“He was only twenty and the girls teased him. The big boys were after him, too, to get him mad and see what he’d do then. He kept the children spelling, taught them a little arithmetic—whatever was in the books. He just plain didn’t know enough. Seems like Miss Morse knew what she was talking about. First thing she did was to have us make a bookcase. Then she brought up her own books from Boston—a big Webster, an American history, a real one, not just one of those textbooks—and she told wonderful stories, made us learn poems. I guess my chapter will be about the teachers.”

“And about yourself as one of them?”

“I was about as ready to teach as a hen to lay a goose egg, Christina.”

“I can see you now, stern as a preacher, and you had such a pack of kids that year.”

“I made them keep still.” And the familiar secret smile came and went.

“How? Those big boys must have been a challenge—they were taller than you. That Higgins boy! Why, I should have been scared to death.”

“Well, you know, I followed on a real brute. Captain Schooner, they called him, but as far as I know the only ship he ever commanded was the schoolhouse. He punished the children terribly—drew blood from a small boy’s head with his ruler, threw books and even logs at the big boys. And finally there was a mutiny and they got together and threw him out bodily, head first, into a snowdrift. I guess by the time I came they were grateful for milder ways.”

“Can’t imagine you mild, but go on—how did you keep them still?”

“I remembered Miss Morse. All she did I tried to do. For instance, we ended the day either with a spelling bee or with a story. If there had been noise, they had no story.”

“What kind of story?”

“I told them true stories, sometimes, out of history; sometimes I made something up, but tried to get facts straight. The boys were crazy to hear about the wars with the Indians. I told them stories about the Underground Railroad and about things that had happened right here. I wanted them to feel they were part of history, right here in Willard.”

“What a person you are!” Christina said, looking at the worn face and the dark shadows around the eyes.

“Don’t know about that. But one thing’s sure—if I could have kept at it—the teaching, I mean—I might have got myself an education. Nothing like teaching to make you learn. Got married instead.” She looked out at the snowy world outside and sipped her coffee for a moment. “I wasn’t the marrying kind, you know. Never should’ve done it.”