Glengarry School Days: a story of early days in Glengarry

Ralph Connor

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. The "Twentieth" school was built of logs hewn on two sides. The cracks were chinked and filled with plaster, which had a curious habit of falling out during the summer months, no one knew how; but somehow the holes always appeared on the boys' side, and being there, were found to be most useful, for as looking out of the window was forbidden, through these holes the boys could catch glimpses of the outer world- glimpses worth catching, too, for all around stood the great forest, the playground of boys and girls during noon-hour and recesses; an enchanted land, peopled, not by fairies, elves, and other shadowy beings of fancy, but with living things, squirrels, and chipmunks, and weasels, chattering ground-hogs, thumping rabbits, and stealthy foxes, not to speak of a host of flying things, from the little gray-bird that twittered its happy nonsense all day, to the big-eyed owl that hooted solemnly when the moon came out. A wonderful place this forest, for children to live in, to know, and to love, and in after days to long for

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819946809
• Langue: English

Extrait

GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS
CHAPTER I
THE SPELLING-MATCH
The “Twentieth” school was built of logs hewn on twosides. The cracks were chinked and filled with plaster, which had acurious habit of falling out during the summer months, no one knewhow; but somehow the holes always appeared on the boys' side, andbeing there, were found to be most useful, for as looking out ofthe window was forbidden, through these holes the boys could catchglimpses of the outer world— glimpses worth catching, too, for allaround stood the great forest, the playground of boys and girlsduring noon-hour and recesses; an enchanted land, peopled, not byfairies, elves, and other shadowy beings of fancy, but with livingthings, squirrels, and chipmunks, and weasels, chatteringground-hogs, thumping rabbits, and stealthy foxes, not to speak ofa host of flying things, from the little gray-bird that twitteredits happy nonsense all day, to the big-eyed owl that hootedsolemnly when the moon came out. A wonderful place this forest, forchildren to live in, to know, and to love, and in after days tolong for.
It was Friday afternoon, and the long, hot July daywas drawing to a weary close. Mischief was in the air, and themaster, Archibald Munro, or “Archie Murro, ” as the boys calledhim, was holding himself in with a very firm hand, the lines abouthis mouth showing that he was fighting back the pain which hadnever quite left him from the day he had twisted his knee out ofjoint five years ago, in a wrestling match, and which, in his wearymoments, gnawed into his vitals. He hated to lose his grip ofhimself, for then he knew he should have to grow stern andterrifying, and rule these young imps in the forms in front of himby what he called afterwards, in his moments of self-loathing,“sheer brute force, ” and that he always counted a defeat.
Munro was a born commander. His pale, intellectualface, with its square chin and firm mouth, its noble forehead anddeep-set gray eyes, carried a look of such strength and indomitablecourage that no boy, however big, ever thought of anything butobedience when the word of command came. He was the only master whohad ever been able to control, without at least one appeal to thetrustees, the stormy tempers of the young giants that used to cometo school in the winter months.
The school never forgot the day when big Bob Fraser“answered back” in class. For, before the words were well out ofhis lips, the master, with a single stride, was in front of him,and laying two swift, stinging cuts from the rawhide over big Bob'sback, commanded, “Hold out your hand! ” in a voice so terrible, andwith eyes of such blazing light, that before Bob was aware, he shotout his hand and stood waiting the blow. The school never, in allits history, received such a thrill as the next few momentsbrought; for while Bob stood waiting, the master's words fellclear-cut upon the dead silence, “No, Robert, you are too big tothrash. You are a man. No man should strike you— and I apologize. ”And then big Bob forgot his wonted sheepishness and spoke out witha man's voice, “I am sorry I spoke back, sir. ” And then all thegirls began to cry and wipe their eyes with their aprons, while themaster and Bob shook hands silently. From that day and hour BobFraser would have slain any one offering to make trouble for themaster, and Archibald Munro's rule was firmly established.
He was just and impartial in all his decisions, andabsolute in his control; and besides, he had the rare faculty ofawakening in his pupils an enthusiasm for work inside the schooland for sports outside.
But now he was holding himself in, and with setteeth keeping back the pain. The week had been long and hot andtrying, and this day had been the worst of all. Through the littledirty panes of the uncurtained windows the hot sun had poureditself in a flood of quivering light all the long day. Only an hourremained of the day, but that hour was to the master the hardest ofall the week. The big boys were droning lazily over their books,the little boys, in the forms just below his desk, were bubblingover with spirits— spirits of whose origin there was no reasonableground for doubt.
Suddenly Hughie Murray, the minister's boy, a veryspecial imp, held up his hand.
“Well, Hughie, ” said the master, for the tenth timewithin the hour replying to the signal.
