THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 OF 
 HESSVILLE 
 
 OF 
 
 CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS AGH
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 BARNABETTA 
 
 GERTIE SWARTZ: FANATIC OR CHRISTIAN 
 
 BETROTHAL OF ELYPHOLATE, AND OTHER TALES 
 OF THE PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH 
 
 CROSSWAYS 
 
 THE FIGHTING DOCTOR 
 
 HER HUSBAND'S PURSE 
 
 His COURTSHIP 
 
 MARTHA OF THE MENNONTTE COUNTRY 
 
 THE PARASITE 
 
 REVOLT OF ANNE ROYLE 
 
 SABINA, STORY OF THE AMISH 
 
 THOSE FlTZENBERGERS 
 
 TILLIE, A MENNONTTE MAID 
 
 WHEN HALF-GODS Go 
 
 MAGGIE OF VIRGINSBURG
 
 THE 
 
 SCHOOLMASTER 
 OF HESSVILLE 
 
 BY 
 HELEN R. MARTIN 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 1920
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BT 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
 INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 COPTBIGHT, I92O, BT THE CENT0BT COMPANY
 
 2131502
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 OF HESSVILLE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A. JOHN WIMMER, the young school 
 teacher of the village, drove up in his buggy 
 to the door of his sweetheart's home at the 
 end of the one long street of Hessville, he was shocked 
 and astonished to see Irene waiting for him on the 
 porch in her blue calico working dress instead of her 
 new lavender flowered voile with straw hat trimmed 
 with lavender flowers to match. Inasmuch as his 
 imagination had been playing with that lovely 
 picture of her all the morning, it was disconcerting to 
 find her, this afternoon, in blue calico though, to be 
 sure, even in that she was a sight to make a man 
 tremble. 
 
 "Och, I don't feel fur goin' to the circus," she 
 replied to his surprised question as to why she was not 
 ready. 
 
 Her tone was as blasS as that of a fashion-weary 
 Newport hostess at the end of the season and she 
 tossed her beautiful head as haughtily as though a 
 circus were not to her a social function of distinction 
 and delight. "I have tired of circuses." 
 
 [3]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "But I got the tickets a'ready, Irene!" said John, 
 a troubled look in his kind eyes. "You said you 
 wanted to go. So I went to town yesterday as 
 early as I otherwise could, and got 'em." 
 
 Irene noted the conspicuous fact that John did 
 not, apparently, feel called upon to tell her what the 
 tickets had cost which she would so lightly discard. 
 She had previously noted often that he never told her 
 what he had paid for the gifts which, from time to 
 time, he brought to her and which were, of course, 
 a necessary part of his courtship. This uncom- 
 municativeness annoyed her. The price of a gift 
 was nearly the most interesting thing about it. 
 What a suitor's courtship cost him in dollars and 
 cents was as important to Irene as his morals and 
 his earning power. She wondered at John's silence 
 on such a vital matter. Other young men of Hess- 
 ville never left their "girls" in painful doubt about 
 it. It was not, she was sure, that John considered it 
 unimportant; that he was indifferent to money. He 
 was indeed very prudent. And she could see that he 
 was troubled just now at the idea of wasting the sum 
 he had invested hi the tickets. 
 
 Irene was quite incapable of understanding the 
 incipient fineness in John which gave him standards 
 and reticences somewhat different from those of his 
 fellow villagers. 
 
 "Circuses is stale to me," she said flippantly. "I 
 ain't goin'." 
 
 "I thought you liked 'em/' said John dejectedly. 
 [41
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Och, I got too used to *em." 
 
 "They say they're got elephants in this circus 
 trained to talk in the telephone. That's somepin 
 you'd mebby like to see, Irene." 
 
 "I don't take no special interest in elephants 
 talkin' in telephones. I used to like better to see the 
 ladies in pink tights that rode bare back before I 
 got so used to 'em. No, I don't want to go." 
 
 "But what made you change your mind? You 
 said yesterday " 
 
 "Och, John, quit tellin' me what I said yesterday! 
 Yesterday is yesterday and to-day is to-day!" re- 
 torted Irene, who would risk missing a circus for the 
 fun of tormenting her lover and trying out the large 
 limits of her power over him. 
 
 "All right," said John resignedly. "If you won't, 
 you won't, I guess. It's a girl's way, mebby, to 
 want a thing one day and not want it the next. 
 Ain't?" 
 
 "Whether it's a girl's way or whether it ain't, 
 makes me nothing. Quit botherin' me, John!" 
 
 It was because her tones were so dulcet, her 
 cheeks so creamy and pink, her eyes, though shallow, 
 so soft and blue, her curly hair so golden a brown, 
 that her perversity seemed, to big, strong John 
 Wimmer, the most charming girlishness. 
 
 "Of course I don't want you to go if you don't feel 
 like going, Irene," he said. "It was to give you 
 pleasure that I got the tickets; not to bother you.'* 
 
 "I wonder how often you'll think of givin' me 
 [51
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 pleasure after we're married oncet!" said Irene, 
 looking coquettish, but speaking derisively. "It'll 
 be 'You stay home and do the housework!' after 
 you're got me oncet ain't it will? " 
 
 "You don't know me if you think that, Irene!" 
 
 " I know what men are ! " said Irene darkly. 
 
 "I don't wonder you don't think much of 'em,'* 
 John admitted. 
 
 It seemed to him, as he contemplated her young 
 loveliness, that no man living was worthy to take 
 into his coarse and clumsy keeping such an exquisite 
 thing. 
 
 "If you're sure you don't want to go," he began 
 but she cut him short. 
 
 "If I'm sure? Och, John, how many times must 
 I say it till you know it? " 
 
 It was his invariable yielding to her whims that 
 tempted her to go to such lengths in testing him. 
 She was really dying to go to the circus; she knew 
 perfectly well that she was treating him shabbily to 
 have consented yesterday to his getting the tickets 
 and now to-day, for no reason but her love of being 
 perverse, to refuse to go. Her dread lest he take her 
 at her word and desist from coaxing her to go with 
 him, before she could yield with grace, added to her 
 sharpness toward him. 
 
 "It ain't no use fur you to plague me!" she per- 
 sisted. 
 
 "All right, then, will you come out buggy-riding?" 
 
 "I ain't dressed to." 
 
 [61
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OP HESSVILLE 
 
 "Till you get dressed a'ready, I'll go take the 
 circus tickets 'round to Minnie Maus. She and her 
 father can use 'em." 
 
 "Minnie Maus and her pop can't afford the 
 trolley fare to town," Irene quickly objected. 
 
 "I'll give 'em the trolley fare." 
 
 "What fur do you want to throw away your money 
 on other folks?" 
 
 "But it'll save the tickets from getting wasted, to 
 leave Minnie and her father use 'em. I'd hate to 
 have no one get the use of 'em. I got such re-served 
 seats, too." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Irene sharply, "I never have sat in 
 them re-served seats yet! Why didn't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 " I was goin' to surprise you with 'em. Will you go 
 then?" 
 
 Irene tossed her head. ".Re-served seats ain't so 
 much!" 
 
 "All right then, I'll hurry round and give Minnie 
 Maus the tickets before it gets too late on me." 
 
 "Minnie Maus is a Mennonite she darsen't go to 
 circuses," argued Irene desperately. 
 
 "That's so, too I didn't think of that. But she 
 ain't very strict I'll anyhow drive round and ask 
 her. You be ready to go on the buggy till I come 
 back again. Ain't, you will?" 
 
 "I don't know if I will. If I feel fur it I will. If 
 I don't feel fur it I won't! " 
 
 She wanted tremendously to yield and sit in those 
 [7]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVTLLE 
 
 exclusive reserved seats. But she could not see her 
 way to it with any vestige of dignity. 
 
 "I'll hurry," said John, going quickly across the 
 pavement to his buggy. "Good-bye till I come 
 again!" he called back, throwing her a kiss as he 
 drove away. He was madly in love with her 
 as was, indeed, nearly every young man of the 
 village. 
 
 Irene sat tense for an instant; then suddenly an 
 idea flashed upon her she saw how she could, with- 
 out coming down from her high horse, not only go 
 to the circus, but further torment John. Springing 
 up from the porch, she rushed into her father's 
 "General Store," adjoining her home, and seized the 
 telephone. The store was empty, the proprietor not 
 deeming it necessary to "mind" it when nearly every- 
 one in Hessville was getting ready to go to town to the 
 circus. 
 
 In a moment Irene was connected with the Maus 
 home at the other end of the village, toward which 
 John was driving. Telephones were not common in 
 private homes of Hessville, but a grateful patient of 
 the quack, "Doc" Maus, had installed one in his 
 house. 
 
 "I want your brother Hen," Irene curtly informed 
 Minnie Maus who answered the telephone. 
 
 "Say, Hen," she spoke to that young man, "John 
 Wimmer's on his way to your house with two circus 
 tickets and such re-served seats, fur Minnie and your 
 pop. Now, listen here! You make Minnie accept 
 
 [8]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 'em off of John fur you and then you come on round 
 here fur the show, will you?" 
 
 "You bet you!" exclaimed Hen. "But why 
 don't he take you?" 
 
 "I'll tell you on the way to the circus. You tell 
 Minnie right aways. Don't you or her leave on to 
 John that I phoned! Do you get me?" 
 
 "Yes, I get you!" returned Henry eagerly. 
 
 " Then hurry ! Good-bye ! " 
 
 She snapped up the receiver and rushed upstairs 
 to put on her flowered lavender voile and hat to 
 match. 
 
 Meantime, Henry Maus, a handsome, burly 
 youth, with an unintelligent and rather brutal 
 countenance, turned from the telephone to instruct 
 his sister. His head was in a whirl at the prospect of 
 escorting to the circus such "a winner" as Irene 
 Laub. That he was going at the expense of John 
 Wimmer, his successful rival for Irene's hand, and 
 that Irene was evidently playing one of her "nasty 
 tricks" on her patient, long-suffering lover, added 
 much, in Henry's estimation, to the zest of the 
 adventure. 
 
 "Say! Minnie!" he called to his sister, beginning 
 at once to unlace his shoes to expedite the change into 
 his "Sunday clothes." "Come on here oncet! 
 Hurry up!" 
 
 A young girl, wearing the plain black garb of the 
 New Mennonites, came from the kitchen porch to the 
 doorway. She was a slightly built, fine-featured 
 
 [9]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 maiden, whose Madonna-like loveliness defeated the 
 purpose of her puritanic garb, which really rather 
 enhanced than marred her beauty. She was in 
 every respect a contrast to Irene Laub. Her 
 colouring was not rich and varied, but toned to the 
 daintiest delicacy; her figure was not robust and 
 voluptuous, but slender and graceful; her coun- 
 tenance was not scornful and peevish, but gentle and 
 thoughtful. To the crude taste of the young 
 Pennsylvania Dutch beaus of Hessville, Minnie 
 Maus's ethereal beauty seemed colourless; and her 
 quiet gentleness, as contrasted with the boisterous 
 jollity of most of the Hessville girls, seemed spiritless. 
 She did not appeal to them. It was fortunate, 
 therefore, that they, in their turn, did not, for the 
 most part, appeal to her. 
 
 To the discerning, however, Minnie would not 
 have appeared either colourless or spiritless. There 
 was a look in her eyes as of a smouldering fire; an 
 expression about her soft lips of quiet resolution. 
 
 "Say, listen here, Minnie," her brother ad- 
 monished her authoritatively, "John Wimmer's 
 comin* up here in his buggy to fetch you two circus 
 tickets and two such re-served seats fur you and Pop. 
 Now " 
 
 "Oh!" she interrupted breathlessly, a faint colour 
 coming into her pale cheeks, "John's coming here 
 himself now? " 
 
 "You're not to turn down them circus tickets do 
 you hear?" 
 
 [10]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Do you mean,'* she asked incredulously, "that 
 you'll take father to the circus? He'll like awful 
 well to go!" 
 
 Henry laughed her to scorn. "I'm likely to go 
 along to a circus with Pop yet ain't? Aw, give 
 another guess! Don't be so dumb! Just you mind 
 what I tell you, Minnie, and take them tickets off of 
 John - Wimmer when he offers 'em to you. And 
 don't leave on to him that I sayed nothing to you 
 about 'em. Do you hear?" 
 
 "I can't use them myself, you know." 
 
 "Huh! I bet if John Wimmer ast you to go along 
 with him anywheres to a circus or to hell itself no 
 damned religion would hold you back! Och, I 
 seen this good while back a'ready how you are gone 
 on that great big boob that's so dippy over Irene 
 Laub he leaves her treat him like an old shoe! No 
 use your thinkin' about him! Now mind what-I'mi 
 tellin' you take them tickets when he offers 'em, or 
 it'll be the worse fur you!" 
 
 With which brotherly admonition, Henry rushed 
 upstairs in his stocking feet to finish a hasty toilet, 
 while Minnie, rather bewildered, her heart beating 
 fast, went to the front of the house to wait for John 
 Wimmer's buggy. 
 
 Hessville was a prosperous village and almost the 
 only house in it that manifested signs of poverty was 
 this of the Maus family. But while the little frame 
 building needed paint and repairs; while the furniture 
 was old and shabby and the carpets worn and 
 
 [HI
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 patched, there was, nevertheless, a homelikeness, an 
 inviting coziness about the place; Minnie knew how 
 to make the best of her poverty. 
 
 She held the position of assistant teacher in the 
 village school under John Wimmer, Principal, and she 
 was the main support of her aging and sickly father 
 and of her idle and ruffianly brother Henry. 
 
 When John's buggy presently drew up to the 
 house and Minnie went out to the curb to meet it, the 
 young schoolmaster was pleasantly conscious, as the 
 girl came toward him, of the peculiar grace of her 
 movements. In their daily association at school, 
 John, being an exception among his fellow-villagers, 
 was always alive to the atmosphere of refinement, of 
 spirituality, that Minnie's presence seemed to bear. 
 It was hard sometimes to believe that she and "Hen " 
 were brother and sister and that she was the daughter 
 of that old fraud, Doc Maus. John did not know it, 
 but his close partnership, in work, with Minnie was 
 making him feel and see occasionally, even through 
 the blinding light of love, that Irene was, now and 
 then, raw and crude. 
 
 "I got two tickets for the circus, Minnie, and four 
 trolley tickets to and from town that I ain't using. 
 Do you want to take your father?'* 
 
 "You are kind, John, but you know I can't go to a 
 circus," she said, indicating her garb. "And father 
 couldn't take the trip alone. Thank you just the 
 
 same. But if you'd " she began, but stopped, 
 
 embarrassed. 
 
