AUTUMN had run up her banner of red and gold, and under the spreading folds I had walked every day to Rockdale, and as steadily as the week came round rode home with Frank Clavers on Friday, until Hunter came to know me quite as well as his master. Still, after the first ride, I had never felt the same degree of satisfaction. To ride well no longer seemed to me such a desirable acquisition. To master my Latin as readily was now my ambition, and to this I bent all my energies.
As the winter deepened, the walk to Rockdale proved as bleak as before it had been delightful, and the north winds, sweeping down through the mountain gorges, made my cheeks and ears tingle. Still I could not afford to lose a day. Frank was to stay three years, and then four more in college; but Frank Clavers’ father was rich, and I was dependent upon my own toil.
As I looked forward, for the first time one night I yielded to despondency; my book closed, and my head fell forward on the casement. Far above, the bright stars were shining. It was His hand that sustained them. He prescribed their courses, and kept them within their limits; and although I did not understand how, I still felt that his watch and care was over me; and with this feeling came strength.
Looking back, as we did in going up the mountain, I could feel that I had accomplished much; and still it was so little of what I craved. I needed to be again reminded that it was by one step at a time that the summit was reached; and that, had I stood at the foot of the mountain and attempted to leap up by a few great efforts, it would never have been done.
My class-mates were boys accustomed to school life, and still I knew that some of them hardly looked in their books till they came to recite. At first I thought Mr. Harlan was to blame; they came to study, and they ought to be made to do so. Still, I have since found it is not an easy matter to compel pupils to do what they do not wish to do, what they will not do cheerfully. Doubtless he did all that he could to incite them to study; and this failing, he allowed them to drift on, hoping perhaps they would in time wake up to the responsibility of wisely improving their time and opportunities.
Another advantage I had gained at Mr. Jeffries’ was to be seen in my declamation. To stimulate my memory, I had learned nearly the whole of my English Reader by heart, and these lessons I had been in the habit of repeating to the servants in the kitchen, and sometimes, if I had a moment’s leisure, to myself in the stable. It was in the latter place that Mr. Jeffries had surprised me, the mention of which he often made, sure of a laugh at my expense, and over which I grew extremely sensitive. As declamation was a regular weekly exercise in school, I soon found that the habit had been of great use to me; not only could I readily commit to memory, but there was no feeling of timidity, and I could speak before others without a thought of myself, leaving me free to profit by the suggestions of my teacher.
Prominent in the memory of those days is my long daily walk, with its frequent concomitants of deep snows, leaden skies, and bitter winds. One day when the cold was at its height, Miss Grimshaw went to the door with me, and urged me not to think of going to Rockdale. I had just begun to translate, and one of my sentences troubled me till rest seemed impossible; I must go. Neither could I look for a ride, as grandma suggested. Action was necessary; and buttoning my coat closely, I told her I could easily go, the sun would soon make an impression. “It is not half as severe as some days last week.”
Accordingly I started; but before I left the village I was obliged to stop repeating my lesson aloud; my teeth chattered and my ears were tingling. I tried to run, but the stiff frozen snow would not allow of this extra effort. A half mile from town I met Dr. Graham.
“It is too cold to go to Rockdale to-day, Marston;” and he opened his buffalo robes and offered me a seat.
“Thank you, Dr. Graham,” I answered as well as my chattering teeth would allow, “it wont be any worse; I can get there.” Again he tried to turn me; but no, I must recite my lesson, and I needed explanations; I felt that I could not wait another day.
On I went, the wind rushing and roaring through the leafless branches of the trees. I rubbed my ears with my mittens, while my feet were so numb I could hardly walk. Midway I began to fear that I should actually perish. Should I go back, or should I go on? I glanced at the mountain, with the proud consciousness that I had been to the top. “Never give up,” Mr. Kirby said. It was my duty to go to school. I had started; I would go.
I gave one glance at the marble column of the waterfall, with its sculptured ridges and diamond points, the feathery spray caught up and congealed, standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, more beautiful than art could ever hope to imitate. It was worth a great effort to look upon such a winter picture and I sprang forward with renewed energy, trying to forget my numbed feet and frozen fingers.
It was harder than I had imagined, however. All the tales I have since read of suffering on account of cold, seem only a dim outline of what I then experienced. As I left the hollow I met Philip Allen with his wood-sled. He had a small load, and was going home as fast as he could goad on his oxen.
“I never saw such a day as this,” said Philip; “you had better get on to the sled.”
“I should freeze standing still,” I answered. “I must go on now;” and I began to feel sorry that I had started. It was indeed a terrible day. My father had fallen in the snow. What if it should be my fate too?
