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“Well, Miss Maxwell, how did you get along today?” asked Mr. Baxter affably, when the new teacher came to the table.

She was a slight, dark girl, rather plain-looking, but with a smart, energetic way. Mr. Baxter approved of her; he “liked her style,” as he would have said.

The summer term had just opened in the Maitland district. Esther Maxwell was a stranger, but she was a capable girl, and had no doubt of her own ability to get and keep the school in good working order. She smiled brightly at Mr. Baxter.

“Very well for a beginning. The children seem bright and teachable and not hard to control.”

Mr. Baxter nodded. “There are no bad children in the school except the Cropper boys–and they can be good enough if they like. Reckon they weren’t there today?”

“No.”

“Well, Miss Maxwell, I think it only fair to tell you that you may have trouble with those boys when they do come. Forewarned is forearmed, you know. Mr. Cropper was opposed to our hiring you. Not, of course, that he had any personal objection to you, but he is set against female teachers, and when a Cropper is set there is nothing on earth can change him. He says female teachers can’t keep order. He’s started in with a spite at you on general principles, and the boys know it. They know he’ll back them up in secret, no matter what they do, just to prove his opinions. Cropper is sly and slippery, and it is hard to corner him.”

“Are the boys big?” queried Esther anxiously.

“Yes. Thirteen and fourteen and big for their age. You can’t whip ’em–that is the trouble. A man might, but they’d twist you around their fingers. You’ll have your hands full, I’m afraid. But maybe they’ll behave all right after all.”

Mr. Baxter privately had no hope that they would, but Esther hoped for the best. She could not believe that Mr. Cropper would carry his prejudices into a personal application. This conviction was strengthened when he overtook her walking from school the next day and drove her home. He was a big, handsome man with a very suave, polite manner. He asked interestedly about her school and her work, hoped she was getting on well, and said he had two young rascals of his own to send soon. Esther felt relieved. She thought that Mr. Baxter had exaggerated matters a little.

“That plum tree of Mrs. Charley’s is loaded with fruit again this year,” remarked Mr. Baxter at the tea table that evening. “I came past it today on my way ‘cross lots home from the woods. There will be bushels of plums on it.”

“I don’t suppose poor Mrs. Charley will get one of them any more than she ever has,” said Mrs. Baxter indignantly. “It’s a burning shame, that’s what it is! I just wish she could catch the Croppers once.”

“You haven’t any proof that it is really them, Mary,” objected her husband, “and you shouldn’t make reckless accusations before folks.”

“I know very well it is them,” retorted Mrs. Baxter, “and so do you, Adoniram. And Mrs. Charley knows it too, although she can’t prove it–more’s the pity! I don’t say Isaac Cropper steals those plums with his own hands. But he knows who does–and the plums go into Mehitable Cropper’s preserving kettle; there’s nothing surer.”

“You see, Miss Maxwell, it’s this way,” explained Mr. Baxter, turning to Esther. “Mrs. Charley Cropper’s husband was Isaac’s brother. They never got on well together, and when Charley died there was a tremendous fuss about the property. Isaac acted mean and scandalous clear through, and public opinion has been down on him ever since. But Mrs. Charley is a pretty smart woman, and he didn’t get the better of her in everything. There was a strip of disputed land between the two farms, and she secured it. There’s a big plum tree growing on it close to the line fence. It’s the finest one in Maitland. But Mrs. Charley never gets a plum from it.”