At recess, when the other children had trooped out of doors to play, Dixie remained, and Miss Bayley, who was writing on the board, turned to find a pair of eager eyes watching.
“Did you want to speak to me, Dixie, dear?” she inquired.
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Bayley, please, if ’twouldn’t be interrupting too much. I want to ask advice about something that’s very secret.”
The teacher smiled. She believed that she was at last to learn the cause of the inward glow that radiated from the thin, freckled face of the older Martin girl, who was sometimes called “homely.”
But the secret something was destined not to be told, for just then Jessica Archer, who had missed Dixie from the playground, entered the schoolroom in search of her. Not that she desired the companionship of a Martin, but she did not wish to give Dixie an opportunity to be alone with the teacher.
Miss Bayley frowned, and very softly she said: “Dear, can’t you come over to my cabin after school to-night? I very much want to have a real heart-to-heart visit with you.”
“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, I’d love to. You can’t think how I’d love to!” was the eagerly given reply.
Jessica Archer could not possibly have heard, and so it was merely a coincidence which prompted her to say, “Miss Bayley, my mother said I was to tell you to come home with me after school to-night and have supper at our house.”
“Thank you, dear,” Miss Bayley replied, “I am sorry that I cannot accept. Please thank your mother for me, and tell her that I had already made another engagement.”
The young teacher was rebellious. Her free time, surely, was her own, and she determined that she would do with it as she pleased.
Dixie was about to protest that she could come any other day just as well, but there was an expression in her dear teacher’s eyes that silenced her. Then as the clock marked the hour of ten, Miss Bayley rang a bell which ended recess and recalled the small pupils to their lessons. Jessica Archer, with another toss of her corn-yellow curls, seated herself, feeling that she was not being treated with the respect that was due the daughter of a sheep-king. She was suspicious, and that was why she lingered so long after school, rubbing imaginary marks from her reader, washing off the top of her desk with unusual care, and all this time, while the teacher was preparing examples for the following day, Dixie Martin sat on the bench outside of the little log schoolhouse, happily waiting.
At last the teacher’s patience reached the breaking-point. Looking up from her work, she found the pale-blue eyes of the daughter of the board of education watching her.
“Jessica Archer,” she exclaimed, and the degree of exasperation she felt sounded in her voice, “will you kindly tell me why you are remaining? The afternoon session ended at least fifteen minutes ago. You will please leave at once, and do not remain after school-hours again without asking my permission and explaining your reason for wishing to do so.”
Jessica’s expression was decidedly impudent. “There’s that Dixie Martin staying after school.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. “She is not in the schoolhouse. I have no control over all the big out-of-doors. What is more,” and this took moral courage, “Dixie is waiting for me at my request. Now take your books and go!”
Miss Bayley had never before been so angry at a pupil, for she believed, and truly, that she was being spied upon by the small daughter of Mrs. Sethibald Archer.
Jessica did depart, but she did not go home at once. Having reached a clump of low-growing pines near the inn, she hid among them to await the return of Miss Bayley to her small cabin home. At last she saw her coming, and with her was the hated Dixie Martin, and, what was even more shocking, Miss Bayley was swinging the little girl by the hand and skipping; yes, she was actually skipping in a way that no self-respecting teacher had ever done before.
Jessica remained in her place of hiding until she was sure that Dixie was going in the cabin with the teacher. Then, when she believed that she was unobserved, she crept but, keeping hidden as best she could behind the sagebrush, until she reached the trail that led down to her valley home.
Bursting into her mother’s room, she began to sob. Mrs. Sethibald Archer at that moment was struggling to write a speech, and a very large dictionary lay open on the table at her side.
Her real reason for having invited Miss Bayley to supper that night had been to have the assistance of the teacher in preparing the paper which she was to read on the day following in Genoa. Once before Miss Bayley had given invaluable assistance, and the ladies had greatly praised Mrs. Sethibald on her clear and lucid exposition of the subject. Just what that meant, the speaker of the day had not known, but she was convinced that it was praise, and she was desirous of doing equally well on the morrow.
“Do stop crying,” the weary mother now remonstrated, “and tell me where is Miss Bayley? I didn’t see her coming down the trail with you just now.”