“Never give up,” said I to myself, and I felt that I should like to have Mr. Kirby know that I was trying. At length I became aware of a new sensation stealing over me: it was with difficulty I could put one foot before the other; the beauty was fading out of the sky; I only wished to lie down in the snow. I forgot that I was going to school; strange shapes floated round me, while strains of sweet music soothed and quieted me. I was no longer cold, but, lapped in a delicious dream, seemed to be floating towards a palace of dazzling splendor.
The next that I remember, I was in a nice warm room. It was not the school-room, although Mr. and Mrs. Harlan stood beside me. My coat was off, and the good woman was rubbing my hands in her own. Then I saw there were others present, and that not only my hands, but my whole body had been rubbed vigorously. I was suffering a terrible stinging pain.
“Drink this,” said Mrs. Harlan, as a bowl of hot tea was handed me; “it will help you to get warm.” More to please her than from any other feeling, I drained it off, and ere long felt a genial glow through all my members.
Seeing that the danger was over, Mr. Harlan went to the school-room; and at noon all the boys and some of the girls crowded around me. Such a crying and shaking of hands! And then I learned how near to death I had come.
Jerry, the Irish man of all work, had seen me stagger along, and finally fall. His kind Irish heart told him at once it was the cold, and springing down the road, he carried me in his arms to the kitchen, from which Mrs. Harlan had me taken at once to her own room.
“To think of your coming to school such a day, when we that live in the house can hardly study at all,” said Henry Alden. Robert Lovell, however, said, “I can understand it: you could not have stayed at home, had you tried. I went one winter nearly as far; but it was not so cold; neither was the snow so deep as this winter.”
I recited my lesson in Mrs. Harlan’s room; and it seemed to me Mr. Harlan was never so kind before. He gave me all the explanations that I needed, and in such a manner that I understood perfectly.
“I trust we shall not have another such a day; but if we do, you must not expose yourself in this way again. Promise me;” and he took both my hands. “It is too great a risk.”
“If you say so,” I answered; “but I shall not like to stay at home.”
“You will study, and I shall not mark you as absent without cause.”
As I was taking my books and making ready to start for home, Mr. Harlan said,
“Jerry will take you home in his sleigh; he has an errand down, and it wont trouble him at all.”
Mrs. Harlan brought out a pair of fur mittens and slipped over mine, and got me a large grey shawl that protected me entirely.
“You need not return them,” said the sweet-voiced woman; “I have been looking all winter for somebody that needed them.” She shook me warmly by the hand, and Mr. Harlan saw me down to the sleigh.
“No right effort is ever lost, Marston; you aim to do what you do well and faithfully, and God will open a path for you when he sees that you can do something better, depend upon it, my son. Thank him for sparing your life, and devote it to his service.”
The buffalo robe was nicely tucked around me, and the grey shawl pulled over my head; and feeling for my books, to make sure that I had them, we started.
“Niver saw the like of such a day,” said Jerry. “If I had not seen you in the morning— It was about ten you fell.” Again I shuddered, and thought of my poor dead father, as near our home as I was to the academy; and in that blinding storm we failed to see him.
The next day was Saturday; and as I sat in Miss Grimshaw’s back room, petted a little more than usual by Jennie and grandma, I thought of Mr. Harlan’s words, “No right effort is ever lost.” And it seemed that I could hear again Mr. Kirby’s voice, “Whatever you do, do well, and God will open a path to something better.” Since then they have come to me often in characters of light, to brighten my darkest hours. They have helped me labor on. When my heart was sore with heaviness, they have aided me in adhering to the right in despite of ridicule and temptation.
“No right effort is ever lost.” “Do what you do well, and God will open a path to you, when he sees that you can do something better.” Bind the sentiment to your heart, if you are a patient climber, and take courage. But I had not yet found the way to the Source of all strength, nor learned the secret of the only true and noble life.
At the close of the term, in February, we had an examination. This was new to me, and caused me no little uneasiness. I had never been through with such a day, and as a matter of course I felt not a little frightened at the idea of being questioned before such a crowd as the boys told me always came. Mr. and Mrs. Harlan were very kind and patient teachers, and I was so fresh and new in my studies, that I trembled in view of the blunders I felt sure I should make before strangers and critics.
“All Terryville will be here,” said Henry Alden; “but then you need not mind: you are the best one we have in arithmetic, and history too; and as for your Latin, why you are only a beginner; they wont expect much; and in declamation you know you will take the lead.”
“But I have never spoken before so many.”
“That’s nothing; you’ll get accustomed to it in a few times. We don’t mind it a feather. It a’n’t half of them that know.”
