Stephen the Schoolmaster. A story without a plot. By M. E. G. (M. E. B.)

Front matter

STEPHEN THE SCHOOLMASTER A STORY WITHOUT A PLOT. BY MARY E. GELLIE, (M.E.B.) AUTHOR OF " CLEMENT'S TRIAL," " THE THREE wnHES," " THE NEW GIRL," ETC. GRIFFITH & FARRAN: (SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERRV AND HARRIS) WEST CORNER ST PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON. NEW YORK : E. P. DUTTON & CO. The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved. CONTENTS. BOOK FIRST. Page Chapter I. — Chiltern, ..... i II.— Two Sisters, ...... 14 III. — The Rector's Advice, .... 23 IV.— The Schoolmaster receives an Invitation, 35 V. — Inside Paradise, .... 45 VI. — Edith's Whim, ..... 54 VII.— A Fortunate Accident, ... 63 VIII.— In the Blacksmith's Cottage, . . 71 IX. — In the Great Baeylon, ... 77 X. — Mrs Rivers tells her Story, ... 87 XL — Dreams and Realities, ... 98 XI 1.— A Young Radical, .... 108 XIII.— The Green-Eyed Monster, . . .121 XIV. — Stephen takes a Walk, 133 XV— In which Violet pays a Visit, . . 141 BOOK SECOND.

I.— The Pictures, 15' II.— A Terrible Temptation, III. — The Letter, l62 169 IV. — One Step in Advance, Contents. VI Chapter Page V.— A Rustic Model, . . • • ,8° VI.— Edith's Champion, .... '87 VII.— St Vincent's, . . . • • >99 VIII.— At Last! 2°^ IX.— An Art Student, .... 214 X.— A Suggestion, 223 XI.— A Village Orator, .... 229 XII.— Good -Bye, Sweetheart, . . -235 BOOK THIRD, I. — DISAPPOINTMENT, .... 243 II. — The Concert, ..... 251 III. — St Vincent's again, .... 256 IV.— The Head-Master, .... 263 V.— For Friendship's Sake, . . . 373 VI.— At the Royal Academy, . . . 278 VII. — A Strange Visitor, . . . . 284 VIII. — Uncle Archibald, .... 289 IX. — A Poor Little Governess, . . . 299* X. — At the Thicket once more, . . . BOOK FIRST.

Chapter I. Chiltern

Stephen Rivers closed the house door, putting the latch key into his pocket with a proud sense of posses sion, and stepped across the road to admire his new home for the first time. There was not much to look at for an ordinary observer. A tiny red brick house with three windows and a green door, and a few square feet of bare ground in front. This was the new schoolmaster's new house, for Stephen Rivers was the master of the Chiltern school. He had reached his new quarters the night before, and was to begin his duties to-day. It was now early morn ing, and he wished to start by getting some idea of the place he was to live in. At first he felt a chill of disappointment at the appearance of the school-house. It all looked so new and staring, so evidently fresh out of the hands of masons and carpenters.

But he mentally planted some fast growing creepers, and filled his garden plot with A bright flowers, and trusted that time would make the place beautiful. And then he began to reflect on his position. " Well, you are a lucky fellow, Stephen Rivers," he thought to himself, "here you are, settled down in a snug little house, with coals and gas, and an old widow woman to wait on you, all found, besides fifty pounds a-year ! And if you only do your duty in ' that state of life,' who knows how long you may stay here. Duty — duty — yes, that's the thing ; life is a serious business now, Master Stephen — a very serious business. You have not only to take care of yourself, but to set an example too — remember that — you are a schoolmaster now." And so he sauntered on, thinking to himself, and lectur ing himself, as he had a way of doing.

But his gait was much more like that of a schoolboy than a peda gogue, and very soon he began to whistle. The morning air was so fresh and invigorating, that his naturally high spirits rose higher than usual. He soon discovered that the school-house was about the only new thing in the village of Chiltern, which lay half hidden among the trees a little way from the river, and seemed as though it had been overlooked and passed by in the rush of progress, and left to itself for about a hundred years. It was a picturesque little village, with wooden houses, and red-tiled gabled roofs,. all clustering round the old grey church tower. " So that's the church," thought Stephen ; " quite an ideal country church ! I wonder what sort of a man the parson is, and how I shall get on with him. I liked what I saw of him in London.

