University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
A PRIVATE LESSON FROM A BULL-DOG.

“WANT to be a school-master, do you? You?
Well, what would you do in Flat Crick
deestrick, I'd like to know? Why, the boys have
driv off the last two, and licked the one afore
them like blazes. You might teach a summer
school, when nothin' but children come. But I 'low it takes
a right smart man to be school-master in Flat Crick in the
winter. They'd pitch you out of doors, sonny, neck and heels,
afore Christmas.”

The young man, who had walked ten miles to get the school
in this district, and who had been mentally reviewing his learning
at every step he took, trembling lest the committee should
find that he did not know enough, was not a little taken aback
at this greeting from “old Jack Means,” who was the first
trustee that he lighted on. The impression made by these
ominous remarks was emphasized by the glances which he received
from Jack Means' two sons. The older one eyed him

from the top of his brawny shoulders with that amiable look
which a big dog turns on a little one before shaking him.
Ralph Hartsook had never thought of being measured by the
standard of muscle. This notion of beating education into young
savages in spite of themselvs, dashed his ardor.

He had walked right to where Jack Means was at work shaving
shingles in his own front yard. While Mr. Means was making
the speech which we have set down above, and punctuating it
with expectorations, a large brindle bull-dog had been sniffing
at Ralph's heels, and a girl in a new linsey-woolsey dress, standing
by the door, had nearly giggled her head off at the delightful
prospect of seeing a new school-teacher eaten up by the
ferocious brute.

Between the disheartening words of the old man, the immense
muscles of the young man who was to be his rebellious pupil,
the jaws of the ugly bull-dog, and the heartless giggle of the
girl, Ralph had a delightful sense of having precipitated himself
into a den of wild beasts. Faint with weariness and discouragement,
and shivering with fear, he sat down on a wheelbarrow.

“You, Bull!” said the old man to the dog, which was showing
more and more a disposition to make a meal of the incipient
pedagogue, “you, Bull! git aout, you pup!” The dog walked
sullenly off, but not until he had given Ralph a look full of
promise of what he meant to do when he got a good chance.
Ralph wished himself back in the village of Lewisburg, whence
he had come.

“You see,” continued Mr. Means, spitting in a meditative sort
of a way, “you see, we a'n't none of your saft sort in these
diggins. It takes a man to boss this deestrick. Howsumdever, ef
you think you kin trust your hide in Flat Crick school-house,

[ILLUSTRATION]

OLD JACK MEANS, THE SCHOOL TRUSTEE.

[Description: 556EAF. Illustration page. Engraving of the head and shoulders of a bearded man with a projecting tooth wearing a soft hat and suspenders. ]

I ha'n't got no 'bjection. But ef you git licked don't come on us.
Flat Crick don't pay no 'nsurance, you bet! Any other trustees?
Wal, yes. But as I pay the most taxes, t'others jist let me run
the thing. You can begin right off a Monday. They a'n't been
no other applications. You see it takes some grit to apply for
this school. The last master had a black eye for a month. But,
as I said, you can jist roll up and wade in. I 'low you've got
pluck, may be, and that goes for a heap sight more'n sinnoo with
boys. Walk in, and stay over Sunday with me. You'll hev to
board roun', and I guess you better begin here.”

Ralph did not go in, but sat out on the wheelbarrow, watching
the old man shave shingles, while the boys split the blocks
and chopped wood. Bull smelled of the new-comer again in an
ugly way, and got a good kick from the older son for his pains.
But out of one of his red eyes the dog warned the young school-master
that he should yet suffer for all kicks received on his
account.

“Ef Bull once takes a holt, heaven and yarth can't make him
let go,” said the older son to Ralph, by way of comfort.

It was well for Ralph that he began to “board round” by
stopping at Mr. Means's. Ralph felt that Flat Creek was what he
needed. He had lived a bookish life. But here was his lesson
in the art of managing people. For he who can manage the
untamed and strapping youths of a winter school in Hoopole
County has gone far toward learning one of the hardest of lessons.
And twenty-five years ago, in Ralph's time, things were
worse than they are now.

The older son of Mr. Means was called Bud Means. What
his real name was Ralph could not find out, for in many of these
families the nickname of “Bud” given to the oldest boy, and

that of “Sis” which is the birthright of the oldest girl, completely
bury the proper Christian name. Ralph was a general.
He saw his first strategic point, which was to capture Bud
Means.

After supper the boys began to get ready for something. Bull
stuck up his ears in a dignified way, and the three or four
yellow curs who were Bull's satellites yelped delightedly and
discordantly.