“She—she wouldn’t come, Ma,” Jessica sobbed afresh. “She—she treats me awful mean. She says that horrid Dixie Martin is the smartest girl in the school. She says she can read better’n I can. I told her you wanted her to come to supper to-night, and she said she had another engagement, and—and, ma, it wasn’t so. She just had Dixie Martin go home with her, that’s all, for I hid and saw, and she didn’t act ladylike neither, ma; she skipped!”
Mrs. Sethibald Archer arose, and the expression in her eyes was not pleasant to see. “There’s your pa coming into the barnyard this very minute,” she said. “Run right out, darling of my heart, and tell him not to unhitch. Tell him I’m wishing him to drive me over to the inn. We’ll see whether or not my requests are to be set aside like this.”
Jessica ran out to deliver the message, which was really a command, and Sethibald Archer understood it as such. Then, returning, the child asked eagerly: “Ma, I want to go along.”
“Of course you may go. This thing’s going to be settled this very day. I’m not going to have any upstart of a teacher refuse my hospitality when I offer it. Indeed not.”
When Dixie entered the pleasant living-room of the little log cabin near the inn, she clasped her hands, and her eyes glowed with appreciation as she looked about.
“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she breathed rapturously, “you’ve got books, haven’t you? I never did see so many books all in one room. Oh, please, may I touch them?”
Then it was that the young teacher remembered that the little girl had said that “Oliver Twist” and “Pilgrim’s Progress” were the only books that she had, and an almanac.
“Poor little story-hungry girl,” she thought, as she removed her hat and turned toward the child. “Of course you may touch them, dear. I’m going to make us some hot chocolate to drink, and you may browse around all that you wish. Choose any book that you like and I will help you read it. One of my reasons for asking you here to-day, Dixie, was to suggest that once or twice a week you come with me and let me tutor you in advanced reading. Then you can take the book home and give the same instruction to your brother, Ken. There is no reason why you two children, who are so unusually gifted, should be held back by one of little natural intelligence.”
Then Miss Bayley entered the lean-to which was also her kitchen, and humming to herself to endeavor to erase from her memory the unpleasant conflict with Jessica Archer, she filled the tiny teakettle, lighted the oil-stove, and prepared a few dainty sandwiches.
When she re-entered the living-room, her small guest sat on the window-seat, one long, spidery leg curled under her, and she held two books. The gold-brown eyes seemed to have sunshine in their depths as they looked up.
“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she piped, “it was so hard to choose. It’s like when the spring flowers are in blossom and the valley-meadow is all blue and gold with them. There are so many, and they are all so lovely it’s hard to tell which ones to pick. I guess, though, that these two would be nice. This one says ‘Little Women’ on the cover, but that wouldn’t interest Ken so much, it being all about girls, but this one would, for, in the picture, there is a boat wrecked and animals swimming to the shore. I’m sure boys would like it.”
Miss Bayley nodded, beaming her pleasure. “You will like that one, too. My brother, Tim, and I read ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ through seven times when we were your age and Ken’s.”
Skipping over to the long, home-made bookshelf, the child replaced “Little Women,” and held lovingly the volume of her choice.
Then a cheerful humming in the kitchen announced that the teakettle was beginning to boil, and Miss Bayley went thither to complete preparations for the lunch.
While they were eating it, the young woman, who was little more than a girl herself, having graduated from a normal school when she was hardly twenty years of age,—and this was her first school,—smiled across at her small guest as she said: “Dearie, at recess you wanted to tell me something. What was it?”
“I’m going to tell you all about us, Miss Bayley.”
Dixie’s thin, freckled face became suddenly serious. “I’m going to tell you all about us, Miss Bayley,” she began, “then I guess you’ll better understand.”
And so the little mother of the Martins told to a most sympathetic and interested listener the drama which had recently been enacted in their log-cabin home.
“And, oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” the child said, “I never, never could have come to school again if my little sister had stayed away. She’s all the sister I’ve got to love. I couldn’t give up Ken or Baby Jim either, but—but I guess a girl needs another girl in a special way that boys can’t understand, don’t you, teacher?”
