The call of the hills

Contents

Chapter

I. The Coming of the Schoolmaster, II. The First Day of School,

III. The Apple Peeling, - - -

Chapter I

ATE In the afternoon of a beautiful September day, a heavy two-horse wagon went rumbling along a rocky road In the beautiful Ozark country of Missouri. Two men were riding In the spring seat, while behind them in the wagon box a trunk jostled heavily about.

The man who did the driving was a big, husky-looking fellow ; dressed in a hickory shirt, jeans pants, a white, broad-brimmed hat, and coarse, high-top boots. He drove on, with his eyes resting listlessly on the team, taking no interest in the natural beauty around him. Unlike the driver, the other man, who was younger and seemed by manner and dress to be from a different world, took a lively interest in the rugged scenery.

The road was a rocky, winding one, such as is common in the Ozarks. As the wagon rolled heavily over the stones it came to a sharp bend. The scene which lay before them caused the younger man to give vent to an expression of delight.

“How beautiful I And is this the old Spring Creek Mill of which I have heard so much?”

“Yep,” grunted his companion, without so much as looking up. As the horses waded out into the clear, sparkling water of Spring Creek, he pulled them down to a standstill and, climbing down from his seat, he walked out on the wagon tongue and loosened the bridle reins so the horses might drink. During the pause the young man was busy feasting his eyes on the wild beauty before him.

On the edge of the little stream was an old-fashioned water mill; the water was rushing madly over its idle wheel and forming a whitecapped whirlpool at its base. The mill was old and weather-beaten, and looked as if many years had passed since its days of usefulness. Just behind it rose a hill studded with protruding rocks of large size and crowned with great oak trees. As the young man gazed upon the lonely but beautiful scene he little dreamed what a great part this old mill would play in his own life.

The horses finished drinking, the driver again reined them up, climbed back into the seat, and they resumed the journey. As they left the little stream behind, the road turned to the right, so as to avoid ascending the hill, and wound up through the valley. After two or three miles had been slowly covered they began to ascend a long hill, at the foot of which a little spring gushed forth, giving life to a small stream which wended its way through field and woodland to join Spring Creek. As they proceeded up the hill the young man saw a rude-looking log house about half way up, and when they arrived at this point the driver stopped his team and said, “Hayr ’s yer place, mister.” Getting down, he took the heavy trunk upon his back and transferred it to the porch. After receiving a two-dollar bill for his services, and bidding the younger man good-bye, he got back into the wagon and was soon gone. Before the man on the porch had time to knock, the door opened and a volley of words greeted him.

“Howdy, mister; come right in and take a cheer. So you ’re the new skeul teacher, I ’low. Wall, we ’re shore ’nuff tickled ter see ye, fer we Ve heered so much erbout ye.”

Thus did Ray Jones, the new school teacher of Spring Creek school (for such was our new acquaintance) hear himself greeted by Mrs. Simpson, a short and rather fat woman of perhaps fifty years of age.

“Mr. Cole writ ter Phil Nettles ter git ye a hordin’ place, so he come over hayr ter git us ter take ye. Phil sed Mr. Cole sed yer would n’t be hard ter please, so I tole him ter send yer on, an’ we ’d do the best we could fer ye.”

This she was saying as she vigorously dusted ^ a chair with her apron and offered it to the teacher.

“I ’low yer know Mr. Cole kep’ skeul hayr once,” she continued, without giving him a chance to speak. “We all tho’t a powerful site of him. He knowed a heap ’bout books, but he never tried ter show off what he knowed; he wus jist as common as any of us folks on Spring Crick. It ’ll be mighty hard fer yer ter tak’ his place, fer we all loved him so.”

She went on with a seriousness that made the new teacher somehow feel the power the old teacher had over these simple people of the hills. He knew and loved Mr. Cole himself, for he felt that he was a sincere man in all that he did; and in coming to these hills to teach he had come with an earnest desire to help the hill folks, and not to benefit himself financially by the salary that was promised for his services. As the new teacher thought of this, a certain sense of shame filled his soul, for his purpose in accepting the position as teacher was not the one that prompted the former teacher; he had to confess to himself that it was a rather selfish motive that had brought him to that community.

