Page:McClure's Magazine v9 n3 to v10 no2.djvu/24

 saws eating their way through pine logs filled the air, accentuated by the shriller scream of the glittering buzz-saws revolving with such incredible swiftness as they edged the boards that they seemed to stand still, and were, as the proverb says, not healthy to "monkey" with.

The population of Pineville were all connected either directly or indirectly with the lumber industry, and the children whom Copford was supposed to teach could hardly be expected to have the manners of Vere de Vere. It was also quite evident that the chief man interested in the progress of the school regarded the assaulting of a teacher by one of the big boys as rather a joke than otherwise.

Young Copford set his teeth rather firmly as he walked up the sawdust street of the place. Monro had given him the keys of the schoolhouse—a large key for the outer door and a smaller one for the school-master's desk, tied together by a string—and with these jingling in his pocket, he sought the temple of learning.

The schoolhouse stood alone, some distance outside of the village, and was a rough, unpainted structure, with a well-trodden playground surrounding it, and not a plant, tree, or any living green thing anywhere near it. On entering, Copford found a large room with a platform at one end, on which stood a desk. There was a blackboard along the wall behind the desk, while some very tattered colored maps hung at the farther end of the room. The school furniture was of the rudest possible kind, evidently built by the carpenter who had erected the schoolhouse. A broad desk of plank ran round three walls, on benches before which the elder children undoubtedly sat. In the center of the room were movable benches, without desks in front of them, which seemed to indicate that the greater portion of the pupils were still studying the useful, but not particularly advanced, alphabet.

On Monday morning the school began at nine, and about a quarter before that hour Copford appeared, and saw for the first time the thirty or forty boys and girls, of all ages and sizes, whom he was to instruct. He had little difficulty, even before he asked the pupils their names, in distinguishing Tom Monro and Billy Waterman; they were the two biggest boys in the school, and Monro had the shrewd, humorous look of his father, with the added air of truculence which comes to a boy who is the acknowledged boss of the school, not to speak of the unusual record of having thrashed three teachers. His closely cropped, bullet head showed him to be a combative, stubborn person who would not be easy to coerce or persuade. On the other hand, Billy Waterman was a surprise. As Copford looked at him, he could hardly credit the fact that he also had a teacher's scalp at his belt, although he could quite readily believe he had picked up a schoolmistress and kissed her.

Billy was a dreamy-eyed, poetic-looking young fellow, robust enough, but not at all one who might be finally placed in the category of hopelessly bad boys. There was no question, however, but Tom Monro would prove a match, if it came to fisticuffs, for nearly any teacher in the State.

Copford was amazed to see among his pupils nearly half a dozen girls who would have been classed as young ladies anywhere else. One in particular was exceedingly pretty, and she modestly told him, when he asked, that her name was Priscilla Willard. Copford was quick to see that he was going to have little trouble so far as the girls were concerned, for before the day was over it was quite palpable that they all liked him; but he had his doubts whether this preference would make his way smoother with the boys, especially with those whom he might, without exaggeration, have termed young men.

The first week passed with nothing particular to distinguish its progress, and Copford found his elder pupils further advanced than he expected, especially in arithmetic, which the parents thought a more practical branch of education than such comparatively ornamental departments as geography and grammar. Copford also, to his amazement, realized that he liked his new profession. Children generally are filled with such eager curiosity that it is a man's own fault if he fails to interest them; and Copford's methods were a continual surprise to his pupils. He actually laughed if a boy, expecting a thrashing, made a joke at his expense; and then he told them stories to which they listened with wide-open eyes. For the first time in their lives geography became a living thing to them, for the wonderful young man before them had actually visited many of the places which were to them but names on the map, and he often gave them thrilling accounts of adventures he had had in this foreign city or the other,

The teacher was quite palpably on the