There was nothing that said 'stand off; I am holier than thou,' about him." Chiltern. 3 He turned into the old-fashioned churchyard and examined a few tombstones, some of which were very curious. Presently he came to one that was' white and new. The inscription ran, " Sacred to the memory of Thomas Sherwin, for fifty years schoolmaster in this parish, — died 18 — , aged seventy-five years ; also Mary his wife ." " For fifty years schoolmaster in this parish," repeated Stephen slowly to himself, " I wonder whether my old bones will be laid here after fifty years ? It is a queer sensation to see one's life all planned out for one like that. One ought to do something in fifty years ! But it will be rather difficult to take the place of such an old fellow. ' Also Mary his wife,' there can be no ' Mary his wife ' for me, I must not dream of such a luxury.

How could I keep ' Mary his wife' on fifty pounds a-year ? No, no, Stephen, my boy, you must not let your head run on any such nonsense. No wife for you. To improve yourself and your pupils — that is your lot. Surely a full enough life for any man. So be content and earnest, and you may make your mark in the world, and see the fruits of your labour too before you die." He left the churchyard and strode along the dusty road till he came to the river, gleaming in the morning sunlight, and turned down a towing path which ran along the side of the river; it was bordered by a row of pollard willows. Presently he came to an old-fashioned black wooden drawbridge. A barge was just going through, and Stephen stood still to watch the process, which was new to him. The bargemen opened the bridge by pulleys which lifted up each side like lids, and let them down again when the boat had gone through.

It all looked very quaint and picturesque in Stephen's eyes, and he sauntered on in a pleasant reverie. Then he came to another sight. Across the river stood a long low cottage, surrounded by a verandah, all covered with flowering creepers. A garden sloped down to the water's edge, where shady trees were bending into the stream. Stephen felt as though everything were public pro perty in this retired corner of the universe, and he stood still to admire. This was indeed an earthly paradise ! While he was admiring, he became aware that the place was inhabited. First came a bark and a tinkling of bells, then a little pug dog with a collar of bells made its appearance, followed by a clear, ringing voice. " Oh you naughty, naughty Toby, you've torn my gloves all to pieces. Come here and let me beat you, sir." And a young lady appeared carrying a basket.

She mildly chastised Toby, and then began to fill the basket with flowers. Stephen stood still, rudely staring. " So a fair Eve inhabits this paradise," he said to himself. " Well, I don't think I should mind being Adam." The girl was simply dressed in a clean cotton frock, and a large garden hat which shaded her face so com pletely that it was impossible to see what she was like at that distance ; but the schoolmaster felt certain she was beautiful, and of one thing there was no doubt her hair was rich gold, for every now and then it flashed back the sunlight like the river. Altogether, it was a very pretty picture. Chiltern. 5 She went slowly round the garden cutting flowers and talking to her dog. Judging from the tone of her voice, she must have been of a very forgiving disposition, for she and the small offender seemed to be on the most friendly terms again.

Suddenly she stopped. She had evidently become conscious that she was being watched, and she looked straight across the river at the stranger. Stephen felt confused, and rather ashamed of him self. At that moment the old church clock, with its silvery voice chimed eight, and with a start he turned back towards the village, for school was to begin at nine. As he walked home he tried to forget the little Eve in her garden, and turned his thoughts to the new life before him. He had long ago made up his mind to devote all his powers to his work, and he was deter mined to be not only a painstaking and conscientious, but a successful, schoolmaster. He wished to elevate as well as teach his pupils, to educate them really, and his head was full of schemes and ideas. It was after much deliberation that Stephen Rivers had elected to be a schoolmaster.

He was ambitious, and his choice was very limited. He was by nature, helped by his mother, a student, and he was fond of teaching ; so he chose the employment in which he saw most chance of success. When the point was once settled between himself and his mother, he determined to fit himself for his work, and went to a training school ; he had there been a pupil-teacher long enough now to know that he had an arduous, though most in teresting, task before him. Stephen tlie Schoolmaster. 6 But he was young, and full of hope and ambition ; he felt himself strong to surmount difficulties, and, with God's help, to commence a new era in the lives of the youth of Chiltern. As he walked, his bright young face became grave and thoughtful, and in his own mind he went through the little opening address he intended to make to his pupils.

He was anxious to say something that would touch them, and make them feel that he had their in terests at heart, and meant to set them a good example by throwing himself with enthusiasm into his work. When Stephen reached his cottage, he found Widow Green standing at the gate looking up and down the road with an anxious face. " Ah ! there you are ! " she exclaimed in a relieved tone, " I was afeared as maybe you had lost your way, sir, or by chance tumbled into the river ; your breakfast is getting cold." Stephen had just finished his breakfast when a loud knock came at the door. He hastened to open it, and immediately his somewhat delicate hand was grasped in the strong, friendly one of the Reverend Frederick Champneys, rector of Chiltern. "Well, Rivers, and how do you like your new quarters ?

