Chapter XIV: Miss Van Zandt

GREAT was the amazement of all the school-girls to see Kit, neatly dressed, and book in hand, walk into the schoolhouse Friday evening, and seat herself among the children.

"There is Kit," whispered Ruth to Selina. "I wonder if she has run away."

"I dare say she has. I know she said her uncle would not let her come."

"Well, for my part, I believe in children doing as they are told, about going to meeting or any thing else. I wonder why she has not been in school."

"Her aunt is worse," replied Selina. "Dr. Chase went up to see her this morning. He told father she was in the last stage of consumption."

Never had the Friday evening services in the red schoolhouse district been so well attended as they were this summer. Perhaps this increased attendance might be partly owing to the fact that the red schoolhouse had never before been so comfortable. Certainly it was much more agreeable to spend an hour in a clean, well-aired, cool room, fresh and fragrant with the smell of flowers and green leaves, than to pass the same time in a hot, fusty apartment, unventilated since the afternoon school session, with air heavy enough to have put hundred-eyed Argus asleep. Miss Van Zandt's singing might also be an attraction. But I am inclined to think there was more in the case than either, and that a gracious influence was stirring the air, not only in the red schoolhouse district, but in the whole parish of Oldham.

Kit had counted on a word with Miss Armstrong either before or after the meeting, but neither she nor Mrs. Van Zandt was present. Mr. Bassett opened the service, as usual, with a hymn: and some of the elder people smiled at the earnestness with which the children joined in the singing; and more than one turned to look at Kit, whose voice sounded out beautifully clear and full of expression.

"Did you ever!" whispered Ruth. "Who ever would have guessed that poor child had such a voice?"

Selina did not answer, but her face wore any thing but a pleased expression.

The service went on as usual, except that more people spoke, and almost every one of the children had a text, or a verse from some favorite hymn. Miss Celia made a few remarks, in her silvery, tremulous voice. They were very simple. She said she had been young, and now was old; she had passed through many severe trials, some of which were well known to her friends, and others only to her heavenly Father: but she wished to say that in all of them she had been helped and comforted by Divine Love. It was a support which had never failed her. She had enjoyed it all her life, and she hoped the dear children and young people present might be as happy in this respect as she had been.

That was all she said. It was commonplace enough, if such a subject can ever be commonplace. But it was spoken with an expression of inward conviction which sent it home to almost every heart present.

"Are there any more remarks?" asked Mr. Bassett.

There was a short silence; and then a clear little voice sounded from the low bench in front, where the little children sat:—

"Please, Mr. Bassett, will you ask the people to pray for aunt Martha, because she is very sick, and the doctor says she won't live but a little while."

Everybody looked round in surprise. Kit had risen to her feet in her earnestness, and stood with her shining eyes fixed on the good miller's face, while the carnation color mantled beautifully in her cheeks. More than one mother felt the tears very near her eyes as they rested on the poor little motherless child, who stood so evidently thinking of nothing but the request she had made. And more than one prayer went up then and there on her behalf and that of the invalid.

There was the usual little pause for neighborly chat when the service was over.

"Why, Kit! How did you come here?" asked Sarah.

"Uncle Phin let me come," answered Kit. "And only think, Sarah, he says I may go to Sunday school!"

"How glad I am!" said Sarah, bending to kiss the face turned to her. "But where have you been these two days?"

"I could not leave aunt Martha. She is very sick, and she likes to have me sing and read to her."

"Is she sensible?"

"Yes, almost all the time now, though she isn't quite right. She thinks I am her daughter, and she can't bear to have me away from her when she is awake. But she isn't unhappy, as she used to be, and she prays a great deal. But, Sarah, I wonder where Miss Armstrong is. I thought I should see her this evening."

"I don't know, I am sure. Let us ask Selina.—Selina, where is Miss Armstrong?"

"She has gone to New York with Mrs. Van Zandt. They had a telegram that some friend of theirs is very low,—not expected to live. Miss Armstrong thought she could not go at first. But Miss Van Zandt must needs offer to teach the school while she was away, so she got ready, and started off in Mrs. Van Zandt's carriage to catch the train at Oldbury."

"I don't see why you should speak so scornfully, Selina," said Faith. "For my part, I think it is very kind of Miss Van Zandt."

"Well, I don't want to be going to school to a girl only two or three years older than I am."

"What difference does her age make, so long as she knows more than we do?" asked Faith very sensibly.

Selina made no reply.

"I'll tell you what it is, Selina, you will end by hating Miss Van Zandt, if you don't mind," continued Faith earnestly. "I don't see how you can feel so. What harm has she ever done to you?"

"I never said she had done me any harm," returned Selina. "I think she puts herself forward, and makes herself ridiculous by taking so much on herself. But as to hating, I never troubled myself enough about her to do that." And yet Selina did hate Ida, and she knew it.

"Where is Patience to-night, Faith?" asked Mrs. Weston.

