Little Tora, The Swedish Schoolmistress and Other Stories | Page 4

a triumphant sweep up to the little red schoolhouse where Tora was to have her abode and the sphere of her labours.
A low wooded point ran like a promontory out into the meadow, and there "the forefathers of the vale" had built the temple for the spelling-book and the slate.
On the opposite side from the meadow the schoolhouse was entered, after crossing the wide playground. Where "the field for sport" ended at the road there stood a lad, evidently looking out eagerly for the arrival of the new teacher.
"That's a life-member of the little school," said the driver, with a whimsical look. "Nils is not much at books, but he's a powerful singer."
The last words were spoken within the hearing of the frank-faced boy, who now pulled off his cap, and stepped up to the wagon to help Tora down. She shook his hand kindly, and said, "I hear you are a singer, Nils. I am glad of that, for in my certificate I got but a poor record for my singing."
"And 'great A' for everything else, mother said," he answered promptly, while his eyes beamed pleasantly on the new teacher, whose first friendly greeting had won his heart.
"I'll help you down with the heavy things first," said Nils to the driver, "and then if you'll set the rest here, we'll take them in together later. I want to show the schoolhouse to the mistress."
The one room set apart for the home of the teacher did not look dreary as she stepped into it. The table from the schoolroom stood in the centre covered with a white cloth, its edge outlined by bright birch leaves laid on it, loosely and tastefully, like a wreath. Then on a tray covered with a snowy napkin stood a shining coffee-pot, with cups for three, and a light saffron cake that might have sufficed for the whole school assembled.
"Mother thought perhaps you would like a taste of something warm after your ride," said Nils, as he proceeded to pour out a cup of coffee as if he were quite at home. At home he was in a way, for in that schoolhouse he had for years passed his days among the little ones, through a special permit from the school board.
Tora clasped her hands, and stood silent a moment before she tasted the first morsel of food in her new home, and her heart sent up really grateful thoughts to her heavenly Father, who had so blessed her, and would, she was sure, continue to bless her in her new surroundings.
"May I take out a cup to Petter?" asked Nils, while he cut the big cake into generous pieces, and offered the simple entertainment to the teacher. Of course the driver did not refuse the proposed refreshment, nor did Nils hesitate to help himself, while the mistress was taking her coffee and glancing round the premises.
All was fresh and clean about her. The windows had evidently been open since early morning, and the closets and shelves could well afford to be displayed through the doors more than half ajar.
"Thanks, Nils," said the mistress, as she took the boy's hand after the refreshment.
"Thanks and welcome to the new teacher!" was the reply.
"Now I shall go in and look at the schoolroom while Petter and you furnish my room for me. The sofa should stand there, and the bureau there. The rest I can leave to you," said Tora, as she disappeared.
Nils unfolded a strip of rag carpeting and "criss-crossed" it round the room, whispering to himself, "Mother said there were to be no footmarks left behind us."
The schoolroom was but a big, bare room--no maps on the walls, none of the modern aids for instruction, save that the space between the two windows that looked out towards the meadow had been painted, to be used as a blackboard: "a useless, new-fangled notion" the rustics had called this forward step in the way of education.
In front of the blackboard stood a wooden armchair for the teacher. The benches were low, and the desks were of the simplest sort, saving one, which was larger and higher, which the teacher at once understood was the permanent arrangement for Nils. Her heart went out towards the big, kind fellow, on whom so sore a trial had been laid in his youth.
Along one side of the schoolroom there were four horses standing silent, but not "saddled and bridled," as in old nursery stories. Without head or tail, they stood on four sprawling legs--supports for two long, "shallow boxes" that had been in the schoolroom for fifty years or more. Wood was abundant in the old days, and unskilful hands had done the work; so the boxes were but clumsy specimens of carpentry, and deep enough, it seemed, to hold sand