“Well, it’s a letter my grandfather must have copied out to preserve—from the school records, it says. It is dated 1838. It says, ‘My name is Eliza Bunker. I am 15 and a quarter years old and teach at Willard School. I board at Mrs. Springer’s. It is nice and near the school-house. I am paid $1.25 a week …’”

“Not really?” Christina asked. “One twenty-five a week!”

“I was only paid forty for the seven weeks when I taught,” Ellen answered, “more than seventy years later.”

“Go on.”

“‘… and this year taught only one term of seven and a half weeks. I had no trouble except with one older boy who was twenty and had not attended school before.

“‘About the schoolhouse, I wish to say the roof is all gone in one corner. You can see outside. The windows are all broken but we put paper over them. The floor is gone right under the bad roof. The fireplace does not heat except in front of it. The wood was very wet at times as there is no woodshed. There are no conveniences for boys or girls. It is very cold at times. The school was dismissed for three days. Miles Brown brought all the water from his house. It would freeze in the bucket though it was near the fireplace. There is no teacher’s desk or chair. No blackboard or erazer. The books were not enough for all and most were tore. The pupils were seventeen with an attendance of twelve. The big boys took my bell so I could not call them in. There were only nine had slates. The boys made a loud noise by scratching on the slates with pencils.

“‘My uncle brought me here in his slay. I do not care to come back. Eliza Bunker.’”

Christina threw back her head and laughed. “Tremendous,” she said. “Eliza Bunker at fifteen and a quarter was a girl of spirit. Know anything else about her?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I remember some Bunkers went west. Eighteen thirty-eight—I wouldn’t be surprised. If they had sheep—and many farmers had large flocks then—they would have been driven out in forty, when Australian wool began to bring prices down so low they couldn’t survive. Yes, I think the Bunkers got up and left. That took gumption too. I’ve often wished the Lockharts had. We stayed—and look at us now!”

This was Ellen’s characteristic tone, and Christina paid no attention.

“It must have been a different schoolhouse. When was ours built? It only had one room—no conveniences, as she says.”

“But the boys still teased by scratching on their slates when I was a girl. Yes, I guess our schoolhouse was built after the Civil War—must have been.”