Little Tora, The Swedish Schoolmistress and Other Stories | Page 2

was closed, but his
nostrils seemed undergoing a rhythmical contraction and distension
most interesting and unusual.
Tora gave the closing notes in fine style, and the expression of applause
was general. So encouraged, she volunteered a simple newly-published
carol that she had that day been practising at school. Here it seemed the
musical accompaniment could not be relied upon. Tora began, stopped,
and began again, then was silent, while great tears stood in her eyes.
One of the before-smiling boys hastened to say,--
"Let her speak a piece, uncle. She can do that beautifully, her brother
Karl says. He has taught her ever so many, and it costs her nothing to
learn them. He likes to tell that she is the best scholar in her class."
The uncle seemed to be able to enjoy his dinner at the same time as the
elocutionary treat with which it was now accompanied, and he warmly
complimented the speaker on her performance at its close.
"What made you think of giving us this pleasure, little Tora?" said the
doctor, with a humorous look in his kindly face.
"Why," said the little girl at once, "I don't like my shoes. They have
been brother Karl's. When I asked father this morning to give me some
new ones, he said this was a fine strong pair and did not let in water,
and he could not think of letting them go to waste. Then he looked
sorrowful, and I heard him say to mother, 'The poor children will have
to earn all they have soon.' I made up my mind to begin at once, and

earn my shoes, if I could. Our teacher told us to-day about Jenny Lind,
who began to sing when she was a very little girl, and when she was
older she made a great deal of money, and gave away ever so much,
and was loved and admired wherever she went. I thought I should like
to be loved and admired wherever I went, and have new shoes
whenever I wanted them, and I would try singing too. I came here first
because the doctor has always been so pleasant to me and so good to us
all."
"You have made a real beginning," said the brother-in-law.--"Gustaf,
take round the hat."
The doctor's son ran for his cap. There was a chinking and a silver flash
as the uncle put his hand into the cap. Something of the same kind
happened when it came to the doctor's turn to contribute. The mother
fumbled confusedly in her pocket, and found only her handkerchief.
The boys tossed in conspicuously some coppers of their own, perhaps
with the idea of covering, by their munificence, the evident
discomfiture of their mother.
"There! there!" said the uncle. "Hand the cap to the little girl. What is
in it is for the singer. As for the shoes, I'll see about that.--I would not
advise you, though, little Tora, to try singing to make money. It might
do for Jenny Lind, but I hardly think it would suit for you."
The little girl's countenance fell. The friendly stranger went on, "How
would you like to be a little schoolmistress? That would be a nice way
for you to take care of yourself, and maybe help all at home, by-and-by.
I know how that thing is done, and I think we could manage it."
The uncle did know "how that thing was done," and who meant to do it.
Little Tora was provided for from that day; and so, if she did not sing
like Jenny Lind, she sang herself into being a schoolmistress--a little
schoolmistress of the very best order.
CHAPTER II.
FACING THE WORLD.

It was five o'clock in the morning on one of the last days of August.
This was no legally-sanctioned Swedish moving-day, and yet it was
plain that with somebody a change of residence was in progress.
Before a low house on a winding "cobble-stone" paved street two long,
narrow wagons were standing. Their horses faced in different directions,
though in all other respects the two establishments were, even to their
loading, like a pair of twins. In each was the furniture for one simple
room, a sofa-bed being the striking article in the inventory. A
carefully-packed basket of china, a few primitive cooking utensils, and
some boxes and packages indicated, if not good cheer, at least
something to keep soul and body together.
The outer door of the house was locked at last, and the key had been
handed to a humble woman, who courtesied and took it as a matter of
form; though both parties knew that she would soon be opening that
door and coming into lawful possession of all the effects, remnants, and
refuse left on the premises, and would be