The young woman nodded emphatically, and there were tears close to her eyes. What a cruel, hard experience these children had been going through, and all alone.
“I do, indeed, Dixie,” she said. “There are so many tasks and pleasures and little confidences that only girls can share with each other, but I am glad that everything happened just as it did, for now Carol knows that her own home is best and she will be more content.”
But Dixie looked a bit troubled, and the young woman asked: “Dear, what is it? Was there something else that you wished to say?”
“Yes, teacher, Miss Bayley, it’s this. Next month is Carol’s birthday, and, oh, if only I could give her a blue silk dress I’d be the happiest! She loves pretty things and she’s never had anything silk.” Then eagerly, anxiously, “Miss Bayley, could I get a silk dress for two dollars and thirty cents?”
The young teacher hesitated not at all. “Of course you can, dear girl. That is, you can get the blue silk by the yard and then you can make the dress.”
The freckled face that at first had brightened, looked doleful again. The child shook her head as she said: “I couldn’t, teacher. I don’t know anything about how to put on patterns. Grandma Piggins did, and she made us the gingham dresses, but she made them button in front, and Carol wants buttons in the back.”
“And so she shall have them, dear. Of course you can’t use a pattern yet, but I will show you how.” Then, before the small girl could express her gratitude, the young teacher exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, little Miss Martin. To-morrow will be Saturday, and you and I will go to Genoa on the nine-o’clock stage, shall we? Then you may choose the silk and a pattern. I have some lace in my trunk that will do nicely for trimming. How would you like that?”
“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, I’d love it! I’ve never been to Genoa but once.” Sudden tears in the child’s eyes assured Miss Bayley that the once had been a sad occasion, as indeed it had been, for with her father she and Ken had gone to select a coffin for their beautiful mother.
Desiring to change the thought of her little guest, Miss Bayley asked, “What color do you like best, Dixie?”
“I like the first green that comes on the trees down by the creek in spring. It’s like a fairy color with silver on it,” the little girl said.
Miss Bayley nodded. “That would make a pretty silk dress,” she remarked, “but I’d like you to have a cashmere dress, the same gold-brown as your eyes.”
“Me? Oh, I don’t need a new dress, Miss Bayley. I don’t mind buttons down the front the way Carol does.”
The young teacher laughed, saying, as she rose to clear the table, “We shall see what we shall see.”
Dixie was about to assist when the sound of wheels attracted her attention. “Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,”—the child seemed actually frightened,—“something dreadful must have happened. Here come all the Archers.”
There was a sudden firmness about Josephine Bayley’s pretty mouth, and an expression in her eyes that seemed to say, “Let them come.”
Miss Bayley opened the door when she heard an imperative rap thereon.
“Oh, good-afternoon, Mrs. Archer and Mr. Archer,” she said graciously. “Come in, won’t you, and Jessica? You are all acquainted with my little friend, Dixie Martin, and so introductions will not be necessary. Won’t you be seated? This is my most comfortable chair, Mrs. Archer, and Jessica, you will find room over on the window-seat by Dixie.”
The wife of the sheep-king sat down, but held herself rigidly erect. “Miss Bayley,” she said, “didn’t you get an invitation to come to our house to supper?”
“Why, yes, Mrs. Archer, but did not Jessica tell you that although I appreciated your thoughtfulness, I could not accept to-day, as I had another engagement?” Miss Bayley was calm, and completely mistress of the situation.
The older woman sneered. “Engagement?” she repeated sarcastically. “How could you have any engagements in these here parts that couldn’t be set aside when I need your services?”
Miss Bayley’s eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly. “I did not understand that you needed me,” she said. “I thought that you wished to contribute to my pleasure by inviting me to supper.”
Mrs. Archer’s manner changed. “Well, so I did in a way, and if you’ll go back with us now,” she said, “I’ll call it all right.” She knew that unless Miss Bayley did help her, she would be unable to read a paper before the Woman’s Club in Genoa on the next day.
For one brief moment Josephine Bayley hesitated. Should she defy this woman and declare her right to independence at least as far as her free time was concerned? A second thought reminded her that this would be unwise, if she wished to remain in the mountain country; and now, more than ever, she did wish to remain, that she might help little Dixie Martin, if for no other reason.
