While the teacher was busy with the boys, Pearl"s sharp eyes were looking over her new schoolmates. Instinctively she knew that the pale little girl ahead of her must be Libby Anne Cavers. She had wondered often, since coming to the farm, how Libby Anne would regard the Watson family. Would she think that they had taken away her old home? Impulsively Pearl leaned over and presented Libby Anne with a new slate-rag securely anch.o.r.ed by a stout string to the neck of a small bottle filled with water. This new way of slate-cleaning had not yet reached the Chicken Hill School, where the older method prevailed, and as a result, Libby Anne"s small slate-rag was dark gray in colour and unpleasant in character, and nearly always lent to her less provident neighbours.
Libby Anne turned her pale face and frightened eyes toward the big new girl, and in that glance Pearl read all her sad child history.
Libby Anne was just what she had pictured her to be, little and thin and scared. She put her hands on Libby Anne"s thin shoulders and, drawing her back, whispered in her ear: "I like ye, Libby Anne."
Libby Anne"s face brightened, though she made no reply. However, in a few minutes she pulled the cork from the little bottle and gave her slate a vigorous cleaning with the new rag, and Pearl knew her oblation of friendship had been favourably received.
Mr. Donald, the teacher, was a student of human nature, as every successful teacher must be, and before the day was over he was sure that in Pearl Watson he had a pupil of more than ordinary interest.
At the afternoon recess he called her to his desk and asked her about her previous school experience.
Pearl told him frankly her hope and fears. "I want to learn," she said. "I want to know things, because I love to learn, and besides, I have to be able to tell the boys and Mary what"s what. We"re awful poor, but we"re happy, and there"s none of us real stupid. All we want is a chance. I just ache to know things. Do you ever?" she asked him suddenly.
"I do, Pearl," he answered. "I do, indeed."
"Oh, well," she said, "I guess you know all of the things I"m thinkin" about; but I suppose the farther a person goes the more they see that they don"t know.
"That"s it, Pearl," he said, smiling. "The larger the circle of light, the larger the darkness around it."
Pearl pondered a minute.
"That"s just what I"ve often thought, but I didn"t know how to say it. Well," she went on, "I often wonder what makes the wind blow, and what makes you fall when you step off things, and how does the hail come when it"s scorchin" hot; and I"ve often wondered what holds the clouds up, and I"d like to know what"s goin" on, and what people think about things."
She stopped suddenly, and looked closely into his face. She had to be sure of a sympathetic listener.
"Go on, Pearl," Mr. Donald said, kindly. "I am interested. Tell me what else you are wondering about."
"Well," she said, "I"ll tell you the biggest wonder I have. I would not tell it to every one, for if they"ve never thought of it it is just as well for them, for there"s a danger of thinkin" too far in it. I am wonderin" often why G.o.d let the bad men crucify the dear Lord, and Him that kind and sweet and gentle. I often think about it at night, and can"t sleep. I think about all the angels, big strappin" fellows, flyin" around the cross, feelin" so sorry for Him, and just wantin" so bad to hold Him up in their arms, but knowin"
they da.s.sent interfere without orders, and I often imagine to meself that the word did come to the angels to jump in and save Him, and I can just see how tender they would lift Him down from the cross, and the two poor fellows with Him, and they would float away off into the blue sky, leaving the bad people down below, the soldiers and the high priests and all of them, gawkin" up, wid their mouths open, watchin" them growin" smaller and smaller, until they were gone clean from sight; and then Pilate would say to them: "Didn"t I tell you to watch what you were about? Let me tell yez, ye have put your foot in it good and plenty this time." But then I think of what really did happen, and it just breaks my heart to think of it."
Pearl"s tears overflowed her eyes, but she wiped them away and went on steadily. "I wonder if you could tell me why it happened, Mr.
Donald. I know G.o.d did it for the best. I am not sayin" a word against Him, mind ye, for I know what He"s like, and how good He is, and all; but it was awful to let our Lord die that like."
