"No; I do not look for that. And I don't think Justin quite knows."

"You are not feeling worse, Eunice?"

"No--oh, no! I am better in many ways. I do not trouble myself about my health any more. I hope I am willing either to stay or to go. As for my Fidelia--why, she will be as safe, and by-and-by she will be as happy without me as with me, thank G.o.d!"

There was a pause of several minutes, and then Dr Everett said--

"I had a letter from Justin the other day. Yes--I know Mary showed it to you. There was a private note in it that Mary did not see. Eunice, Justin wrote to me about Fidelia."

He had moved away a little, and was watching Miss Eunice's face with some anxiety. She was silent a moment, and she said gravely--"I am not sure that it was wise in him to do so."

"You are not surprised?"

"I am surprised that he should have written to you. I am not surprised at what he had to say--if it is as I think. He spoke to me before he went away."

"He spoke to you?" said the doctor in astonishment, coming forward and sitting down again. "And Fidelia?"

"No," answered Eunice gravely; "she is too young. I would not let him speak; and indeed he had not the chance. I would not have her disturbed by any such thoughts."

"You are right. Justin was a bold man to venture to speak to you--about your sister. She is worth waiting for, if he have the courage to wait this time. Forgive me, Eunice--but I am angry with him."

"You must not be angry with Justin for my sake. That is all past, Dr Everett--quite past. I did not quite know it myself until I saw him.

Yes, I own I was a little afraid at the thought of his coming. But he was quite changed--another man. A better man perhaps than the Justin I loved when I was young, but different. Oh, yes, I love him still, in another way! You must see how differently, since I can say this to you."

Dr Everett rose and walked several times up and down the room. Then Eunice spoke again.

"There is something which I ought to have told you long ago, for I have seen that you have been feeling hard toward your brother because of me.

I had written to set him free from his promise to me, long before I heard that he was going to be married. I could not leave them, you know, and could not bear that he should feel himself bound to me and regret it. I do not deny that I felt his marriage as a blow. But all that has been long past. I never grudged him any happiness he may have had, nor any happiness that may come to him. But I will not have my Fidelia disturbed by thoughts of him, for years to come. Why did he write to you?"

"He gave me no particular reason. I think it was partly because he was not happy in keeping a secret from me. Foolish fellow! I knew how it was with him before he knew it himself. I was anxious only to get him away before he should betray himself to her."

"He did not speak to her."

"No. I think, too, he wished to bespeak for her a brother's care, now and always. That was foolish too. I do not think I love my own daughters better than I love Fidelia."

"I know it. I am sure of it; and I shall feel thankful that when I leave her she will be in your care."

There was silence between them for awhile. Then Eunice said--

"Dr Everett, had you any special reason for telling me this?"

"For a time I hesitated, lest I might hurt you. But I felt that it would be wrong to conceal from you anything that might affect your sister's future."

"It is all in G.o.d's hands. I leave it there. But I will not have Fidelia disturbed now, nor for years to come," repeated Eunice.

"But not for _many_ years, Eunice? Still, you are wise. If he were to speak now, or soon, it would end all for him. Fidelia would be shocked and offended for your sake. And indeed it would be wrong for other reasons."

"We will leave it all, Dr Everett. We will not speak of this again.

Say to Justin,--if you say anything,--that he must wait."

"Eunice, will you let me say one thing more? I confess that I was hard on Justin long ago. I did not know that you had set him free from his promise, and I wrote to him, telling him that it would not be wise for himself or pleasant for me that he should bring his wife to visit us at that time, as he spoke of doing. I was hard on him. He did not write for a long time, but he forgave me and wrote first. I thought then he was not happy in his marriage. He told me something about it when he came home last. His wife was the adopted daughter of our uncle--a spoiled child, I fear. She loved him, and, I suppose, let him see it.

His uncle wished for the marriage, and 'it did not seem to matter much,'

he said, which was wrong. And so it came to pa.s.s. He tried to make her happy while she lived, he said. You are right, Eunice. Justin is a better and a stronger man than his youth promised. Yes, it is right that he should wait, though, waiting, he may lose the prize he covets.

Other eyes are on the child; but to speak now would be to lose her."

"We will not say anything more," said Eunice.

Indeed there was no chance to say anything more at that time. A pleasant clamour had arisen in the front yard, where the young people had been moving about quietly enough until Jabez came. Jabez had been eating his Thanksgiving dinner at his grandfather's, with uncles aunts, and cousins, as was the thing to do, and had enjoyed it all, it is to be supposed. But that something was the matter Fidelia saw the moment he came near.

"I have been to the office, and I have got the letters--one for Miss Eunice, and one for you. I got one for myself too, and I wish I hadn't, though that would not have helped me any."

"Who is the letter from?"

"And what is the trouble?"

"If it isn't a secret?" said several voices in chorus.

"It isn't a secret. My letter is from Mr Fuller. And the trouble is, that he is not coming to Halsey this winter. Oh, yes, he's all right!