That small girl had risen, and in the pause she said shyly: “Teacher, Miss Bayley, I must be going. Baby Jim is like to be missing me by now.”
“Very well, dear.” The teacher also rose and walked to the door which she opened, and then said, loud enough for the listeners to hear without effort: “Dixie, be ready to-morrow morning at half-past eight. You would better come up here, dear, and then the stage will not need to stop on the cañon road.”
Then, closing the door and turning back into the room, she added pleasantly: “I suppose, Mrs. Archer, that you wish me to prepare a paper for you. If that is true, I will get my hat and coat and accompany you.”
Her manner, in spite of the graciousness of her words and tone, was defiant, and when she returned from her screened bedroom, she found Mr. Archer, his hands behind him, pacing up and down the living-room.
“Look a-here, Miss Bayley,” he blurted out, “my wife and me aren’t at all satisfied with your actions. It’s us chiefly that supports this school and pays your salary.”
The teacher’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. “Indeed?” she said. “I thought this was a public school in the Genoa district.”
Mr. Archer was obliged to confess that, in one way, it was. “But it’s my taxes, mostly, that pays your salary,” he contended.
“When taxes are paid into the county treasury, the money is no longer yours,” Miss Bayley told him. “It belongs to the people to be spent for the best interest of the entire community.”
The young teacher’s manner was quiet, but she spoke as one who knew.
Mrs. Archer, unable to longer remain silent, burst forth with: “You might as well understand, once for all, that Mr. Sethibald Archer is boss of this here school, and what he says goes. Mr. Samuel Clayburn, the banker, he as is head of the board of education over in Genoa, told Mr. Archer that as long as everything went along all right, he’d not interfere with my husband’s management of this here school district.”
The ponderous woman rose, and her expression was one of triumph. Mr. Archer nodded his agreement. “That’s just what the Honorable Clayburn said, and so, if you’re wanting to remain in this here school, you’d better not be setting those no-account Martin children up over our Jessica. Now, are you coming with us, Miss Bayley?”
To their unconcealed amazement, the young teacher mutinied.
“No,” she said quietly, “I am not. I consider my free time my own to do with as I wish, and I do not wish to go anywhere this evening.”
A dull red suffused the face of Mr. Sethibald Archer. “Miss Bayley,” he sputtered, “this here term ends the middle of December. You can pack up your baggage and be ready to leave the day after.”
“Very well, Mr. Archer,” was the astonishing reply, “if you are still in authority when that time arrives, I shall do as you request.”
When the three were again in their buggy and on their way down the valley road, the irate man exclaimed: “Such impudence! If I’m in authority by the middle of December, she’ll leave. Huh, she’ll leave all right! Who else in these here parts has brains enough to be governing board of a public school?”
Mrs. Archer, being a wise wife, smoothed his ruffled feelings by remarking: “Nobody, of course. You’re the brainiest man anywhere this side of Genoa.” Then she added, with a sigh, “I’ll have to give up reading that paper to-morrow, and you’ll have to drive over and tell ’em I was took sick or something. If I was you, I’d stop in at the bank while you’re in Genoa, and clinch the matter about dismissin’ that upstart of a Miss Bayley.”
“That’s just what I’ll do!” Mr. Archer agreed, as he drove into his barnyard.
They had forgotten that on the next day the teacher and Dixie Martin were also going to Genoa.
Dixie was awake on the eventful Saturday morning as soon as the first bird-note was heard underneath the wide-spreading eaves. Quietly she slipped from bed, hoping not to awaken the little curly-headed sleeper at her side, but, just as she was buttoning up her best gingham dress, Carol opened dazed blue eyes and looked about.
“Why, Dixie Martin, what for are you up so early?” was the puzzled query, but almost instantly the little girl remembered, and at once she began to climb out of bed.
“Oh, I know,” she prattled, “this is the day that you go to Genoa with Miss Bayley, and I am to be ‘little mother’ to Baby Jim and Ken.”