He was just from a college, which he had been compelled to quit in the midst of his course on account of the lack of money. His father was a minister, serving a small charge in Southern Illinois, and, of course, was unable to help his son. Young Jones had an ambition to gain wealth and fame, and had decided to study law as the quickest and easiest way to realize his ambition. The meagerness of his father’s income, and the apparent carelessness of the Church in this respect, had caused this spirited young man to crush whatever desire he might have had to serve humanity, and had created within him a purpose to look out for his own interests, regardless of others. So he had come to teach the Spring Creek school for the sake of the salary which would help him in his struggle for the goal of his ambition.

“Yer ’ll hav’ ter mak’ yerself ter hum, fer I Ve got ter see ’bout gittin’ supper,” said Mrs. Simpson, as she finally noticed that her guest seemed to be taken up with his own thoughts and was not paying much attention to her. One remark of the woman’s had strangely troubled the young man: “It ’ll be mighty hard fer yer ter tak’ his place, fer we all loved him so.” But what did he care how much they loved the former teacher? It was not their love that he wanted, but their money.

Throwing aside these thoughts, the young man arose and went out on the porch. The sun had just dropped down behind the trees that crowned the hill on the other side of the valley ; the soft, pale light was gradually fading from the sky, and the shadows were deepening in the vale below. The day had been a warm one for September, but already the fresh, damp air from the little creek below was stealing up the hillside, giving one a feeling that autumn was near at hand. Insects were lazily droning their songs, and down on the bank of the stream a big bullfrog was lavishly spending his energy in an unnecessary effort to be heard above the rest. From somewhere on the hill above, the master heard the shrill voice of some one weirdly chanting something unintelligible to the tune of “Arkansaw Traveler.” As he listened the voice came nearer; and, peering into the twilight in the direction from whence the sound came, he saw the figure of a man approaching. As he caught sight of the master, the singing ceased, but the man came on up the path toward the porch. He slowly seated himself on the porch.

and the master took an inventory glance at him. He was clothed in the coarse, home-made clothing which was customary for these men of the hills to wear; he was tall and loosely built. The face was what held one’s attention ; he could not have been more than twenty-one, and yet his' face showed signs of premature old age, it had such a worn, tired expression ; and the eyes were ever roving about, as if looking for some longexpected calamity.

“I ’low yer ain’t seed the devil, hev’ ye?” It was a strange, weird voice that uttered these words, as the roving eyes looked at the teacher suspiciously. On receiving a negative reply he went on: “Wall, yer see the reason I ast, he ’s lookin’ fer me, an’ I ’m spendin’ my time keepin’ outer his way.”

“What is your name?” asked the master, kindly.

“The’ all call me Crazy Jake, but I ain’t crazy,” was the reply. “I ’m jist keepin’ outer the way o’ the devil, an’ thet ’s a good site more ’n the’re doin’ thet call me crazy. Mister Cole sed the devil never ketched them thet kep’

outer his path, an’ I ’m tryin’ my best not ter git in hit. I wus ketched by him once, an’ I never want ter be agin. Hit wus down by the ole mill whar he got me. Him an’ his imps stays ’round there a heep at nights. Do n’t yer ever go down thar after dark, mister, fer he might git ye like he did me.”

At this juncture in his oft-repeated experience with the devil, Mrs. Simpson appeared in the doorway to announce supper. Seeing Jake, she said: “W’y, what air ye doin’ down hayr, Jake? Come ter see the new teacher, I ’low. How air ye an’ the devil makin’ hit these days'?”

Then, without waiting for an answer from Jake, she turned to the teacher and said: “This is ole man Whiteside’s boy. The’ ’re neighboirs of ourn. Wall, supper ’s ready at las’. Come on in an’ eat, Jake.” She spoke this last to the latter as she saw him moving away.

“Naw; I cain’t. I jist come down ter see Joe a little while.” And with that he shuffled off toward the barn.

Ray followed his hostess into a long, low lean-to on the back of the log structure, which served as kitchen and dining-room combined. Here he was introduced to a buxom girl of nineteen, who blushed furiously as the elderly lady said: “This is my gal, Lou. My son Joe ’ll be in purty soon. He ain’t done his feedin’ yet, so we ’ll not wait on him. Take that cheer over there, teacher.”

Ray obeyed, sat down in the chair indicated, and began to partake of the rough fare upon which these hill folks lived: bacon, potatoes, bread, coffee, and some home-canned fruit for dessert. As he ate he noticed with dissatisfaction the shy glances which Lou bestowed upon him. Mrs. Simpson talked all through the meal and only permitted him to speak in monosyllables when she was inquiring into some of his past life. As the meal was almost finished the door opened and a timid young man came in, whom the hostess introduced as her son Joe. He sat down to the table and began at once to devour the food, never speaking or looking up from his plate.

