Eighty Years and More | Page 9

"Why, girls, to be sure; I would not give you for all the boys in
Christendom."
"My father," I replied, "prefers boys; he wishes I was one, and I intend
to be as near like one as possible. I am going to ride on horseback and
study Greek. Will you give me a Greek lesson now, doctor? I want to
begin at once."
"Yes, child," said he, throwing down his hoe, "come into my library
and we will begin without delay."
He entered fully into the feeling of suffering and sorrow which took
possession of me when I discovered that a girl weighed less in the scale
of being than a boy, and he praised my determination to prove the

contrary. The old grammar which he had studied in the University of
Glasgow was soon in my hands, and the Greek article was learned
before breakfast.
Then came the sad pageantry of death, the weeping of friends, the dark
rooms, the ghostly stillness, the exhortation to the living to prepare for
death, the solemn prayer, the mournful chant, the funeral cortège, the
solemn, tolling bell, the burial. How I suffered during those sad days!
What strange undefined fears of the unknown took possession of me!
For months afterward, at the twilight hour, I went with my father to the
new-made grave. Near it stood two tall poplar trees, against one of
which I leaned, while my father threw himself on the grave, with
outstretched arms, as if to embrace his child. At last the frosts and
storms of November came and threw a chilling barrier between the
living and the dead, and we went there no more.
During all this time I kept up my lessons at the parsonage and made
rapid progress. I surprised even my teacher, who thought me capable of
doing anything. I learned to drive, and to leap a fence and ditch on
horseback. I taxed every power, hoping some day to hear my father say:
"Well, a girl is as good as a boy, after all." But he never said it. When
the doctor came over to spend the evening with us, I would whisper in
his ear: "Tell my father how fast I get on," and he would tell him, and
was lavish in his praises. But my father only paced the room, sighed,
and showed that he wished I were a boy; and I, not knowing why he
felt thus, would hide my tears of vexation on the doctor's shoulder.
Soon after this I began to study Latin, Greek, and mathematics with a
class of boys in the Academy, many of whom were much older than I.
For three years one boy kept his place at the head of the class, and I
always stood next. Two prizes were offered in Greek. I strove for one
and took the second. How well I remember my joy in receiving that
prize. There was no sentiment of ambition, rivalry, or triumph over my
companions, nor feeling of satisfaction in receiving this honor in the
presence of those assembled on the day of the exhibition. One thought
alone filled my mind. "Now," said I, "my father will be satisfied with
me." So, as soon as we were dismissed, I ran down the hill, rushed

breathless into his office, laid the new Greek Testament, which was my
prize, on his table and exclaimed: "There, I got it!" He took up the book,
asked me some questions about the class, the teachers, the spectators,
and, evidently pleased, handed it back to me. Then, while I stood
looking and waiting for him to say something which would show that
he recognized the equality of the daughter with the son, he kissed me
on the forehead and exclaimed, with a sigh, "Ah, you should have been
a boy!"
My joy was turned to sadness. I ran to my good doctor. He chased my
bitter tears away, and soothed me with unbounded praises and visions
of future success. He was then confined to the house with his last
illness. He asked me that day if I would like to have, when he was gone,
the old lexicon, Testament, and grammar that we had so often thumbed
together. "Yes, but I would rather have you stay," I replied, "for what
can I do when you are gone?" "Oh," said he tenderly, "I shall not be
gone; my spirit will still be with you, watching you in all life's
struggles." Noble, generous friend! He had but little on earth to
bequeath to anyone, but when the last scene in his life was ended, and
his will was opened, sure enough there was a clause saying: "My Greek
lexicon, Testament, and grammar, and four volumes of Scott's
commentaries, I will to Elizabeth Cady." I never look