In another moment the arms of the older girl were about her, and the flushed cheeks were being kissed as Dixie exclaimed, “Carol, it’s so nice of you not to mind my going and leaving you at home, but some day, I’m just sure, it will be your turn to go and see the shops, and—and everything.”
There was joy in the heart of Dixie as she descended the ladder that led from their loft bedroom. How Carol had changed! Just one short month ago she would have sulked if Dixie were to be given some pleasure that she had not been asked to share, but to-day the small girl was actually getting up hours earlier than usual, that she might be a real help in the little home, and that Dixie need not be all tired out before starting on her wonderful journey. But, early as these two little maids were astir, Ken was ahead of them, and, just as the potatoes and bacon were sizzling for breakfast, in he came with a pail of milk.
“Girls,” he cried jubilantly, twirling his cap so dexterously that it caught on the hook by the door, just as he wished it to do, “something’s happened. Something jolly! Guess what.”
The sisters looked interested but did not venture a guess.
“Blessing is weaned!” was the astonishing announcement. “He wriggled out of his pen in the night I guess. I was awful panicky at first, thinkin’ like as not he was lost, but where d’you think I found him? In the shed, eating apples.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Carol remarked as she continued with her task, “we won’t have to bother any more about feeding him with a bottle.”
Dixie sighed, “I was hoping you’d say my cat had come back. She’s been gone three weeks if it’s a day.”
Ken laughed as he turned the milk through a sieve. “Cats always come back, sis,” he said encouragingly. Then, for a moment, he was silent as he plunged his face into a deep basin of cool water from the pump, but later, when he was rubbing vigorously with a rough towel, he winked one eye at Carol as he added: “Even if Topsy never comes back, it’s small loss. The world is full of cats.” He said it to tease, for well he knew his sister’s devotion to that particular black cat. The expected retort came:
“Why, Ken Martin, how can you say that, when you know there’s only one Topsy cat? You might as well say that if Baby Jim went away, it wouldn’t matter, ’cause the world is full of babies.”
Carol pretended to be indignant. “Dixie, how can you speak of cats and our baby all in one breath?”
A small voice arose in the next room, and the little mother flew thitherward, to return a moment later with a sleepy, flushed little four-year-old, who was covered with a long pink-flannel nightie. His golden curls were towsled, and when the little maid had seated herself and cuddled him on her lap, he beamed around at them all, but looked up into the face that was bending over him with his sweetest smile. Then, lifting his warm little hand, he patted her freckled cheek as he prattled, “Jimmy-Boy loves Dixie.”
Almost convulsively the girl held him close. “Oh, Baby Jim,” she said, “I’m awfully sorry I said that about cats, for even if the world is full of babies, after all, there’s only just one.”
An hour later Carol looked at the clock. “You’d better hurry, Dix,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to miss the stage.”
And hurry the little maid did, and at eight o’clock promptly she set off up the cañon trail with a song singing in her heart, and with feet that could hardly be kept from dancing.
Josephine Bayley was just finishing her breakfast when a tap came upon her door. With the girlish skip which had so shocked prim little Miss Archer, she went to open it, and, as she had supposed, she found Dixie, her freckled face aglow, standing outside.
She was wearing a very pretty leghorn hat wreathed with daisies.
“Why, Dixie, how nice you look!” the young woman exclaimed. “Come in, dear. We can see the stage when it comes up the valley road. What a pretty hat you have.”
The girl flushed. “’Tisn’t mine, teacher,” she confessed. “It belongs to Carol, but she just made me wear it.” Then she added in a burst of confidence: “Carol’s changed a lot since she went away to be ’dopted. Before that she never would let me even put this hat on in front of the mirror, let alone wear it outdoors, but this morning, when I was putting on my old hat that got caught in the rain last spring and sort of limped, she came right up and took it away, and then, before I knew what she was up to, she slipped back of me and put her treasure-hat right on my head, and when I said something might happen to it, she said, ‘All right, let it,’ but that she wasn’t going to have her big sister go to town in a hat that looked as though Biddy-hen had used it for a nest.”
There were sudden tears in the eyes of the little girl. “Oh, teacher,” she confided, “I did think that I always loved Carol as much as ever I could, but I’m loving her more every day, and Ken, too. He said last night, ‘Gee, sis. I’m glad now Carol went away to be ’dopted, for I’m so glad she came back.’”