After supper was over, the master arose and again went out on the porch. A big autumn moon was just peeping over the eastern hill, and its silvery rays were slipping down the hillside into the valley, dispelling the shadows that a little while ago had hidden its beauty. Soon the whole valley seemed a wonderful fairyland as it became thoroughly saturated with the moonlight. For a long time the young man stood drinking in the mysterious beauty of the valley.

“Yer bed ’s ready ef yer wanter go ter bed,” came a voice from the doorway.

Ray turned and beheld the blushing face of Lou as she held a lamp above her head. The light fell full on her face, showing every feature distinctly. While there was not a trace of refinement or culture about it, still it was a face that would cause one to take a second look, for it seemed to show signs of natural intelligence and of useful power as yet unawakened.

“That ’s yer room,” she said, pointing to a half-opened door leading from the big room into a small bedroom.

As he entered, his heart sank within him. The floor and walls were bare, and the only furnishings were an old-fashioned bureau, a rough table, a straight-backed chair, and over in one corner was a single bed. Was this to be his retreat when he wanted to be alone with his books or his thoughts? He remembered his own room at home, and thought of how often he had murmured because of its plainness. Now, as he mentally compared it with the one in which he was standing, it seemed a real palace. Oh, how he longed to be at home at that moment! He hurriedly went to bed, for he knew that if he allowed himself to think of home, he could never stand it to stay in these hills, among these horribly ignorant people. Far away in the night he heard the hoot of an owl. He resolutely shut his eyes and was soon asleep.

Chapter II

T is strange how a few hours of sound sleep will blot out the little unpleasant feelings we have. Ray Jones had gone to bed feeling homesick and a little bit worried over the words that Mrs. Simpson had spoken concerning the hard proposition he had on hand in trying to fill Mr. Cole’s place in the heart of this people. The next morning as he arose after a sound sleep he could think of home without having his heart try to choke him, and as he thought over the words of the woman they had no effect on his spirits. It was foolish for him to deal in sentiment; this was a business proposition with him; he would teach their school in an acceptable manner, they should pay him his salary, and at the end of the school term he would leave them, perhaps never to see them again, as he felt sure that if it was necessary for him to teach again he would be able to secure a position in some town, or at least some more enlightened community. Why should he have the social or moral welfare of this community at heart? They were nothing to him, and perhaps, if he tried to help them, they would not appreciate it. Had not his father given the very best part of his life to an unappreciative people? What had it done for him? Successful men of the world looked upon him as a failure. Of course, his father thought he was a success because he was doing faithfully what he felt was his duty. His father’s failure would not be repeated by him if it lay in his power to prevent it, and he had great confidence in his ability to do whatever he undertook.

When he went out to breakfast he found it awaiting him. He sat down alone to the coarse fare, as the family had eaten very early, that Joe might get an early start in the field. After he had eaten he began to get ready for his initiation as teacher of Spring Creek School. When he was finally ready to start to the schoolhouse, which was more than a mile from the Simpson home, he remembered that he had never been there, and did not know in which direction to start He inquired of Mrs. Simpson the way, and that good lady replied : “It ’s ruther a hard place ter find fer one who hain’t ’quainted with ther hills and hollers. I ’low Lou had better go ’long an’ show yer, so yer won’t git lost.”

“I ’m sure I can find it if you will but give me a few directions.” He did not want to appear so dependent. But Lou, without paying any attention to his words of protest, was already throwing a wrap on as she started for the door. Ray could do nothing but follow her. Together they went down the hill, she a little in advance. They passed the spring, and when they came to the little stream he offered to assist her over the foot-log. Ignoring the offered assistance, she walked nimbly across, waiting for him on the other side. As he joined her she set out, again in advance of him, without saying a word. The silence was becoming very embarrassing to the young man, so he tried to think of something to talk about. He began with the weather, the dear old stand-by with us all; but this did not seem to interest her, so he tried to question her about the school; but she “ ’lowed he ’d find out all erbout that when he ’d teached a spell.” Finally, despairing of engaging her in conversation, he gave it up and turned his attention to his surroundings. They had crossed the narrow valley and were climbing the hill; they passed up its side and entered the woods by a path. The leaves on the trees were still green, and as the sunlight sifted down through them It spread a soft glow over the dark earth beneath. As they walked along the path it seemed to Ray that he had never come so near seeing his Creator as that day In that beautiful outdoor temple. The soft light that filled the woods seemed to be a heavenly gleam. The silence that brooded over all seemed to be that great silent Spirit that has always been in the world to guide men in His mysterious manner. A voice as soft as a summer breeze, and yet distinct, spoke to him out of the silence, “My son, follow Me; the path of duty lies In these hills.”