Mr. Donald felt his own heart strangely moved at the little girl"s distress.
"I am not very well up in these things, Pearl," he said; "but if He hadn"t died he could not have shown us the resurrection."
"Oh, I don"t mind Him dyin"," said Pearl quickly. "Everybody has to die, and when they"ve lived right and done the best they could for every one, it is just glorious to die and go home. It"s just like people comin" home from college with their examination papers marked high, and their certificates and medals to show how hard they worked; or I guess it"s more like soldiers comin" home all tired out, and sunburnt, showing their scars--we can show our hands all hard with work for other people, and our faces cheerful and patient. That"s what"ll count up there, I guess. It"s all right to die, but I can"t see why He had to die that way--it was terrible, and it wasn"t comin"
to Him."
"Perhaps it was to show us how much He loved us," the teacher said gently.
"He shows us that in lots of ways," Pearl said. "He says He loves us, and ye can"t live one day without feelin" that there"s love in the world, and I"m sure it didn"t come from anywhere else but G.o.d--oh, no, it didn"t need, that to show us."
The teacher was looking at her in wonder.
"I tell you what to do, Pearl. Ask Mr. Burrell; he"ll be able to tell you."
After school that night Pearl opened the theological discussion again.
"Mr. Donald," she said, "don"t you think we should try to get some one to preach here and have a Sunday-school? These children here, except Lib. Cavers, don"t know anything about the Bible. I"ve been asking them about Easter Sunday. They don"t know anything about it, only it"s a time to see how many eggs you can hold, and they think that G.o.d is a bad word It would just be fine if we could have a Sunday-school and learn verses. Our Jimmy got a black Testament for fifty verses, said exactly like the book. You would be superintendent, wouldn"t you?"
Mr. Donald coloured painfully. "I don"t know, Pearl--we"ll see," he said evasively.
That night when he went back to his boarding-place--the big brick house on the hill--he was strangely disturbed and troubled. He had told himself years ago that religion was a delusion, a will o" the wisp. But there was something in Pearl"s face and in her words that seemed to contradict the logic of his reasoning.
Charles Donald was a man who tried hard to make a stoic of himself, to convince himself that he was past feeling the stings of evil fortune. He had suffered so deeply that he told himself that nothing could ever hurt him again. A spiritual numbness had come upon him, which he took to be the compensation for the variety of hard knocks he had experienced. He was a genial, pleasant, gentle man, but his face bore that look of settled sadness that comes into the eyes of people for whom the world has held an awkward hour.
He was regarded by the people in the school district as a good teacher, and, indeed, he had quite conscientiously put before his pupils as much of the curriculum as they could conveniently grasp. He was kind and patient with his pupils always, but he had never exerted himself to change their outlook upon life, or to put n.o.bler ideals before them.
"They are happier as they are," he often thought to himself. "The ox in the field, so long as the gra.s.s is good, is happier than most of us with all our wisdom, and well he should be, for his days are free from care, and when his days are over there"s the quick blow and the sharp knife, and that is not so bad."
But after Pearl came to school, he found himself going over his neglected library to find the books that would throw light on the many questions that she brought forward, and every evening he went carefully over the lessons, taking a distinct pride now in making them of interest to her.
In this way, having more to employ his thoughts, he soon began to think of the past less sadly. Pearl"s optimism was contagious.
CHAPTER XI
THE HOUSE OF TROUBLE
There! little girl--don"t cry!
_----James Whitcomb Riley._
A MILE from the Chicken Hill School stood the little vermin-infested house in which the Cavers family lived after they abandoned the weed-choked farm on the river-bank. This unpretentious log house had been the first home of Mr. and Mrs. Steadman, and was part of the "improvements" specified by the Government to show that a homestead is entered in good faith. The land had been rich and productive, and from it George Steadman had made the money to buy the half-section of school land just across the road and to erect the magnificent brick house and splendid barns that were the pride of his heart.
