"I'll go tell the teacher, Dave Blake!"

"Well, go along and tell her then. Fie, for shame!"

Henry, a feeble, petted child, was always falling into trouble and always threatening to tell the teacher. Kyzie considered him very tiresome; but to-day when he came to her with his tale of woe, she listened patiently, because she had done him a wrong and wished to atone for it. She had "really and truly" suspected this simple child of a crime! He would not take so much as a pin without leave; neither would Joseph Rolfe. Yet in her heart she had been accusing these innocent children of stealing her father's watch!

"Miserable me!" thought Kyzie. "I must be very good to both of them now, to make up for my dreadful injustice!"

She went to Joe and sweetly offered to lend him her knife to whittle his lead pencil. He looked surprised. He did not know she had ever wronged him in her heart.

She wiped Henry's eyes on her own pocket handkerchief.

"Poor little cry-baby!" thought she. "I told my mother I would try to make a man of him, and now I mean to begin."

She walked part of the way home with him that afternoon. He considered it a great honor. She looked like a little girl, but her wish to help the child made her feel quite grown-up and very wise.

"Henry," said she, "how nice you look when you are not crying. Why, now you're smiling, and you look like a darling!"

He laughed.

"There! laugh again. I want to tell you something, Henry. You'd be a great deal happier if you didn't cry so much; do you know it?"

"Well, Miss Dunlee,"--Kyzie liked extremely to be called Miss Dunlee,--"well, Miss Dunlee, you see, the boys keep a-plaguing me. And when they plague me I have to cry."

"Oh, fie, don't you do it! If I were a little black-eyed boy about your age I'd laugh, and I'd say to those boys: 'You needn't try to plague me; you just can't do it. The more you try, the more I'll laugh.'"

Henry's eyes opened wide in surprise, and he laughed before he knew it.

"There! that's the way, Henry. If you do that they'll stop right off.

There's no fun in plaguing a little boy that laughs."

Henry laughed again and threw back his shoulders. Why, this was something new. This wasn't the way his mamma talked to him. She always said, "Mamma's boy is sick and mustn't be plagued."

"Another thing," went on the little girl, pleased to see that her words had had some effect; "whatever else you may do, Henry, _don't_ 'run and tell,' Do you suppose George Washington ever crept along to his teacher, rubbing his eyes this way on his jacket sleeve, and said 'Miss Dunlee--ah, the boys have been a-making fun of me--ah! They called me names, they did!'"

Henry dropped his chin into his neck.

"Never mind! You're a good little boy, after all. _You_ wouldn't steal anything, would you, Henry?"

This sudden question was naturally rather startling. He had no answer ready.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't! But sometimes little _birds_ steal. Did you hear that a magpie stole a watch the other day?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Well, here's some candy for you, Henry."

The boy held out his hand eagerly, though looking rather bewildered. Was the candy given because George Washington didn't "run and tell"? Or because magpies steal watches?

"Now, good night, Henry, and don't forget what: I've been saying to you."

Henry walked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, but enjoying the candy nevertheless. If his pretty teacher didn't want him to tell tales, he wouldn't do it any more. He would act just like George Washington; and then how would the big boys feel?

He did not forget his resolve. Next morning when Dave Blake ran out his tongue at him and Joe Rolfe said, "Got any chickens to sell?" he laughed with all his might, just to see how it would seem. Both the boys stared; they didn't understand it. "h.e.l.lo, Chicken Little, what's the matter with you?"

Henry could see the eyes of his young teacher twinkling from between the slats of the window-blinds, and he spoke up with a courage quite unheard-of:--

"Nothing's the matter with _me!_"

"Hear that chicken," cried Joe Rolfe. "He's beginning to crow!"

Henry felt the tears starting; but as Miss Katharine at that moment opened the blind far enough to shake her finger at him privately he thought better of it, and faltered out:--

"See here, boys, I like to be called Chicken Little first rate! Say it again. Say it fi-ive thousand times if you want to!"

"Oh, you're too willing," said Joe. "We'll try it some other time when you get over being so willing!"

The bell rang; it sounded to Henry like a peal of joy. He walked in in triumph, and as he pa.s.sed by the little teacher she patted him on the head. She did not need to wipe his eyes with her handkerchief, there were no tears to be seen. He was not a brave boy yet by any means, but he had made a beginning; yes, that very morning he had made a beginning.

"Don't you tease Henry Small any more, I don't like it at all," said Katharine to Joseph Rolfe.

And then she slipped a paper of choice candy into Joe's hand, charging him "not to eat it in school, now remember." It was a queer thing to do; but then this was a queer school; and besides Kyzie had her own reasons for thinking she ought to be very kind to Joe.

"How silly I was to suspect those little boys! I'm afraid I never shall have much judgment. Still, on the whole, I believe I'm doing pretty well," thought she, looking proudly at Henry Small's bright face, and remembering too how Mr. Pollard had told her that very morning that his son Nate was learning more arithmetic at her little school than he had ever learned in the city schools. "Oh, I'm so glad," mused the little teacher.

Mrs. Dunlee thought Kyzie did not get time enough for play. And just now the little girl was unusually busy. They were talking at home of the new entertainment to be given for Jimmy-boy's benefit, and she was to act a part in it as well as Edith. It was "Jimmy's play," but Jimmy was not to appear in it at all. Kyzie and Edith together were to print the tickets with a pen. The white pasteboard had been cut into strips for this purpose; but as it was not decided yet whether the play would be enacted on the tailings or in the schoolhouse, the young printers had got no farther than to print these words very neatly at the bottom of the tickets:

"ADMIT THE BEARER."

XII

"THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM'S EARTHQUAKE"

There were only ten days in which to prepare for the play called "Granny's Quilting." The children met Wednesday morning in Aunt Vi's room, all but Bab, who was off riding. So unfortunate, Lucy thought; for how could any plans be made without Bab?

The play was very old-fashioned, requiring four people, all clad in the style of one hundred and fifty years ago. Uncle James would wear a gray wig and "small clothes" and personate "Grandsir Whalen"; Kyzie Dunlee, Grandsir's old wife, in white cap, "short gown," and petticoat, was to be "Granny Whalen" of course.

A grandson and granddaughter were needed for this aged couple. Edith would make a lovely granddaughter and pretend to spin flax. Who would play the grandson and sh.e.l.l the corn? Jimmy thought Nate Pollard was just the one, he was "so good at speaking pieces." They decided to ask Nate at once, and have that matter settled.

Aunt Vi showed a collection of articles which "the knitting-woman" had kindly offered for their use; a three-legged light stand, two fiddle-backed chairs, and a very old hour-gla.s.s.

"I should call it a pair of gla.s.ses," said Edith, as they watched the sand drip slowly from one gla.s.s into the other.

Aunt Vi said it took exactly an hour for it to drain out, and our forefathers used to tell the time of day by hour-gla.s.ses before clocks were invented.

"What _are_ forefathers?" Lucy asked Edith.