He started up suddenly. Who had spoken? Not the girl who walked stolidly on before him. He looked around him, as if he expected to see some one at his side. Then the thought struck him, “It’s the hills that are calling; God is moving them to do it.” The soft earth under his feet seemed to spring upward with life.

“The’ ’s goin’ ter be an apple peelin’ over at Whitesides t’morer night, an’ they tole me ter bring ye along ef yer ’d come.” It was Lou’s voice this time, and it brought him back to earth quickly. She had not turned as she spoke, but he was sure she must be blushing.

“Will yer go?” she said, as she had waited in vain for his answer.

“Yes,” for he felt that there was no other way out but to promise.

“The’ shore do hev good times at them apple peelin’s. Everybody comes from all ’round.” She seemed to speak with perfect freedom. At last a subject had been started that she was interested in. “The’ always play games after the apples ’s all peeled. I ’d heep ruther play old miller ’an anything. Did yer ever play hit?” She turned and looked at her companion for the first time during their little walk.

“No. How is it played?’^

“Hit ’s easy as can be. Yer jist choose a pardner and then jine the ring around the feller ’at ain’t got nary ’n’, an’ everybody marches round him an’ sings, an’ when the’ holler ‘Grab !’ yer got ter git anuther pardner in a hurry, er the feller in the ring ’ll beat ye, an’ then yer ’d hafter be hit.”

As she concluded the description of the game her face was all aglow with pleasure. It was one of the few great social events of her simple life, and she grew full of enthusiasm as she thought and talked of it.

“Thar ’s the skeulhouse,” she said, as they came to the edge of a clearing, in the center of which stood a small frame building. “I ’ll be goin’ back now;” and she bounded back into the woods like a young faun.

The teacher approached the building, unlocked the door, and went in. It was furnished with long, wooden benches, with desks on the back of each. A table stood in one corner by a window. He took the chair standing nearby and seated himself by the table to await the coming of his pupils. He had not long to wait, for they soon began to come in. There were boys and girls of all sizes and ages. The boys were nearly all dressed in very coarse, home-made clothing; the girls in calico or gingham. He nodded to each of them as they came. They gathered in groups around the room and eyed him suspiciously. It made him feel very uncomfortable, but he tried not to pay any attention. As he pretended to straighten up the table he tried to smile at them, but there was no response, and he gave it up. He rapped on his desk as a signal that it was time to begin. With a shuffling of rough-shod feet they took their seats. When all were quiet the master arose and said:

“Boys and girls, we have come here this morning to begin a new term of school, and I am sure that it is the desire of all your parents that you apply yourselves and learn as much as possible. I am your teacher, and it is my purpose to direct you in this effort as best I can.”

He paused and looked over the schoolroom to note the effect of his words. There was a lack of interest on the part of all save a girl who sat near the door. He had not noticed her before. He had not seen her come in. She alone seemed to listen. As he looked at her she returned a look from frank blue eyes, and he thought he saw a faint smile of encouragement linger for a moment around those eyes. He turned and looked in another direction, and continued :

“I have no rules to lay down, but will consider you all model pupils until you give me cause to think otherwise. You will please give me your names on a slip of paper, so I can enter them in the register.” As he looked at the little faces in the front row he realized that he had blundered. He was sure an amused smile was going the rounds. He dared not look up for a moment, he was so confused. Presently he said : “You may tell me your names and how old you are as I point you out,” indicating the children on the front row by a nod of the head in their direction.

“First little boy,” pointing to a little blackheaded fellow, “what is your name?”

“Ben Westwood.”

“How old are you?”

“Dunno.”

Before the teacher had time to say anything further, a big, overgrown boy in the back part of the house spoke out sullenly:

“He ’s old ’nuff ter come to skeul, er his mammy would n’t ’a’ sent him.”

For a moment the teacher was taken off his guard by the sudden interference, but only for a moment. He knew that now was the time to show w'ho was going to run the school.