“Spelling-match! ”
The master hesitated. It would be a vast relief, butit was a little like shirking. On all sides, however, hands went upin support of Hughie's proposal, and having hesitated, he felt hemust surrender or become terrifying at once.
“Very well, ” he said; “Margaret Aird and ThomasFinch will act as captains. ” At once there was a gleeful hubbub.Slates and books were slung into desks.
“Order! or no spelling-match. ” The alternative wasawful enough to quiet even the impish Hughie, who knew the tonecarried no idle threat, and who loved a spelling-match with all theardor of his little fighting soul.
The captains took their places on each side of theschool, and with careful deliberation, began the selecting of theirmen, scanning anxiously the rows of faces looking at the maps orout of the windows and bravely trying to seem unconcerned. Chivalrydemanded that Margaret should have first choice. “Hughie Murray! ”called out Margaret; for Hughie, though only eight years old, hadpreternatural gifts in spelling; his mother's training had donethat for him. At four he knew every Bible story by heart, and wouldtolerate no liberties with the text; at six he could read the thirdreader; at eight he was the best reader in the fifth; and to do himjustice, he thought no better of himself for that. It was no trickto read. If he could only run, and climb, and swim, and dive, likethe big boys, then he would indeed feel uplifted; but mere spellingand reading, “Huh! that was nothing. ”
“Ranald Macdonald! ” called Thomas Finch, and a big,lanky boy of fifteen or sixteen rose and marched to his place. Hewas a boy one would look at twice. He was far from handsome. Hisface was long, and thin, and dark, with a straight nose, and largemouth, and high cheek-bones; but he had fine black eyes, thoughthey were fierce, and had a look in them that suggested the woodsand the wild things that live there. But Ranald, though hisattendance was spasmodic, and dependent upon the suitability orotherwise of the weather for hunting, was the best speller in theschool.
For that reason Margaret would have chosen him, andfor another which she would not for worlds have confessed, even toherself. And do you think she would have called Ranald Macdonald tocome and stand up beside her before all these boys? Not for theglory of winning the match and carrying the medal for a week. Buthow gladly would she have given up glory and medal for the joy ofit, if she had dared.
At length the choosing was over, and the schoolranged in two opposing lines, with Margaret and Thomas at the headof their respective forces, and little Jessie MacRae and JohnnieAird, with a single big curl on the top of his head, at the foot.It was a point of honor that no blood should be drawn at the firstround. To Thomas, who had second choice, fell the right of givingthe first word. So to little Jessie, at the foot, he gave “Ox.”
“O-x, ox, ” whispered Jessie, shyly dodging behindher neighbor.
“In! ” said Margaret to Johnnie Aird.
“I-s, in, ” said Johnnie, stoutly.
“Right! ” said the master, silencing the shout oflaughter. “Next word. ”
With like gentle courtesies the battle began; but inthe second round the little A, B, C's were ruthlessly swept off thefield with second-book words, and retired to their seats in supremeexultation, amid the applause of their fellows still left in thefight. After that there was no mercy. It was a give-and-takebattle, the successful speller having the right to give the word tothe opposite side. The master was umpire, and after his “Next! ”had fallen there was no appeal. But if a mistake were made, it wasthe opponent's part and privilege to correct with all speed, lest asecond attempt should succeed.
Steadily, and amid growing excitement, the linesgrew less, till there were left on one side, Thomas, with Ranaldsupporting him, and on the other Margaret, with Hughie beside her,his face pale, and his dark eyes blazing with the light ofbattle.
Without varying fortune the fight went on. Margaret,still serene, and with only a touch of color in her face, gave outher words with even voice, and spelled her opponent's with calmdeliberation. Opposite her Thomas stood, stolid, slow, and wary. Hehad no nerves to speak of, and the only chance of catching him layin lulling him off to sleep.
They were now among the deadly words.
“Parallelopiped! ” challenged Hughie to Ranald, whomet it easily, giving Margaret “hyphen” in return.
“H-y-p-h-e-n, ” spelled Margaret, and then, withcunning carelessness, gave Thomas “heifer. ” (“Hypher, ” she calledit. )
Thomas took it lightly.
“H-e-i-p-h-e-r. ”
Like lightning Hughie was upon him. “H-e-i-f-e-r.”
“F-e-r, ” shouted Thomas. The two yells came almosttogether.
There was a deep silence. All eyes were turned uponthe master.
“I think Hughie was first, ” he said, slowly. Agreat sigh swept over the school, and then a wave of applause.
The master held up his hand.
“But it was so very nearly a tie, that if Hughie iswilling— ”
“All right, sir, ” cried Hughie, eager for morefight.
But Thomas, in sullen rage, strode to his seatmuttering, “I was just as soon anyway. ” Every one heard andwaited, looking at the master.
“The match is over, ” said the master, quietly.Great disappointment showed in every face.
“There is just one thing better than winning, andthat is, taking defeat like a man. ” His voice was grave, and withjust a touch of sadness. The children, sensitive to moods, as isthe characteristic of children, felt the touch and sat subdued andsilent.
There was no improving of the occasion, but with thesame sad gravity t