Heart of Gold | Page 4

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 enough for once. I'm glad Spring is here at last." Her voice sent a responding joyous thrill through the woman's cold heart in spite of herself. "The ice in the river is 'most all gone, the pussy willows by the boathouse are peeking out their queer little jackets, and the robins are beginning to build their nests in the trees. Grandpa says when the birds commence to build, Spring is here to stay; and I'm so glad. I've just been aching to go hunting vi'lets and cowslips and 'nemones. We are going to plant a heap of wild flowers on her grave--"
"Whose grave?" the amazed teacher heard herself asking.
"My Lilac Lady's. It's