Heart of Gold | Page 4

within herself how she was going to end it respectably when
she did not know the true ending because her mind had been
wool-gathering.
"Once there was a man--a man--a man--" blundered the girl, trying in
vain to remember whether or not he had a name.
"Yes, a man," repeated the teacher impatiently. "Go on. Where did he
live and what did he do?"
"He lived in olden times," replied Peace, grasping eagerly at the
suggestion.
"Well, but in what country? Asia or Africa?"
"Neither. He lived in the New England,"--the New England chanced to
be Martindale's largest furniture store,--"and he was very rich and had a
buckskin maiden."
"A what?" gasped the astonished woman, dropping her book to the
floor with a bang.
"A--a buckskin maiden," repeated the child slowly, realizing that she
had made some mistake, but not knowing where.
"Buxom," whispered Johnny frantically.
"A--a bucksin maiden," corrected Peace.
"Buxom!" snapped the teacher irritably.
"Bucksome," repeated Peace, with the picture of a bucking billy goat

uppermost in her mind, and wondering how a maiden could be
bucksome.
"Go on," sharply.
"Well, this bucksome maiden wanted awful bad to get married, like all
other women do, and so her father found a man for her, but she had to
have a dairy--"
"Dowry," corrected the teacher. "What is a dowry, Peace?"
"A place where they keep cows," responded the child, sure of herself
this time; but to her amazement, the rest of the scholars hooted
derisively, and Miss Phelps said wearily, "Peace was evidently asleep
when I explained the meaning of that word. Alfred, you may tell her
what a dowry is."
"A dowry is the money and jew'ls and things a girl gets from her father
to keep for her very own when she marries."
"Oh," breathed Peace, suddenly enlightened. "Well, her father stood her
in a pair of scales and weighed her with shingles--"
"With--?" Miss Phelps fortunately had not caught the word.
"Pine-tree shillings," prompted Johnny under his breath. "He had a
chest full of 'em."
"Pine-tree shingles," answered Peace dutifully. "He had a chest made of
them."
"Peace Greenfield!" Miss Phelps' patience had come to an end.
Sometimes it seemed to her as if this solemn-eyed child purposely
misunderstood, and mocked at her attempts to lead unwilling feet along
the path of learning, and she was at a loss to know how to deal with the
sprightly elf who danced and flitted about like an elusive will-o'-wisp.
The fact that she was the University President's granddaughter was the
only thing that had saved her thus far from utter disfavor in the eyes of

her teacher; but now even that fact was lost sight of in face of the
child's repeated misdemeanors and flagrant inattention. She should be
punished. It was the only way out.
Drawing her thin lips into a straight, grim line to express her
disapproval, Miss Phelps repeated, "Peace Greenfield, you may remain
after school."
The gong rang at that instant, the notes of the piano echoed through the
building, and surprised, dismayed Peace, after one searching look at her
teacher's face and a longing glance out into the bright sunlight, sank
into her seat and watched her comrades march gleefully down the hall
and scatter along the street. It was too bad to be kept in on such a
beautiful day! O, dear, what a queer world it was and how many queer
people in it! There was Miss Phelps for one. She was so strict and stern
and sarcastic,--almost as sharp and harsh as Miss Peyton, who had
made life so miserable for poor Peace in Chestnut School the year
before. But Miss Peyton did begin to understand at last, while Miss
Phelps--
"Peace, come here."
Peace roused from her bitter revery with a start. She had not observed
the teacher's noiseless return to the room after conducting her pupils
down the hall, and was astonished to find the stiff figure sitting in its
accustomed place behind the desk which had once more been whisked
into spick and span order for another day.
Peace scuttled spryly down the aisle, casting one final wistful glance
over her shoulder at the doves across the street. How delightful it must
be to be a bird! The teacher saw the glance, and putting on her severest
expression, demanded sternly, "What is the matter with you, child?
Have you lost your wits entirely, or--"
"O, teacher," the eager voice burst forth, as Peace pointed rapturously
out of the window, "isn't this the elegantest day? Seems 's if Winter had
stayed twice as long this year as it ought to, and it's been an awful trial
to everyone, with its blizzards and drifts. I like winter, too. It's such fun

coasting and skating and sleighing and snow-balling. But I've got