 [121
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I'm sorry," replied John. "It's a pity you 
 don't favour pleasure-seeking a little, Minnie. It 
 wouldn't do you any harm." 
 
 "Our Mennonite preacher said last Sunday," 
 said Minnie wistfully, "how the souls in hell regret 
 the sins they committed on earth; but I thought to 
 myself that maybe when I'm dead, I'll be regretting 
 the pleasures I missed on earth!" 
 
 There was a troubled look in the dark eyes that she 
 raised to John's; and he thought how pretty and 
 innocent she was. 
 
 "Ain't I awful? " she appealed to him. 
 
 "Awful ain't the word for it! You make warm 
 chills go over me!" smiled John. 
 
 "If only there wasn't any hell," said Minnie 
 pensively, "I'd like to go pleasure-seeking, too, like 
 other ones." 
 
 "To really be good, Minnie," returned John 
 thoughtfully, "you got to turn your back on heaven 
 and hell and be good because you like it. It oughtn't 
 to make anything to you if there's a hell or if there 
 ain't." 
 
 She considered this earnestly. "Now, John, I see 
 a thought in that it's love, not fear, that must fill 
 the heart. Ain't?" 
 
 "Sure. I wouldn't be surprised if the kingdom of 
 heaven wasn't any place but in the heart." 
 
 "I know you're such an (7w-believer, John." 
 
 "I don't call that being an Unbeliever. Well," he 
 added, picking up the reins, "I'm sorry I got to be 
 
 f 131
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 moving on, for I like holding conversations on deep 
 subjects like them it's enjoyable. And you're the 
 only person I can hold 'em with. I can't think of 
 myself conwersing on such subjects with Irene," he 
 smiled a little sadly. "She'd think it was awful dry. 
 Say, Minnie, do you know any one I could give these 
 tickets to? I hate for 'em to be wasted." 
 
 "It would be a pity for 'em to be wasted," she 
 admitted. "I guess mebby you wouldn't want to 
 give 'em to to Henny?" 
 
 "No, I don't know as I would care to give 'em to 
 Hen." 
 
 He noted the look of anxiety, almost of fear, in her 
 expressive eyes. "Has Hen been devillin' you to 
 give him money for circus tickets?" he demanded. 
 
 She nodded dumbly 
 
 "That lazy hulk! You know, Minnie, I don't 
 favour corporal punishment and don't use it in 
 school but your brother Hen is an exception to 
 my theory. He needs to be trounced good! And 
 I'd like to be the one to give it to him ! Maybe some 
 day I might get warmed up to it yet ! Yes, anyhow !" 
 
 He picked up his reins to start away, but the open 
 distress and apprehension in her face arrested him. 
 
 "If my letting the tickets here will save you any- 
 thing, Minnie ?" 
 
 "Oh, it would, John! Hen would be furious 
 if " She stopped short in some confusion . 
 
 "Furious if you don't give him money for a circus 
 ticket?" 
 
 [14]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "He was nagging at me all morning for the 
 money." 
 
 "Well, then, to save you trouble, Minnie, I'll let 
 one of these tickets. You can tell Hen it's for your 
 sake, not for his, that I'm letting it." 
 
 "But but oh, John, don't think me greedy 
 and unthankful, but if you would let both your 
 tickets 
 
 "Hen wouldn't take your father along don't you 
 think it, Minnie!" 
 
 " I know he wouldn't. But 
 
 "He wants to take a girl, does he? Is he travellin* 
 with a girl now?" 
 
 "No, he ain't. But I know he wants two tickets." 
 
 "And don't you know who it is he wants to take 
 along?" 
 
 "I ain't sure," she truthfully answered, for such a 
 treacherous trick as that which Irene was trying to 
 play upon John would have been inconceivable to 
 Minnie. 
 
 "Oh, well, here, take 'em," said John, handing her 
 both the circus tickets and the trolley tickets. "If 
 it gives you a little peace I guess it's a good use k> 
 put the tickets to." 
 
 "I'm wery much obliged, John." 
 
 "That's all right. Good-bye, Minnie." Vo .. 
 
 "Did you turn them tickets down?" Hen greeted 
 her threateningly, coming downstairs in festive ap- 
 parel just as she returned to the kitchen. 
 
 Minnie handed them to him. "Here they are." 
 [15]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "It's good for you that you got 'em. I'd certainly 
 o' made it hot fur you if you hadn't of ! " 
 
 Minnie turned away and left the room. Henry 
 dashed out the back door to take a short cut through 
 orchards and vegetable gardens to Laub's General 
 Store. 
 
 Meantime, John drove quickly back through the 
 village to get Irene for "a buggy ride." 
 
 As he drew up before the General Store he was 
 sure he saw the delectable lavender voile flutter past 
 an upstairs window; and his heart fluttered re- 
 sponsively. But when he knocked at the front door 
 no one came to open it. He repeated his knock in 
 vain. Then he went into the store. Mr. Laub, 
 Irene's father, was sound asleep on some cracker 
 boxes. John did not wake him. He was apt to be 
 more considerate of other people than of himself. 
 Stepping softly through the store he went on out to the 
 kitchen. It was empty and darkened. Mrs. Laub 
 and her sister who lived with her had gone to the circus. 
 
 John went to the foot of the stairs and called, 
 "Irene!" several times. There was no response. 
 
 He stood still and thought a slow red creeping up 
 into his face, a hurt look in his eyes and about his 
 fine mouth. "This is goin' a little too far, I guess!" 
 he reflected. 
 
 Not even Irene dared go too far with John Wim- 
 mer. Like most men who are slow to anger, his 
 passions when roused were not mild. However, he 
 had not yet reached the end of his patience. 
 
 [16]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully he went out of the house 
 and got into his buggy. As he mechanically picked 
 up the reins the horse started off, but he was too 
 abstracted to heed where he went. 
 
 He had not the least idea how a man ought to deal 
 with such whimsical, impossible behaviour as Irene's. 
 She had promised to marry him; he loved her with a 
 passion that awed him; she possessed him body and 
 soul; he breathed and lived every moment of the day 
 for her. What could he do when she acted like this? 
 A man was so helpless when a woman played the 
 tyrant she had him at such a disadvantage, seeing he 
 couldn't "use her rough" as he would use a man who 
 played fast and loose with him. At the same time 
 he couldn't let a woman make "a darned fool" of 
 him. 
 
 He was roused from his reverie by the clangour of 
 the approaching trolley car bound for the city. 
 Tightening his limp hold on the reins, he turned the 
 horse aside to let the car go by, and as it passed him 
 he looked up to see facing him on the front seat 
 Henry Maus and Irene Laub. Irene tossed her head 
 in mingled defiance and embarrassment. But Henry 
 waved his best straw hat and shouted, "Beat you to 
 it this time, Gran'pop!" 
 
 John drove home blindly to his father's farm, a 
 half mile outside the village. His horse was sweating 
 when he unhitched him- He himself, as he made his 
 way from the barn to the house, was breathing hard 
 and deep. 
 
 [17]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He stopped outside the kitchen door, hesitating to 
 go in. His face must surely betray to his mother and 
 sisters the turmoil of his mind ! 
 
 Turning away, he walked across the back yard to 
 the slanting cellar door and sat down with a bump. 
 
 FOJ a long time motionless, white, stricken, his 
 eyes on the ground he sat there, one fact only 
 emerging clear from the confusion and anguish of his 
 emotions. Whatever the cause of Irene's behaviour 
 whether it was that she was the over-indulged and 
 spoiled only child of her elderly parents; or whether 
 she was what "females" called "nervous"; or 
 whether she was just naturally perverse and in- 
 considerate one thing was certain, she needed 
 discipline. 
 
 Thus far in their courtship he had never crossed 
 her; had yielded to all her most unreasonable notions, 
 indulged her most extravagant demands or requests; 
 had never reproved or resented her perversities and 
 unkindnesses; had been humbly grateful for her 
 gentler moods and had richly rewarded the least of 
 her favours. He had, in short, let her lead him by 
 the nose, and he saw, to-day, that he had let himself 
 be led quite too far. 
 
 "She's too sure of me. I've made myself too 
 cheap. A girl don't walue what's so cheap." 
 
 It had been a diplomatic blunder on Irene's part to 
 have let John discover that she was leading him a 
 walk and a dance for her own amusement. Not even 
 his great passion for her would let him knowingly 
 
 [181
 
 consent to be made a fool of. Not so much for his 
 own self-respect as to save the soul of his beloved 
 would he put an end to it. 
 
 He did not dream of holding Minnie Maus respon- 
 sible for what had happened. She, too, had been 
 duped. 
 
 John was a thoughtful fellow and in his own crude 
 way had forged out a good many theories about life 
 and people. One of these theories, culled from his 
 observation of the domestic tyrannies of many of the 
 Pennsylvania Dutch homes of Hessville, was that the 
 worst sort of a mate a man could have was one who, 
 by too much submission, fostered her husband's 
 natural selfishness and brutality. And now he saw 
 to-day that this theory was applicable both ways. 
 
 "A poor husband I'd make if I encouraged Irene 
 to act up like this ! A poor mother she'd be for our 
 children, leaving herself behave so flighty and on- 
 reasonable! It's got to stop !" 
 
 The problem that he pondered during the long 
 hours of that September afternoon, sitting as still as 
 a carved image on the cellar door, was how to bring 
 home to Irene that she did not own him body and 
 soul; that if she wanted to hold him she must be fair 
 and square with him. How was he to go about it? 
 
 But it was his heart, not his head, that finally, 
 after long cogitation, showed him the way. The 
 suffocating rage, the scorching pain he suffered in the 
 thought of Henry Maus at Irene's side in his place 
 this afternoon, while he sat here alone on the cellar 
 
 [19]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 door in the back yard, revealed to him that jealousy 
 was a factor in life more potent than he had hitherto 
 suspected. 
 
 "I got to make her jealous. I'll travel with an- 
 other party for a while and make Irene uneasy." 
 
 The only available "other party" he could think of 
 was his young assistant at the school, Minnie Maus. 
 
 "That's what I'll do I'll travel with Minnie 
 Maus for a couple weeks ! " 
 
 So absorbed was he in the consideration of his own 
 deep misery that he quite overlooked Minnie's part 
 in the farce he meant to play the farce that was to 
 win Irene to him forever by exciting her fear of losing 
 him. John would never have willingly hurt a fellow 
 human being, least of all a young girl whom he re- 
 spected and liked as he did Minnie Maus. But to- 
 day he was blind and deaf to everything in the uni- 
 verse save his burning jealousy and passion. 
 
 "I'll start right in to-morrow! Instead of sitting 
 up with Irene Sunday night, I'll go take Minnie 
 buggy riding right past Irene's front step!" 
 
 He knew that to keep away from Irene when 
 every drop of blood in his body cried out for her; to 
 act deliberately in a way to cause his beloved such 
 hours of suffering as he was now suffering; to stick 
 to his plot with Spartan courage until he had safely 
 brought it to a successful culmination would re- 
 quire all the resolution that he could command. 
 
 But whatever were John Wimmer's shortcomings, 
 a lack of resolution was not one of them. 
 
 [20]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE day following the circus was Sunday, the 
 great courting day among the villagers, on 
 which John and Irene always spent the after- 
 noon and evening together driving, walking, at- 
 tending "meeting," or just sitting around "keeping 
 company." 
 
 Irene, knowing she had treated her lover very 
 shabbily, anticipated eagerly the fun of "making up" 
 when he came to see her to-day. Having teased and 
 fooled him to her heart's content, she was ready now 
 to be generously gracious to him. She dressed her- 
 self to look her prettiest, feeling perfect confidence in 
 the power of her beauty to dispel any soreness he 
 might feel at the flagrant and audacious disloyalty of 
 which she had been guilty in having used his tickets 
 to go to the circus with another "admarer." Al- 
 though she had never before tried John quite so far as 
 this, she did not for a moment fear that he would not 
 forgive her this time as he always had done in the 
 past. 
 
 So, when the afternoon went by and he did not 
 come, she was very much surprised and a little bit 
 worried. 
 
 "It'd serve him right if I wasn't home when he 
 [21]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 does come round this evening ! I have a good notion 
 to just go off somewheres after supper!" 
 
 But she did not "go off somewheres." She 
 prinked up afresh and sat out on the front step to 
 watch for John's buggy coming up the street. 
 
 "He'll have to plague me to go buggy-ridin' along 
 now! after keepin' me settin' round all afternoon 
 waitin' fur him!" 
 
 Never before had he tried to "spite her back" like 
 this! It sounded a note of warning to her that his 
 patience had its limits. 
 
 It would have been inconceivable to her that, far 
 from trying to "spite" her, he was endeavouring to 
 discipline her for her own good. 
 
 Irene could not, guilty though she felt, regret very 
 deeply what she had done, for she had had a grand 
 time at the circus with Hen Maus. Hen was lots 
 better company than sober old John. Hen was such 
 "a jolly fellah," such "a cut-up"! They had been 
 boisterously hilarious all the afternoon; she had 
 never laughed so much in all her life. 
 
 "To be sure Hen's awful common beside John," 
 she reflected as, sitting on the porch with eyes strained 
 for the first sight of John's buggy coming up the 
 street, she recalled some passages of her good time of 
 the day before. "Hen ain't got the refined manners 
 at him that John's got, nor the grand education 
 neither. But refined manners and a Normal School 
 education can certainly make a fellah awful slow!" 
 she pouted, recalling resentfully John's grave silence 
 
 [22]
 
 whenever vulgar jokes were "cracked" or coarse 
 allusions made in his presence. 
 
 She was aware, with secret shame, of the fact that 
 she was much more at home with Hen than with her 
 betrothed. 
 
 " It's a pity Hen ain't as good-fixed as what John is ! " 
 Not only was Hen poor, but he was the son of a 
 disgraceful old fake Doc, a "healer" who powwowed 
 the sick; and though there was scarcely a family in 
 Hessville or in the surrounding township that did 
 not, in emergency, when regular doctors failed, 
 experiment with the supernatural help which "Doc- 
 tor" Maus claimed the power to dispense, yet they 
 held him, quite illogically, in contempt. Not be- 
 cause he was a quack, but because he charged them 
 nothing, believing himself empowered and appointed 
 of God to heal; and though it was understood that his 
 patients should reward him with a gift, as little or as 
 much as they chose, nothing at all if that suited them 
 better, yet one could not, of course, respect a man 
 who held his wares as cheap as that. Irene knew 
 that to take up with the penniless son of a man like 
 Doc Maus she who was more popular with "the 
 fellahs" than any other girl in Hessville would be 
 to lower herself. John, on the other hand, being the 
 son of a rich farmer, a graduate of Kutztown Normal, 
 and the village teacher getting $75 a month clear, 
 was one of the best matches in the whole township. 
 Irene was very much aware of all the worldly ad- 
 vantages of her engagement. 
 
