over, and they had all been chosen in her stead.
The discipline of the school had been fairly maintained, but Hazel was not long in finding out that there were plenty of young revolutionary spirits waiting their opportunity to test the strength of the new mistress, nor in seeing that Miss Feelier Potts would be one of the leaders in any small insurrectionary movement that might take place.
There was plenty to do that first morning—to feel the way, as it were; to find out what had been going on; how it was done; what the girls knew, and the hundred other little difficulties that a strange mistress would have to deal with on taking possession of a new post.
Monday morning too, and there were the school pence to be paid—hot, moist, sticky pennies, that had been carried generally in hot, moist, sticky hands. These had to be received and noted, and the excuses listened to as well.
“Mother hadn’t got no change’s morning, teacher”—“Pay next week, teacher”—“Mother says, teacher, as there’s four on us, she oughtn’t to pay more’n thruppens”—“Mother ’ll call and pay when she comes by.” Then there was Sarah Ann Simms’ case. Sarah Ann had not brought her penny, and the book showed that she had not brought it the week before, nor the month before; in fact, it seemed as if Sarah Ann was in debt for her schooling from the time she had commenced.
Upon Sarah Ann being questioned, she didn’t know nothink, only that mother—who appeared to be ready to set all school rules, regulations, and laws at defiance—said she shouldn’t pay.
Hazel Thorne was pondering upon this crux, when there was a tap at the door, and Mr. Samuel Chute entered, smiling to say “Good morning.”
“I thought I’d just drop in, and see if there was anything I could do,” he said, upon shaking hands, after which he wiped the hand he had used upon his fair hair. “It’s very awkward coming first to a school,” he went on, “and if you’ll only send for me, or ask for anything, you shall have it directly. I hope you’ve got plenty of chalk.”
Hazel believed there was plenty, and promised to send and ask for assistance if any was required, wishing heartily the while that her visitor would go; but although it was evident through the thin partition that the boys were enjoying themselves in their master’s absence, Mr. Chute seemed in no hurry to depart.
“You’ll have some trouble, I daresay,” he continued, rubbing his hands together, and looking contemplatively at Hazel. “Some of the girls are like their brothers in my school. The young Potts’ are a terrible nuisance.”
“I daresay I shall be able to manage them by degrees,” replied Hazel—
“Are you sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“I think there is an abundance of school necessaries.”
“Oh, no! Oh dear, no!” said Mr. Chute, with a pitying smile. “You’ll find lots of things wanting. They’re very stingy over them; and if it wasn’t for old Burge, I don’t know what we should do. You are sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“Please, teacher, there’s a whole boxful in the cupboard,” said Miss Potts.
“Silence! How dare you speak when you are not asked?” said Mr. Chute fiercely; and Miss Potts began to hurry away, terribly alarmed, back to her place, but watched her opportunity to turn and squint horribly at the visitor, to the great delight of the other girls—especially of Ann Straggalls the fat, who, poor girl, seemed to suffer from an infirmity; for no sooner did she see anything mirth-provoking than she exploded loudly, no matter where she was, into a boisterous laugh—a laugh that was a constant source of trouble to her; for which she had suffered endless punishments, besides having been ordered three times out of church by Miss Rebecca Lambent, who would rise spectrally above the red curtains of the organ-loft, and stand pointing at the door till the trembling girl had gone.
Ann Straggalls horrified Hazel upon this occasion by giving vent to one of her explosions, and then turning purple as she tried to hide her face.
“Ah, you’ll have to punish her,” said Mr. Chute. “Oh, by-the-way, Miss Thorne—”
“If he would only go!” thought Hazel, for the girls were getting very lively and boisterous, seeing their teacher’s attention taken off, and catching a little of the infection from beyond the partition shutters.
“I say, you’ll have a deal of trouble over the school pence”—Mr. Chute was a prophet in this case, though he did not know it—“they’ll try all sorts of plans to get out of paying—a few of them will; but don’t you be imposed upon by their excuses. It’s only a penny a week, you know. There’s the Simms’s never will pay, and they ought to be turned out of the schools, for it isn’t fair for some children to pay and some not, is it?”
“Of course not,” replied Hazel. “Oh, why won’t he go? Surely he must see that my time is wanted.”
Just then the noise in the boys’ school became furious, and Mr. Chute made an effort to let his rebellious subjects know that, though invisible in body, he was present with them in spirit, by going on tiptoe across the school and rapping on one of the sliding shutters sharply with his knuckles.
The effect was magical, and he came back triumphant.
“That’s how I serve them,” he said, with a self-satisfied smirk. “They know I won’t stand any nonsense; and, I say, Miss Thorne, if you hear me using the cane, don’t you take any notice, you know. It’s good for them sometimes. You’ll have to use it yourself.”
“I hope not,” said Hazel quietly; and she glanced towards the door.
“Ah, but you will,” he said, laughing, and in profound ignorance of the fact that Feelier Potts was imitating his every action for the benefit of her class, even to going across and pretending to tap at the partition.
“I believe in kindness and firmness combined, Mr. Chute.”
“So do I,” he said, as if lost in admiration. “That’s exactly what I said to Lambent; and I say, Miss Thorne, just a friendly word, you know. You back me up and I’ll back you up; don’t you stand any nonsense from Lambent and those two. They’re always meddling and interfering.”
“Those two?” said Hazel, thinking of Ophelia Potts and Ann Straggalls.
“Yes; Rebecca and Beatrice, Lambent’s sisters, you know. Rebel and Tricks we call them down here. They’re as smooth as can be to your face, and they go and make mischief to Lambent. You must have your eyes open, for they’re always telling tales. Beatrice is going to marry the young squire at Ardley, at least she wants to, and Rebecca wants old Burge, but he can’t see it.”
“You really must excuse me now, Mr. Chute,” said Hazel. “I have so much to do.”
“Yes, so have I,” he said pleasantly; but he did not stir. “You are sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“Oh yes, plenty.”
“And slate-pencil? I believe the little wretches eat the slate-pencil, so much of it goes.”
“I will send for some if I want it,” said Hazel; “I must go now to those classes.”
“Yes, of course, but one minute. My mother
