University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
A STRUGGLE FOR THE MASTERY.

THE school closed on Monday evening as usual.
The boys had been talking in knots all day.
Nothing but the bull-dog in the slender, resolute
young master had kept down the rising storm. Let
a teacher lose moral support at home, and he can not
long govern a school. Ralph had effectually lost his popularity
in the district, and the worst of it was that he could not divine
from just what quarter the ill wind came, except that he felt
sure of Small's agency in it somewhere. Even Hannah had
slighted him, when he called at Means's on Monday morning to
draw the pittance of pay that was due him.

He had expected a petition for a holiday on Christmas day.
Such holidays are deducted from the teacher's time, and it is
customary for the boys to “turn out” the teacher who refuses
to grant them, by barring him out of the school-house on Christmas
and New Year's morning. Ralph had intended to grant a
holiday if it should be asked, but it was not asked. Hank Banta
was the ringleader in the disaffection, and he bad managed to
draw the surly Bud, who was present this morning, into it. It
is but fair to say that Bud was in favor of making a request before
resorting to extreme measures, but he was overruled. He gave

it as his solemn opinion that the master was mighty peart, and
they would be beat any how some way, but he would lick the
master fer two cents ef he warn't so slim that he'd feel like he
was fighting a baby.

And all that day things looked black. Ralph's countenance
was cold and hard as stone, and Shocky trembled where he sat
in front of him. Betsey Short tittered rather more than usual.
A riot or a murder would have seemed amusing to her.

School was dismissed, and Ralph, instead of returning to the
Squire's, set out for the village of Clifty a few miles away. No
one knew what he went for, and some suggested that he had
“sloped.” But Bud said “he warn't that air kind. He was
one of them air sort as died in ther tracks, was Mr. Hartsook.
They'd find him on the ground nex' morning, and he 'lowed
the master war made of that air sort of stuff as would burn the
dog-on'd ole school-house to ashes, or blow it into splinters, but
what he'd beat. Howsumdever he'd said he was a-goin' to help,
and help he would; but all the sinnoo in Golier wouldn' be no
account agin the cute they was in the head of the master.”

But Bud, discouraged as he was with the fear of Ralph's
“cute,” went like a martyr to the stake and took his place with
the rest in the school-house at nine o'clock at night. It may have
been Ralph's intention to have preoccupied the school-house, for
at ten o'clock Hank Banta was set shaking from head to foot
at seeing a face that looked like the master's at the window. He
waked up Bud and told him about it.

“Well, what are you a-tremblin' about, you coward?” growled
Bud. “He won't shoot you; but he'll beat you at this game, I'll
bet a hoss, and me, too, and make us both as 'shamed of ourselves
as dogs with tin-kittles to their tails. You don't know the

master, though he did duck you. But he'll larn you a good lesson
this time, and me too, like as not.” And Bud soon snored again,
but Hank shook with fear every time he looked at the blackness
outside the windows. He was sure he heard foot-falls. He
would have given anything to have been at home.

When morning came, the pupils began to gather early. A few
boys who were likely to prove of service in the coming siege were
admitted through the window, and then everything was made fast,
and a “snack” was eaten.

“How do you 'low he'll git in?” said Hank, trying to hide his
fear.

“How do I 'low?” said Bud. “I don't 'low nothin' about it.
You might as well ax me where I 'low the nex' shootin' star is
a goin' to drap. Mr. Hartsook's mighty onsartin. But he'll git
in, though, and tan your hide fer you, you see ef he don't. Ef
he don't blow up the school-house with gunpowder!” This last
was thrown in by way of alleviating the fears of the cowardly
Hank, for whom Bud had a great contempt.

The time for school had almost come. The boys inside were
demoralized by waiting. They began to hope that the master had
“sloped.” They dreaded to see him coming.

“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 school-house, 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 nothin',”
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 flunk. 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

[ILLUSTRATION]

FIRE AND BRIMSTONE.

[Description: 556EAF. Page 113. In-line engraving of several boys running out of a building that is on fire; a man stands on the roof holding something over the chimney.] would fail for once. The master was now on the ridge-pole of
the school-house. He took a paper from his pocket, and deliberately
poured the contents down the chimney.

Mr. Pete Jones shouted “Gunpowder!” and started down the
road to be out of the way of the explosion. Dr. Small remembered,
probably, that his patient might die while he sat there, 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 school-house!

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 school-house, 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, any how. 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.