Caddie Woodlawn (7 page)

“Faith and ye'll not be so plaised before th' winter's over,” she said.

“Hush, Katie Conroy,” cried her mistress. “They'll be tired of turkey soon enough, but let them enjoy themselves while they can.”

“Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!” shouted the Woodlawn children.

These autumn days were busy ones indoors as well as out. School would soon be starting for the winter, and everyone must have the proper clothing. New dresses and suits must be made, and old ones mended, cleaned, and refitted to the younger children. Katie Hyman's mother came out from the village to make the dresses. She was a clever seamstress and had only Katie's clothes to make, so she was glad of the extra work which the Woodlawns could give her. Sometimes yellow-haired Katie came with her. Sitting sedately among the billows of brown and blue denim and dotted challis, and stitching neat seams like her mother's, she looked shyly at the Woodlawn children
from under her long lashes. They looked at her with equal embarrassment. Such a quiet little girl, who didn't ride horseback and was afraid of boys and cows! They were not scornful of her. They simply could not think of a thing to say to her. Only Tom, to Caddie's great astonishment, once gave her an apple and his best Indian arrowhead. Whoever would have suspected Tom of that!

There were always blue and brown denim dresses and suits for everyday. The Sunday clothes were more exciting. They were made of nice, dark woolens, and the girls had ruffly white aprons to wear over them. What fun it was to try things on and turn about before the mirror, while Mrs. Hyman, with her mouth full of pins, begged you to stand still! The boys did not enjoy the trying on so much. In fact Tom got all red and cross when he had to be tried on with Katie Hyman sitting by. She scarcely looked up at all, but went on stitching with her yellow curls falling down in front of her face. But Tom would stumble over the footstool that held the dish of pins, and his hands hung out of the short, tight sleeves of the short, tight jacket, like helpless sausages. That year there were wonderful winter coats for the girls. They were made of red-and-black checked woolen cloth which had been woven from the wool of their own sheep. To make them even
finer, Father laid on the trimming braid himself. By the evening lamplight, when he was not mending clocks, he stitched the braid in place in neat and beautiful designs. So the autumn slipped by and it was winter. They were glad of the warm winter coats on the first day of school, for snow had fallen in the night and covered the ground with a thick white blanket.

“Why do we have to go to school in the coldest weather?” complained Hetty. She was wrapped in a muffler to the tip of her nose, and she had on a pair of red woolen mittens which were fastened together with a string around her neck under the red-and-black checked coat. She and Caddie and the two boys were walking across the snowy fields together; Clara had finished school last year and little Minnie would not start until next.

“It's because we're too poor to have a teacher to ourselves all the year 'round,” replied Caddie. “The children of Durand have Teacher for spring and fall, and we get her the rest of the time.”

“And we're lucky, too!” said Tom. “If I've got to go to school, I'd ruther go in winter when there isn't so much fun outdoors.”

“How about summer?” chimed Warren.

“Well, that's bad,” admitted Tom, “but still I like spring and fall the best for fun.”

“Anyway,” said Caddie, “it's only two months in summer and three in winter, and I like school.”

“I'd like it, too, if it wasn't for Obediah Jones,” said Hetty.

“If I was Teacher, I'd make those Jones boys behave,” said Caddie.

“Teacher's scared of Obediah Jones,” said Warren. “He's as big as she is and she dassn't lick him.”

“I could lick him for her, if she'd let me,” said Tom. “He needs it.”

“I'll tell Mother if you go to fighting, Tom,” warned Hetty in her piping voice.

“We'll wash your face in snow if you go bearing tales on Tom,” countered Warren and Caddie.

Other muffled figures were coming across fields toward the little schoolhouse at Dunnville.

“Look!” shouted Caddie. “There's Maggie and Silas Bunn! Hey, Maggie, wait!” And she dashed off to catch her best friend, whom she had seen only once or twice since summer.

A column of blue smoke poured out of the schoolhouse chimney. Miss Parker, the teacher, with a shawl over her head and shoulders, stood in the doorway ringing a bell to hasten the feet of the stragglers. There was a great stamping of snowy feet in the woodshed and hall, and a clatter of lunch buckets and
voices, as the children took off their wraps and hung them on the hooks. The one small room of the schoolhouse was often cold, but today it was hot and filled with smoke from the newly started fire. The boys sat on one side and the girls on the other, about twenty children in all, and often varying in age from six to twenty-one. Some were well clothed and mannered. Others were almost as wild as the creatures that roamed the woods. Quiet and shy in a corner by themselves were Sam Hankinson's little half-breed children. They watched all that went on with bright, black eyes.

Caddie settled herself contentedly between Maggie Bunn and Lida Silbernagle with Jane Flusher just beyond. They were the four inseparables while school kept. Across the aisle the boys scuffled and whistled under their breaths. The teacher had her hands full with the boys of the Dunnville School. Some of them were as big as she was, or bigger, and they were used to the rough ways and the crude humor of a pioneer life. Ashur and Obediah Jones were the worst. Great, hulking boys who could scarcely get their knees beneath the desks, they came to school, not to learn, but to see what fun they could have baiting the teacher. Toward the end of the summer term, they had had things pretty much their own way, and they had returned
now, full of vigor and anticipation. Obediah had worn his bearskin cap into the schoolroom, and now he stretched his long legs across the aisle and put his feet on Maggie Bunn's desk.

