“I don’t believe he’ll come,” said Hank, with a cold shiver. “It’s past school-time.”
“Yes, he will come, too,” said Bud. “And he ’lows to come in here mighty quick. I don’t know how. But he’ll be a-standin’ at that air desk when it’s nine o’clock. I’ll bet a thousand dollars on that. Ef he don’t take it into his head to blow us up!” Hank was now white.
Some of the parents came along, accidentally of course, and stopped to see the fun, sure that Bud would thrash the master if he tried to break in. Small, on the way to see a patient perhaps, reined up in front of the door. Still no Ralph. It was just five minutes before nine. A rumor now gained currency that he had been seen going to Clifty the evening before, and that he had not come back, though in fact Ralph had come back, and had slept at Squire Hawkins’s.
“There’s the master,” cried Betsey Short, who stood out in the road shivering and giggling alternately. For Ralph at that moment emerged from the sugar-camp by the schoolhouse, carrying a board.
“Ho! ho!” laughed Hank, “he thinks he’ll smoke us out. I guess he’ll find us ready.” The boys had let the fire burn down, and there was now nothing but hot hickory coals on the hearth.
“I tell you he’ll come in. He didn’t go to Clifty fer nothing,” said Bud, who sat still on one of the benches which leaned against the door. “I don’t know how, but they’s lots of ways of killing a cat besides chokin’ her with butter. He’ll come in—ef he don’t blow us all sky-high!”
Ralph’s voice was now heard, demanding that the door be opened.
“Let’s open her,” said Hank, turning livid with fear at the firm, confident tone of the master.
Bud straightened himself up. “Hank, you’re a coward. I’ve got a mind to kick you. You got me into this blamed mess, and now you want to crawfish. You jest tech one of these ’ere fastenings, and I’ll lay you out flat of your back afore you can say Jack Robinson.”
The teacher was climbing to the roof with the board in hand.
“That air won’t win,” laughed Pete Jones outside. He saw that there was no smoke. Even Bud began to hope that Ralph would fail for once. The master was now on the ridgepole of the schoolhouse. He took a paper from his pocket, and deliberately poured the contents down the chimney.
Mr. Pete Jones shouted “Gunpowder!” and set off down the road to be out of the way of the explosion. Dr. Small remembered, probably, that his patient might die while he sat here, and started on.
But Ralph emptied the paper, and laid the board over the chimney. What a row there was inside! The benches that were braced against the door were thrown down, and Hank Banta rushed out, rubbing his eyes, coughing frantically, and sure that he had been blown up. All the rest followed, Bud bringing up the rear sulkily, but coughing and sneezing for dear life. Such a smell of sulphur as came from that schoolhouse!
Betsey had to lean against the fence to giggle.
As soon as all were out, Ralph threw the board off the chimney, leaped to the ground, entered the schoolhouse, and opened the windows. The school soon followed him, and all was still.
“Would he thrash?” This was the important question in Hank Banta’s mind. And the rest looked for a battle with Bud.
“It is just nine o’clock,” said Ralph, consulting his watch, “and I’m glad to see you all here promptly. I should have given you a holiday if you had asked me like gentlemen yesterday. On the whole, I think I shall give you a holiday, anyhow. The school is dismissed.”
And Hank felt foolish.
And Bud secretly resolved to thrash Hank or the master, he didn’t care which.
And Mirandy looked the love she could not utter.
And Betsey giggled.
XIV
A Crisis with Bud
Ralph sat still at his desk. The school had gone. All at once he became conscious that Shocky sat yet in his accustomed place upon the hard, backless bench.
“Why, Shocky, haven’t you gone yet?”
“No—sir—I was waitin’ to see if you warn’t a-goin’, too—I—”
“Well?”
“I thought it would make me feel as if God warn’t quite so fur away to talk to you. It did the other day.”
The master rose and put his hand on Shocky’s head. Was it the brotherhood in affliction that made Shocky’s words choke him so? Or, was it the weird thoughts that he expressed? Or, was it the recollection that Shocky was Hannah’s brother? Hannah so far, far away from him now! At any rate, Shocky, looking up for the smile on which he fed, saw the relaxing of the master’s face, that had been as hard as stone, and felt just one hot tear on his hand.
“P’r’aps God’s forgot you, too,” said Shocky in a sort of half soliloquy. “Better get away from Flat Creek. You see God forgets everybody down here. ’Cause ’most everybody forgets God, ’cept Mr. Bosaw, and I ’low God don’t no ways keer to be remembered by sich as him. Leastways I wouldn’t if I was God, you know. I wonder what becomes of folks when God forgets ’em?” And Shocky, seeing that the master had resumed his seat and was looking absently into the fire, moved slowly out the door.
“Shocky!” called the master.
The little poet came back and stood before him.
“Shocky, you mustn’t think God has forgotten you. God brings things out right at last.” But Ralph’s own faith was weak, and his words sounded hollow and hypocritical to himself. Would God indeed bring things out right?
He sat musing a good while, trying to convince himself of the truth of what he had just been saying to Shocky—that God would indeed bring things out right at last. Would it