"She isn't very well, and she had so much to do she thought she couldn't come. I wanted her to let me do up the work, but she wouldn't."

"That is a pity," said Mrs. Weston. "It would have done her good.—Come, Selina; we must be going."

The children were early at the schoolhouse next morning, eager to see their new teacher, whom they were all prepared to like.

"Who do you think came to Bible class with me last night?" said Agnes as she joined the group of older girls. "No less a person than Milly Richmond."

"Milly Richmond!" exclaimed Selina. "I don't believe it. She laughs at the very idea."

"She came, for all that. We sat close by the door, and went away the very first minute we could."

"But how did it happen?"

"Well, I asked her. You see, Milly and I have never been very good friends," said Agnes with some embarrassment; "and I think perhaps I have been hard upon her, so I have been trying to make up. I did not believe she would come to the service: but I remembered what Dr. Madison said about charity at home, and I thought there would be no harm in trying. So I asked her, as I said, and she asked me if I really meant it.

"'Of course,' I said.

"And then she said, well, she did not mind for once, only she would like to sit by the door, because it was so warm."

"How did she like it?" asked Sarah.

"I asked her, and she said she didn't know, herself; she should have to think about it. And after that, she never said another word all the way home."

"Is it true, Agnes, that you are going to be confirmed next time the Bishop comes?" asked Faith.

"Quite true," answered Agnes.

"I should think you were pretty young to take such a step," remarked Ruth. "Why don't you wait till you are older?"

"Why should I?" asked Agnes. "I am fifteen, and I don't think I shall know my own mind any better if I wait till I am twenty or forty."

"Perhaps you would not know it as well," observed Sarah.

"If you think it so nice in Agnes, why don't you come forward yourself?" asked Selina with something of a sneer,—an expression which was becoming so habitual to her that it threatened to spoil her pretty face.

"I mean to," said Sarah briefly. She paused a moment, and then added with an evident effort, "And, girls, I want to say something: I want to ask your pardon, and especially yours, Selina, for all the sharp and hateful things I have said. I know that is my besetting sin, as Mr. Bassett said last night, and I am going to try and do better; so I hope you will all forgive me."

The girls looked at each other in amazement. Sarah was a very proud girl, and such an acknowledgment had a double force coming from her.

"I am sure I do, if there is any thing to forgive, though I never laid up any thing against you," said Faith. "You are so nice in other ways that I never minded your sharp speeches."

"And you, Selina?"

"Oh, I forgive you, of course, since you ask me, though I do think you have treated me shamefully," said Selina coldly. "I only hope your goodness will last, that's all."

And Selina turned and went into the schoolhouse.

"That's a queer kind of forgiveness," said Faith. "I think Selina is queer, anyhow."

"Oh, well, never mind," said Sarah. "I have been aggravating to her, I know. Here comes Miss Van Zandt. Doesn't she look pretty in her brown-linen dress and blue ribbons? We must do all we can to help her, girls. I don't suppose she has ever taught before."

But those of the school—they were very few—who were inclined to take liberties with their young teacher, soon found that they had reckoned without their host. Miss Van Zandt had a ready wit and a quick eye, besides a fund of imperturbable good-nature. In the geography class, she delighted the girls by her descriptions of places she had seen in England, and promised next day to bring some photographs of cathedrals and of natural scenery.

"Of what place were we just speaking?" asked Ida, turning to Selina, who was making an elaborate display of taking no interest in the lesson.

"I don't know," replied Selina: "I was not listening."

"Next," said Miss Van Zandt.

"York," was the instant answer.

And to Selina's infinite disgust, and the amusement of the other girls, Ruth Jewsbury went above her.

"I don't think that is fair, Miss Van Zandt," said Selina. "I knew the answer."

"I dare say you did; but you said yourself, you were not paying attention. Next: For what is Newcastle noted?"

And that was all Selina gained by her manœuvre.

When noon-time came, Ida requested the elder girls to remain for a few minutes.

"I have a few words to say to you, young ladies," said she. "As you know, I have taken the place of my friend Miss Armstrong for a little time, in order that the school may not be closed while she is away. I have not much experience, at least in a day-school; and it is very likely that I may make some mistakes. What I have to ask is, that you older girls who are the leaders in the school, will help me by throwing your influence upon the side of law and order. Little girls are apt to follow the lead of large girls; and, if the children see you desirous to maintain the character of the school during your teacher's absence, they will do the same. Not that I have any thing to complain of," she hastened to add: "on the contrary, you have all been very kind to me."

"I don't see how we could be any thing else," said Sarah. "I don't think you will have any trouble with the children, Miss Van Zandt: they are good little things."

"I don't believe I shall have any trouble with anybody," said Miss Van Zandt. "Does any one know where Kitty is?"

"I suppose she is at home," answered Sarah. "Her aunt is very sick. Dr. Chase says she can only live a few days. And she has taken such a fancy to Kit, she cannot bear her out of sight. She thinks Kit is her daughter."

"Poor woman!" said Miss Van Zandt. "Well, girls, I don't know that I have any more to say, and I am keeping you from your dinners. I hope and believe that we shall have a very pleasant report to make to Miss Armstrong when she comes home."

"How long will she be gone?" asked Faith.

"The time is uncertain, because it depends upon her friend's health,—probably not more than ten days, possibly two weeks."

"And are you going to teach the school all that time?" asked Selina with an emphasis on the "you."

"I fully intend to do so at present," answered Miss Van Zandt, not in the least ruffled. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing; only, if Miss Armstrong is going to be away so long, I should suppose the trustees would engage some grown-up person to take charge of the school."

The girls looked at each other in indignant amazement as Selina gave vent to this piece of impertinence, but Miss Van Zandt only smiled.

"How much taller would you like me to be?" she asked, erecting her beautiful figure to its full height. "If the trustees get any one much more grown-up, they will have to raise the roof or lower the floor. Pray, how old are you, Selina?"

"She is fifteen," said Agnes, as Selina did not answer.

"Exactly, and I am nineteen. You seem to feel tolerably grown-up yourself, I think; and so you see, I have a right to feel four years more grown-up than you are."

"Please, Mith Dan Want, ma says will 'oo tome to dinner, because ith's all weady," said a small child, inserting a curly black head into a crack in the door.

"Thank you, my dear; but who is ma?" asked Ida.

"It is Emma Bassett," said Faith. "What a shame of me! Mrs. Bassett called me this morning, and told me to be sure to tell Miss Van Zandt to come to dinner; and I forgot it."

"Well, ith's all weady," said the curly head; "and there's chewy-pie."

"Indeed! Then I must certainly come, and some of you must eat the lunch Aggy put up for me. There are some nice bananas in the basket, girls, if you like them."

"Well, Selina, I do hope you feel better," said Ruth Jewsbury. "You have made a nice figure of yourself, I must say. I should think you would be ashamed."

Selina was surprised and vexed; for Ruth had hitherto been somewhat rebellious to Miss Armstrong, and she had looked to her for support in her attempt to put down Miss Van Zandt.

"She didn't make much by it, anyway," said Faith, "only to turn the laugh on herself."

"Selina, what does make you act so?" asked Agnes seriously. "I should think you might be pleased at having such a pleasant young lady for a teacher, instead of some one like—Miss Priscilla Davis, for instance."

"Dear me! What did I do?" asked Selina. "One would think I had murdered some one, at the very least."

"You tried to insult Miss Van Zandt, and only succeeded in making yourself ridiculous,—that's what you did.—Didn't she, girls?"

"That was what it came to," answered Agnes, "but I don't think she will make much by it.—Come, Selina; do think better of it. I don't see why we should not have a very good time with Miss Van Zandt, if we all turn to and support her. I am sure nothing could be nicer than her ways this morning. And how interesting she made the geography class!"

"Oh, yes, of course. It is all Miss Van Zandt now, and dear Miss Armstrong is nobody and nowhere," said Selina. "Last week you thought there was nobody like Miss Armstrong."

"And I think so now," returned Agnes. "I have a right to, for she is the best friend I ever had, except my mother. I never could pay her for what she has done for me, if I were to live a hundred years. But I think the best way I can show my love for her in her absence is to respect and help her friend who has taken her place."

"Agnes talks like a book, and she is right," said Ruth. "I never was so wonderfully fond of Miss Armstrong as some of you,—as Selina was when she first came, for instance,—but I think she is an excellent teacher; and, as for Miss Van Zandt, think she is lovely."

"Yes, because she let you go up in the geography class,—a thing you never did before," retorted Selina. "Oh, well, I don't propose to have any words about it," she added loftily. "You can all flatter and bow down to Miss Van Zandt as much as you please, for all me. I shall not, that's all."

And certainly Selina kept her word by doing all in her power to make Ida's work as disagreeable as possible.

Ida tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance, but it did no good.

Selina denied having done any thing wrong. And when one instance after another of disrespect and disobedience was brought home to her, she burst into tears, declared that every one was against her because she was an orphan, and because she would not pretend to be religious. She was in every one's way, nobody loved her, and she wished she was dead.

Much perplexed, Ida sought a private interview with Mrs. Weston, and laid the case before her.

"I don't think I have been unjust to Selina," said she. "She is the only one I have any trouble with. But really, she is so disrespectful that I do not know what to do with her."

"I can understand it," said Mrs. Weston, sighing. "Selina is very trying when she takes one of her perverse fits, and I hardly know how to manage her myself. It is not fair, however, that you should be troubled with her. And I think I will keep her at home for the present."

"That seems a pity," remarked Ida. "Perhaps if you were to talk to her—"

"I fear that would do no good; she seems only to resent it. But I will consult her father, and see what he thinks it best to do."

The result of the consultation was, that Selina found herself taken out of school, and set to work about the house and dairy. The change was not at all to her taste. But she was too proud to complain, and took great pains to show that she did not care.