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A Native Of Winby
by
“Perhaps you would be pleased to hear our first class in geography, sir?” asked the fair Marilla, recovering her presence of mind; and the guest kindly assented.
The young teacher was by no means willing to give up a certainty for an uncertainty. Yesterday’s lesson had been well learned; she turned back to the questions about the State of Kansota, and at the first sentence the mysterious visitor’s dignity melted into an unconscious smile. He listened intently for a minute, and then seemed to reoccupy himself with his own thoughts and purposes, looking eagerly about the old school-house, and sometimes gazing steadily at the children. The lesson went on finely, and when it was finished Miss Hender asked the girl at the head of the class to name the States and Territories, which she instantly did, mispronouncing nearly all the names of the latter; then others stated boundaries and capitals, and the resources of the New England States, passing on finally to the names of the Presidents. Miss Hender glowed with pride; she had worked hard over the geography class in the winter term, and it did not fail her on this great occasion. When she turned bravely to see if the gentleman would like to ask any questions, she found that he was apparently lost in a deep reverie, so she repeated her own question more distinctly.
“They have done very well,–very well indeed,” he answered kindly; and then, to every one’s surprise, he rose, went up the aisle, pushed Johnny Spencer gently along his bench, and sat down beside him. The space was cramped, and the stranger looked huge and uncomfortable, so that everybody laughed, except one of the big girls, who turned pale with fright, and thought he must be crazy. When this girl gave a faint squeak Miss Hender recovered herself, and rapped twice with the ruler to restore order; then became entirely tranquil. There had been talk of replacing the hacked and worn old school-desks with patent desks and chairs; this was probably an agent connected with that business. At once she was resolute and self-reliant, and said, “No whispering!” in a firm tone that showed she did not mean to be trifled with. The geography class was dismissed, but the elderly gentleman, in his handsome overcoat, still sat there wedged in at Johnny Spencer’s side.
“I presume, sir, that you are canvassing for new desks,” said Miss Hender, with dignity. “You will have to see the supervisor and the selectmen.” There did not seem to be any need of his lingering, but she had an ardent desire to be pleasing to a person of such evident distinction. “We always tell strangers–I thought, sir, you might be gratified to know–that this is the school-house where the Honorable Joseph K. Laneway first attended school. All do not know that he was born in this town, and went West very young; it is only about a mile from here where his folks used to live.”
At this moment the visitor’s eyes fell. He did not look at pretty Marilla any more, but opened Johnny Spencer’s arithmetic, and, seeing the imaginary portrait of the great General Laneway, laughed a little,–a very deep-down comfortable laugh it was,–while Johnny himself turned cold with alarm, he could not have told why.
It was very still in the school-room; the bee was buzzing and bumping at the pane again; the moment was one of intense expectation.
The stranger looked at the children right and left. “The fact is this, young people,” said he, in a tone that was half pride and half apology, “I am Joseph K. Laneway myself.”
He tried to extricate himself from the narrow quarters of the desk, but for an embarrassing moment found that he was stuck fast. Johnny Spencer instinctively gave him an assisting push, and once free the great soldier, statesman, and millionaire took a few steps forward to the open floor; then, after hesitating a moment, he mounted the little platform and stood in the teacher’s place. Marilla Hender was as pale as ashes.