 [23]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She had had time to become a bit apprehensive 
 before she saw, at last, her lover's buggy approach- 
 ing. It had seemed unbelievable that he would 
 remain away from her not only all day but again 
 this evening. The moment she heard the clatter of 
 the horse's hoofs she knew how foolish had been 
 her momentary fear that he was actually letting the 
 whole of Sunday pass without coming to "sit up" 
 with her. 
 
 "He couldn't near act like that!" she now con- 
 fidently smiled to herself. "That would be going 
 some!" 
 
 What, then, was her surprise when, as the buggy 
 drew near, she saw that John was not alone ! Some- 
 one was at his side; a black-bonneted "plain" 
 person. Whom was he bringing to see her and 
 why? He always preferred to be alone with her 
 why, then, this 
 
 But the buggy was not slowing up at her door! 
 The person at his side was, she could see now, his 
 school assistant, Minnie Maus! They were smiling 
 into each other's eyes as they drove right straight 
 past the house John scarcely lifting his eyes from 
 Minnie's radiant face as he raised his hat to his 
 betrothed! Irene had always been very conceited 
 over the fact that her lover was the only man in 
 Hessville who raised his hat to women. 
 
 "Well, of all the nerve!" she gasped, bewildered to 
 the point of idiocy. "Well, John Wimmer, if you 
 ain't! Well, this is going some!" 
 
 [24]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 The awful possibility that she had lost him alto- 
 gether through her ruthless behaviour made her heart 
 sink for an instant. But she quickly realized how 
 groundless was such a doubt. She knew too well how 
 great was his passion for her. It could not be killed 
 all in an hour by am/thing she might do. He was 
 only "paying her back," trying to make her jealous. 
 As if she could be jealous of such as Minnie Maus, 
 even if Minnie was a school teacher! Oh, to be sure, 
 Minnie was "no bad looker." But how could she, 
 Irene Laub, be jealous of a Mennonite, a "plain" 
 person? 
 
 "John certainly would look higher'n a Menno- 
 nite, even if he was in love with one, which he ain't! 
 He's nutty about me and no one else! He'd anyhow 
 look higher'n Minnie Maus, same as I'd look higher'n 
 Hen. Och, you ain't foolin me any, John Wimmer!" 
 
 And yet, the incredible fact that he had "up and 
 took" Minnie Maus instead of her, out "on his 
 buggy," was so astounding that she could only stare 
 at it stupidly, quite unable to concentrate her at- 
 tention upon a plan for "getting back at him." 
 
 Some other instances of the resolution of which 
 John was capable began to recur to her causing her 
 an uneasiness she had never before experienced in 
 her relations with him. There was that time when 
 he had "cheeked" his tyrannical father Irene had 
 heard the story often from one of John's admiring 
 sisters. He had been only seventeen years old at 
 that time, but had already become bigger and 
 
 [25]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 stronger, physically and mentally, than his father 
 was. Mr. Wimmer had always overworked his 
 children, stinted them, allowed them no pleasures or 
 recreations, punished them harshly for every trifling 
 fault and, in short, had done everything in his power 
 to make them worthless cowards, hypocrites, and 
 sneaks. But in the case of his first-born child and 
 only son, his efforts to achieve this result had been 
 vain. Though John's childhood had been gruesome, 
 he had not been cowed; he had bided his time 
 patiently, quietly, with Spartan endurance, his 
 apparent submission goading his father, sometimes, 
 to actual cruelty in his contempt for the poor- 
 spirited boy. John had waited until he could be 
 quite sure of himself . And at last one day, when his 
 favourite young sister was about to be chastised, he 
 revealed himself. Without any flurry or excitement, 
 the young Hercules had coolly lifted his father off his 
 feet and with a grip of iron had held him high in air 
 until he had extracted from him a promise to "leave 
 the girl be." 
 
 Then John had laid down the law to him : no more 
 beatings; at least a village school education for all of 
 them; no field or barn work for his mother and 
 sisters "You can well afford to hire all that ' 
 
 His father had threatened to put him out of the 
 house; to disinherit him. But John, paying no 
 attention to his threats, had without any apparent 
 effort, become, from that day, the head and master of 
 the house; at least the master of his father; he had 
 
 [261
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 never shown any inclination to dominate his mother 
 and sisters. Like all bullies, his father feared the 
 man or boy who was not afraid of him. He sub- 
 mitted to his son's supremacy abjectly. 
 
 Irene thought of other instances of John's deter- 
 mination. When, upon his graduation from "Kutz- 
 town Normal," he had been elected principal of the 
 Hessville school, he had given it out, on his first day 
 as master, that he was "opposed to corporal punish- 
 ment." The school board had been alarmed, 
 feeling sure that he could never earn his salary with- 
 out using his muscular arms as well as his book- 
 learning. That would be much too lazy a way to 
 teach school. The Board did not propose to pay 
 $75 a month and not get their money's worth. 
 
 But strange to say, John had never had the least 
 trouble in governing his school without the rod. He 
 treated his pupils "so white" (so they said) that they 
 would have been ashamed to "bother" him. He 
 had even been able to manage that "dumb thing," 
 Emmy Fetterhoff, a great girl of sixteen who, for no 
 apparent reason, would get "stubborn spells," be- 
 come as balky as a mule, refuse to speak or move, 
 responding neither to scoldings nor beatings. Through 
 all her school years her teachers had tried in vain to 
 beat this obstinacy out of her. She had never once 
 in her life given in under punishment no matter how 
 severe it was; she had yielded only when she was 
 "good and ready." Now Emmy's "spells" had 
 always afforded an exciting diversion from the dull 
 
 [27]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 routine of lessons. With the advent of each new 
 teacher, the suspense as to whether he or she would 
 succeed in conquering the girl ; to what extremes the 
 teacher would go to accomplish this feat and prove 
 his physical efficiency; how he would accept his al- 
 most certain defeat these were deeply interesting 
 uncertainties. Therefore, when John Wimmer made 
 no attempt whatever to conquer her, the school's 
 disappointment was tragic. 
 
 "All right, Emmy," he had said to her when one 
 morning she suddenly refused to budge from her 
 seat and come up to her geography class and would 
 not open her lips to answer his inquiry as to why she 
 would not come, "go to it, my child, if you get any 
 fun of it. Enjoy yourself. I guess I can stand it as 
 long as you can. I'm bigger and stronger than you 
 are." 
 
 After that he had never noticed her; just let her 
 sit all day long. Her spells usually lasted a week or 
 more. She recovered from this one in a day and a 
 half. And she never tried it out on John again. 
 The caprice had lost its zest. 
 
 John's avowed faith in the superior power of love, 
 rather than of fear and punishment, to overcome evil, 
 was looked upon in Hessville as the foolish notion of 
 one whom "too much learning" (a graduate of 
 Kutztown Normal, be it noted) had rather un- 
 balanced. He seemed to employ his strong will to 
 govern himself rather than others which was clearly 
 eccentric. 
 
 [28]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But occasionally, when he met with a case in 
 which his theory failed to work out, he had the 
 common sense to compromise with his theory and 
 deal with the exception very forcefully, as the bully 
 of his school, Jake Gumpf, had learned to his cost 
 when he had attempted to prove the shallowness of 
 the teacher's views. 
 
 "Jake sure got all that was comin' to him and then 
 some!" the pupils had reported at home. 
 
 "So John Wimmer licked him, did he? He 
 might have knowed from the beginning that he'd 
 have to lick Gumpf before he could learn him his 
 books." 
 
 "But he didn't lick him!" 
 
 "Didn't lick him? but you sayed he got all that 
 was comin '- 
 
 "Yes, but John Wimmer didn't lick him he drug 
 him out to the pump and pumped water on him! 
 Jake had to go home to get dry things on and when he 
 come back " 
 
 "I bet he give it to John Wimmer when he come 
 back ain't? Why, he is near as big as what John 
 is ain't, he is?" 
 
 "Yes, he is. And when he come back with his 
 Sunday clothes on, he went fur John Wimmer like 
 anything but John he just drug him out to the 
 pump again and pumped him wet all over his Sunday 
 clo'es yet! Golly, but Jake did have mad at John! 
 And John he toF him, 'Better come with your 
 mackintosh on next time or your Atlantic City 
 
 [29]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 bathing suit ! ' John sayed. * I don't like to spoil all 
 your suits fur you/ he sayed." 
 
 An occasional exception, however, like the case of 
 Jake Gumpf, had not convinced John that his 
 theory was false. 
 
 "Principles are all right to have, but a person 
 mustn't be stubborn about 'em," he had explained 
 his attitude. "I can see how it might be right 
 sometimes to steal, to lie yes, to kill even. You 
 can't make any rule to fit all cases. If human beings 
 had always acted on this idea instead of holding so 
 hard and fast to rule, a lot of suffering would have 
 been saved in the world." 
 
 All these things passed through Irene's mind as she 
 sat on her front porch in the September twilight, 
 thinking of John driving up the road with Minnie 
 Maus at his side. 
 
 "It seems," thought Irene, "that he manages 
 every one he wants to manage. Well, he'll find out 
 he ain't a-goin' to come over me with his funny 
 tricks ! If that's his game to make me have jealous 
 of that little Mennonite all right ! I'll fix him ! I'll 
 travel with Hen! As long as he runs with Minnie 
 I'll run with Hen and we'll see who'll give in first! 
 I bet anything it won't be me!" 
 
 [30]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DON'T you know why John Wimmer's runnin* 
 with you?" Henry Maus scornfully twitted 
 his sister as he ate greedily of the supper she 
 had cooked on her return from a long, hard day 
 at school. "To make Irene have jealous, that's 
 why! Did you conceit that he was gone on you? 
 Huh!" 
 
 As Minnie had no vanity as to her personal attrac- 
 tions, she could readily believe her brother's interpre- 
 tation of John's astonishing rush of attentions to her. 
 But to be with him, to sit at his side, to hold "con- 
 wersations" with him on "deep subjects," to hear his 
 voice and look into his eyes all this was such 
 happiness that, however short-lived it might be and 
 whatever his reasons for coming to her, her starved 
 life seized eagerly upon these crumbs of bliss that fell 
 to her. 
 
 Only once before had she had a "gentleman 
 friend." But when her brother Henry had found his 
 easy life of idleness threatened by the possibility of 
 her marrying and ceasing to support him and their 
 father, he had cunningly set himself to the task of 
 breaking off the engagement. He had informed 
 Minnie's very eligible young lover that if he married 
 
 [31]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie he would have her father on his hands to 
 support. 
 
 "Pop he don't earn enough to pay fur his own 
 keep and I ain't workin' to keep him! No old dope 
 fiend fur mine, I can tell you! Pop's a dope fiend 
 yet! Yes, anyhow! And Minnie she'd stick by 
 Pop no matter what he done. He's gettin' her in 
 the habit of dopin' a little! " 
 
 This latter statement had been an inspiration of 
 the moment and had been no part of Henry's planned 
 propaganda to break off the engagement. 
 
 Though the menace of having to support the 
 pseudo-doctor had not daunted Minnie's young 
 man, her brother's statement that she was addicted 
 to drugs had had the desired effect. He had fled 
 from her presence never to return; and Henry had 
 been able to live on in ease and idleness. 
 
 Minnie had never learned why her lover had 
 deserted her, though she had always suspected that 
 Henry had had a hand in it. She would have been 
 amazed and shocked to have heard her father called 
 "a dope fiend." The accusation was as untrue of 
 him as of herself. 
 
 As she had supposed herself to be in love with her 
 betrothed, she had grieved sorely for a time; but the 
 pressing necessity of her working to stave off want, her 
 days and nights crowded with teaching, housekeeping, 
 mending, washing, and ironing, had given her small 
 chance to indulge her sorrow and disappointment. 
 
 During the past winter her association at school 
 [32]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 with John Wimmer had obliterated the last scar of 
 that first heart wound though her adoration of 
 John was, she very well knew, without hope. 
 
 Henry had not an instant's fear of John's 
 attentions to his sister. He could not imagine any 
 man's preferring so drab a creature as Minnie to 
 dashing, gorgeous Irene Laub. So he welcomed the 
 little farce that gave him a temporary advantage over 
 his successful rival. The only trouble about it was 
 that keeping company with Irene was expensive. 
 It cost more money than Minnie could possibly 
 spare. Ever since the last time he had, under 
 threats tof violence, extracted from her three dollars 
 with which to take Irene to town to a movie and a 
 soda fountain, Minnie had had no money to buy 
 meat and the butcher would not give them credit. 
 Henry did not enjoy vegetarianism. 
 
 John found his self-imposed torment in staying 
 away from his beloved not without its compensations 
 in the surprising discovery he made through his atten- 
 tions to Minnie. He learned for the first time in his 
 life what comradeship can mean, the interchange of 
 ideas with a mind as earnest as his own. It was a 
 novel and a delightful, even an exciting experience to 
 him. 
 
 "I never would have thought," he told Minnie at 
 the end of a long evening, " what enjoyment there is 
 in conwersation ! " 
 
 He and Irene had never, just to say, "conwersed 
 together"; they had sat and looked at each other; 
 
 [S3]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 held hands and fondled each other; made talk per- 
 functorily or disputed foolishly over some triviality. 
 John had never even tried to talk to her of the 
 things he pondered in his heart; of giving her, as he 
 found he could give Minnie, his serious reflections and 
 convictions about life. He was finding it the greatest 
 thing he had ever known, this comradeship with "a 
 kindred mind." 
 
 v And yet, through it all, there was never a moment 
 when his flesh and his blood did not cry out for 
 Irene; for the fulness and richness of her ripe woman- 
 hood; her beauty; the touch of her soft satin skin; the 
 warmth and glow of her whole personality. With all 
 the strength of his manhood he yearned for her. 
 
 "Now if only I could talk with Irene like what I 
 can with Minnie, what a wife she'd make me!" he 
 sometimes thought on his homeward drive after an 
 kour with the little Mennonite girl. 
 
 It was a significant fact (which, however, escaped 
 his notice) that although he often wished he might 
 improve Irene by giving her Minnie's sympathetic 
 understanding, he never thought of wishing that he 
 could impose Irene's flamboyant beauty upon 
 Minnie's expressive delicacy. He felt too keenly the 
 lovely harmony of Minnie's outward and inner self. 
 