“Will you please come forward?” he said, addressing the big boy. There was something in his voice that made the boy obey. As he stood before the master he seemed angry with himself for having obeyed. He looked defiantly at the teacher. The latter returned a firm, fearless one as he spoke:

“I had no desire to begin the new term by punishing any of you, but you have shown a disrespect for myself and the school by speaking in the way you did, and I am compelled to punish you. As this is the first offense, I will not be too severe. You may stand in that corner until recess.” Ray could see that a struggle for supremacy was near, and he prepared himself for it. The boy made no motion to obey this last order; so the teacher spoke again:

“Take your place in that corner.”

The only answer was a defiant look from those sullen gray eyes. Without any hesitation the master took him by the collar and pushed him toward the corner. The boy shook himself free and struck at the teacher; the latter, seeing the blow coming, quickly stepped aside, letting it pass harmlessly by. So much force was in it that the boy was completely overbalanced and fell sprawling over the chair from which the teacher had just arisen. Before he had time to pick himself up, Ray had seized him by the collar and dragged him to the corner.

“Stand there until I tell you to move!” he said, as the boy slowly got on his feet. He was so ashamed of his failure to whip the teacher that he obeyed without a word.

Ray felt that the incident had established him fully as master of the school. Recess came, and the pupils filed out into the yard. The master turned from his desk to where the conquered pupil was still standing.

“You may go out with the rest, Tom,’’ he said, kindly. The boy went out without a word.

It was with a feeling of satisfaction that Ray walked to the door and stood looking out at the boys and girls at play. He knew that, since Tom Westwood was a leader, in conquering him he had conquered the whole school. As he let his eyes wander over the schoolyard he saw the young woman who had listened to him so attentively when he was addressing the school that morning. He had found her name to be Roxy Nettles. She was the daughter of one of the directors of the school. She sat on the grass under a tree. A book lay open before her, but she was not reading. She was watching the children at play and seemed to be getting as much enjoyment in watching as they were in playing. She was different from any one he had met since his coming into this community.

and yet she seemed somehow to fit perfectly amid her rude surroundings. She was far in advance of all the other pupils in school work, and she had shown a refined manner that had utterly surprised Ray. He rang the bell for books, wondering what her home life was, for he felt that there must be the explanation of it all.

Ray was glad when the time for dismissal came, for it had been a trying day on him. As he walked back to his boarding place the homesickness had returned. He wanted to quit and go back home and leave these ignorant people. But just then he seemed to see two frank blue eyes with the shadow of a smile in their depths, and he thought they are not all ignorant.

Chapter III

HE next day dawned clear and beautiful. Ray arose with the sun. He walked down to the spring, and after taking a long, cold draught from its sparkling depth he sat down on a stone and looked around him. Everywhere he looked was beauty, natural beauty, God’s handiwork. Why that noble hill over yonder, this fertile valley, these stately trees, and this bubbling spring? “For man,” came the answer, “the noblest of all God’s creation.” But amid all this there lived a people that were ignorant and shiftless. Why not a better class amid such blessings? God knows no class; all men are dear to His great eternal heart. It is the duty of those who know to impart knowledge to those who do not know. Such were Ray’s thoughts as he sat there that beautiful morning. And then he remembered the voice that spoke to him the previous day, and somehow his duty to these hill folks was made very plain to him. His thoughts were broken by the sound of a horse’s hoof-beat. He arose and looked up the hill, and saw a man riding a big roan horse coming in his direction. It was John Whiteside, a brother to Crazy Jake. As he came opposite to where the teacher was standing he stopped his horse, shifted a quid of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other, spat, and then said:

“Howdy, mister.”

Ray returned the salutation. John spoke again :

“I ’low yer the new teacher I ’ve heerd ’bout?”

Ray nodded.

“Jake sed he seen ye the night yer come. He ’s been tellin’ us whut a fin’-lookin’ feller yer be, an’ I ’ve been powerful anxious ter git a squint at ye.” He was looking Ray over from head to foot curiously.

“I ’ll be busted ef he ain’t just ’bout right in his way o’ thinkin’ this time.”

Ray was beginning to get red in the face, for he was not accustomed to such frank expressions of admiration. John paid no attention to his embarrassment, but went on speaking :

“Yer see,” shifting his quid and ejecting a very dark stream from his mouth, “Jake ain’t jist as smart as he - might be. I ’low yer tuk notice to that t’ other evening’, but he ’s got more good boss sense than the folks ’round hayr give him credit fer.”

Ray was anxious to know more about the mysterious brother, and as he saw John preparing to start he said: