13,610
edits
Changes
→A Winter School
==A Winter School==
When a trustee from the Harrington district came to ask me if I would teach their school the following winter, I was more than surprised. In vain I pleaded my inexperience and that I had never taught a <u>winter</u> school. He insisted that they had made their choice deliberately and would stand by me. I felt honored by the offer and hesitated. What would I say? What I did say was: "I will think it over, and give my answer soon." I always was, and still am afraid of superior people; not of those who <u>think</u> themselves superior, but of those that I feel really <u>are</u> superior.
My thoughts ran thus: "Surely the family of Dr. Harrington are very aristocratic." I recalled the dignified, white-haired gentleman, with piercing black eyes under beetling brows, and his elegant lady, as I had seen them come into church, followed by their sons and daughter. Their district was only a few miles out of Sycamore, and I felt sure the neighborhood must be aristocratic match the Harringtons. After thinking it over and talking with my father, who was ambitious for me, I wrote accepting their offer. They replied, telling me when school would begin and said I was to board at Dr. Harrington's.
All my fears proved groundless. The Harringtons <u>were</u> superior people, but not aristocratic, as we are wont to use this word: they were superior in every way, except in their own eyes. There was a delicate kindness in their manner toward that dispelled all embarrassment. I was only seventeen, but looked older by several years, and they never asked my age. They had at least a half a dozen boys in school older than myself, they were from good families and helped much by their example to maintain order.
Charles and Mary Harrington were my "star" pupils. Ma___ Harrington was away at college. George Harrington had left home in his teens, not caring for school, he had gone to California to make his fortune. He had returned home that fall without a fortune, and with very little education. He was twenty-seven, and was studying arithmetic at home. One day he came to me to ask if he might occupy a desk in the school room. "I will give you no trouble", he said, "I think I could study better there, the atmosphere would be a help." I thought he was joking, but soon found he was quite in earnest. When Dr. Harrington added his plea, I could not refuse, lest I should seem ungrateful for all their kindness. So George established himself in a corner, and I trembled in my shoes. I felt sure the first problem he was unable to solve he would bring to me.
Now, arithmetic was never my strong point. I loved grammar and reveled in difficult parsing. It was not that I was ignorant of the principles of arithmetic. I required my pupils to memorize definitions and rules, and I knew them myself, but I was slow at figures and easily confused. What did I do? I got a key to the arithmetic and kept ahead of George, solving the problems at night, and making sure of the method and answer. He did ask my help, not infrequently; perhaps sometimes, for the fun of it. Not once did he find me unprepared. It was splendid discipline for me, and arithmetic seemed less difficult afterward.
What fine spelling-schools we had! Frank Harned was the best speller in the country. He had spelled down every school for miles around, and could himself only be spelled down by unusual words culled from the dictionary. I used to say: "Frank, remember, I <u>depend</u> on you." "All right", and his smile was good to see.
But why dwell on that winter, since its end was so sad? It was during the Civil War. One afternoon, towards spring, Frank and three others asked to be excused. This was very unusual, but one glance at their faces and I understood. They went out, and the school went on as best it could. Just before closing time they returned and took their seats. At the signal to put away books, they quietly piled all on the top of their desks. Some of the older girls put down their heads to hide the tears. I quickly dismissed the school, saying to the children, "Go out quietly, and go directly home." Then the young men came around my desk, and Frank said, "We have enlisted, and are off tomorrow." "I know it, may God be with you, my boys" was all I could say.
Not long after came the news that Frank Harned was ill in a hospital with measles. Another two weeks, and the news came that he was dead. He was convalescent when his regiment was ordered away; nothing would do, but he <u>must</u> go with them. The doctor said he could join them when he was a little stronger. Frank said, "<u>I</u> <u>will</u> <u>go</u> <u>with</u> my regiment." He caught cold, and <u>died</u>. His body was sent home and we had a <u>sad</u> funeral, but it was only <u>one</u> <u>of</u> <u>many</u> <u>thousands</u>, all over the land!
==A Year in Berlin==
==Meanwhile and Afterwards==