LITMIR.BIZ

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its own tale that its owner had been working herself up ready for the task in hand, entered, dragging behind her a freshly-washed girl of eleven or twelve, whose face bore the marks of recent tears.

      “Youkem here,” exclaimed the woman, dragging in the unwilling child, and finishing by giving her a rough shake. “Youkem here, and I’ll see as you’re reighted, Miss.”

      To Sage Portlock’s great disgust, instead of the old schoolmaster passing through the open door, he carefully closed it behind the woman, set the ink-bottle down upon a form, and, taking out his knife, began to remake the pen, well attent the while to what went on.

      “Now, Miss, if you please,” said the woman, “I want to know why my girl was kep’ in yesterday and punished. I told my master last night I’d come on wi’ her this morning, and see her reighted; and, if you please, I want to know what she’s done.”

      “I am sorry to say, Mrs Searby – ” began the young mistress.

      “Oh, you needn’t be sorry, Miss. Strite up and down’s my motto. I want to know what my ’Lizabeth’s done. There’s no getting her to school nowadays. When Mrs Marley was alive all the gals loved to come to school, but now they hates it, and all the noo-fangled ways.”

      As the woman spoke, she darted a glance at the old schoolmaster, who chuckled softly, and shook his head.

      “If you will allow me to speak – ” began the young mistress.

      “Oh, lor’, yes, Miss, I’ll allow yer to speak. I don’t forget my position. I’m only a humble woman, I am; but I says to my master only last night, the trouble there is to get them gals to school now is orful. When Mrs Marley was alive – ”

      “Your daughter, Mrs Searby – ” began the young mistress, again.

      “Yes, Miss, my daughter went to Mrs Marley, she did, and there was never no trouble with the gal then. As I said to Mrs Marley, I said, all she wants is properly putting forward, that’s all she wants; for there couldn’t be a quicker gal wi’ her book; but nowadays there’s no gettin’ of her to come; and when she do come she don’t larn a bit, with the noo-fangled ways, and gettins up and sittins down, and holdin’ out their hands, and being drilled, and stood out, and kep’ in for doing nowt. I say it isn’t fair to a child, for as I said to Mrs Marley, I said, and she said to me, all my gal wanted was putting forward, for a quicker gal with her book there never was, and now there’s no getting of her to school of a morning, and never no getting her back when she does come; and the boys as goes to Mr Bone a loving their master and their books, and a getting on wonderful. And now, if you please, Miss,” said the woman, with a derisive curtsey, and so far run down that she had to keep taking up the tantalising iteration of uneducated people in a fit of temper, “I want to know, if you please, what my gal has done.”

      “Your daughter was very rude, very inattentive, refused to learn the lesson I set, and incited some of the older girls to insubordination, Mrs Searby, so that I was compelled, most reluctantly, to punish her as an example.”

      The old master went on carving the quill to pieces, making and remaking it, till the amount of useful pen was getting very short, chuckling the while, and evidently enjoying the sidewise compliments directed at him and his old system by the irate woman.

      “My gal not behaving herself! Why, she’s as good in school as her brothers is. She’s the best o’ gals at home; and poor old Mrs Marley, who used to keep the school here, said as my gal was one of the best behaved and nicest children she ever see.”

      “Then she must have altered very much in her opinion, Mrs Searby,” said a quiet, deep, rich voice; and the woman and the old schoolmaster started to see the Rector standing in the open door. “Mrs Marley consulted me several times upon the advisability of expelling your child from the school, and, for my part, I must say that she is the most tiresome girl that attends the Sunday classes.”

      “My gracious, sir!” exclaimed the woman, curtseying humbly.

      “Leave her a little more to Miss Portlock here, and don’t interfere,” continued the Rector. “Elizabeth Searby, you had better go to your class. Mr Bone, I have been waiting in the boys’ school to see you. Mrs Searby’s two sons are heading a sort of insurrection there, and the boys, when I went in, were pelting each other with pieces of coke from the stove.”

      “Let ’em,” said Humphrey Bone, snapping his fingers in defiance, as Miss Elizabeth Searby took the opportunity of her elders’ backs being turned to put out her tongue at them, as if for medical inspection, and then sought her class, while her mother beat a hasty retreat from the Rector’s presence.

      “Let ’em!” said Humphrey Bone again; “I’ve done with ’em all. I defy you all I’ve worked for this school,” he cried, raising his voice, “for thirty years, and trained boys to make good men. As for you, Rev. Eli Mallow, head of the parish as you call yourself, you haven’t.”

      “Don’t be foolish, Humphrey Bone,” said the Rector, with a grave smile. “Don’t try to quarrel about the past. What I did was as my duty; and when you are calm you must know that it was inevitable. Forbearance has its limits.”

      “Quarrel! Forbearance!” cried the old schoolmaster, furiously. “How have you done your duty? I’m not afraid of you; you shan’t kill me like you did old Warmoth; and I’ll speak now.”

      “My duty? Not so well as I should,” said the old clergyman, sadly. “We all have our regrets, Bone, for the past.”

      “Yes, for what you’ve neglected,” cried the master, furiously. “You’re not pitched out of your living in your old age; I am. I trained my boys well. How about the training of yours, Rev. Eli – old prophet? How about your boys? Say, if you can, they are not a disgrace.”

      The old clergyman started as if he had been stung; his handsome, florid face turned deadly pale, but the next moment the hot flush of indignation suffused his countenance, mounting right up amongst the roots of his silver hair.

      “How dare – ” he began; but he checked himself by an effort, and the colour faded slowly from his face.

      “Bone,” he said, sadly, “you are angry, and in no fit state, mental and bodily, to talk about these matters. I will forget what you have just said. Now, back to your school; but before you go, let me tell you that I am not the enemy you seem to think. I have here,” he said, drawing a blue envelope from his breast, “a list of contributions, which I am getting towards a testimonial to our old schoolmaster for his long services. I hope to make it reach a handsome sum.”

      Humphrey Bone’s lips were parted to speak, but these words disarmed him, and, muttering and shaking his head, he turned and left the place.

      “Poor fellow!” said the Rector, calmly. “I fear that at times he hardly knows what he says.”

      Sage Portlock looked at him wonderingly for a few moments, and he stood gazing at her, his countenance growing less troubled the while; and no wonder, for Sage Portlock’s was a pleasant face. She was not handsome, but, at the same time, she was far from plain; and there was something attractive about her broad forehead, with its luxuriant, smoothly-braided hair crossing each temple – for young ladies in those days had not taken to either cutting their hair short, or to wearing fringes or hirsute hysterics on their fronts. There was a pleasant regularity in her by no means classical features; her eyes were large and winning, and her well-cut mouth, if too large according to an artists ideal, curved pleasantly, and displayed on parting the whitest of teeth.

      “Well, Miss Portlock,” said the Rector, smiling, “what a bad mistress you must be!”

      “Indeed, sir,” she exclaimed, colouring, “I try very hard to – ”

      “Of course – of course,” he said, laughing, as he walked up the schoolroom by her side. “My dear child, it is the old story.”

      “But was Mrs Marley so good a mistress, sir?” asked Sage, eagerly.

      “My dear Miss Portlock, she was one of the most amiable of old women; but it was quite shocking to see the state of the school. ‘Steeped in ignorance’

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