George Steadman was so keen after money that he even overworked his farms, and now his old farm was so impoverished that it was unable to grow a heavy crop. This was the princ.i.p.al reason he had for letting it to such an undesirable tenant as Bill Cavers. No wide-awake tenant would take it, and, besides, if he had rented it to almost any person else, he would have had to spend some money fixing up the house, which was in a most dilapidated condition.
Bill Cavers had lost the ambition that he once had, and now did not care very much what sort of house he lived in. Bill was content to live the simple life, if the liquid refreshment were not simplified too much, and Mrs. Cavers never complained.
The Caverses had only one child living, Libby Anne, eleven years old; but there were several little unmarked mounds in the Millford cemetery that Libby Anne and Mrs. Cavers sometimes piled high with white cherry-blossoms or blue anemones. Little George had lived to be two years old, and Libby Anne remembered that when he died there was a funeral, with horses and buggies in the yard, and the minister prayed and there was singing, and Martha Perkins brought over little cookies with pink seeds on them, and it was fine!
But for days and days Libby Anne would steal up the narrow stairs, fully expecting to find her little brother sleeping under the pink quilt on his mother"s bed, but there wasn"t ever even the dint of him on the quilt, and Libby Anne at last went up with her eyes shut to feel around the bed, so as not to be disappointed so soon. Then her mother told her about the beautiful country that little George had gone to, and Libby Anne was glad to know that no one there was ever cold or hungry, and that n.o.body"s father ever came home drunk. One day in school Libby Anne told the teacher what heaven was like, and when she mentioned this last and greatest advantage of living there he told her gently that she must not say such things.
For some time after coming to the Steadman farm things had gone better with the Caverses, for a strong influence was brought to bear on Bill, to keep him sober. Mr. Steadman had never taken any interest in the liquor question--he had no taste for whiskey himself, and, besides, it costs money--but now, with Bill Cavers for his tenant, he began to see things differently. If Bill Cavers drank he would not be able to pay the rent. So Mr. Steadman desired Bill to be a sober man, and to this end had a very straight talk with him on the subject of total abstinence.
Bill Cavers was a very poor farmer, as one look at his abandoned homestead would show; that he was not a success as a husband no one would doubt after seeing Mrs. Cavers; and that he was a conspicuous failure as a father, Elizabeth Anne Cavers, his daughter, with her frightened eyes and sad mouth, would abundantly testify. But there was one capacity in which William Cavers was a spectacular success, and that was in maintaining the country"s revenue from malt and distilled liquors, for Bill was possessed of a thirst that never faltered.
Bill was quite different from the drunkard who consumes and never produces, for he would work and work hard; and he was strictly honest with every one except himself and his family. Sandy Braden was not afraid to trust Bill with all the whiskey he wanted, for Bill would surely pay. His wife might not have respectable clothes to come to town in, and Libby Anne knew what it was like more than once to go hungry to bed, but Bill always paid what was chalked up against him at the Grand Pacific without question. All the neighbours called Bill Cavers a good, straight fellow.
When Bill was sober, he bitterly regretted the way he had wasted his money, and he often made solemn protestations as to his future conduct, the strange part of it being that at such times he fully believed that he would never drink again, and his wife was always, sure that he would not.
In this way life was harder for her than it would have been for a less sanguine woman, who would have long ago given up all hope, but Mrs. Cavers always saw her husband as he had been in his good days; his drinking had never ceased to be a shock to her; she never could accept it as the inevitable, but constantly looked for better days to come.
Mrs. Cavers often told Libby Anne about the lovely home she had when she was a little girl, and showed her just how the flower-beds were laid out and how the seat was put in the big elm-tree outside her mother"s window, where she often sat and read and dreamed; and so it was no wonder that her mother"s old home in Ontario, where her grandmother and Aunt Edith still lived, became to Libby Anne a sort of Paradise Valley, the delectable country of her dreams, and through all her colourless childhood there ran a hope like a thread of gold that some time she and her mother would go back.