Glengarry Schooldays | Page 5

far from handsome. His face was long,
and thin, and dark, with a straight nose, and large mouth, and high
cheek-bones; but he had fine black eyes, though they were fierce, and
had a look in them that suggested the woods and the wild things that
live there. But Ranald, though his attendance was spasmodic, and
dependent upon the suitability or otherwise of the weather for hunting,
was the best speller in the school.
For that reason Margaret would have chosen him, and for another
which she would not for worlds have confessed, even to herself. And
do you think she would have called Ranald Macdonald to come and
stand up beside her before all these boys? Not for the glory of winning
the match and carrying the medal for a week. But how gladly would
she have given up glory and medal for the joy of it, if she had dared.
At length the choosing was over, and the school ranged in two
opposing lines, with Margaret and Thomas at the head of their
respective forces, and little Jessie MacRae and Johnnie Aird, with a
single big curl on the top of his head, at the foot. It was a point of honor
that no blood should be drawn at the first round. To Thomas, who had
second choice, fell the right of giving the first word. So to little Jessie,

at the foot, he gave "Ox."
"O-x, ox," whispered Jessie, shyly dodging behind her neighbor.
"In!" said Margaret to Johnnie Aird.
"I-s, in," said Johnnie, stoutly.
"Right!" said the master, silencing the shout of laughter. "Next word."
With like gentle courtesies the battle began; but in the second round the
little A, B, C's were ruthlessly swept off the field with second-book
words, and retired to their seats in supreme exultation, amid the
applause of their fellows still left in the fight. After that there was no
mercy. It was a give-and-take battle, the successful speller having the
right to give the word to the opposite side. The master was umpire, and
after his "Next!" had fallen there was no appeal. But if a mistake were
made, it was the opponent's part and privilege to correct with all speed,
lest a second attempt should succeed.
Steadily, and amid growing excitement, the lines grew less, till there
were left on one side, Thomas, with Ranald supporting him, and on the
other Margaret, with Hughie beside her, his face pale, and his dark eyes
blazing with the light of battle.
Without varying fortune the fight went on. Margaret, still serene, and
with only a touch of color in her face, gave out her words with even
voice, and spelled her opponent's with calm deliberation. Opposite her
Thomas stood, stolid, slow, and wary. He had no nerves to speak of,
and the only chance of catching him lay in lulling him off to sleep.
They were now among the deadly words.
"Parallelopiped!" challenged Hughie to Ranald, who met it easily,
giving Margaret "hyphen" in return.
"H-y-p-h-e-n," spelled Margaret, and then, with cunning carelessness,
gave Thomas "heifer." ("Hypher," she called it.)

Thomas took it lightly.
"H-e-i-p-h-e-r."
Like lightning Hughie was upon him. "H-e-i-f-e-r."
"F-e-r," shouted Thomas. The two yells came almost together.
There was a deep silence. All eyes were turned upon the master.
"I think Hughie was first," he said, slowly. A great sigh swept over the
school, and then a wave of applause.
The master held up his hand.
"But it was so very nearly a tie, that if Hughie is willing--"
"All right, sir," cried Hughie, eager for more fight.
But Thomas, in sullen rage, strode to his seat muttering, "I was just as
soon anyway." Every one heard and waited, looking at the master.
"The match is over," said the master, quietly. Great disappointment
showed in every face.
"There is just one thing better than winning, and that is, taking defeat
like a man." His voice was grave, and with just a touch of sadness. The
children, sensitive to moods, as is the characteristic of children, felt the
touch and sat subdued and silent.
There was no improving of the occasion, but with the same sad gravity
the school was dismissed; and the children learned that day one of life's
golden lessons--that the man who remains master of himself never
knows defeat.
The master stood at the door watching the children go down the slope
to the road, and then take their ways north and south, till the forest hid
them from his sight.

"Well," he muttered, stretching up his arms and drawing a great breath,
"it's over for another week. A pretty near thing, though."

CHAPTER II
THE DEEPOLE
Archibald Munro had a steady purpose in life--to play the man, and to
allow no pain of his--and pain never