“She is a dear, sweet girl,” Miss Bayley said, “and it was nice for her to want you to wear the hat which she so treasures, but I’m sure that nothing will happen to it, for there isn’t a cloud in the blue, blue sky, and we’re not expecting whirlwinds to carry it away.”
While they talked, Miss Bayley washed the few dishes and then Dixie helped her spread the bed in the screened-in porch, which was still a joy to the girl who had lived her twenty years in crowded New York.
Just as the last little pat was given to the pillow, a distant rumbling was heard, and Dixie ran to the front window of the cabin and looked down the valley road. “It’s coming, teacher, Miss Bayley. The stage is ’most here!”
Josephine Bayley felt as though she were a girl again, a very young girl. Dixie’s excitement was contagious. Donning her hat and jacket, and taking her shopping-bag, which had room in it for all the things they were going to purchase, she caught the little girl by the hand, and, though her feet longed to skip, they thought it best to walk demurely, for the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly, had appeared to greet any newcomers that might have arrived to stay at the inn, and well did Miss Bayley know that she expected schoolteachers to appear morosely dignified.
Mr. Hiram Tressler, the driver of the stage, was a very old man, having driven that route more years than Mr. Enterprise Twiggly could remember. He had been born and brought up in those parts, but his unwavering good nature and optimism had kept him young-looking, and his life out-of-doors had made him, as he himself said, “as hard as a pine-knot.”
“All aboard, them that’s comin’ aboard!” he called from his high seat. Then, noting that the new teacher, whom he had brought up from Reno but a month before, was about to embark with him, he added, “Miss Bayley, wouldn’t you an’ little Dixie Martin like to sit up front?”
The young girl looked up into the face of her companion so eagerly that the teacher gave a laughing response that she was sure they would be glad to accept the invitation. The passengers inside the coach looked like traveling salesmen, with much baggage stowed about them, and they seemed much more desirous of sleeping than they did of admiring the majestic scenery through which they were to pass. One did waken when the stage started with a jolt, but soon dozed again.
Little Dixie, wedged in between Miss Bayley and the stage-driver, looked up beamingly at first one and then the other. “Traveling’s real exciting, isn’t it?” she said at last, when they were well under way.
Josephine Bayley nodded. Was it amusing or was it tragic, she was wondering, that this little midget, small for her twelve years, had never been out of Woodford’s but once before, and that once to help select a coffin. Josephine Bayley resolved that this day should be so brimmed with happy hours that the little girl would have no time to recall the sad memory of that other journey to Genoa.
They were turning down the rough, rugged cañon road that was deep in the shadow of great old pines, when Ken, Carol, and Baby Jim leaped from behind the massive trunks where they had been hiding, and shouted, waving their handkerchiefs, “Good-by, Dixie! Good-by, teacher!” Then Baby Jim’s shrill, excited voice floated down the cañon after them, “Bring me some candy!”
What a happy light there was in the gold-brown eyes that were lifted to the teacher, as the little girl said: “I hoped they’d all come. I’m so glad they wanted to!”
Josephine Bayley held the thin hand of the child in a close clasp, and she was thinking: “Lucky little girl! How I wish I had some one to care whether I come or go! Brother Tim is all I have in this wide world, and we are so far apart.” Then, remembering that this was to be Dixie’s day, the teacher chatted about things that would interest her little comrade, and two hours later Mr. Hiram Tressler sang out, “There’s Genoa’s church-steeple.” Then, with evident pride, “Teacher, did ye ever see any buildin’ go up much higher’n that?”
Miss Josephine Bayley, late of New York, had to confess that she had seen steeples a mite higher. She wondered what the stage-driver would think if his route led by the Woolworth building, but how glad, glad she was that it didn’t!
Ten minutes later the stage-driver drew rein. “Here we are now. That there’s the dry-goods emporium, teacher. I’ll pick you up agin, right on this very spot, prompt at five o’clock. So long!” Then the stage rumbled away, and Dixie, clinging to the teacher’s hand, entered the store, her heart beating like a trip-hammer.
