Little Tora, The Swedish Schoolmistress and Other Stories | Page 5

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 for all the long winter through. The
grandfathers of the neighbourhood could remember when these
receptacles were their writing-desks, in which, stick in hand, they were
taught to trace in the smoothed sand their names or any higher efforts
of chirography that the teacher might demand. These superannuated
articles of furniture were now used in winter as places of deposit for the
children's folded outer garments, rather than the cold vestibule. There,
too, the dinner-baskets had their rightful quarters.
The room was high, as it went up to the very roof. On the rafters were
stored, in cold weather, the stilts for summer, and the bundles of ropes
for the swings to be fastened to the tall trees by adventurous Nils,
whose friendly hands delighted to send the laughing little ones flying
far up into the fresh air like merry fairies. There, too, were the bows
and arrows, and all other lawful things for summer sport.
The little schoolmistress took a full survey of her new kingdom, sat for
a moment in her chair of state, and noticed a simple footstool put in
front of it for her use, as she fancied, by that unknown "mother" who
seemed to have her comfort so much at heart.
When the new mistress returned to her own private apartment, the
furniture was all in place, the covers were taken from the boxes, and
everything was ready for her personal arrangement of her property.
"The school board have had shutters put to the windows," said the
driver, pointing to the late improvement. "They thought perhaps the
new teacher might be afraid. This is a lonely place."
"Afraid!" said the little schoolmistress, wonderingly; "I am never afraid,
night or day."
The driver opened his eyes wide as he answered,--
"The last teacher was as tall as I am, and she always kept a pistol at
night by her on a chair, with an apron thrown over it, so the thieves
could not find it and shoot her before she had a chance at them. This
little mistress must be made of different stuff.--Well, good-bye, miss,

and I wish you well."
Tora was about to put in his hand the usual payment for his services,
when he shut his broad fist expressively, and then half raised it, as he
said,--
"I never took pay for a mistress's things being brought to this
schoolhouse yet, and I don't mean to do it now. Folks for the most part
seem to like you, but I have a particular feeling. I knew your father
once, and he was good to me."
The honest man could say no more just then, and he hurried out of the
room. Nils followed with his best bow, but the pleasant words reached
his ears,--
"We'll meet soon again. Thanks! thanks to you both.--I think we shall
be real friends, Nils, you and I."
That little allusion to her father, coming so suddenly, had almost made
Tora break down in the midst of her abounding courage. The past came
up in vivid pictures where scenes of sorrow were predominant. Her
weak, ever-ailing little baby sister had floated quietly across the dark
river. The stricken mother sank, and soon followed her child to the
churchyard. The father's hand, that had first guided an editor's pen, and
then in his long decline that of a mere copyist, grew weaker and weaker,
and finally the last loving pressure was given to his daughter, and then
that hand lay still and white. Its work on earth was done, and the
brother and sister were left alone. Courageous and loving, they had
both struggled on. Her end was attained, but he was at the beginning of
the steady conflict before him. How would he bear himself in the battle?
If she could only know whether his surroundings would be as pleasant
and homelike as her own, and his heart as full of hope and quiet trust!
Would he be borne safely through the privations and temptations of his
university life? A prayer went silently up to the Father of all for that
absent brother, and then the practical little sister was soon deep in the
stir of bringing all things to order in her new home. Physical effort
brought back the resolute cheerfulness so