 It was because of his lack of personal conceit that 
 it never occurred to him that he might be jeopardiz- 
 ing Minnie's happiness in the wonderful friendship he 
 was enjoying with her. He no more dreamed of 
 her falling in love with him than he thought of falling 
 
 [34]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 in love with her. Supremely contented in her 
 presence though he was, she never kindled a spark in 
 him; and he never suspected that she herself was on 
 fire. 
 
 They talked one evening about her father as they 
 strolled together through a country lane. 
 
 "You ain't so dumb, I'm sure, as to believe he 
 can heal sickness, are you, Minnie?" 
 
 "I believe that some of the sick people that come 
 to him heal themselves by their faith in him." 
 
 "That might be," John granted. 
 
 "It seems so much as if he did cure folks that I 
 used to believe he did till here one day a woman 
 came to have her boy's warts taken off by father's 
 powwow words. Well, father wasn't home. But 
 the next week the warts began to disappear anyhow. 
 Now if father had been home, you see, we'd all have 
 thought the powwow words had done it." 
 
 "Of course when it was merely co-in-ci-dence," 
 agreed John. 
 
 "Yes," said Minnie brightly, "that's the thing it 
 was what you said. So after that I noticed it was 
 nearly always co that or else mind cure. But 
 father thinks he's got power from God." 
 
 "Here the other week," said John, "my father 
 went to him to ask him about his cows that used to 
 give $100 worth of milk a month and now give only 
 $40 worth. And your father said to be sure he could 
 fix that all right and he took and wrote on a piece 
 of paper, Jesus Christ the same yesterday, to-day and 
 
 [35]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 forever, and put the paper under the barn door-sill, 
 that the cows walk over. Funny thing, Minnie, 
 those cows are giving more milk! They are for 
 sure! 7 don't understand it !" 
 
 "It can't be mind cure," smiled Minnie. 
 
 "Then it comes under our old friend co-in-ci-dence; 
 ain't?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess." 
 
 "And I guess a good many cures of the regular 
 doctors could come under that head, too co-in-ci- 
 dence!" 
 
 "But," said Minnie pensively,' "father is not 
 respected like a real doctor is." 
 
 "For all he ain't much worse!" 
 
 "And," said Minnie wistfully, "he does so believe 
 in himself, John, that I pity him that he ain't re- 
 spected." 
 
 "The reason he ain't respected is because he don't 
 work and earn a living for his family like other men. 
 He oughtn't to live off of you, Minnie. It makes me 
 indignant!" 
 
 "It ain't that he's mean, though like like 
 Henny. It's just that he's sort of helpless." 
 
 "I know. But it's hard on you just the same. 
 You ain't lucky in your folks, Minnie, are you?" 
 said John sympathetically. 
 
 "I wouldn't say that about father I like him 
 pretty well, John. Henny, though, is an awful 
 hardship to me." 
 
 "If it wasn't for your father you could shake Hen 
 [36]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVTLLE 
 
 easily enough. You could just let housekeeping and 
 go to the Aotel." 
 
 "But what would become of Henny?" 
 
 "Would that worry you any?'* 
 
 "Well, not so very much," Minnie doubtfully 
 admitted. 
 
 "Hen's got to support himself some time. He 
 can't always live on you ! " 
 
 "I wouldn't so much mind supporting him if he 
 was only good to me." 
 
 "I know," said John, his face suddenly flushing 
 red as he recalled the morning that Minnie had come 
 to school with a black bruise on her cheek. "I took 
 notice, too, since I've been going to your house lately, 
 Minnie, how Hen won't ever do a hand's turn for 
 you! Here this evening to see you chopping wood 
 and him loafing in a hammock, was most too much 
 for me ! You better warn Hen that it won't be good 
 for his health to get me too hot by things like 
 that!" 
 
 Minnie was so unused to sympathy for her 
 trials and wrongs, for her starved and burdened 
 girlhood, that the experience was inexpressibly sweet 
 to her and her face softened and brightened with 
 happiness as John talked. 
 
 "Even if your father does live on you, he ought to 
 make Hen get out and work," continued John. 
 
 "Father can't, John. He never could control 
 Henny." 
 
 "You oughtn't to give Hen any of your money, 
 [37J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie. It's bad enough that you do cook and 
 wash and iron and clean for him!" 
 
 "I know I oughtn't to, but " 
 
 "Don't you be one of these poor-spirited females 
 that leaves a male trample on you you're too good 
 for it!" 
 
 Minnie did not reply. She could not explain to 
 John how it was at home. She was afraid to. 
 
 She wondered whether some of his animosity to- 
 ward Henry were not due to jealousy of her brother's 
 attentions, just now, to Irene. 
 
 But if in this surmise she was right, John himself 
 was not aware of it. He thought he had quite 
 recovered from the jealous rage he had suffered the 
 day of the circus; he was sure he knew his beloved far 
 too well to have any fears of her throwing herself 
 away on a worthless ruffian like Hen Maus. 
 
 What he did not know, however, and would have 
 considered inconceivable, was that Irene, though 
 chaffing frantically at her lover's continued alienation 
 and irritated in her vanity at his open attentions to 
 another girl, nevertheless found Henry attractive 
 much more so than she found her betrothed. 
 
 Inasmuch as John, in all his intercourse with 
 Minnie, never once mentioned Irene's name, Minnie 
 was left in painful doubt as to his feelings and 
 *' intentions" as to whether his visits and their 
 walks, drives, and talks were "for really" or only, as 
 Henry insisted, intended to punish Irene. 
 
 Minnie struggled against hoping or believing that 
 [38]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 John was in love with her, for that would make it all 
 the harder when he left her and went back to Irene. 
 But even while she tried not to hope for the happi- 
 ness that seemed to hang so near her reach, she 
 endeavoured at the same time to make some of 
 John's ideals her own. Her brother was the first to 
 feel the effect of this. 
 
 "I need some cash come on and hand it over,'* 
 Henry gruffly said to her on the morning after 
 John's advice to her not to "be one of those poor- 
 spirited females to leave a male trample on you." 
 "You're too good for it!" John had said. Minnie 
 would never forget that he had said that. 
 
 It was Saturday and as there was no school she was 
 doing the family washing on the back porch. 
 
 ""Will you fill that tub with water for me?" she 
 asked Henry in response to his demand, her lips 
 quivering a little at her own audacity; for Henry 
 resented being asked to do menial jobs and his 
 resentment was apt to take very unpleasant forms. 
 
 "Will I which?" he asked incredulously. 
 
 "Fill both these tubs for me," repeated Minnie, 
 getting bolder with time. "I get it so ugly in my 
 back carrying water." 
 
 " Did you hear what I sayed to you? I want some 
 cash . Go get me some and be darned quick about it ! " 
 
 "I can't spare you any. The General Store won't 
 give me credit any more till I pay what I owe already. 
 So I got to have ready money, or we go without 
 food." 
 
 [391
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "You got paid yesterday. You can anyhow 
 spare me a dollar." 
 
 "No, Hen, I can't. If you want spending money 
 you'll have to work and earn it." 
 
 "I'll show you if you can't!" he said threateningly, 
 lifting his big hand; but she turned a look upon him 
 that made him pause. Ever since that time he had 
 struck her in the face and the school board had 
 notified her that until her face no longer flaunted the 
 disgraceful signs of "a fight," she must stay home 
 from school and pay a substitute, he had been careful 
 to deal out his blows in such a way that they did not 
 react against himself so disastrously as to deprive 
 him of food and drink. 
 
 He dropped his lifted hand; but he seized her arms 
 and twisted them viciously. 
 
 "Now where's your money at? Tell me!" 
 
 "I won't tell you." 
 
 He dug his nails into the bared flesh of her 
 arms until she cried out and the tears rose to her 
 eyes. 
 
 In response to her cry there appeared in the kitchen 
 doorway the slender, almost emaciated form of "the 
 Doc," a long-haired, long-bearded, fanatical looking 
 old man, with the unseeing eyes of one who lives in 
 dreams and the weak lips and chin of a man of no 
 force of character. His clothes were patched and 
 threadbare and his shoes out at the toes, but he had 
 strangely the look of something he was not a 
 scholar and a "reduced gentleman." 
 
 [40J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Come, come, Henny," he protested anxiously. 
 " Don't be so rough ! Don't hurt Minnie ! " 
 
 "Where have you it put?" repeated Henry, ignor- 
 ing his father. "Answer up if you don't want some 
 more!" 
 
 "I won't tell you and if you 
 
 But her words ended in a scream as he twisted and 
 pinched her arms again. 
 
 "Henny!" cried the "Doctor" piteously. "Leave 
 her be, Henny!" 
 
 "Want some more? If you don't, speak out! 
 Where's that money at?" 
 
 "Tell him, Minnie!" begged her father. "Better 
 tell him sooner 'n get him so spited!" 
 
 "He shall not take my money, father!" 
 
 "But you know he'll get it off of you in the end, so 
 you may as well give it to him before you get hurt any 
 more." 
 
 "Father, won't you help me? Won't you go to 
 the phone and call up John Wimmer and tell him to 
 come here as soon as he otherwise can? " was Minnie's 
 bold and astonishing request. 
 
 "What do you want of John Wimmer?" quavered 
 her father. 
 
 "He'll protect me from Henry!" 
 
 "But, Minnie," protested her father in distress, 
 "I don't want no fightin' round here! It would hurt 
 my practice!" 
 
 "His 'practice'!" cried Henry derisively, recover- 
 ing from his breathless amazement at Minnie's 
 
 [411
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 unwonted spirit. "Get on to his callin' it his 
 'practice' yet! Whose loss would it be if your old 
 practice did get hurt! Not ourn! We don't get no 
 good out of your practice! If you charged big fees 
 fur your damned powwowing, you might call it your 
 * practice.' Helpin' other ones all the time and 
 leavin' your own family starve! Och, you make me 
 sick!" 
 
 "I can't charge money fur doin' the Lord's work, 
 Henny. Jesus Christ never charged no fees and 
 neither kin I." 
 
 "Aw, dry up and stop your interferin' between 
 me and Min! Go on!" he motioned the old man 
 away threateningly. 
 
 The Doctor turned away, cowed, and went slowly 
 back into the house. 
 
 "Now, look-a-here, Minnie," pursued Henry, 
 "you tell me where you are got that there money or 
 I'll tie you up in the cellar till I find it ! " 
 
 " You can't find it. I've got it hid too safe." 
 
 "Then I'll pinch you till you tell me where it's 
 hid!" 
 
 "Then I'll scream for help till the neighbours 
 come in!" 
 
 Henry stared at her incredulously. Could this be 
 his meek and lowly sister whom he had always found 
 it so easy to bully? 
 
 "Huh! It's John Wimmer's made you so spunky 
 all of a suddint. Ain't it is?" 
 
 "Yes. It is." 
 
 [42]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "A body'd think you'd have a shamed face to put 
 it out how you're gone on another girl's fellah!" 
 Henry taunted her. 
 
 "If you want your clothes washed and ironed to- 
 day, you'd better leave me get to work," was Min- 
 nie's reply. "Oh !" she cried in agony as he responded 
 by another pinch and twist that drove the colour 
 from her lips. 
 
 "Where's that there money? " 
 
 "I better tell you, Henny, that if John Wimmer 
 hears of your hurting me he is going to carry you out 
 to their farm and tie you up in the barn and cowhide 
 you! He says he's going to!" 
 
 It was Henry's turn now to turn white to the 
 lips. Hessville had learned to believe that when 
 John Wimmer said he would do a thing, he generally 
 did it. 
 
 "Him talkin' about cowhidin' his neighbours yet, 
 when he puts it out that he don't uphold to corp'al 
 punishment!" 
 
 "He don't believe in corporal punishment for 
 human beings. But he says sometimes it's the only 
 thing you can do with with brutes!" 
 
 "A pretty Mennonite you are, callin' your ' own 
 brother a brute ! " 
 
 "Then don't act as if you were one." 
 
 "John Wimmer wouldn't never know what I done 
 to you if you didn't up and tell him and I guess you 
 wouldn't near do a thing like that there get him to 
 lick your own brother!" 
 
 [43]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "When did you ever act like my own brother to 
 me?" 
 
 "Look-a-here, now, I had enough of your lip! 
 Whether I acted like a lovin' brother or whether I 
 didn't, you gimme that there money and no more 
 words about it ! Come on ! " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Again Henry lifted his hand to strike and again 
 Minnie stopped him with a look. 
 
 " If you strike me I'll tell John ! " 
 
 "Aw, you're kiddin'! / ain't afraid you'll tell 
 him. You and your old John Wimmer, you " 
 
 He called her a foul name which brought a crimson 
 tide to her white face. 
 
 "Leave go my arms!" she said in an ominously 
 quiet voice so ominously quiet, indeed, that in 
 sheer bewilderment Henry dropped his hands from 
 her quivering flesh and stared at her open-mouthed. 
 
 "Now, then," she said, still speaking very quietly, 
 "if you ever lay your hands on me again, I'll not only 
 tell John I'll help him tie you up in his barn!" 
 
 She turned back to her tubs and went on with her 
 work. 
 
 And Henry, feeling himself suddenly confronted 
 by a new and unknown force in this sister of his, the 
 existence of which he had never even suspected, 
 slunk away like a beaten cur. For the first time in 
 his life he had been foiled of his will in his own home. 
 
 [44]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TO HESSVILLE came, one day, in a limousine 
 and fur coats, the Social Welfare Workers 
 from the city, to uplift the life of the villagers; 
 invading the school house first "Begin with the 
 Child, working up through the Child to the Heart of 
 the Parent" and instituting a tooth brush cam- 
 paign a prize to be given to the child who most en- 
 thusiastically and persistently plied the tooth brush, 
 and who guided his or her benighted parents to the 
 same high plane "To elevate the Home Standards 
 of the People," explained one of the fur-clad lim- 
 ousine ladies to the schoolmaster. 
 
 "'The People'?" repeated John questioningly 
 hie was one of those old-fashioned products of our 
 public schools who believe in our Declaration of 
 Independence, our Emancipation Proclamation 
 "All men are created free and equal." 
 
 "Ain't you one of 'the People'?" he searchingly 
 inquired of the smiling, gracious lady who yearned 
 to inject sweetness and light into darkest Hessville 
 by way of the Tooth Brush. 
 
 He gathered from her reply that by "the People" 
 she meant those who did not use tooth brushes. It 
 seemed that the Tooth Brush would inoculate the 
 Child against the germ of Bolshevism. 
 
 [45]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "To educate the Child in Good Citizenship will 
 remove the menace." 
 
 "And good citzenship means using tooth brushes 
 do I get you?" asked the schoolmaster solemnly. 
 
 "It's quite fundamental the use of the tooth 
 brush," replied the lady firmly. 
 
 "All right if you think. But there's no telling 
 where they may lead to tooth brushes. Next 
 thing they'll want their hands so manicured to make 
 them good citizens; and daily baths and daily change 
 of clothes and other 'decencies,' as you call them 
 decencies that will mean they've got to have a lot 
 more time and money than any one in Hesswille's 
 got now. It looks to me," said John, shaking his 
 head, "that tooth brushes will lead straight to 
 Bolshevism, not away from it! Better leave tooth 
 brushes be!" 
 
 "If I thought that," the lady, looking alarmed, 
 faltered in her high purpose. 
 
 But her companion, a vigorous, robust Major- 
 General sort of a woman, answered John. 
 
 "Through our Social Welfare Workers, tooth 
 brushes have been firmly established in many homes 
 of the People without, thus far, producing a revo- 
 lutionary spirit of unrest. You are over-apprehen- 
 sive, my good man!" 
 
 "All right go to it if you think it's safe," John 
 yielded them right of way in his schoolroom. "It 
 anyhow gives you city ladies something to put in 
 your time at." 
 
 [461
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 On their second visit, three weeks later, to in- 
 vestigate Hessville's progress toward Good Citizen- 
 ship, they found the results of their campaign rather 
 discouraging. 
 
 "I didn't have no need to buy no tooth brush 
 Pop had one I could use." 
 
 "Mom says it's too much trouble it's every day 
 all of us hollerin' at oncet, 'Mom, where's the tooth 
 brush at?'" 
 
 "My Pop says he has tired of hearin' us scrappin* 
 over whose turn it is to use the tooth brush ! " 
 
 The domestic tranquillity of Hessville had been 
 threatened by tooth brushes. 
 
 The Welfare Workers did not, however, stop at 
 tooth brushes. Observing that the schoolmaster's 
 assistant teacher wore the plain garb of her New 
 Mennonite faith, they became greatly agitated lest 
 the embryo citizens in the Hessville school become 
 religiously corrupted. 
 
 They appealed to the school board. 
 
 "If you allow a teacher wearing the Mennonite 
 garb to teach your children and subtly insinuate her 
 Mennonite doctrines into the young budding minds 
 of Hessville, how can you consistently forbid a 
 Roman Catholic sister, for instance, to become one of 
 your teachers?" 
 
 "You mean such a Romish lady brought up in 
 Poppery?" demanded a school director in consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 The result was the passing of the Garb Law. No 
 [47]
 
 one wearing a religious garb could teach in Hess- 
 ville. 
 
 It was a two-fold tragedy to Minnie Maus to lose 
 her place as John Wimmer's assistant. It left her and 
 her family without any income; and it robbed her 
 of the ecstasy of daily association with the school- 
 master. 
 
 Henry was the one to feel it most deeply. The 
 Doctor never worried about the wherewithal to live 
 and Minnie was used to doing without things she 
 wanted. But Henry liked good meals, good clothes, 
 and pocket money. He was in despair. 
 
 "Why don't you cut it out them ugly Mennonite 
 clo'es you wear? What good does your darned old 
 religion do you anyhow?" he reasoned with her. 
 "It would be a deal more Christian fur you to keep 
 your good job fur the sake of your fambly!" 
 
 "Is your Mennonite faith such a wital matter to 
 you, Minnie," John asked her, "that you can't give 
 up your garb and keep your place in my school? I 
 hate to think of another assistant in your place. I'm 
 so used to you. And I like your ways with the little 
 scholars. I don't know how I'll stand it if I get some- 
 one in my school that hollers at the children or 
 wants to administer corporal punishment." 
 
 John's phraseology was sometimes pedagogic. 
 Minnie greatly admired his lapses into the stilted 
 speech which was the evidence to her of his superior 
 education. 
 
 "I can't give up my faith for lucre, John," she 
 [481
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 replied, her white, scared face touching his sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 "Then what will you do, Minnie?" 
 
 "I'll try sewing. I'm a pretty good seamster. 
 But but I'll miss seeing you every day!" she said 
 brokenly. 
 
 "You're like a dear little sister to me!" he returned 
 kindly. "I certainly will miss you at school, 
 Minnie!" 
 
 It was after the loss of Minnie's position that 
 Doctor Maus's unprofitable patients were, more than 
 ever, an irritation to Henry. Whenever he en- 
 countered them about his home he treated them 
 with brutal incivility. But this did not, unfortu- 
 nately, move them to give more generous fees for the 
 healer's services; it only served, in most cases, to 
 drive them away in high indignation. 
 
 There was the case of the girl seventeen years old, 
 weighing two hundred pounds, bearing the Christian 
 name of "Birdie," whose grandfather brought her 
 from Fokendauqua, twenty miles distant, to ask the 
 doctor whether fat could be reduced in answer to 
 prayer. Henry, passing through "the front room" 
 during his father's interview with Miss Birdie 
 Medenwald and her grandfather, spoke in rudely. 
 
 "I'll tell you how you kin reduce give my pop 
 what you spend on feedin* your face to stuff your 
 stom-meek! That's the best purscription fur you, 
 Side-Show!" 
 
 "I'm sorry to say," the doctor sorrowfully com-
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 mented as his son flung himself out of the room, 
 "that our Penny's an t/n-believer. Don't you pay 
 no attention to him. We know that all things is 
 possible to him that believeth. If you will pray with 
 me and ast God to reduce your flesh forty-five 
 pounds at a time and believe that He kin, it will be 
 did." 
 
 "I purfur that method to takin* Anti-Fat," said 
 the grandfather, "fur that there Anti-Fat comes 
 wery high by the quart bottle." 
 
 "And prayin' don't cost you nothing," agreed the 
 doctor. "'Salwation's free, that just suits me/ as 
 the poet says." 
 
 "That ain't what your son seems to think," Mr. 
 Medenwald remarked suspiciously. 
 
 "Yes, well, my son he's a little keen on the penny, 
 that way. Don't pay no attention to him." 
 
 "So many of my family have died off fur me from 
 takin' that there Anti-Fat," said Mr. Medenwald; 
 "my brother was carried out, my two sisters was 
 carried out, and last month my wife went out, too." 
 
 "Yes, I know," replied the doctor sympathetically, 
 "they have died off pretty well your fambly. 
 Lack of faith in prayer," he diagnosed conclusively. 
 
 "We seen a lot of trouble a'ready!" sighed Birdie. 
 
 "Och, yes," responded the sympathetic doctor, 
 " and ain't trouble an unpleasant thing! " 
 
 "Yes, ain't!" agreed Birdie. "But," she added 
 piously, "if it has to be, then so it has to be. It is as 
 it is." 
 
 [501
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Did your parents die off, too, Birdie?" the 
 doctor inquired conversationally. 
 
 "Yes, my parents don't none of them live. So I 
 housekeep fur Gran'pop." 
 
 "Then you ain't married?" 
 
 "No, I got my right name yet." 
 
 "Now, will you tell me," pursued the doctor, 
 taking from his breast-pocket a professional looking 
 tablet and a pencil, "what is your initial?" 
 
 "I ain't got none," responded Birdie. 
 
 "Ain't you got no Christian name?" 
 
 "Yes. Birdie." 
 
 "B," repeated the doctor, writing it down. 
 
 "Didn't you know what your initial meant, 
 Birdie?" asked her grandfather reproachfully. 
 
 "Was your ancestry so fleshy, too, like yous all?" 
 inquired the doctor to cover Birdie's ignorance. 
 
 "Whether my ancestry was fleshy?" repeated 
 Birdie. "Och, I don't know right. They never 
 bothered me any my ancestry." 
 
 "They was from Out," explained her grandfather 
 with a backward twirl of his thumb to indicate 
 Europe usually referred to by the Pennsylvania 
 Dutch as "Out." 
 
 "Don't yous have sich a fambly history traced?" 
 inquired the doctor of Mr. Medenwald. 
 
 "I believe there was one traced, prior to my 
 great grandparents' &dwent to America. But that 
 I can't relate you. If Missus had stayed living she 
 could better relate you that about our ancestry. I 
 
 [511
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 did hear a'ready that three Medenwald come over 
 from Out in 1725. Not so, Birdie?" he appealed to 
 his granddaughter. 
 
 "You can't prove it by me, Gran'pop." 
 
 "Och, well," the doctor reassured them, "it makes 
 nothing your ancestry. Faith in God is what 
 makes. That's what will reduce your fleshiness, 
 Birdie." 
 
 "Birdie she's got it so in her nerves," said Mr. 
 Medenwald. "Her nerves is wonderful! And I had 
 afraid to buy her any of that there Anti-Fat; so I 
 sayed, 'We'll try Doc Maus oncet it's cheaper,' I 
 sayed." 
 
 "And safer," added the doctor. 
 
 "And thinks I to myself," continued Mr. Meden- 
 wald, "if the Doc kin pray off Birdie's fat oncet, I'll 
 leave him have a try at my eyes. My eyes ain't so 
 good this while back; and I'm only seventy-four 
 goin' on seventy-five. My Missus she had so 
 young glasses, too. Her and me we was almost alike 
 old both seventy-four. This right eye is darker'n 
 what this here left eye is. You're so cloudy, Doc, 
 through this here right eye, I can't har'ly see 
 you." 
 
 " Christ kin restore sight to-day the same as in the 
 bygone ancient times in the past when He was on 
 earth," the doctor affirmed. 
 
 "Yes, I heerd a'ready, Doc, you made wonderful 
 cures." 
 
 "Not me, but Christ through me.'* 
 [521
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I heerd you helped simple Sally Diffendeffer so 
 good her that wasn't quite sharp. I heerd you 
 prayed her near as sensible as other ones." 
 
 "Yes yes prais-ed be God!" exclaimed the 
 doctor fervently. 
 
 "And now that we are got our Ford it is wery 
 conwenient fur us to come over here," added Mr. 
 Medenwald. 
 
 "Yes," nodded the doctor, "and I always think 
 when it's more conwenient it's so much handier." 
 
 "Yes, ain't!" Birdie heartily assented. 
 
 "It's twenty mile from Hessville to Fokendauqua 
 and we made it in an hour and a hah*," said Mr. 
 Medenwald boastfully, "with our Ford." 
 
 " Whew ! " exclaimed the doctor. 
 
 "Yes, ain't!" cried Mr. Medenwald. 
 
 "What's the population, now, of Fokendauqua?'* 
 inquired the doctor sociably. 
 
 "It ain't got none," said Mr. Medenwald. 
 
 "It must be a lonesome place," said the doctor 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes, I do often have lonesome," Birdie com- 
 plained. "And I guess that makes something, too, 
 at the fat; ain't?" 
 
 "Prayer with faith can remove mountains," 
 returned the doctor encouragingly. "What do you 
 eat mostly, Birdie?" 
 
 "Och, I eat most anything." 
 
 "Fried sauer-kraut, mebby, sometimes?" 
 
 "Whether I eat fried sauer-kraut? Well, I kin eat it, 
 [531
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 but I never get hungry fur it. I have preference to 
 fried pumpkin." 
 
 "She favours potatoes, too. She's wery partial to 
 smashed potatoes with butter and milk at," said her 
 grandfather. "But our potato crop this year give so 
 many potato bugs!" 
 
 "Yes there ain't no race suicide among potato 
 bugs ain't?" smiled the doctor. 
 
 "Well, I guess anyhow not ! " cried Mr. Medenwald 
 with a loud laugh. " Some joker you are, Doc, ain't? " 
 
 "Och, yes, I'm always crackin' jokes. Why, I 
 even crack the Bible in jokes yet to my patients! 
 It makes an m-delible impression!" 
 
 "Yes, I guess! Well, now, Doc," Mr. Medenwald 
 concluded, rising, "I got to git back home till before 
 dark a'ready, so I guess we better git busy at the 
 prayin' . Does it take long the prayin' ? " 
 
 "No I'll make it a short and snappy prayer,'* 
 said the doctor obligingly. "You must remember 
 now, Birdie, that God will help you get rid of your 
 fat only if you believe that He ain't stingy." 
 
 "I know He ain't been stingy to me about givin* 
 me flesh a-plenty," said Birdie, her tone not notice- 
 ably grateful for God's generosity in this respect. 
 
 "Another thing," added the doctor, "if at first you 
 seem to be taking on more flesh three or four 
 pounds or so you kin know it's only a trick of 
 Satan to weaken your faith. You persewere in 
 prayer and faith and you'll git a wery neat figger till 
 a little while a'ready." 
 
 [54]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Must we come often over, or kin we do the 
 pray in' at home? " asked the grandfather. 
 
 "If it don't suit you always to come, leave Birdie 
 send me her undershirt over and I magnetize that 
 undershirt in the name of the Lord Jesus and then 
 I send it back to her and she puts it on and her flesh 
 reduces." 
 
 "But I like the ride over," said Birdie rebelliously. 
 "Our Ford autymobile makes so quick twenty 
 mile in a hour and a half yet! Yi, yi, but she runs! 
 Yes, I like to come. Fokendauqua is so lonesome, 
 still, and so slow. It has more lively here in Hess- 
 wille." 
 
 "Does your son often come round sassin* your 
 patients like what he done to-day?" asked Mr. 
 Medenwald warily. 
 
 "Sometimes he comes often," the doctor sadly 
 admitted. 
 
 "Then, Birdie, you better send your undershirt 
 over and try what it will make." 
 
 "Look-a-here, yous!" Henry suddenly burst into 
 the room from the kitchen where he had been eaves- 
 dropping, "if yous want this here heavyweight to git 
 thin, yous'll pay fur it! or she'll stay fat! I make 
 you a bargain fur every ten pound she reduces, the 
 Doc gits a dollar. Ten cents a pound. And if you 
 don't pay up, the ten pounds is prayed back onto her 
 agin." 
 
 "No, Henny, no," gently protested his father, 
 "you can't drive bargains with God. If them that 
 
 [55]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 I help chooses to help me a little, all right. But I 
 make no bargain." 
 
 "You shut up, I'm managin' this here!" growled 
 Henry angrily. "If you'd leave me go I'd make 
 money fur you out of your darned healin'! But no, 
 you'd sooner see us all starve!" 
 
 " It's awful honourable to be poor, Henny though 
 I admit it's certainly onconwenient. But I can't 
 consent to sell God's power." 
 
 Henry turned upon the Medenwalds. "If yous 
 ain't willin' to pay us what you'd pay a real doctor, 
 then yous keep off of here! or I'll smash your tin 
 Lizzie fur you!" 
 
 Of course that was the last the Maus household 
 saw of the fat girl. 
 