His uncle has died and left him some money, and he doesn't need to teach this winter. But his uncle has put a spoke in _my_ wheel. I have a good mind to go to Scranton on my own hook, and take my chance."

"But there may be as good a teacher as Mr Fuller here. You had better wait and see."

"Not a chance of it. Unless you'll take the school Fidelia?"

Then came the merry uproar which had interrupted the conversation within; and the laughter and chatter and noise increased till they were called into the house by the mother. The "What is the trouble?" of Dr Everett was answered by half a dozen voices at once. But it was Jabez who made the matter clear to their elders.

"Mr Fuller isn't coming back this winter, and we all agree that Miss Fidelia ought to teach our school. Know enough? I guess so! And as for government--I should just like to see the first one try to make her trouble in school. There wouldn't be any second time, I don't believe."

Jabez turned, quite fierce in looks, to the Everett boys, who, to tell the truth, were neither the most studious nor the most submissive to school discipline. Ned took refuge behind his father, and made believe to be very much afraid. Dr Everett had his own thoughts about the matter, but he did not commit himself that night. When he said it would be worth while for the school committee to take the matter into consideration, they all thought he was "only joking," as Ned said.

However, it came to pa.s.s that the school was offered to Fidelia. Jabez had moved the doctor, and the doctor had moved the school committee. A woman had never taught the winter school in Halsey before, but there was no reason why a woman should not teach it this winter. Fidelia Marsh had been the best scholar in the school when she attended it. She had studied since at home, and she had been a year in Holyoke seminary. If anything had been needed to turn the scale of opinion in her favour, it was the suggestion made by Deacon Ainsworth, that being a woman they could get her to teach five months for as little, may be for less, than Mr Fuller or any other young man would expect for four months. It was the deacon who was appointed to see Miss Fidelia; and Dr Everett went with him "to help talk the matter over."

Miss Eunice and Dr Everett had not waited for the a.s.sistance of Deacon Ainsworth before they talked the matter over, however; and after a good deal of anxious consideration they agreed to leave the decision to Fidelia herself, as to whether she would teach the school or not. To her it did not seem so very grave a matter.

"I might try it," said she; "only, if I fail, I will never be able to hold up my head in Halsey again."

But she had no thought of failing. After the weary time of depression through which she had been pa.s.sing, it was real pleasure to throw herself into the work she had undertaken. The fact that she knew every boy and girl in the place, and that some of the elder ones among her pupils had been her schoolmates only a few years ago, made the teaching and even the government of the school easier in some respects than they would have been to a stranger. For she knew all their weak points both in scholarship and in temper--"their easily besetting sins," as the deacon called them--and she could guide and restrain them accordingly, better than a stranger might have done, and she did succeed well with them all.

But she might have had some trouble in governing the bright, eager little men and women committed to her care, many of whom were in the habit of a.s.suming a share of family government at home, if she had not been "well backed," as Jabez called it. Of this backing Jabez did his share, both by precept and example. The respectful deference of his behaviour to the teacher, and the strict obedience he rendered, both in spirit and in letter, to the school rules, some of which were meant chiefly for the guidance of small boys who needed "line upon line,"

helped her greatly, though, in observing him, Fidelia had sometimes much difficulty in preserving her gravity before the rest of her pupils.

He helped her in other ways too. When Master Vanburen Swift, the son of one of the few rich men in Halsey, had been more than usually troublesome in school, and had answered Jabez's mild expostulation by demanding to be told "who Fidelia Marsh was, anyway?" his sled was forthwith taken possession of and impounded for the s.p.a.ce of twenty-four hours. As it was after the first heavy fall of snow, and the long hill "just splendid" for coasting, it was a severe punishment, and all the more so that it was gravely suggested to his companions that loyalty to their teacher forbade the loan of any one's sled to the bad boy who would not do his duty. Of course the boy complained to his father, and his father complained to various people--to the school committee and the teacher--to Deacon Ainsworth, and to Jabez himself. Jabez acknowledged his part in the transaction, and promised not to repeat it--till the next time. But the next time never came. Young Van, as the boys called him, had had his lesson.

Other people helped also. School committees, from time immemorial, have acknowledged it to be their duty to visit the schools under their care, in order to encourage both teacher and pupils; but the duty had been rather neglected in Halsey. They did visit the school this winter, however. So did the minister, so did Dr Everett; and altogether it was agreed that, as a teacher, Fidelia Marsh might be considered a success.

Work went on wonderfully well day by day, and there were now and then evening spelling schools, conducted in the usual energetic manner, and there were "speaking pieces," and "they did considerable more singing, first and last, than was generally done in schools," Deacon Ainsworth remarked in the course of a little speech he made one day when he came with the rest. He left his hearers in doubt of his entire approval of so much singing; but he declared himself "satisfied on the whole," which was encouraging.

Everything went smoothly. The scholars learned their lessons well, and they learned also some things not in the text-books. For Fidelia threw herself into her work with an earnestness and skill which could not but win from the bright scholars and the well-disposed among her pupils a cheerful response; but she did none of them more good than she received herself.