There was silk, silk everywhere about her, and how glad she was that two dollars and thirty cents would buy enough for a birthday dress for Carol.
Josephine Bayley smiled down at the little girl as she felt the clinging fingers tighten. “Oh, teacher,” the child whispered rapturously, “I didn’t suppose there was so much silk anywhere in all the world. It’s like rainbows, isn’t it?” They were standing at the counter, waiting for a pleasant-faced little woman to come to them.
“May we see the different shades of blue silk?” Josephine Bayley asked, when at last the clerk turned toward them.
“Oh-ee, how Carol would love that one,” Dixie said as she pointed to a blue, the color of a June-morning sky. The small girl did not think to ask the price. Teacher had said that two dollars and thirty cents would be enough, and Dixie doubted this not at all.
A pattern was selected, one with ruffles, for nothing was to be omitted that the heart of the little sister had been set upon, and then sufficient silk was measured off. Miss Bayley, having had a moment’s opportunity to speak alone with the clerk, had asked her not to mention the price. Turning back, she saw little Dixie smoothing the silk as reverently as though it were almost too beautiful to be touched, and yet there was no thought of envy in her heart. Two dollars and thirty cents could buy but one silk dress, and that one should be for Carol.
While the parcel was being wrapped, Dixie looked about. Suddenly she caught the teacher’s hand and drew her down the aisle. “Look there,” she whispered as she lifted glowing eyes. “That’s the silvery green I was telling you about, Miss Bayley. Isn’t it like the very first leaves on the willow trees down in the creek-bottom?”
The young woman nodded. “It is just lovely, dear,” was all that she said, but she thought much more. Then, when the saleswoman returned, Dixie drew forth the old-fashioned purse that had been her mother’s and counted out the money, which was in dimes and nickels. There were so many of them that it looked like quite a fortune heaped upon the counter in front of her. The little girl did not dream that the silk for Carol’s dress had cost five dollars.
“Now, dear,” Miss Bayley smiled down at her, “let’s go over to the book department. I want to get a more modern arithmetic than the one that I found in the school.” While the young teacher was examining mathematical books, Dixie, with a little half-suppressed cry of joy, skipped toward a table spread with attractively-covered juveniles, and so absorbed was she a moment later that Miss Bayley found the opportunity she desired to slip back to the silk counter and order a pattern of the pale-green that in one light shimmered like silver.
Had Dixie noticed the shape of the package that the teacher carried when they left the store, she might have thought it rather soft and bulky for a book about mathematics, but there were so many things to see and admire that she noticed it not at all.
It was noon, and to the little girl from the mountains the main street of the village seemed thronged. Again she clung to her teacher’s hand as they made their way toward the café, over which hung the most alluring sign.
“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, are we going in here?” It was hard for the child to believe that she was actually going to have lunch in a place so sparkling with mirrors and lights.
But it was really true, for Miss Bayley was leading her to a little table in one corner that was just for two.
Then when the orders had been given, the small girl, wide-eyed, looked all about her. “There’s going to be music,” she whispered. “It’s over behind those plants.” She had seen two violinists in a palm-sheltered corner, and even as she spoke the first sweet strain was heard. Miss Bayley watched the sensitive, expressive face of the little girl and wondered how any one could call her homely.
It was the first time Dixie had ever heard the music of a violin, and when the last note had died away she lifted eyes that looked as though they had seen a vision. “Miss Bayley,” she said, “some time I want to play like that.”
And just then the teacher, looking ahead through the years, seemed to see a beautiful, willowy young girl dressed in soft, shimmering green, with red-gold hair glowing beneath the lights, playing a violin, while a vast multitude of people listened breathlessly. Was it a prophecy?
They were again on the street, and the noon throng had vanished. As it was still too early for the afternoon shoppers to arrive, the town seemed to be taking a midday siesta. Dixie wondered where they were going, but said nothing until they turned a corner, when she uttered an exclamation of joy. “Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she exclaimed. “There’s the bank. How I’d perfectly love to go in and see kind Mr. Clayburn.” Then, looking up anxiously. “Would it ’sturb him too much, do you suppose?”