 Another case that greatly excited Henry's ire was 
 that of the man who came to the doctor to be cured 
 of "Barber's Itch." "When after four days of 
 agonized prayer the "Itch" grew steadily worse, the 
 man became discouraged; but not so Doctor Maus. 
 
 "This is Satan's work, your gettin' worse. It 
 seems to make him wery angry that you trust in 
 God to heal you. But you persewere and Jesus will 
 give you the wictory." 
 
 After a few days more when, naturally and in- 
 evitably, the trouble began to disappear, the patient's 
 profuse thanks and voluble praise of the doctor's 
 occult powers added fuel to the flame of Henry's 
 anger. 
 
 "Why don't you prove it that you're thankful and 
 [56]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 that you think pop's prayin' done it took your 
 damned Itch off? Prove it! You keep sayin' and 
 talkin' and it ain't nothing to it." 
 
 "The proof is here in my body, praised be Gawd!" 
 exclaimed the grateful patient fervently. 
 
 But under threat of "a licking" Henry held him 
 up for a dollar, which the patient paid very grudg- 
 ingly and indignantly. Needless to say the dollar 
 was pocketed by Henry, not by his father. 
 
 The bald-headed man, eighty years of age, whose 
 hair was made to grow through the power of prayer 
 really did grow a little, for some reason was another 
 victim of Henry's greed. The aged bald one had to 
 pay as much as a bottle of Hair Restorer would have 
 cost. 
 
 Then there was the stylish woman from the city 
 who, having heard of the doctor's cures, came all the 
 way out to Hessville for treatment. 
 
 "But leave me warn you right now before we 
 begin," she said as soon as she found herself alone 
 with the doctor, shaking her finger at him playfully, 
 " don't you try to get fresh with me, old man! 
 There's them that wants to say you get awful fresh 
 with your lady patients. But leave me tell you I'm 
 a married woman and won't stand fur no foolin'. 
 Do you understand?" 
 
 "I understand you to mean," said the doctor with 
 dignity, "that one husband is enough fur you. And 
 wery right and proper that is. You're a perfect 
 lady!" 
 
 [571
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Och, Pop, you're dumb!" interrupted Henry, 
 bolting forward from behind the door where he had 
 been listening. "Don't you see she's askin* you to 
 flirt with her? That's what she come out here fur! 
 Say, you high-flyer," he addressed the woman, "the 
 old man ain't the old devil you take him fur! But 
 if I'll do heh?" 
 
 "Sayf Ain't you the fresh guy though! you 
 young whipper-snapper!" exclaimed the "perfect 
 lady," her tone indignant, but her eyes dancing with 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "Meet me up at the Square when you're done 
 prayin'/" suggested Henry. "Will you? " 
 
 "I ain't promisin' nothing," retorted the lady 
 virtuously. 
 
 "I'll be there waitin' fur you; hurry through with 
 your prayin'," said Henry as he left her alone with 
 his father. 
 
 "My son's a little too playful, I'm afraid," said the 
 doctor apologetically. 
 
 "Och, him!" the lady said with a toss of her head. 
 "Come on let's get busy." 
 
 She proceeded, with the doctor's help, to put in a 
 half hour "at the throne of grace," praying for the 
 speedy and painless removal of a goiter, a wart and a 
 corn. 
 
 The news of the activities and interferences of the 
 doctor's son spread far and wide and had the effect 
 of greatly reducing his patronage. 
 
 Some few of his grateful patients, however, to- 
 [58J
 
 gether with some of the school directors who felt sorry 
 to have been obliged to discharge Minnie, bestirred 
 themselves to help the family by securing work for 
 Henry a form of "help" not greatly appreciated by 
 that young man. He was offered the government 
 job of rural postman at $900 a year. 
 
 Henry did not want it. Minnie was sure he would 
 not accept it. He did grumble and demur a good 
 deal; but even he could not face the scorn which he 
 knew the village would vent upon him if he "turned 
 down" the very good position which had with much 
 effort been procured for him. Also, the meals at 
 home were becoming very meagre and his clothes 
 were getting too shabby to "keep company" with 
 Irene Laub. This job would actually give him a 
 fighting chance to win Irene permanently from 
 John Wimmer. Then, too, the work would not be 
 very hard. It involved driving the motor .mail- 
 truck between Lancaster and Hessville and Henry 
 thought that he would like that in good weather. Of 
 course it would be "fierce" to get up early every 
 morning; and the labour of keeping the truck in 
 order was truly formidable. 
 
 Deciding, however, to worry through with as little 
 real work as possible, he .accepted the place; and in 
 that self-same hour he borrowed money on his 
 prospects to the .amount of his first month's salary 
 and went to town to fit himself out gorgeously in new 
 apparel. 
 
 Hessville felt relieved for Minnie and her helpless
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 father; but these two most concerned did not re- 
 joice. The doctor remained indifferent as to the 
 source of his food and clothing; and to Minnie, the 
 prospect of their being dependent upon Henry seemed 
 rather appalling. 
 
 60]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 JOHN WIMMER kept up his little farce with 
 Minnie longer than he had intended to do, 
 partly because, at the idea of ceasing his visits to 
 her he had such a queer sense of loss; but more 
 particularly because Irene made no sign to him of 
 regret for her behaviour on circus day. 
 
 He soon decided, however, that he must bring the 
 thing to an end. 
 
 "Even if she is too spunky to apologize, she anyhow 
 knows by this time that I ain't to be trifled with." 
 
 At the happy prospect of their reconciliation his 
 heart throbbed, his nerves tingled with an excite- 
 ment and an ecstasy such as his quiet friendship with 
 Minnie had never afforded him. 
 
 He determined to break the ice between himself 
 and his beloved immediately after the County Fair. 
 He had invited Minnie to accompany him to the 
 County Fair to divert her a little from her grief over 
 the loss of her school. He was strangely and quite 
 reprehensibly heedless of the fact that in the etiquette 
 of Hessville taking a girl to the County Fair was 
 tantamount to a proposal of marriage. It cost 
 money to go to the Fair, with its lemonade stands, 
 ice cream cones, side shows and what-not; and it was 
 
 161]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 understood that a man did not invest money in 
 giving a girl treats unless he expected to get some- 
 thing for it. So absorbed was John in his own 
 devastating passion that it never occurred to him to 
 be apprehensive of the effect, not only upon Minnie, 
 but upon Irene as well, of his taking his little Men- 
 nonite friend to the Fair. 
 
 The moment Henry learned that his sister was going 
 to the County Fair with John, he determined to invite 
 Irene to go with him. In spite of his recent intimacy 
 with the girl, he would never have dared such a 
 presumption as to ask her to avow thus publicly 
 her friendliness for him had it not been for his recent 
 acquisition of a lucrative job. But this dazzling job, 
 together with the resentment Irene must certainly 
 feel at John's going so far as to invite Minnie to ac- 
 company him to the Fair, must surely, Henry felt, 
 insure his success. 
 
 Irene, meantime, had been reckoning confidently 
 upon John's "coming round" on the eve of the Fair. 
 She could not imagine his being willing to attend that 
 great social function with any one but herself. 
 That his attentions to Minnie were serious she had 
 never for a moment believed. She had been, how- 
 ever, more and more surprised at his ability to "keep 
 it up" this "stunt" of his to excite her jealousy. 
 
 "Gee, but won't he have to pay for the way he's 
 been treatin' me!" she chafed furiously from time to 
 time. " Mebby he won't have to work to get me back 
 
 again! 
 
 [621
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She determined to "fool him good" about the 
 County Fair she would tell him, when he invited 
 her, that she had "promised another fellah." 
 
 **I sure will keep him guessin' a while!" she 
 chuckled in pleasant anticipation. 
 
 But of course she would in the end, after having 
 had her fun out of "tormenting" him, give in and go 
 with him. 
 
 John, on his side, was entirely unsuspicious of the 
 three-fold effect of his innocent invitation to Minnie 
 the fuel it added to the flame of Henry Maus's 
 ambitions; the resentful despair it brought to Irene; 
 the mingled bliss and terror with which it flooded the 
 heart of Minnie, who now for the first time felt sure 
 that John meant it "for really." 
 
 Of all the cruel difficulties of Minnie's young life 
 that which now confronted her was certainly the 
 worst. It had come to this would she abandon her 
 Mennonite religion or would she give up the man 
 whom she worshipped far more (she guiltily realized) 
 than she worshipped her austere and rather unlov- 
 able Mennonite God, to whom, for the past three 
 years, she had given her undivided allegiance. For 
 she could not marry "out of Meeting" and be 
 retained in its membership. Of course John would 
 not turn Mennonite not for any girl in all the 
 world. Of that she was sure. The obvious deduc- 
 tion then was that he was confidently expecting her to 
 give up her faith for her love. 
 
 "But I think it's queer that he does for he would 
 [63]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 never go back on his conscience for the sake of his 
 happiness," she reflected, "and it's a wonder he'd 
 respect me for doing it, strict as he is about right and 
 wrong. Strict with himself anyhow." 
 
 She wondered why he had taken the decisive step 
 of asking her to go to the Fair before he had made 
 sure that she would abandon the Mennonites to 
 marry him. 
 
 "I wouldn't give up my religion for anything else 
 in all the world not for to keep my school, not for 
 mere money. But I'd give my soul yes, my im- 
 mortal soul! for one kiss from John Winimer!" she 
 hotly told herself. 
 
 After all, Satan, "the Enemy of the soul," had a 
 rather easy victory in his struggle with her. It 
 seemed to Minnie that an eternity in hell was a 
 cheap price to pay for a lifetime with John. The 
 victory for the Enemy was made easier from the 
 doubts in her heart of their being really any wicked- 
 ness in her yielding to the great love which possessed 
 her. Deep down in her soul was a blind sense that 
 this love was a holy thing; greater and more religious 
 than that cramping, stultifying creed she called 
 "religion." 
 
 Her spiritual struggle with her powerful Protag- 
 onist finally focussed itself upon the temptation to 
 " dress fancy" for the Fair. John would surely have 
 "a shamed face" to go into the city and about the 
 Fair grounds with her in her plain black frock and 
 hood, he himself being such a "stylish dresser." 
 
 [641
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She had no money to buy new clothes. There was 
 not the least use in appealing to Henry to give her any 
 money, since he had already spent in advance a full 
 month's pay. 
 
 She suddenly remembered, with a thrill of joy that 
 astonished and shocked herself, a certain old leather 
 trunk in the loft under the roof. It contained a 
 robin's egg blue dimity frock which she had made for 
 herself three years ago, just before her conversion had 
 made her "turn plain." She had never worn that 
 frock. It would of course be all out of style now, and 
 as her figure had become taller and fuller it would not 
 fit. But if she worked hard at it she could make it 
 over in time for the Fair. What she should do for a 
 hat she did not know. Maybe she could make a 
 "toque" out of the patches of blue dimity that were 
 left. 
 
 "If it will please John to see me dressed all in blue 
 for the Fair, I might as well leave Meeting now as 
 later," she reasoned. 
 
 So, on the momentous day of the Fair, when John 
 called in his buggy to take her to town, his amaze- 
 ment, not to say consternation, upon finding the 
 demure, drab little Puritan of his acquaintance so 
 transformed that he scarcely recognized her; clad in 
 radiant blue, her sombre hood replaced by a jaunty 
 "toque" perched upon wavy locks gave him a 
 shock that nearly knocked him down. 
 
 In the moment of realizing that it was actually 
 Minnie who stood before him in the shabby front 
 
 [65]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 room of the dilapidated Maus home, his heart sank 
 to his feet. The Minnie dear to him was the quaint, 
 serious Mennonite, not this gay, smiling, pretty girl 
 who might be anybody at all, a swell department 
 store clerk, a restaurant waitress, or even a city 
 school teacher it was not his unique little friend and 
 confidante. 
 
 His second thought, however, was that now she 
 could return to his school; and at that he smiled back 
 into the dark eyes which, lifted to his, pleaded so 
 eloquently that he should be pleased with her. 
 
 "Well, well, Minnie, now you can come to school," 
 lie exclaimed as he took her hand. "I'm glad! I 
 can't tell you how glad I am for that ! " 
 
 "Why, no, John, I can't. The school board can't 
 put the new teacher out now any more," Minnie 
 reminded him. 
 
 She took no alarm from the significant suggestion 
 that she might once more work for her living. He 
 could mean that she might now earn her wedding 
 clothes and her aus dire (the household furnishings 
 which every Pennsylvania Dutch bride contributed 
 to her new home) . 
 
 "That's so, too," he said, looking disappointed. 
 "I didn't think so far for a minute. But if your 
 fancy clothes don't give me back my little assistant, 
 I'm sorry you don't dress plain. I prefer you the 
 way I've always known you the way I've learned 
 to like you so well." 
 
 Minnie's eyes shone with soft fire. But she did 
 [661
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 not answer. Breathlessly she hung upon his words, 
 afraid to stir lest she check the precious sound of his 
 voice that told her how he had "learned to like" her 
 "so well." The most ardent love language could not 
 have said more to her. 
 
 "What made you do this, then, Minnie?" he 
 asked, puzzled. " Has your faith got weak? " 
 
 "Oh, John, I didn't want you to have ashamed to 
 take me to town in my Mennonite clothes." 
 
 "But I wouldn't have! When did you ever know 
 me to care what other ones think or say, Minnie, so 
 long as I know I'm right?" 
 
 "Yes, I know how independent you are, John!" 
 she responded, gazing at him with proud admiration. 
 "But maybe I'm not so independent for you. I 
 didn't want you to have cause to feel ashamed of me." 
 
 "But you surely wouldn't near do a thing like that, 
 Minnie! give up your religion to save me a shamed 
 face for your clothes!" 
 
 "Yes I would!" she half whispered, her delicate 
 face flushing. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for 
 you! I would go to hell for you!" she solemnly 
 affirmed. 
 
 The look in her eyes, the heaving of her bosom, the 
 thrill in her tones, suddenly drove every drop of 
 colour from John's face. In a flash he saw what had 
 happened; what he, unwittingly and most unthink- 
 ingly, had brought about. Strong man that he was, 
 his knees shook under him. For the strongest thing 
 about him was the great kindness of his heart. He 
 
 [67]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 stood confronted with the fact that he had deliber- 
 ately gone to work and made a sweet, good girl fall 
 in love with him, when with every drop of his blood, 
 every throb of his brain and heart, he loved an- 
 other woman. It was all his fault, Minnie had 
 never crooked a finger to win him. She had never 
 even uttered one word of criticism against Irene, a 
 thing almost no other girl in her place would have 
 refrained from doing. She loved him! Never had 
 he thought of such a possibility ! How could he have 
 been so heedless, so thoughtless, so self-absorbed, so 
 brutally selfish! Why, oh why, had he not foreseen 
 the chance of a thing like this happening? 
 