“Stop that, Obediah Jones!” cried Maggie. Her almost white pigtails quivered with indignation. Her good-natured blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“Who says so?” drawled Obediah, shoving his wet boots farther onto the desk.

“I'll tell Miss Parker, so I will!” cried Maggie.

“Tattletale! See if I care. I ain't scared of anybody in this school. Not me!”

“Is that so?” cried Caddie. She half rose in the bench beside Maggie and brought a large ruler down with all her strength across Obediah's shins. He was so taken by surprise that he yelped with pain, and brought his feet to the floor with a bang.

Instantly the schoolroom was in an uproar. Obediah lurched forward and caught hold of Caddie's curls, and Tom and Warren, sensing danger to Caddie, began leaping over benches and desks to get at her tormentor. But, if the Woodlawns were clannish, so were the Joneses. Ashur threw himself in Tom's way, and the two went down together, rolling and kicking, under the desks and benches. Clattering slates and the shrieks of frightened little girls mingled with the shouts of the boys.

Miss Parker, who had been calmly ringing the last bell, rushed in to behold her schoolroom in complete disorder.

“Boys! Girls!” she cried. “Stop! Stop at once!”

The noise began to die away. The shrieking girls and shouting boys slipped into their seats. Tom and Ashur ceased pommeling each other and crawled out from under the desks, looking a little ashamed of themselves. But in the middle of the room Caddie and Obediah still struggled and fought, Obediah pulling her curls this way and that and Caddie getting in a kick on his shins whenever she could. The children looked with awed faces from Miss Parker to the struggling pair. What would Miss Parker do? Her mouth had set in a hard, thin line.

“Obediah Jones! Caroline Woodlawn! Stop at once!” she cried, and she caught each one by a shoulder with firm hand. Obediah shook her off, but at the same time he let go of Caddie's hair, and with a well-directed parting kick Caddie let him go.

“What is the matter here? Who started this?” cried Miss Parker, her face pale and troubled.

There was an awful silence. Then Hetty, who must tell or burst, shouted: “It was Obediah, ma'am. He had his feet on Maggie's desk, and he wouldn't take them off. I saw him.”

“Is this true, children?”

“Yes. Yes. It was Obediah, ma'am.”

“And how did
you
get into it, Caddie?”

“Ma'am, he wouldn't take his feet off Maggie's desk and he said he wasn't scared of anybody in this school, and I hit his legs with a ruler.”

“And I'm
not
scared neither,” growled Obediah. “I kin do what I please and nobody dast stop me. I done what I pleased last summer and nobody dasted to stop me. Nobody dasts to stop me now.” He set his bearskin cap straight on his head and looked at the teacher with defiant eyes. The teacher looked back at Obediah. She was a small woman, and now she was pale and trembling. It was a breathless moment. Even the youngest children knew instinctively that something was at stake. In a moment more they would find out whether Miss Parker or Obediah would rule the school this year.

Obediah began to grin—a slow, spreading grin. He pushed back his cap and spat contemptuously on the schoolroom floor. Then something polite and ladylike in Miss Parker snapped. She caught Obediah by the back of the neck with a suddenness that took him completely off his guard. Down the aisle she marched him to the front of the room.

“Obediah Jones,” she cried, “I am going to punish you before the whole school. Stand up and take your medicine!”

“I'll
lick him for you, ma'am,” shouted Tom.

“No, Tom. Keep Ashur off, and leave the rest to me. It's Obediah or I now!” She whipped out her ruler, and laid it sharply across that section of Obediah's person on which he was accustomed to sit. For the second time that day he yelped with surprise and pain. He had a slow brain, and he had never really expected to have his authority questioned. When it finally dawned upon him that “teacher dast,” he began to struggle. But he was too late. Miss Parker had already tasted the fruits of victory. She dealt him three more good smacks and then with a shake she let him go.

“Now, Obediah,” she said, “go to the woodshed. You may either go home and never enter this schoolhouse again, or you may come back in five minutes and behave yourself like a gentleman the rest of the time you are here. Make your choice.”

Obediah went out.

“Now, children,” said Miss Parker, “start the multiplication tables.”

They turned their scared faces toward the front of the room and began in wavering voices to sing the multiplication tables to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” Presently the woodshed door creaked a little on its hinges.

“Go right on singing. Don't look around,” admonished
Miss Parker crisply. Her pale cheeks were red now and she was no longer trembling. Through the thin sound of their singing, they heard Obediah coming slowly down the aisle. He had brought an armful of wood which he put carefully in the wood box. He had left his bearskin cap in the hall, and he had combed his hair. He sat down in his seat and folded his hands. Obediah had met his Waterloo, and Teacher was at last the greatest person in her little world.