The day came. Miss Grimshaw and Jennie rode with Mr. Willett in a nice sleigh, with a double set of bells. Then there was Mr. Farnham and Mr. Wentworth, ministers from Terryville, with Dr. Graham and Dr. Stiles, and several grey-haired men with gold-bowed glasses and ivory-headed canes, and with books in their hands, evidently ready to criticize closely.
“That’s the way they always do,” said Henry; “but if you could peep over their shoulders, ten chances to one their books are wrong side up.”
Calm and composed, Henry Alden made his comments. He was an amiable, kindly-disposed lad, but caring nothing for study. Still he managed to get along, and examination-days had no terrors for him. His easy, nonchalant air surprised me, and still more the light opinion he had formed of the learning of some of the visitors.
Around the sides of the room sat the ladies from Terryville; but to me there was no face that looked kinder than Miss Grimshaw’s, no beauty that began to equal my little sister Jennie’s.
At eleven o’clock the class that had finished arithmetic were called. I felt the blood rushing over me at fever heat, my fingers tingling, and my cheeks burning. Mr. Farnham questioned us, giving examples to each. The first sum he gave me was in interest, the second in the cube root. I did not tremble from fear that I could not do the examples, as I knew perfectly well there was not a sum in the book I could not do; but I wanted to do it easily, handsomely, and in order. I gave a quick glance to Jennie, and the calm expression of the sweet face swept away all trepidation. I crossed the platform, and took up the crayon. Never was I more collected; I forgot there were others in the room; I only saw Jennie, and I knew by the expression of her quiet face that she expected me to do well. She would be disappointed if I failed. I would not fail. There was no reason why I should.
The example was on the board, and I stood with pointer in hand ready for explanation. Contrary to my expectation, my voice did not tremble; and when I finished, I was prouder than I have ever been since.
Then followed algebra, as far as we had gone.
“It is well done,” said Mr. Wentworth with a pleasant smile. “Such examples make boys think; and when once they begin to think, then they begin to learn in reality. Perhaps you sometimes wonder why such and such examples were put into the algebra; you can see no use in them, except to puzzle you. I will tell you. It is to make you deep, earnest thinkers. Boys that can think about their sums, solve their problems, and explain them readily, can also think about something else. That is why you study algebra, and that is why you are drilled so thoroughly in Latin and Greek. It is to make you think patiently, and so learn to overcome difficulties. Learn to think then, and never give up because you do not understand what practical use it is to be to you.”
And as this was the last lesson on the programme, he took occasion to tell us the grand incentive to all this labor was because God had given us minds of untold worth; that these minds were to live for ever, and the more we acquired, so much the more should we be able to understand the works of the Creator, so much better should we be able to discharge the duties incumbent upon us, so much better able to work for Him who has given us these minds, who has so liberally endowed us with all these wonderful attributes of the soul. And he urged us all to remember our Creator in the days of our youth, to give our hearts to him when young, that we might be led and guarded by him along life’s pathway.
This made me think of Mr. Kirby. “Do good men all talk alike?” asked Jennie, as soon as the bell struck for recess.
After dinner, which we took with Mr. and Mrs. Harlan, we were again marched into the school-room, and examined closely in Latin. As beginners we came first, and I was surprised that we received so much praise, expecting as a matter of course that this would only be awarded the advanced classes; but Mr. Wentworth said,
“The foundation is the chief thing. Once well grounded in the rudiments, and the rest is sure. Here is where the work is to be done.”
At night Dr. Graham shook hands with us kindly, and said that he thought our village was well represented. Frank Clavers had been sick for a few weeks, and obliged to stay at home. Still, his class had well sustained themselves, and Frank had always been at the head. Mr. Farnham and Mr. Wentworth were particularly kind, and Jennie could hardly contain herself as we rode home.
“It was better a great deal than the boy in the book; he broke down several times, and you did not fail once,” and she slid her mittened hand into mine.
“Fail! I guess he didn’t,” cried Mr. Willett. “Why, he came out the best there. It was no bad thing his being with me last summer; nothing like practice for a boy;” and Mr. Willett enjoyed with evident satisfaction the idea that whatever knowledge I had of mathematics was based on the practice I had in his grocery.
It had not been specified how long I was to remain at Rockdale. “Till spring,” Miss Grimshaw said; but whether that meant April or May was to me uncertain. What was my surprise, however, when May came and I asked if I was not to stop, and she answered, “The term is so nearly out it would be a pity for you to leave. I have spoken to Mr. Harlan about it, and he wishes you to remain; you must work hard enough in vacation to make up for it.”
The term closed in June, and then there was a final examination of a week. Frank Clavers was again with us, and as usual at the head of his class.