Miss Bayley had a secret desire to see the head of the board of education of the Genoa district, and so she replied, “We can at least inquire, and if Mr. Clayburn is not busy, he may see us for a few moments.”
The banker had just returned from his lunch, and was in his handsomely appointed private office. He was never too busy to see a friend, he told little Dixie, when, wondering-eyed, she had followed the uniformed bank-messenger into the marble-walled room.
“This is our new teacher, Miss Bayley,” the child said, not knowing the right form of introduction.
The kind face of the man lighted. Holding out his hand, he exclaimed, “Miss Bayley, this is truly a pleasure, and right now let me say that I sincerely regret not having visited your little school before this, but, since your arrival, I have been more than ever confined to the bank during school-hours. However, I shall endeavor to visit your district regularly after the first of January.”
They had seated themselves at the banker’s invitation, and Josephine Bayley said quietly, “I shall not be the teacher at Woodford’s school in January, Mr. Clayburn.”
There was real regret in the face of the listener. “Why, Miss Bayley, I am sorry to hear that. Has something happened to recall you to New York? I remember you wrote that you would gladly stay one year with us in our wild mountain country.” Then he smiled as he asked, “Have you found it too wild?”
The young teacher also smiled, but she said seriously: “No, indeed! I love the West! I felt smothered in that city of walled-in cañons, where the sweep of the wind is never felt. I glory in your rugged mountains. I forget that life holds much that is petty when I look at them, especially at night when they are outlined against the sky, and even the stars are much nearer here. In New York heaven seems farther away.”
“But, my dear girl,” the banker said, “If you like it here so very much, why desert us?”
“It is because I have been dismissed by the local board of education.” If there was a twinkle in the brown eyes of the speaker, Mr. Clayburn did not notice it. He tapped upon his desk with the pencil he held, and a frown gathered between his eyes.
“Miss Bayley,” he said after a thoughtful moment, “I alone am at fault. I should not have entrusted to a man without education the power to engage and dismiss a teacher.” Then, looking up inquiringly, “Which one of the three have you offended?”
“All of them, I think,” was the reply. “The little girl is indignant because I have to acknowledge that the Martin children are brighter pupils, the mother feels that she has a personal grievance because I will not devote my free time, whenever she wishes, to preparing papers for her to read at your women’s club, as her own compositions, while the father considers me insubordinate because I have declared my independence.”
“Good for you, Miss Bayley!” was the rather astonishing exclamation. The banker looked his approval. Then, rising, he held out his hand. “Don’t begin to pack your trunk, and, as I said before, the first of the year I will make regular visits to the district schools. Let me know if you need new books or anything else to help your work along.”
When they were again on the street, Miss Bayley caught the hand of the small girl and said: “Dixie, come with me! We’re going to the movies to celebrate.”
Surprising things happened the following Monday morning in the little log schoolhouse. After leaving the theater on the Saturday previous, Miss Bayley, who had been told by the one having authority to procure whatever she might need for her little classes, had returned with Dixie to the book department of the emporium, and had purchased several graded readers from the first to the eighth. The light of a new resolve shone in her eyes as she called upon Dixie Martin to lead in the Good-Morning song.
When this was done, Miss Bayley looked about her at her little straggling group of mountain pupils and made a startling announcement.
“Girls and boys,” she said brightly, “I have decided to change the old régime, which means that we are going to desert the former way of doing things and start in on a new. To begin with, I am going to give you all an examination in reading and place you in the grades where I believe you belong.”
Jessica Archer was on her feet in an instant, saying: “My pa wouldn’t let you do that. He says nothin’ is ever to be done diff’rent in this here school unless he tells the teacher to do it.”
“Kindly be seated, Jessica, and hereafter do not speak without first raising your hand and receiving permission to do so.” The teacher’s tone was firm, and, although the little “sheep-princess” pouted and looked her defiance, she said no more just then.
“I have here,” Josephine Bayley continued, “eight new graded readers, that are very attractively illustrated. I will begin with the first, and you may each read one of the little stories; then we will progress to the second, and so on, and, when you have reached the book which is too difficult for you, we will know exactly in which grade you belong. Does this method seem fair to you? Ira Jenkins, what do you think?”