Lost in thought Royce missed the arrival of four more students. One was a beefy looking boy with flyaway brown hair and dark blue eyes. One of the other students was a young boy with carrot red hair and a face full of freckles. They took the two remaining desks in the back row. The other two students were young women. The first chose a desk next to Elizabeth. Leaning over she whispered something into Elizabeth’s ear. Elizabeth turned towards the beefy looking boy with flyaway hair and frowned in disapproval. The boy doubled one hand into a fist and presented it to Elizabeth for inspect. Trouble was brewing Royce thought and wondered what the young scalawag was getting up to. He would soon find out.
Miss Ferguson rang the bell in the schoolyard as the second girl hurried to the front row and slipped into a vacant desk. Three desks remained empty, two in the second row and one in the third row where Elizabeth was seated.
Royce stood and wrote his name on the blackboard. Then he drew a line under his name before turning back to the classroom. All three desks were now occupied. “I am Mr. Hargadon your teacher,” he announced. “Class will come to order. The young man in the first desk, last row will you please close the door.”
The boy with carrot colored hair rose to do Royce’s bidding.
“First we will get acquainted,” Royce said stepping from behind his desk. His roster with students names held in one hand. He stopped beside Lydia’s desk. “The young man in the backroom what is your name,” he asked.
“Bobby Smith,” the young man promptly replied.
Royce heard Lydia suck in a deep surprised breath. He placed one hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Bobby Smith. I would have said Johnny Meyers.” He looked at the girl on the first row. “Your name is Deborah Meyers,” he asked.
“I . . . I am Ruth,” the girl said giving her brother a hostile look.
“Haw,” the boy declared. “I am Johnny Meyers.”
“You are Bobby Smith,” Royce asked turning to the beefy looking young man.
“Yes Sir,” Bobby Smith replied. “How did you know,” the youth demanded.
“Family resemblance,” Royce replied. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters listed.”
“They’re still in Miss Ferguson’s class,” Bobby admitted reluctantly.
“I remember trying to pull the same stunt when in school,” Royce said. He watched wonder fill the two young men’s eyes. They both suspected a trip to the woodshed was due them. Instead the new teacher understood their boyish prank of trying to deceive him. “Remember honesty is the best policy and we will get along,” Royce said firmly.
“Yes Sir,” the boys said in unison.
The carrot haired boy was Colin Pillsdale, the Mayor’s son. He did not look anything like Caroline Pillsdale.
“Good morning Elizabeth,” Royce greeted before turning back to Colin Pillsdale. “Why did you choose the back row,” he asked the youth.
“Miss Ferguson insists all boys sit in the back rows,” Colin replied.
“What grade are you in,” Royce asked him next.
“Fifth grade, Sir” Colin answered. The boy was small for his age. With Elizabeth seated in front of him it was impossible for Colin to see past her without leaning over in his chair.
“Boys will no longer be required to sit in back of the class. Ruth Meyers what grade are you in,” Royce asked and watched all eyes turn towards him in surprise.
“Fifth grade,” Ruth replied hesitating over her words.
“And Lydia,” Royce asked. Lydia turned a pale face towards him. Her brown eyes were wide pools of fears. When Elizabeth would have answered for her sister Royce shook his head no. “Lydia,” Royce said again and walked towards the front of the classroom. “It is alright,” he said his voice soft and gentle.
“I don’t know,” Lydia replied. “Miss Ferguson said I am not ready for the fifth grade. Only, I am old . . . old enough.” She swallowed and bowed her head as color rushed into her cheeks.
“Class,” Royce’s word silenced the other students. “Any more noise and you will each be writing on the blackboard. Every person deserves respect. Is this clear.” He heard soft spoken, “Yes Sir,” from his class.
At the end of his questioning Royce had five fifth graders. The three young women seated in the first row, Colin Pillsdale and Bobby Smith. The other students were not aware of which grade they were in. Miss Ferguson had not assigned grades to her older students. Young men and women attended classes until their fifteenth birthday. After that they were considered too old for school.
Royce walked to the front of his classroom and sat on top of his desk, his hands holding onto the front edge. He looked at each student before he opened his mouth to speak. “I am Royce Hargadon,” he said. “I was born in Tennessee. In a log cabin built along Potter’s Creek. My mother was born in Ireland. My father was a frontier’s man. The first ten years of my life I lived in Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas and Missouri. I was living in Kansas when my mother died of fever. My father was a lawman.” This part of Royce’s story was true. “I was thirteen when my father and I moved to Texas. He was sheriff of several towns before we moved west into the Territory. At seventeen I wore a deputy sheriff’s badge. Later I accepted teaching school as my profession.” He looked around the classroom. He had each person’s attention. “Johnny will you tell us about yourself,” he asked.
Johnny Meyers’ eyes opened wide before he said slowly. “I am Johnny Meyers. I
