It was only natural that Sage Portlock, as she advanced to meet Humphrey Bone, should think of the coming days after the holidays, when Mr Ross, whom she had known so well from childhood, should be master of the adjoining school, and that very unpleasant personage now present should cease to trouble her with visits that were becoming more and more distasteful and annoying.
Mornin! Ink! said Mr Bone, shortly. Ours like mud. How are you?
Ink, Mr Bone? said the young mistress, ignoring the husky inquiry after her health. Yes; one of the girls shall bring some in.
This and the young mistresss manner should have made Mr Humphrey Bone retire, but he stood still in the middle of the room, chuckling softly; and then, to the open-eyed delight of the whole school, drew a goose-quill from his breast, stripped off the plume from one side of the shaft, and, with a very keen knife, proceeded to cut, nick, and shape one of the pens for which he bore a great reputation, holding
it out afterwards for the young mistress to see.
That beats training, eh? Didnt teach you to make a pen like that at Westminster, did they, eh?
No, said Sage, quietly; we always used steel pens.
Hah yes? ejaculated the old schoolmaster, with a laugh of derision. Steel pens steel teaching steel brains theyll have steel machine teachers soon, who can draw a goose like that on a black board with a bit of chalk. Faugh!
He pointed to one of a series of woodcuts mounted on millboard and hung against the whitewashed wall, stumped away three or four yards, and then returned.
New ways new theories new machines! Wear the old ones out and chuck em away eh?
I do not understand you, Mr Bone, said the young mistress, longing for the interview to come to an end; but he went on, speaking angrily, and ignoring her words
When old Widow Marley died, I said to Mallow and the rest of em, Knock a hole through the brick wall, I said; make one school of it; mix em all up together, boys and gals. Give me another ten a year, and Ill teach the lot; but they wouldnt do it. Said they must have a trained mistress; and here you are.
Yes, I am here, said Sage Portlock, rather feebly, for she had nothing else to say.
Only the other day you were a thin strip of a girl. Deny it if you can!
I do not deny it, Mr Bone, said Sage, determining to be firm, and speaking a little more boldly.
No, he continued, in his husky tones, you cant deny it. Then you leave Miss Quittentons school, and your people send you to town for two years to be trained; and now here you are again.
Sage Portlock bowed, and looked longingly at the door, hoping for some interruption, but none came.
And now began the old master.
Mary Smith, take the large ink-bottle into the boys school, said the young mistress, quickly; and the girl went to the school cupboard, took out the great wicker-covered bottle, and was moving toward the door, when the old master caught her by the shoulder, and held her back.
Stop! he said sharply. Take it myself. Ha! ha!
Sage started and coloured, for the children were amused.
Ha, ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!
The old man continued his hoarse cachinnation, ending by wiping his eyes on a washed-out ragged old print cotton handkerchief.
It makes me laugh, he said. Young Ross him I taught to write evening lessons up at his fathers house. Young Luke Ross! warmed him up like a viper in my breast to turn and sting me. Ha, ha, ha! Master here!
For shame, Mr Bone, exclaimed the young mistress, indignantly. Mr Ross never sought for the engagement. It was only after Mr Mallows invitation that he accepted the post.
Mr Mallows invitation, eh? The Rev. Eli Mallow, eh? Better look after his sons. Nice wild sons! Nice old prophet he is. Better look after his boys.
And only the other day when he was down, young Mr Ross said that he was doubtful about taking the post, and thought of declining it after all.
Told you so, eh? Ha ha ha! Not he. Sweet-hearting, eh? Ha ha ha! Very well, when he comes, knock a hole through the wall, and make one school of it, eh? Get married. Fine thing for the school. Faugh! Sage Portlocks face was now scarlet, and she was about to utter some indignant remonstrance against the old mans words, when, to her intense relief, he took the ink-bottle roughly from the girls hand, and stumped with it to the door.
Before he reached it, however, there was a sharp rap. It was opened, the latch rattling viciously, and a common-looking woman, whose face told 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 Ill see as youre reighted, Miss.
To Sage Portlocks 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.