" said the cheery voice that had so charmed the young man when he first heard it. " Very much indeed, thank you, sir," replied Stephen. " Mrs Green has made everything most comfortable." " I have come to introduce you to the boys," said the Rector. " I daresay you will think them rather a dull set at first, after the sharp London lads you have been accustomed to ; but they are neither stupid nor bad, Chiltern. 7 really, only a little slow. If we two work together, I hope we may make something of them." " I am sure I hope so, sir," said Stephen. " I generally like to open the school myself," went on the Rector; "you know, though they are your pupils, they are my sheep. Now it is five minutes to nine, it is time to ring the bell." Stephen felt a little surprised. He had not expected that ringing the bell would be one of his duties.

But the Rector seemed to take it quite as a matter of course. " I suppose you are not accustomed to bell ringing," he said with a laugh ; " let me show you how to do it ; it is no use to depend on the boys, for they never think of school till they hear the bell." Stephen felt ashamed of having shown any reluc tance, and began at once to pull lustily at the bell rope. " Not quite so hard, my man," said Mr Champneys, taking the rope from Stephen's hand. " This is the way : you see it is quite an easy, pleasant motion, when you get into the way of it I took a good deal of trouble about this bell. I was determined not to have one that would stun people. Don't you think it has a nice soft tone ? " " Yes, very, sir," replied Stephen. " I hope you like the schoolroom, too ? " " Indeed I do," replied the schoolmaster, trying to throw off his bashfulness.

It was a fine airy room, with every convenience, and plenty of good maps and coloured prints on the walls. Slowly the pupils assembled ; they were, as Mr Champneys had said, a dull looking set. Stephen the Schoolmaster. 8 Each boy, as he entered, pulled his forelock at the parson, and then stared at the new master with stolid gravity. There was a short suitable little service and a hymn, which Mr Champneys led himself in a mellow, musical voice. When the service was over, the Rector introduced the new master in such a way, that every boy felt that he must be obeyed and treated with respect, or " Par son " would be angry ; and much as they loved the Parson, they had a wholesome dread of his anger. A few more minutes and Stephen was left alone in his new empire. He made the little speech on which he had bestowed so much thought ; it was heard, he could not flatter himself that it was listened to, with unmoved counte nances and stolid gravity.

Then he began his instructions with a lesson in reading aloud. Now Stephen had never lived out of London, and he was utterly amazed at the broad provincial accent of his new pupils. " I must try to make them speak something a little more like English in the first place," thought he to himself, and he corrected the reader's pronuncia tion. The boy looked as though he did not understand, and repeated the sentence he had just read in exactly the same tone and accent as before. " Try to read it as I do," said the master, slowly re peating the words. " That's only jus what oy did say," said the boy sulkily. " Oy knows how to read, oy does, as well as Chiltern. 9 any Lunnon chap. Why, oy could knock yer down, oy could," he added in an under tone. At this sally of wit a titter went round the schoolroom.

" What did you say ? " asked Stephen, fixing his eyes on the boy's face. Jim looked abashed and made no answer. " What did you say, sir ? " repeated the master severely. " I ses as how oy knows how to read, oy does," replied Jim. "I am the best judge of that, read the sentence again." The boy eyed the schoolmaster up and down, and somehow he felt that, young and fragile as he looked, he was a man who would be obeyed, and in a very sulky tone he did read the sentence again. " That is better," said Stephen, who liked to praise his pupils when there was the least reason for doing so. " Next boy, go on." On hearing the next boy open his mouth Stephen began to fear that he had misjudged poor Jim, whose utterance was almost music compared to some that fol lowed. At any rate he felt that he must let the ques tion of pronunciation drop for the present.

The boys were very troublesome. It was evident that the late Thomas Sherwin had ruled them with no iron hand. By the time afternoon school was over the weary master felt glad to refresh himself by a walk, instead of going to his little room to study, as he had intended to do. He tried a new road this time, and soon came upon the village green, where all the gossips were collected o Stephen the Schoolmaster. in groups, enjoying the evening air, and the boys and girls were playing noisily. As soon as he appeared, the schoolmaster felt that all eyes were turned upon him, even the children stopped their game to stare, and he overheard several uncompli mentary mutterings as he passed along, about " Stuck up London chaps, as thinks us don't know how to speak." The fact was, the boy Jim Poole, the blacksmith's eldest son, had been wounded in his tenderest part, for it had been his pride that he was the best reader in the school.

