Autumn | Page 4

He
remembered a little verse he used to sing in those days:

Laws, manuals, And texts incline us To cheat with plus And rob with
minus.
But it had all slipped away, like sand through his fingers. Now he
hoped to find one child to whom he could say what was in his mind.
One by one the brighter boys had drifted off to the county schools,
leaving the little schoolhouse to the dull and to the young. Some were
taken out of classes early, and added, like another pig, to the farms.
Girls, when they were old enough, were kept at home to help their
mothers; after a while they, too, married; then their education was over.
In the winter they nailed the windows shut; in the summer they worked
with the men, hoarded their pennies, and prayed to God at first, but
only wished at last, to do better than their neighbors.
Of all whom Mr. Jeminy had taught reading, writing and arithmetic, not
one was either better or happier than in childhood.
"Not one," said Mr. Jeminy, "is tidy of mind, or humble of heart. Not
one has learned to be happy in poverty, or gentle in good fortune."
"There's no poverty to-day," said Mr. Tomkins simply. It really seemed
to him as though every one were well off, because the war was over.
"There is more poverty to-day than ever before," said Mr. Jeminy.
"Hm," said Mr. Tomkins.
"Last fall," said Mr. Jeminy, "Sara Barly and Mrs. Grumble helped
each other put up vegetables. And Anna Barly came to my cottage,
holding out her apron, full of apples."
"My wife, too," said Mr. Tomkins, "put up a great many vegetables."
"But to-day," said Mr. Jeminy, "Mrs. Barly and Mrs. Grumble pass
each other without speaking. And because we are no longer at war, the
bit of land belonging to Ezra Adams, where, last spring, Mrs. Wicket
planted her rows of corn, is left to grow its mouthful of hay, to sell to

Mr. Frye."
"Ah," said Mr. Tomkins wisely, "that's it. Well, Mrs. Wicket, now.
Still," he added, "he'll have a lot of nettles in that hay."
"The rich," Mr. Jeminy continued, "quarrel with the poor, and the poor,
by way of answer, with rich and poor alike. And rich or poor, every
man reaches for more, like a child at table. That is why, William, there
is poverty to-day; poverty of the heart, of the mind, and of the spirit.
"And yet," he added stoutly a moment later, "I'll not deny there is
plenty of light; yes, we are wise enough, there is love in our hearts . . .
Perhaps, William, heaven will be found when old men like you and me,
who have lost our way, are dead."
"Lost our way?" quavered Mr. Tomkins, "lost our way? What are you
talking about, Jeminy?"
But the fire, burning so brightly before, was almost out. "Youth," said
Mr. Jeminy sadly . . . And he sat quite still, staring straight ahead of
him.
"Well," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll be stepping on home." Clapping his hat
somewhat uncertainly onto his head, he rose to go. Mr. Jeminy
accompanied him to the door.
"Good-night," he said.
"Good-night," said Mr. Tomkins. And off he went along the path, to
tell his wife, as he got into bed, that she was a lucky woman. But Mr.
Jeminy stood in the doorway, gazing out across the hills, like David
over Hebron. Below him the last late lanterns of the village burned in
the valley. He heard the shrill kreef kreedn kreedn of the tree frogs, the
cheep of crickets, the lonely barking of a dog, ghostly and far away; he
breathed the air of night, cold, and sweet with honeysuckle. Age was in
bed; only the young moved and whispered in the shadows; youth,
obscure and immortal; love and hope, love and sorrow. From the
meadows ascended the choir of cicada: katy did, katy didn't, katy

did. . . .
Mr. Jeminy turned and went indoors.

II
SCHOOL LETS OUT
The next day being a holiday, Mr. Jeminy lay in bed, watching, through
his window, the branches of an oak tree, which is last of all to leaf.
When he finally arose, the morning was already bright and hot; the
rooms were swept; all was in order.
Later in the day he followed Mrs. Grumble to the schoolhouse, carrying
a pail, soap, a scrubbing brush, and a broom. After Mr. Jeminy had
filled the pail with water at the school pump, Mrs. Grumble got down
on her knees, and began to scrub the floor. The schoolmaster went
ahead with the broom. "Sweep in all the corners," she said. "For," she
added, "it's in the corners one finds everything." As she spoke, the