Walter Harland； or， Memories of the Past
Chapter 11
Harriet S.Caswell
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_ CHAPTER XI
The important day arrived when I was to begin school-life at the Village Academy, the day I had so long looked forward to with pleasant anticipations. The teacher who had taught the Fulton Academy for several years was a gentleman of high culture, and of sound judgment. Teaching with him was a loved life-work. He had been left an orphan at an early age, and had, by his own exertions, obtained the education which enabled him to occupy a position of influence and respectability, consequently, he was all the better able to sympathize and assist studious pupils who laboured against many discouragements to obtain an education. Instead of regarding the pupils under his charge as only objects for correction and reproof, he treated them as reasonable beings, and laboured diligently to develop their better natures, as well as their intellectual powers. When I entered the school-room, and Mr. Oswald made some enquiries regarding my studies, and other matters, I looked in his clear honest, but withal searching eyes, and felt certain I had found a friend in my teacher. My ideas at the time, of my new home as well as my school, will I presume be best expressed by transcribing the copy of a letter, written to Charley Gray about this time. I lately found it among, some old papers. It reads thus:
Fulton, Oct. 25th, 18--
Dear Charley,
As I cannot possibly see you, I will do the next best by writing to you in answer to your kind and very welcome letter, which came to hand two days since. I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin; but if I intend to finish I must make a beginning in some way. I will first endeavour to tell you something about my home. You know I feared Uncle Nathan might be like Farmer Judson; but never were two more unlike; he never scolds or frets, and, although he is not a great talker, somehow or other when he does talk I always like to listen to what he says. I am sure you would like Uncle Nathan, and if you could pay a visit to his farm he would not drive you off as Mr. Judson did. My grandma and aunt live with my uncle. Grandma is a very old woman, but she looks happy and contented as she sits day after day in her large arm-chair, dividing her time between her knitting work and reading in the large-print Bible which always lies close to her hand; sometimes she says it tries her eyes to read, and then I wish you could see how pleased she seems when I offer to read to her.
You remember the day Charley, when we were at school at dear old Elmwood, when we were out at recess and that poor old beggar-man who was nearly blind passed the play-ground, and dropped his cane into the ditch. Some of the thoughtless boys set up a laugh, but you left your play and ran and picked up the cane and placed it in his hand; and the old man patted your head and said "I know you will make a good man, my lad, if you live to grow up, for there is always good in the boy who pays respect to the aged and helpless." The master who saw it all from the open window did not forget to reprove the boys who laughed at the poor old man, while at the same time he warmly commended your kind act, "Take my word for it boys," said he "an act of kindness, or any mark of respect to the old and feeble, will always leave a feeling of happiness in your own hearts;" and I know now that our teacher told the truth. Sometimes grandmother calls me to read to her when I am busy with study or play, and at first I do not feel inclined to go, but I always do, and I feel more than paid when I finish reading and she says, "thank you, Walter, you are a good boy to remember poor old grandma and I hope if you live to be old, and your eyes grow dim like mine, some one will be as kind to you as you are to me." I don't know how it is, Charley, but some how I always feel happier after reading to grandma Adams. Aunt Lucinda is Uncle Nathan's sister, you know; she keeps house; she is a real go-a-head sort of woman, and a great worker; she is older than Uncle Nathan, but, between you and I, I don't think she cares to hear that spoken of, but it's no harm for me to tell you. She is so different in her ways from your mother and mine that at first I hardly knew what to make of her. She has a queer way of snapping people up short if she isn't just suited. For a long time I was afraid Aunt Lucinda would never like me, she seemed to have such a horror of boys--may be that's the reason she never got married. I have begun to think lately that I am gaining in her good opinion and I am very glad of it. After all she is kind-hearted, for all her queer ways; I could get along better if she wasn't so distressingly neat and particular about the house. I tell you if you lived with my Aunt, you'd have to remember always to wipe your feet on the door-mat before coming into the house; if you did happen to forget Aunt Lucinda would sharpen up your memory, depend upon it. When I first came here I really believe she thought I should burn either the house or barn, perhaps both, or commit some other enormity; but as no such occurrence has as yet taken place, she begins to think, I believe, that I am not so bad as I might be. In fact I heard her tell Uncle Nathan the other day, that she "would be real sorry if I was to go away, I was such a help about the house, and so careful to keep the chores all done up," that was a great deal for Aunt Lucinda to say in my favor; and I was so pleased when I heard her that I wished there was more chores to do than there are although I sometimes think there are quite enough already. But it is time I was telling you something about my school. I attend the Academy over at Fulton, the small village which is about two miles from Uncle Nathan's farm. The Academy is the only thing here which reminds me of Elmwood. It is a large building, two stories in height, painted white, and the grounds around it are thickly set with many different kinds of shade-trees. The upper story of the building is used as a Public Hall while the lower one is appropriated to the school. There is about an equal number of boys and girls attending this term. By-the-bye, Charley, when I first entered the school I was very much afraid that my own attainments would seem very little compared with those of my then unknown companions, but I have got rid of that fear now, I am in the class next the highest and am eagerly looking forward to the day, which I hope is not far distant, when I shall stand in the first ranks in Fulton Academy. There are two teachers. Mr. Oswald, the head master, and Mr. Lawrence, who is quite a young man, is the assistant teacher. This same assistant is very pompous in his manner, and when Mr. Oswald is not present, he is disposed to act something of the tyrant. He has red hair, which I believe is a matter of much annoyance to him, for he is uncommonly vain regarding his personal appearance. Knowing this, some of the boys delight in playing off jokes upon him. One day last week, Mr. Lawrence was leaning over a desk, working out a difficult example in Arithmetic, directly behind him was Ned Stanton, the most mirthful and fun-loving boy in the whole school. Ned took a match from his pocket and, first giving me a sly nudge to look, held it close to Mr. Lawrence's head, making believe to light it by his red curling locks. The act was so sudden and withal so comic that I burst out laughing before I thought where I was. Mr. Oswald raised his eyes just in time to see Ned holding the match, I expected the fellow was in for a punishment for sure; but will you believe me when I tell you that Mr. Oswald actually laughed himself. He tried hard to put on a stern look, and said "I think Edward you had best attend to your ciphering." The assistant was so busily occupied that he saw nor heard nothing of it all, till he raised his head, and seeing many of the scholars trying to conceal their laughter, and even observing an expression of quiet mirth on Mr. Oswald's face, he looked from one to another with such a ludicrous manner of enquiry and astonishment it made the matter still worse. But, whatever Mr. Lawrence may lack in any way, is more than made up to us in Mr. Oswald. He is past thirty years of age, he is married, and has a little boy and girl who attend school. The little boy is very nice, and if I wasn't afraid you would laugh at me I would say that I think Rose Oswald the handsomest girl I ever saw, and I have said it after all, laugh or no laugh. Mr. Oswald is very highly learned, but when we meet with him, somehow or other, the space between us and that tall, learned, and somewhat grave looking man, seems annihilated. I believe it is his kindness which does this. Like all schools there are both good and bad scholars here; some of them practice much deceit with the teachers, and will sometimes even conceal their books when in the class, and recite from them, to save study; I never do this, Charley, for I know it is wrong, and I know you wouldn't do it either. But the small space left warns me that I must bring my long letter to a close. Write soon, and tell me how you are getting along, and all about your school, and every thing else that you think may interest me. I have made some companions here but you needn't fear my forgetting you, for I have met with no one who, to me, can quite fill the place of Charley Gray. With much affection I remain,
Your sincere Friend,
WALTER HARLAND.
P.S. Write soon, and don't forget to write a long letter.
W.H.
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