His fond parents were wont to say, " Our Jim is a reglar scholard, he is ; why, he reads just like a parson ;" and when he came from school, with his piti ful complaint of the new master, they were naturally indignant. The story had quickly gone the round of the village, and Stephen could not but feel that the glances bestowed upon him were anything but friendly. He walked on quickly, appearing to take no notice, and this increased the unfavourable impression he had already made on the villagers. " Never so much as to give us a nod or a good even ing," they said, "giving himself such airs! Why old Mr Sherwin was the friend of the whole parish." But the schoolmaster was not in the least conscious of anything amiss in his behaviour. He would have felt thankful to those villagers if they had spoken a friendly word to him, for he felt lonely enough, poor fellow.

But he was London born and bred, and it did not occur to him that he should speak to perfect strangers as though they were old friends. In fact this handful of Chiltern. 11 people made so little impression on him that, by the time he had left them a quarter of a mile behind, they had quite passed out of his mind, though he was the topic of their conversation for the rest of the even ing. Half an hour later the rector turned out for his even ing stroll ; on passing the green he found all his people eagerly discussing the schoolmaster, and he soon dis covered what sort of a verdict had already been passed on the new comer. The rector made himself so much one with his flock that they were never slow in telling him their thoughts and impressions about everything, and he generally found that, with a little tact, it was not difficult to turn the tide of public opinion.

"Why, yer reverence, he walked by just as proud as a lord," said Jim's mother in great dudgeon, "he never so much as said ' a fine evening,' nor nothing, and me with three boys at school already, and two more ready to go come Martinmas. Such stuck-up ways may do for London, but they won't suit us honest country folk, and that he'll find." " And how was the new schoolmaster to discover that you were the mother of five sons?" said the parson, "seeing this is his first day in Chiltern. My good woman, you must remember that Mr Rivers is a stranger to country ways. He has come from London where it would be impossible to speak to every one he met — where the people are almost as thick as sheep in a pen. I think it was your place to speak to him first. Just consider how lonely he must feel with not a creature he knows, and the few people he does meet turning cold shoulders and unfriendly looks upon him.

I feel quite Stephen the Schoolmaster. 12 ashamed of the village," he went on with a louder voicer as a little group of listeners had gathered round him. "I thought we should all have received the stranger with kindness and hospitality. What would you mothers think if you sent your sons into the world and every one treated them coldly because they happened to be strangers ? Don't you think they would feel queer enough if they found themselves all at once among nothing but strange faces and brick walls ? Well, this young man must feel just as strange among the fields and hedges and village faces. You mothers, especially, ought to treat him with kindness. Remember he has come here to be a friend to your sons, to teach them things that will help them to get on in life, and I can assure you that he knows his work well, and is very clever, or he would not have come here."

After this harangue the people did feel rather ashamed and began to make excuses. The clergyman, satisfied that he had made some impression, hastened on, for he was anxious, if possible, to overtake the schoolmaster. He was not long in doing so. He soon found Stephen sitting on a gate reading, and so absorbed in his book that he did not even look up at the sound of footsteps. Mr Champneys stood still and looked at him. A tall slim young man, with a rather weak frame and delicate, woman-like hands, a refined face with dark brilliant eyes, thick brown hair, and a pale, almost sickly complexion — in fact, with a thorough town look about him, such a town look that it seemed almost incongru ous to see him sitting there. " We must try to make him a little more robust and manly," thought the rector, " he looks rather too much Chiltern. 13 of a student for these parts, I must confess."

He then went forward and laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. Stephen looked up with a bright smile— an irresist ible smile, the rector thought. "Do you feel inclined to shut your book and take a stroll with me ? " he said. " I would like to show you something of our neighbourhood. We are very proud of some of our views, you know." Stephen sprang from his perch with an agility that pleased the rector's observing eye, and soon the two were in earnest and eager talk. The young man was lifted above all the worries and petty vexations of the day, for he felt that he was with a congenial spirit — a man who could understand his longings and aspirations, one who lived in the same world, who loved what he loved, and admired what he admired ; one who could understand him and help him too, he felt, in all his doubts and perplexities.

The rector possessed the rare faculty of drawing out anything there was in others, and making them feel and speak their best. He was sympathetic. Stephen readily yielded to the charm, and revealed himself as he seldom did to anyone. The two were mutually pleased with each other, and parted with a satisfied feeling of refresh ment — the rector congratulating himself on having found a congenial companion, a want he had often felt, in his new schoolmaster ; and the schoolmaster, with the en thusiasm of youth, rejoicing to think that he had at last met with the friend for whom his spirit had often yearned, but whom he had hitherto despaired of finding.