“Bill,” said Bud Means to his brother, “ax the master ef
he'd like to hunt coons. I'd like to take the starch out the
stuck-up fellow.”

“'Nough said,” was Bill's reply.

“You durn't do it,” said Bud.

“I don't take no sech a dare,” returned Bill, and walked down
to the gate, on which Ralph stood watching the stars come out,
and wishing he had never seen Flat Creek.

“I say, mister,” began Bill, “mister, they's a coon what's been
a eatin' our chickens lately, and we're goin' to try ketch the varmint.
You wouldn't like to take a coon hunt nor nothin',
would you?”

“Why, yes,” said Ralph, “there's nothing I should like better,
if I could only be sure Bull wouldn't mistake me for the coon.”

And so, as a matter of policy, Ralph dragged his tired legs eight
or ten miles, on hill and in hollow, after Bud, and Bill, and Bull,
and the coon. But the raccoon climbed a tree. The boys got
into a quarrel about whose business it was to have brought the
ax, and who was to blame that the tree could not be felled.
Now, if there was anything Ralph's muscles were good for, it
was to climb. So, asking Bud to give him a start, he soon
reached the limb above the one on which the raccoon was. Ralph

did not know how ugly a customer a raccoon can be, and so got
credit for more courage than he had. With much peril to his
legs from the raccoon's teeth, he succeeded in shaking the poor
creature off among the yelping brutes and yelling boys. Ralph
could not help sympathizing with the hunted animal, which sold
its life as dearly as possible, giving the dogs many a scratch and
bite. It seemed to him that he was like the raccoon, precipitated
into the midst of a party of dogs who would rejoice in worrying
his life out, as Bull and his crowd were destroying the poor
raccoon. When Bull at last seized the raccoon and put an end
to it, Ralph could not but admire the decided way in which he
did it, calling to mind Bud's comment: “Ef Bull once takes
a holt, heaven and yarth can't make him let go.”

But as they walked home, Bud carrying the raccoon by the
tail, Ralph felt that his hunt had not been in vain. He fancied
that even red-eyed Bull, walking uncomfortably close to his
heels, respected him more since he had climbed that tree.

“Purty peart kind of a master,” remarked the old man to Bud
after Ralph had gone to bed. “Guess you better be a little easy
on him. Hey?”

But Bud deigned no reply. Perhaps because he knew that
Ralph heard the conversation through the thin partition.

Ralph woke delighted to find it raining. He did not want
to hunt or fish on Sunday, and this steady rain would enable
him to make friends with Bud. I do not know how he got
started, but after breakfast he began to tell stories. Out of all
the books he had ever read he told story after story. And
“old man Means,” and “old Miss Means,” and Bud Means, and
Bill Means, and Sis Means, listened with great eyes while he
told of Sinbad's adventures, of the Old Man of the Sea, of

Robinson Crusoe, of Captain Gulliver's experiences in Liliput,
and of Baron Munchausen's exploits.

Ralph had caught his fish. The hungry minds of these backwoods
people, sick and dying of their own commonplace, were
refreshed with the new life that came to their imaginations in
these stories. For there was but one book in the Means library,
and that, a well-thumbed copy of Captain Riley's Narrative, had
long since lost all freshness.

“I'll be dog-on'd,” said Bill emphatically, “ef I hadn't ruther
hear the master tell them whoppin' yarns, than to go to a circus
the best day I ever seed!” Bill could pay no higher compliment.

What Ralph wanted was to make a friend of Bud. It's a
nice thing to have the seventy-four-gun ship on your own side,
and the more Hartsook admired the knotted muscles of Bud
Means, the more he desired to attach him to himself. So, whenever
he struck out a peculiarly brilliant passage, he anxiously
watched Bud's eye. But the young Philistine kept his own
counsel. He listened but said nothing, and the eyes under his
shaggy brow gave no sign. Ralph could not tell whether those
eyes were deep and inscrutable, or only stolid. Perhaps a little
of both. When Monday morning came Ralph was nervous. He
walked to school with Bud.

“I guess you're a little skeered by what the old man said,
a'n't you?”

Ralph was about to deny it, but on reflection concluded that
it was always best to speak the truth. He said that Mr. Means's
description of the school had made him feel a little downhearted.

“What will you do with the tough boys? You a'n't no
match for 'em.” And Ralph felt Bud's eyes not only measuring

his muscles, but scrutinizing his countenance. He only
answered:

“I don't know.”

“What would you do with me, for instance?” and Bud
stretched himself up as if to shake out the reserve power coiled
up in his great muscles.

