FullReads

“Teacher, yiss ma’an,” Morris sighed, as the bell rang sharply, and the aloof and formal exercise of the assembly room began.

Some days later Teacher arranged to go to a reception, and as she did not care to return to her home between work and play, she appeared at school in rather festive array. Room 18 was delighted with its transformed ruler, but to the board of monitors this glory of raiment brought nothing but misery. Every twist in the neat coiffure, every fold of the pretty dress, every rustle of the invisible silk, every click of the high heels, meant the coming abdication of Teacher and the disbanding of her cabinet. Just so had Patrick’s sister Mary looked on the day she wed the milkman. Just such had been the outward aspect of Morris’s auntie on the day of her union to the promising young salesman who was now a floorwalker and Morris’s Uncle Ikey.

Momentarily they expected some word of farewell–perhaps even an ice-cream party–but Teacher made no sign. They decided that she was reserving her last words for their private ear and were greatly disconcerted to find themselves turned out with the common herd at three o’clock. With heavy hearts they followed the example of Mary’s little lamb and waited patiently about till Teacher did appear. When she came she was more wonderful than ever, in a long and billowy boa and a wide and billowy hat. She had seemed in a breathless hurry while up in Room 18, but now she stood quite placidly in a group of her small adherents on the highest of the school-house steps. And the cabinet, waiting gloomily apart, only muttered, “I told ye so,” and “It must be a awful kind feeling,” when the tall stranger came swinging upon the scene. When Teacher’s eyes fell upon him she began to force her way through her clinging court, and when he was half way up the steps she was half way down. As they met he drew from his pocket a hand and the violets it held and Teacher was still adjusting the flowers in her jacket when she passed her lurking staff. “I didn’t expect you at all,” she was saying. “You know it was not a really definite arrangement, and men hate receptions.”

A big voice replied in a phrase which Morris identified as having been prominent in the repertoire of the enamoured salesman–now a floorwalker–and Teacher with her companion turned to cross the street. Her heels clicked for yet a moment and the deserted cabinet knew that all was over.

The gloom obscuring Patrick’s spirit on that evening was of so deep a dye that Mrs. Brennan diagnosed it as the first stage of “a consumption.” She administered simple remedies and warm baths with perseverance, but without effect. And more potent to cure than bath or bottle was the sight of Teacher on the next morning in her accustomed clothes and place.

The Board of Monitors had hardly recovered from this panic when another alarming symptom appeared. Miss Bailey began to watch for letters, and large envelopes began to reward her watchfulness. Daily was Patrick sent to the powers that were to demand a letter, and daily he carried one, and a sorely heavy heart, back to his sovereign. In exactly the same sweetly insistent way had he been sent many a time and oft to seek tidings of the laggard milkman. His colleagues, when he laid these facts before them, were of the opinion that things looked very dark for Teacher. Said Nathan:

“You know how she says we should be monitors on her weddinge? Well, it could to be lies. She marries maybe already.”

Patrick promptly knocked the Monitor of Window Boxes down upon the rough asphalt of the yard and kicked him.

“Miss Bailey’s no sneak,” he cried hotly. “If she was married she’d just as lief go and tell.”

“Well,” Morris began, “I had once a auntie–“