ones, being from Providence Plantation to Boston, from Boston to Salem, and from there to Portsmouth, with the king's officers close upon his heels at every step.)

"Oh, excuse _me_," said Mrs. Stout, with exaggerated politeness, "but the rest of us did change our names when we was married."

"Mrs. Stout," replied Mrs. Tweedie, as she glared at the promoter of the disturbance, "the business before us is not of a humourous nature."

"Good land!" retorted Mrs. Stout. "If we've got to wear funeral faces every time we get together we'd better bust up now."