“I shan't have any trouble with you.”

“Why, I'm the worst chap of all. I thrashed the last master
myself.”

And again the eyes of Bud Means looked out sharply from
his shadowing brows to see the effect of this speech on the
slender young man.

“You won't thrash me, though,” said Ralph.

“Pshaw! I 'low I could whip you in an inch of your life
with my left hand and never half try,” said young Means with
a threatening sneer.

“I know that as well as you do.”

“Well, a'n't you afraid of me then?” and again he looked
sidewise at Ralph.

“Not a bit,” said Ralph, wondering at his own courage.

They walked on in silence a minute. Bud was turning the
matter over.

“Why a'n't you afraid of me?” he said presently.

“Because you and I are going to be friends.”

“And what about t'others?”

“I am not afraid of all the other boys put together.”

“You a'n't! The mischief! How's that?”

“Well, I'm not afraid of them because you and I are going
to be friends, and you can whip all of them together. You'll
do the fighting and I'll do the teaching.”

The diplomatic Bud only chuckled a little at this; whether
he assented to the alliance or not Ralph could not tell.

When Ralph looked round on the faces of the scholars—the
little faces full of mischief and curiosity, the big faces full of
an expression which was not further removed than second-cousin
from contempt—when young Hartsook looked into these
faces, his heart palpitated with stage-fright. There is no audience
so hard to face as one of school children, as many a man
has found to his cost. Perhaps it is that no conventional
restraint can keep down their laughter when you do or say
anything ridiculous.

Hartsook's first day was hurried and unsatisfactory. He was
not master of himself, and consequently not master of anybody
else. When evening came there were symptoms of insubordination
through the whole school. Poor Ralph was sick at
heart. He felt that if there had ever been the shadow of an
alliance between himself and Bud, it was all “off” now. It
seemed to Hartsook that even Bull had lost his respect for the
teacher. Half that night the young man lay awake. At last
comfort came to him. A reminiscence of the death of the raccoon
flashed on him like a vision. He remembered that quiet
and annihilating bite which Bull gave. He remembered Bud's
certificate, that “Ef Bull once takes a holt, heaven and yarth
can't make him let go.” He thought that what Flat Creek
needed was a bull-dog. He would be a bull-dog, quiet but invincible.
He would take hold in such a way that nothing
should make him let go. And then he went to sleep.

In the morning Ralph got out of bed slowly. He put his
clothes on slowly. He pulled on his boots in a bull-dog mood.
He tried to move as he thought Bull would move if he were a

man. He ate with deliberation, and looked everybody in the
eyes with a manner that made Bud watch him curiously. He
found himself continually comparing himself with Bull. He
found Bull possessing a strange fascination for him. He walked
to school alone, the rest having gone on before. He entered
the school-room preserving a cool and dogged manner. He
saw in the eyes of the boys that there was mischief brewing.
He did not dare sit down in his chair for fear of a pin.

Everybody looked solemn. Ralph lifted the lid of his desk.
“Bow-wow! wow-wow!” It was the voice of an imprisoned
puppy, and the school giggled and then roared. Then everything
was quiet.

The scholars expected an outburst of wrath from the teacher.
For they had come to regard the whole world as divided into
two classes, the teacher on the one side representing lawful authority,
and the pupils on the other in a state of chronic rebellion.
To play a trick on the master was an evidence of spirit;
to “lick” the master was to be the crowned hero of Flat Creek
district. Such a hero was Bud Means, and Bill, who had less
muscle, saw a chance to distinguish himself on a teacher of slender
frame. Hence the puppy in the desk.

Ralph Hartsook grew red in the face when he saw the
puppy. But the cool, repressed, bull-dog mood in which he
had kept himself saved him. He lifted the dog into his arms
and stroked him until the laughter subsided. Then, in a solemn
and set way, he began:

“I am sorry,” and he looked round the room with a steady,
hard eye—everybody felt that there was a conflict coming—“I
am sorry that any scholar in this school could be so mean”—
the word was uttered with a sharp emphasis, and all the big

boys felt sure that there would be a fight with Bill Means,
and perhaps with Bud—“could be so mean—as to—shut up
his brother in such a place as that!”

There was a long, derisive laugh. The wit was indifferent,
but by one stroke Ralph had carried the whole school to his
side. By the significant glances of the boys, Hartsook detected
the perpetrator of the joke, and with the hard and dogged look
in his eyes, with just such a look as Bull would give a puppy,
but with the utmost suavity in his voice, he said:

“William Means, will you be so good as to put this dog out
of doors?”