Charlie Newcomer.

by Wilbur B. Stover.

PREFACE.

I knew Charlie Newcomer, and I loved him. To me he seemed to have a bright future. And that other children may be led to take his good example in uniting with the church while they are yet children, I take pleasure in telling the story of his life. I have told that story often from the pulpit, in children's meetings, and I tell it now, in this way that a larger congregation may be reached.

In the home of Charlie and Bessie's parents at Ringgold, I wrote every word of this sketch. It is with considerable hesitancy, too, that the parents allow the facts to be told, since it enters right into their home life, and since some might misjudge their intention concerning their children.

May his heart's desire now be realized--to be a missionary.

W. B. S.

_Edgemont, Md., Feb. 2, 1894._

CHARLIE NEWCOMER

CHAPTER I.

AT THE RINGGOLD SCHOOL.

"Hurry up Charlie, for as soon as we get our dinner over, we want to play base-ball, and you're on our side, you know," called one of the scholars of the Ringgold school to Charlie Newcomer, as he was going home at noon for his dinner. Charlie's home was only a few rods from the school house, and on the same side of the road.

"All right, boys, I will," he answered in return, and in a minute more he was home.

Dinner was not ready when he reached home, for his mamma had been putting out her washing that forenoon. So he brought the water and then went to the cellar for the bread and b.u.t.ter while his mamma made the gravy, and dinner was soon on the table. While they were eating, Charlie said, "Do you think, mamma, I can get up head this afternoon?

I've studied my lessons very well."

"I don't know, indeed," said his mamma, "you cannot unless some one above you should make a mistake, and the other scholars are as anxious to stand well as you are."

"They're awful hard lessons, and surely some one will miss, and I'm just waiting for a chance like that. You know I hate to be foot," he continued, "and if I hadn't 'a' missed that day three weeks ago, I would have been head now."

He had finished his dinner before his mother and little sister, and was off to school while they were yet at the table.

The boys in the play ground had changed their minds about playing base-ball, from the fact that some wanted to begin playing right away, while others wanted to wait for the return of those who had gone home for dinner. Some wanted to choose new sides, and others wanted to remain as they had been the day before; and yet others, as they said, "didn't want to play anyhow," and in the midst of so many voices, they all went to playing "Drop the handkerchief," girls and boys together.

Charlie was especially fond of playing "Drop the handkerchief," and when he saw it was that game instead of ball, it did not take long until he was at it with all his might. Adding his kerchief to those already afloat, he ran around the large circle never faster.

Grown up people sometimes wonder how it is that children are willing to play until they are all in a perspiration, but children just as well wonder at grown up people for working with the same result.

The ringing of the school bell brought the game to a close. Nearly all of the scholars went at once into the house, while a few lingered on the porch to get a drink of water and cool off a little before going in.

How quiet it seems just after all the boys and girls are called from the play-ground to their books.

The school building at Ringgold is at one end of the town, and the town is a little, long one, right on the top of a large, long hill. On either side you can see the mountains, and from Ringgold to the mountain eastward, even away up on the side of the mountain, are thousands and thousands of peach trees.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RINGGOLD SCHOOLHOUSE.]

Within the school house is work. Cla.s.s after cla.s.s is called up to recite, and in some of them not many changes are made as to the standing of the pupils. In most of the cla.s.ses the method of trapping is used.

Whenever any one mis-spells a word or makes a mistake on a problem, the next one below him has a chance at it; if he misses, the next has a chance, and so on until the one is found who can make right the error, then that one traps and goes up above all who have missed.

Ever since Charlie had been absent that one day, he had been working especially hard to win his accustomed place at the head of his cla.s.ses, for whoever missed a day had to "go foot."

That afternoon because the lessons were rather difficult, he hoped to get near to his old place, if not to reach it altogether. When the first cla.s.s was called, his heart beat just a little faster than while he was preparing his lesson. As he arose from his seat to go, he breathed a little prayer to G.o.d, that he might remember well what he had just been learning.

Several problems were missed and as many times somebody trapped up. But not every problem that others had mistaken reached Charlie. One time he thought he would now trap three, when he himself missed, and another got it. In trapping, however, the close of the recitation found him "third"

but not "first." And so the cla.s.s was dismissed for that day.

The last in the afternoon was the spelling cla.s.s. The teacher frequently began to p.r.o.nounce the words on the lower part of the page first. "Tournament" was the first word to-day. The next was "const.i.tute." "Coadjutor" was Charlie's first word to spell.

"Inaugurate" was mis-spelled near the foot of the cla.s.s. "Sumac" was missed, and the scholars below were eager. "Ducat" enabled the one above Charlie to trap two. "Joust" was spelled correctly. "Oolite" and "vocable" were missed several times. The lesson was almost closed.

"Compa.s.s," said the teacher.

"Fortnight."

"Revolt." That was Charlie's.

"Caoutchouc."

"C-a-o-u-t-c-h--c-h--can't spell it," said the little man next below Charlie.

"Next," said the teacher.

"C-a-o-u-t-c-h-o-u-c-e."

"Next."

"C-o-o-c-h-o-o--o-o--."

"Next."

"C-h-o-o--"

"Next," and Charlie began to wish he had been foot now, so he could get up more than one at a time.

"K-a-u-o-t-c-h."

"Next," and all eyes began to look toward the head of the cla.s.s, for the unfortunate word was sure to go there.

"Caoutchouc," again p.r.o.nounced the teacher, clearly. The bright little girl at the head of the cla.s.s was a good speller, but hearing so many efforts, she became confused with the word, and although spelling slowly at it, she missed it.