 The look of adoration, of perfect faith, in Minnie's 
 eyes upraised to his, smote him like a lash. That she 
 would give up her religion for him! when never for 
 an instant had she wavered in her loyalty to her 
 creed to keep the work she loved in his school and to 
 save her own livelihood ! 
 
 "Yes, John," he heard, through the tumult in his 
 brain, her soft voice speaking, "that is just the way 
 I feel!" 
 
 The next thing he knew (he never understood just 
 how it had come about) the pathetic little homemade 
 blue toque was resting against his coat and she was 
 clinging to him, wildly, passionately! "Oh, John, it 
 can't be displeasing to God such a wonderful thing 
 as our love! Not if God is good! For our love is 
 good and great so much greater than anything I 
 ever found in my religion! I have done what you 
 
 [68]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 once told me everyone ought to do I have let my 
 heart speak to me and teach me and I have 'followed 
 it fearlessly/ no matter where it would lead me to. 
 It leads me here into your arms, John!" 
 
 It was in such a moment as this that he, in his 
 agony, thought how blessed would be such words 
 as these spoken by the girl he loved! though 
 Irene, he knew, was incapable of thinking, feeling, or 
 speaking such words. Yet she was the girl he loved 
 and this girl he did not love. 
 
 He began to appear to himself an outrageous 
 villain for lo! he was still betrothed to Irene! they 
 had not broken their engagement. Decent people 
 among the Pennsylvania Dutch did not break their 
 plighted troth. 
 
 What in the name of all that was honourable, of all 
 that was pitiful, was he to do? Tell Minnie that she 
 had misunderstood his attentions and that he did 
 not love her? and see the light of her eyes die out, 
 her radiance blighted, her heart (offered to him in 
 such richness and profusion!) flung broken at his 
 feet! 
 
 How could he do it? He felt her soft body 
 clinging to him, while his arm rested limply about her 
 waist. He tried to speak, to respond to her burning 
 words. But his voice would not come to him. 
 
 If only he could gain time; could get away alone to 
 think it all out; could rush to Irene and have it out 
 with her and ask her to help him! (He could hear 
 her mockery at his awful predicament!) 
 
 [69]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Minnie, dear this came to me so suddenly, 
 j 
 
 His voice broke and faltered. He did not know 
 what to say to her. 
 
 "Yes," she brightly nodded, "I knew how sur- 
 prised you'd be to find me not dressed plain any 
 more. But I couldn't wait! It's me that has 
 spoken first, John, ain't? I said Yes before you even 
 asked me to, didn't I?" She laughed joyously, her 
 face really beautiful, John thought, in the light of her 
 great happiness. "Until you inwited me to go to the 
 Fair, I wasn't sure you meant it for really Henny 
 always said you didn't and I wouldn't leave myself 
 think you did for all, I couldn't help knowing wery 
 often that you must mean it I couldn't help seeing 
 how congenial we are together so much more than 
 you and Irene could ever have been and I knew you 
 must feel it, too how nice we agree together and how 
 much that goes to make happiness and peace in 
 married life. Oh, John, won't we have happiness 
 together? Think of it! all our lives together! 
 John! If I knew I was going to die the wery week 
 after we were married and that I'd be damned in hell 
 for all the rest of eternity for giving up Meeting I'd 
 take that one week with you!" 
 
 Her face wore a religious solemnity that made him 
 feel his situation to be perfectly hopeless. A cold 
 terror gripped him lest he yield to his compassion and, 
 committing himself to her irrevocably, forever blot 
 out of his life the sun in the heavens. For that's 
 
 [70]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 what losing Irene would mean to him eternal 
 darkness. 
 
 Suddenly he staggered, put his hand to his head, 
 recovered himself and gently put Minnie from his 
 arms. He was as white as death. 
 
 "I'm sick, Minnie this -came to me*so unexpected 
 I got to go home we can't go to the Fair I'll see 
 you later I got such a headache I'll have to get 
 home I'll come again as soon as I otherwise can and 
 explain to you I hope you don't mind not going to 
 the Fair? Are you wery disappointed? I'm sorry! 
 But I'll make it up to .you " 
 
 He never remembered just how he got away 
 followed out to his buggy by her solicitous tenderness. 
 He had the comfort of realizing, as he drove blindly 
 out to his father's farm, that there had been no sign 
 in her sweet young face of any least suspicion of the 
 truth. She did not know poor, poor girl! how 
 tragically mistaken she was in him! She was 
 worried, of course, and sympathetic for his headache 
 but this slight shadow could not obscure the 
 dazzling brightness of her soul which shone out upon 
 him as he left her, went with him on his frenzied way 
 and stayed with him through all the hours of the day 
 and night that followed. 
 
 A telephone inquiry to the General Store as to 
 whether he could talk with Irene brought him the 
 information that she had gone to the Fair with 
 Henry Maus. 
 
 And now for the first time John realized the 
 [71]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 possibility of something having happened in that 
 quarter, as disastrous as that which had occurred 
 between him and Minnie. What a blind fool he had 
 been to have risked his own happiness and that of two 
 innocent maidens for a purpose which now seemed to 
 him elusive, quixotic, senseless! He saw that Henry 
 Maus as mail carrier with a salary of $900 a year 
 was a rival not to be flouted. He did not, however, 
 feel so helpless, so altogether at a loss, before this 
 side of his difficulty (he could deal with Henry Mans) 
 as before the tragedy of Minnie's great love for him 
 a love awakened and encouraged only by his own 
 actions and therefore involving him in a responsi- 
 bility of which he must, perforce, take full account. 
 From this Tiorn of his dilemma he could see no way of 
 escape whatever. 
 
 [72]
 
 JOHN'S steadfastness in having remained away 
 from Irene ever since her bad treatment of him 
 on circus day had given her so convincing a 
 demonstration of the fact that she could not do as 
 she liked with him, had so transformed her mental 
 image of him, had so inspired in her a respect for him 
 such as had never been called forth by those finer 
 qualities of his which others seemed so highly to 
 esteem, that as Fair day drew near, on which oc- 
 casion she was confident he would return to her, a 
 most unwonted sense of awe and constraint at the 
 prospect of a renewal of her association with him 
 was her dominant feeling and this in spite of the 
 fact that she had vowed to herself and to others that 
 when he did "come crawling back'* to her, she would 
 "make it hot for him"! 
 
 Therefore, when Henry Maus breathlessly came to 
 her with the significant news that John was going to 
 take Minnie to the Fair, it was her pride, not her 
 heart, that suffered. And even her very angry 
 resentment was somewhat modified by the sense of 
 relief in the back of her consciousness. 
 
 Yet she burned for vengeance, and when Henry 
 boldly asserted that now he intended to be her escort 
 
 [73]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 to the Fair, she brushed aside her doubts as to the 
 propriety of going with such as he and consented at 
 once. She really much preferred Henry's company 
 to John's anyway. She was also not unmindful of 
 the fact that since he had become the mail carrier of 
 the district, some of her girl friends were showing a 
 marked interest in him. 
 
 But her enjoyment of the excursion to the Fair was 
 much marred by her inability to put aside the 
 persistent speculation which haunted her as to what 
 was the secret of Minnie's hold upon John. Such a 
 quiet, timid little thing wherein lay her power? a 
 power strong enough to keep John Wimmer from her 
 side! 
 
 During every minute in the Fair grounds her eyes 
 roamed far and wide for a glimpse of the hated pair 
 oh, how she hated them both! She wanted to see for 
 herself what it was that Minnie Maus possessed 
 which she did not have. 
 
 "To think of John Wimmer coming to the Fair 
 with a Mennonite!" she said to Henry derisively, as 
 they strolled about among prize cows, chickens, pigs, 
 and other farm products. "A body'd think he'd be 
 too proud!" 
 
 Henry was having a hard time repressing his 
 irritation at her inattention toward himself, and her 
 too evident interest in catching a sight of John 
 Wimmer. To be spending his own good money on a 
 girl who showed more interest in another "fellah" 
 was rather hard to bear. 
 
 [74]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Wait till I'm married to her oncet!" he fiercely 
 told himself. "She'll pay attention to me then, you 
 bet! or I'll learn her!" 
 
 Fortunately for Irene's prospective fate, she was 
 much more capable of protecting herself against the 
 brute tyranny of such as Henry than ever she would 
 be to cope with the moral ascendency of a man like 
 John as the future was clearly to prove. 
 
 "John Wimmer ain't comin' to the Fair with no 
 Mennonite" Henry replied to her disparaging 
 reference to his sister. 
 
 "Hen Maus!" Irene stopped short in the tan -bark 
 path they were traversing and clutched Henry's 
 thick arm. "Did you up and trick me into comin' 
 here with you by lyin' to me?" 
 
 "No, I didn't. And I ain't lyin' to you now. I 
 sayed John Wimmer ain't comin' here with no 
 Mennonite. That's what I sayed. And he ain't, 
 neither." 
 
 "You sayed he was comin' with your sister Minnie. 
 She's a Mennonite, ain't she?" 
 
 "She was yistiddy. To-day she ain't." 
 
 "What!" gasped Irene, turning white. "You 
 don't mean to tell me she's fell back?" 
 
 "That's what. She's fell back in a lot of ways 
 she reads books that the Meetin' don't leave the 
 members read sich novels, mind you John Wim- 
 mer leaves her borrow the loan of 'em off of him; and 
 she goes buggy-ridin' Sundays you seen that your- 
 self; the Brethren has warned her they'd have her up 
 
 [75]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 fur discipline if she fell back agin and now here to- 
 day didn't she tog herself all up in worldly clo'es a 
 blue frock with sich a blue top-knot that she calls a 
 toque I tol' her it looked more like a joke. Say, 
 but she looked a swell sight ! Gee, but 
 
 " Look-a-here, Hen Maus!" exclaimed Irene 
 wildly, "does your Minnie think she's a-goin' to 
 marry John Wimmer? Don't she know he's promised 
 to me a'ready? What does she think she's up to 
 anyhow? I'll learn her something if she don't 
 watch out!" 
 
 "John Wimmer won't leave no one hurt a hair of 
 her head! Not even me, her own brother yet! He 
 guards her somepin fierce!" 
 
 "And she's gave up the faith and is dressin* 
 fancy!" cried Irene, distraught. "That certainly 
 looks as if she thinks she's got him! He must have 
 tol' her he'd be willin* to marry her if she'd give up 
 Meeting ! Well, I never ! " 
 
 "Yes, ain't!" agreed Henry. 
 
 "To think he'd play me that false! I could 'sue 
 him for breach of promise ! " 
 
 "Aw, leave him go! He ain't the only rose on the 
 bush!" 
 
 "Do you know if Minnie's promised to him or if 
 she ain't?" Irene demanded. 
 
 "Well, it certainly looks like it, don't it? his 
 fetchin* her here to the Fair and her dressin' fancy?" 
 
 "I don't see 'em here nowheres," said Irene suspi- 
 ciously. "Hen Maus, if I find you've fooled me!" 
 
 [76]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "You'll see 'em all right if you keep on rubber- 
 neckin* the way you've been doin' all afternoon!" 
 growled Henry. "A nice time I'm havin' with 
 you!" 
 
 "Och, you!" she poked him playfully. "Think 
 you ain't gettin' your money's worth, don't you! 
 Never mind, Henny! I'll make it up to you some 
 time. But my goodness! I can't think of a thing 
 this after * but them two ! " 
 
 As the afternoon waned, however, and John and 
 Minnie did not turn up, Irene grew more and more 
 suspicious of Henry's having deceived and tricked 
 her into coming to the Fair. 
 
 Henry himself was not at all interested in the non- 
 appearance of his rival and his sister and was horribly 
 bored by Irene's being so engrossed in it and so 
 tragic about it. 
 
 "Mebby they up and ee-loped, or what you call it," 
 he cruelly suggested. 
 
 "Hen Maus! You don't think John would do a 
 trick like that on me ! " 
 
 "I don't know and I don't care what John 
 Wimmer'd do! Can't we talk about something else 
 than John Wimmer ? I have sick of him ! " 
 
 "Not more'n I am!" retorted Irene spitefully. 
 " I'm a goin' to write off a letter to him just as soon as 
 I get home!" 
 
 "What do you want to go and do that fur? He'll 
 think you're runnin' after him!" protested Henry 
 
 'Afternoon. 
 
 [77]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 who lived in daily dread of her reconciliation with 
 John. 
 
 "I'll tell him what I think of him!" 
 
 "So long as you don't write no love letter to him, 
 but just sass him, all right," Henry approved. 
 
 The excursion was such a failure for them both 
 that they returned home early, Irene angrily accusing 
 Henry all the way back of having misled and de- 
 ceived her, and he insisting that he could prove it by 
 Minnie that John really had invited her. 
 
 Upon their arrival at the General Store, the 
 exciting news which her parents hastened to give 
 her both of them leaning eagerly over the counter, 
 side by side that John had telephoned and asked 
 for her. confirmed her conviction of Henry's du- 
 plicity. 
 
 "You just got me to go to the Fair along with you 
 to make John believe me and you was promised 
 a'ready!" 
 
 "I didn't neither! He did ast our Minnie!" 
 
 "He didn't! You're a big story teller! If he ast 
 her, why wasn't she there with him? And now 
 John knows from Pop that I was at the Fair with 
 you, what kin he think but that we're promised? " 
 
 "Well, what if he does think it? Why need you 
 care what a fellah thinks that likes another girl 
 better'n he likes you? Have a little spunk about 
 you!" 
 
 "I don't believe he thinks more of Minnie Maus 
 than he does of me!" Irene stubbornly stuck to her 
 
 [78]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 instinctive conviction in spite of all the signs to the 
 contrary. 
 
 "Will you believe it if Minnie tells you he ast her 
 to go with him along?" asked Henry. "You don't 
 have to believe me ast her!" 
 
 "I'd believe her sooner'n I would you, Hen 
 Maus!" 
 
 "All right then come on along up to our place and 
 ast her." 
 
 They found Minnie in the kitchen preparing a 
 frugal supper of sassafras tea, bread and molasses. 
 She still wore her blue dress, though she had carefully 
 covered it with two gingham aprons. She was 
 singing as they entered the kitchen and the radiant 
 happiness of the countenance she turned to them 
 struck them both with a shock, though in far different 
 ways; for to Irene it was a portent of her loss of 
 John; and to Henry it meant renewed hope of winning 
 the prize at his side. 
 