Chapter II

two sisters. The breakfast bell was ringing, and Mrs Melville was already in the room, when her daughter Violet came bounding in, followed by her constant companion, Toby. " It is such a lovely morning," she said, " I have cut the flowers and arranged them, and fed the birds ; and what do you think, mother ? I do believe I have seen the new schoolmaster ! " " Have you really?" replied Mrs Melville, not show ing any very lively interest in her daughter's announcement. " Yes, I think so," went on the girl ; " but I don't feel quite sure, he looks so very young — hardly a man at all. Did Uncle tell you how old he was ? " " No, my dear, he only told me he thought he had found a very suitable person." " Did he call him a person ? " said Violet in a disappointed tone. " Well, perhaps this was what you might call a person — he was not well dressed, certainly ; but still I don't think I would call him exactly a person."

Her mother laughed. " And pray is not every man a person ? " " Oh no, certainly not. Now, who would ever think of calling uncle or you a person ? " replied Violet de cidedly. " Well, if this interesting stranger was not a person,. what might he be ? " " Well, I thought he was a gentleman ; but I suppose if he is only a village schoolmaster he could not exactly be called a gentleman, could he ? " " Certainly, my dear, why not ? " said Mrs Melville ; " but you seem very much interested in the stranger, or the new schoolmaster, whichever it may be ; for it does not follow they are one and the same." " Yes, so I am, mother, very much interested indeed ; I am so fond of the boys, and I do so want them to have a really good master. Poor old Mr Sherwin was such an old fogey, they really had no chance with him.

Now, there's Jim Poole, mother; don't you think he is a very clever boy ? I do. I believe there's a great deal in Jim, if one could only get at it." " I must confess that I think it would be rather a hard matter to get at it," said Mrs Melville. " Well, I do think they are a very nice set of boys, and very intelligent. Why, when they come here to their singing, they laugh so, and look so bright, I quite enjoy their company." Mrs Melville thought that it would be difficult not to laugh and look bright when her Violet was the enter tainer. After breakfast, Mrs Melville went to direct her household, and Violet into the schoolroom to her studies. This morning she had to prepare some Greek, for her uncle was coming to give her a lesson in the afternoon. She worked hard, and only once let her thoughts wander, when she went into a fit of laughter over the recollection of Jim's look of amazement when she showed him a Greek book; and then she went on to wonder again whether the stranger was the schoolmaster.

Violet had been at work for more than an hour when the door opened slowly, and her sister Edith entered, followed by a maid carrying shawls and cushions. Violet at once sprang up, and put her arm fondly round her sister, and led her to a couch in the window. " How are you this morning, dear ? " she asked anxiously. " Very poorly," replied Edith ; " I have had a most wretched night." Violet looked concerned, and sat down at her sister's side, and began to rub her feet. " Why, darling, your feet are quite cold," she said. " Yes, they are always cold," answered Edith. This was evidently one of Edith's bad days. She had been a sort of invalid almost from her childhood, and was waited on and petted by every one, but by no one so devotedly as her young sister Violet, who thought no sacrifice too great to be made for Edith.

When Violet had arranged the wraps and pillows, and placed a fan and the eau-de-cologne bottle at a convenient distance, she said, " Now, shall we begin our reading?" " Yes, dear, if you like," replied Edith, wearily. So Violet began. These two girls led a systematic kind of life, and always devoted a certain time every day to solid reading ; it being their uncle, the Rector's, task to supply them with good books. He was very fond of his nieces, and he did all in his power to make them grow up thoroughly cultivated ladies, with elevated tastes and well stored minds. Violet's voice was soft and pleasant, and as she read the weary look passed away, and Edith's pain-stricken face became calm and attentive. These sisters were a great contrast. Edith was dark and very pale, with an almost olive complexion and a cloud of shadowy hair ; at times she looked almost plain, but when interested or excited she brightened up with a smile of wondrous intelligence.

Her eyes were eager and searching, but her expression was too often one of pain and discontent. Violet was as beautiful and as fresh as a spring morn ing. Everything she did or said was charming. After reading for an hour she jumped up, exclaiming, " Oh dear, I am so tired of sitting still! I must take a run round the garden." " I will look over what you have been reading," said Edith, as she took the book ; but instead of resting on the page, her eyes followed her sister, who was running a race with Toby round the garden. Edith sighed. " She can get up and run about whenever she feels restless," she thought. " I wonder whether she ever realises what it is always to be glued to a chair or a sofa ; never to be able to ramble about the fields and gather the wild flowers ; it all comes as natural to her as the air she breathes, and she thinks as little about it ; and what would I give for one day of C"C B B such pleasure !