Tillie: A Mennonite Maid | Page 4

Pop he says what's the use learnin' TWO words where
[which] means the selfsame thing--one's enough."
Absalom's father was a school director and Absalom had grown
accustomed, under the rule of Miss Margaret's predecessors, to feel the
force of the fact in their care not to offend him.
"But your father is not the teacher here--I am," she cheerfully told him.
"So you may stay after school and do what I require."
Tillie felt a pang of uneasiness as she went back to her seat. Absalom's
father was very influential and, as all the township knew, very spiteful.
He could send Miss Margaret away, and he would do it, if she offended
his only child, Absalom. Tillie thought she could not bear it at all if
Miss Margaret were sent away. Poor Miss Margaret did not seem to
realize her own danger. Tillie felt tempted to warn her. It was only this
morning that the teacher had laughed at Absalom when he said that the
Declaration of Independence was "a treaty between the United States
and England,"--and had asked him, "Which country, do you think,
hurrahed the loudest, Absalom, when that treaty was signed?" And now
this afternoon she "as much as said Absalom's father should mind to his
own business!" It was growing serious. There had never been before a
teacher at "William Penn school-house who had not judiciously
"showed partiality" to Absalom.
"And he used to be dummer yet [stupider even] than what he is now,"
thought Tillie, remembering vividly a school entertainment that had
been given during her own first year at school, when Absalom, nine

years old, had spoken his first piece. His pious Methodist grandmother
had endeavored to teach him a little hymn to speak on the great
occasion, while his frivolous aunt from the city of Lancaster had tried
at the same time to teach him "Bobby Shafto." New Canaan audiences
were neither discriminating nor critical, but the assembly before which
little Absalom had risen to "speak his piece off," had found themselves
confused when he told them that
"On Jordan's bank the Baptist stands, Silver buckles on his knee."
Tillie would never forget her own infantine agony of suspense as she
sat, a tiny girl of five, in the audience, listening to Absalom's mistakes.
But Eli Darmstetter, the teacher, had not scolded him.
Then there was the time that Absalom had forced a fight at recess and
had made little Adam Oberholzer's nose bleed--it was little Adam
(whose father was not at that time a school director) that had to stay
after school; and though every one knew it wasn't fair, it had been
accepted without criticism, because even the young rising generation of
New Canaan understood the impossibility and folly of quarreling with
one's means of earning money.
But Miss Margaret appeared to be perfectly blind to the perils of her
position. Tillie was deeply troubled about it.
At half-past three, when, at a nod from Miss Margaret the little girl left
her desk to go home, a wonderful thing happened--Miss Margaret gave
her a story-book.
"You are so fond of reading, Tillie, I brought you this. You may take it
home, and when you have read it, bring it back to me, and I'll give you
something else to read."
Delighted as Tillie was to have the book for its own sake, it was yet
greater happiness to handle something belonging to Miss Margaret and
to realize that Miss Margaret had thought so much about her as to bring
it to her.
"It's a novel, Tillie. Have you ever read a novel?"
"No'm. Only li-bries."
"What?"
"Sunday-school li-bries. Us we're Evangelicals, and us children we go
to the Sunday-school, and I still bring home li-bry books. Pop he don't
uphold to novel-readin'. I have never saw a novel yet."
"Well, this book won't injure you, Tillie. You must tell me all about it

when you have read it. You will find it so interesting, I'm afraid you
won't be able to study your lessons while you are reading it."
Outside the school-room, Tillie looked at the title,--Ivanhoe,"-- and
turned over the pages in an ecstasy of anticipation.
"Oh! I love her! I love her!" throbbed her little hungry heart.

II
"I'M GOING TO LEARN YOU ONCE!"
Tillie was obliged, when about a half-mile from her father's farm, to
hide her precious book. This she did by pinning her petticoat into a bag
and concealing the book in it. It was in this way that she always carried
home her "li-bries" from Sunday-school, for all story-book reading was
prohibited by her father. It was uncomfortable walking along the
highroad with the book knocking against her legs at every step, but that
was not so painful as her father's punishment would be did he