 "Why didn't John fetch you to the Fair along, 
 Minnie?" Henry inquired. 
 
 "We were all ready to start he came for me with 
 his buggy and then we got to talking and and 
 we didn't go to the Fair." . 
 
 She smiled upon them happily and they stared at 
 her curiously. 
 
 "Now look-a-here, Minnie, did John Wimmer ast 
 you, or are you kiddin'?" Irene demanded, still 
 incredulous. 
 
 "Kiddin'?" Minnie repeated with a puzzled little 
 [79]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 contraction of her brows that, despite the sombreness 
 of the occasion, involuntarily brought a roar of 
 laughter from Irene and Henry. 
 
 "Are you jollyin' us?" Henry explained. 
 
 "Making fun of you, do you mean? I wouldn't 
 have any reason to." 
 
 "And you say John didn't fetch you to the Fair 
 because yous was too busy talkin' together?" Irene 
 jealously probed her. 
 
 "Partly that," Minnie answered hesitatingly. 
 She did not like to discuss her sacred love with 
 Irene and Henry. Not that she feared to hurt 
 Irene. She assumed that Irene was as completely 
 alienated from John as he evidently was from her. 
 
 "What did yous have to talk about so much?" 
 Irene pressed her catechism. 
 
 "About about my dressin' fancy and all." 
 
 "What made you give up dressin' plain?" Irene 
 darkly demanded. 
 
 "Supper's soon made," was Minnie's irrelevant 
 reply. "Will you stay and eat along, Irene? We 
 ain't got much but you're welcome." 
 
 "I got to go home. We're havin* chicken and 
 waffles," Irene cruelly added, with a disparaging 
 glance at the table set with bread and molasses. 
 
 "Gosh!" cried Henry, smacking his lips, "I'd like 
 to board at your place ! " 
 
 "Yes, I guess anyhow you would!" retorted Irene, 
 slapping at him jocularly. "Say, Minnie, you're 
 awful stuck on John; ain't you are?" 
 
 [80]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie, colouring, turned away to inspect her tea 
 on the stove and again Irene and Henry laughed 
 uproariously. 
 
 "Mind her blushin' yet!" yelled Irene. "Well, 
 say, Minnie, you're welcome to him! / don't want 
 him!" 
 
 "I know you don't," answered Minnie as she 
 looked around again and gravely met Irene's bold and 
 curious gaze. 
 
 "Did he tell you I don't want him?" 
 
 "No, John and I have other things to talk about." 
 
 "Oh, you have, have you? Such interestin* 
 things that you forget to come to the Fair; ain't?" 
 
 Minnie did not answer. Irene and she, though 
 born and brought up in the same village, really lived 
 in such different spiritual worlds that they seemed 
 scarcely to speak the same language. 
 
 "Well, Minnie, you certainly are workin* fierce to 
 get John givin' up your religion yet ! My goodness ! 
 If I couldn't get a fellah without goin* that far, I'd 
 stay a old maid!" 
 
 No answer from Minnie. 
 
 " Next thing you'll be tryin* to make me believe you 
 and John's promised yet ! " 
 
 Minnie did not answer as her grave eyes looked 
 into Irene's. 
 
 "And I wouldn't believe that if you stood on your 
 head and sweared to it!" declared Irene. "So you 
 needn't try to make me!" 
 
 "I won't try," Minnie smiled. 
 [811
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Oh, you think you're much, don't you!" cried 
 Irene angrily, her inability to provoke Minnie acting 
 as an intolerable irritant upon herself. "/ don't 
 care if you're promised to him or if you ain't! It 
 makes me nothing!" 
 
 "I know it don't," Minnie acquiesced. 
 
 "Well, are yous promised?" Irene demanded, 
 unable longer to restrain her burning, envious 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Yes, Irene." 
 
 Irene uttered a little shriek of amazement, while 
 Henry started violently, his face and neck flushing 
 brick red. 
 
 "Look-a-here, Minnie Maus, do you know what 
 John Wimmer is?" exclaimed Irene shrilly. "He's 
 a bigamist, that's what he is! Take warning in 
 time and don't you trust him! He's a false deceiver! 
 that's what he is! One of these days he'll get 
 tired of you or get mad at you for somepin and 
 out he'll hike! And that's the last you'll see of him! 
 Oh, I know him! None better! Say, Minnie as 
 friend to friend don't you trust him! " 
 
 "I'll trust him so long as ever I breathe!" said 
 Minnie softly. 
 
 "Och, well, if you like takin* up with another 
 girl's leavin's, you're welcome to him! He took up 
 with you just to spite me because I turned him down. 
 He thinks he's payin' me back! But I don't care 
 who he marries! For all I care he can marry his 
 grandmother 11 " 
 
 [82]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She shrieked with laughing and Henry joined her 
 boisterously. 
 
 "Ain't you got no pride about you, Minnie Maus, 
 that you'd take up with a fellah that's just usin' you 
 to spite another girl?" Irene put it to her rival 
 straight. 
 
 "Irene," answered Minnie earnestly, "y u don't 
 understand John. It ain't in you to understand a 
 man like John." 
 
 Before Irene could reply, Minnie turned away and 
 left the room. 
 
 "Say, Hen!" cried Irene wildly, "that's what 
 John phoned to our place about! He wanted to tell 
 me he was promised to your Minnie ! And gloat over 
 me! Gee, Hen, I'm glad Pop toP him I was at the 
 Fair with you along! That must have spited him, 
 ain't? Not to have the chanct to gloat over me!" 
 
 "Yes, I guess! Say, Irene, you spite him back 
 some more quick leave us put it out right 
 aways that us, we are promised together, too me 
 and you!" 
 
 "Och, Hen well, but ' she paused to con- 
 sider and weigh his suggestion, her eyes gleaming, her 
 full bosom heaving tumultuously, while Henry 
 gazed upon her with hungry eyes and palpitating 
 heart. 
 
 "I got my good job now, you know, Irene," he 
 urged eagerly. "Nine hundred dollars a year yet, 
 mind you!" 
 
 "Yes, well, but you got to support your folks." 
 [88]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Not if John marries Minnie." 
 
 "But there's your pop 
 
 "He kin live with Minnie and John. Minnie has 
 so fond fur Pop, she won't want to be parted from 
 him. Aw, go on, Irene, say yes and come on 
 along to town over with me to-morrow morning on 
 the mail bust to buy a ring. Will you?" 
 
 "Hen, I I say, Hen, yes, I will!" she burst out. 
 
 Henry took her into his arms and kissed her 
 noisily. 
 
 "Come on home to supper with me, Hen, and tell 
 the folks. They ain't mindin' it so much now your 
 runnin' with me since you're got the mail delivery." 
 
 "All right, I'll come along," Henry acquiesced, 
 decently repressing his greedy delight (at such a 
 time!) at the prospect of a supper of chicken and 
 waffles instead of one of sassafras tea and "molasses 
 bread." Even love could not make one oblivious of 
 such an advantage. 
 
 That night when John had hurriedly finished his 
 evening chores at the farm and was about to go 
 forth to find Irene, wherever she might be, and try to 
 reach with her a way out of his dilemma, a note was 
 handed to him by Henry Maus. 
 
 His first thought was that it was from Minnie and 
 a wild hope sprang up in his heart that she was 
 realizing her mistake and was setting him free. For 
 hours after leaving her to-day he had walked the floor 
 of his room at home, torturing his soul with the 
 unanswerable question as to whether it were not 
 
 [84]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 kinder to poor little Minnie herself to tell her that 
 he did not love her. 
 
 "No answer wanted!" Henry insultingly flung at 
 him as he thrust the note into his hand and turned 
 away. 
 
 It was written on decorated pink stationery and 
 was loudly scented. John opened it with shaking 
 fingers and saw at the end Irene's unfamiliar sig- 
 nature, for she had never written a line to him 
 before. 
 
 MR. JOHN WIMMEB, 
 Friend: 
 
 Once you was my bosom Friend, but now you don't. 
 And this is to give you notice that I have said Yes to 
 Henry Maus and you needn't trouble to get me back, for 
 you would only get spurned, so don't try to come between 
 I and my Choise, for I don't want to be bothered with you. 
 
 Yours Respectfully, 
 IRENE LAUB. 
 
 [85]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 JUST as it had seemed to Minnie impossible that 
 a man like John could love a girl like Irene, so it 
 had seemed to John that Irene, whom of course 
 he idealized, could not possibly care for a brute like 
 Hen Maus. Therefore, while he had suffered some 
 bitter moments from Irene's open friendliness with 
 Henry, he had not been seriously concerned about it. 
 His discovery, however, of Minnie's love for himself 
 had made him ready to credit any other unexpected 
 development of his own thoughtlessness; so that 
 Irene's written statement that Henry was her 
 "Choise" and that to try to win her away from 
 him would be wasted effort, fell upon John's stunned 
 heart with the finality of death. Incomprehensible 
 as it was that a splendid creature like Irene could so 
 lower herself, he could neither doubt it nor fight it. 
 Had it not been for Minnie he would have fought it 
 would have taken his chances and pitched in to the 
 death; but the thought of the mortal hurt he would 
 inflict upon Minnie stayed him. He simply could 
 not, on a mere fighting chance, wound that tender 
 young heart that trusted him so absolutely. She 
 deserved better at his hands. 
 
 It was a very bitter struggle that he waged with 
 [86]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 himself before he finally renounced all hope of ever 
 realizing in this world the ecstasy and fullness of love, 
 and accepted in its place the dull and meagre satis- 
 faction of mere friendship. For he was convinced 
 that with his loss of Irene happiness for him was 
 eternally dead; that hereafter he must walk in 
 shadow; the hunger of his heart and body always, 
 always unsatisfied. A door of his soul was closed and 
 locked, never to be opened; for the key was in the 
 keeping of the girl he had lost. 
 
 But with all the strength of his will he resolved 
 that never while he lived should Minnie know the 
 truth. 
 
 "For my own peace as well as hers, I'll never leave 
 her suspect that she don't have my heart; that she 
 ain't my true mate." 
 
 A doubt of his ability, no matter how good his 
 intentions, to keep such knowledge from so sensitive 
 a soul as Minnie, was answered by his sense of how 
 dear, after all, the girl was to him. 
 
 "It ain't as if I didn't think an awful lot of her; as 
 if I didn't like her companionship nearly as much, 
 indeed, as she thinks she'll like mine!" he meditated 
 as he recalled how glowingly she had said to him, 
 " Think of it ! All our lives together, John ! " 
 
 "I know she'll make me a good wife none better 
 could I find," he drearily tried to console himself. 
 
 "The trouble with Nature is," he reflected, "a man 
 don't fall in love with a woman's wirtues, but with 
 her charm. Why don't Nature make the best 
 
 [87]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 women the most alluring? For that Minnie's a 
 better and finer girl than what Irene is I'm not such a 
 boob as not to see even if I am in love with Irene as 
 fierce as a man could otherwise be!" 
 
 It was fortunate that Minnie entirely failed to 
 understand the sombreness of John's courting. She 
 took it for dignified seriousness before the sacredness 
 of their great love; before the solemnity of impending 
 marriage. It did not dim her own radiance, though 
 it seemed to rebuke what was almost a levity of happi- 
 ness in the presence of an Altar. 
 
 "To love any one the way I love you, John, and to 
 have you love me back again ! I never conceited that 
 such happiness could come to me. All my life the good 
 things that other ones had seemed to skip me. I never 
 knew my mother; we were always poor and not much 
 respected; Henny always used me ugly; I was always 
 wonderful lonesome, for I never could seem to make 
 friends wery well among the girls of Hesswille much 
 as I wanted to they care so much for things I don't 
 set any store by " 
 
 "What are the things the other girls care for, 
 Minnie?" asked John and poor Minnie never 
 suspected that his question hoped to draw from her 
 some word about Irene as one of "the girls of Hess- 
 wille" who valued things which Minnie did not. 
 With every nerve in his body thrilling to the name of 
 Irene, any least word which Minnie might speak of 
 her would feed the hunger of his heart. "What is it 
 they like that you don't?" 
 
 [881
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Fellahs and dressing up all the time and 
 sitting 'round wasting their time. Most of the girls 
 never think about improving themselves," said 
 Minnie with her little air of school teacher primness 
 which always amused John because it seemed to him 
 like the play-acting of a child. "I'd sooner use my 
 spare time in improving my mind than in just sitting 
 'round doing nothing excepting chewing gum." 
 
 "I respect you for those sentiments, Minnie," said 
 John gravely. "And if I may say so without 
 insulting you, I think you'll make a most splendid 
 mother of our children, Minnie dear." 
 
 Minnie's heart seemed to stop beating. She 
 closed her eyes for an instant to control her dizziness. 
 
 "If I can raise a son to be the man you are, John!" 
 she said breathlessly. 
 
 John bent to kiss very gently her trembling lips. 
 There was no passion in his kiss, but Minnie's 
 flaming heart did not know it. 
 
 The two engagements that of Minnie and her 
 brother which were "put out" simultaneously, 
 stirred the village to its foundations. It was 
 generally conceded that Minnie was a better mate 
 for John (except in a worldly and material sense) 
 than was Irene. 
 
 "She'll make him a steadier wife. Irene she 
 wants to be such a high-flyer ! " 
 
 "And Minnie's nicer educated than what Irene is 
 and that makes something, too, John bein* a 
 teacher." 
 
 [89]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 As for Henry, he was the wonder of the village. 
 "Who'd of thought he'd ever turn out like this! 
 workin' steady at a good job and promised to a rich 
 ketch like Irene Laub yet!" 
 
 John's mother and sisters, who adored him as a 
 paragon of all the virtues, quite openly rejoiced at 
 his change of sweethearts. For though of course 
 humble little Minnie Maus was not worthy of him, 
 yet she was at least not "so much for dress and 
 runnin'" as Irene was; she appreciated John so much 
 more than Irene did; she was "better dispositioned." 
 
 Their rejoicing was brought up short, however, by 
 John's too evident wincing from it. Their dis- 
 paragment of Irene was, he plainly showed, extremely 
 distasteful to him. He even went so far as to defend 
 her stoutly when they criticised her. 
 
 "You don't understand Irene. You never did. 
 It ain't that she's light-minded it's just that she's 
 full of life and spirit. And she ain't so much ugly- 
 dispositioned as she's just awful straightforward and 
 outspoken. She don't do like some talk to please 
 the people! She says what she means." 
 
 "If you like her so well, why did you break off 
 with her?" asked his favourite youngest sister, 
 Jennie, who dared more liberties with her elder 
 brother than the rest of the family ever quite ven- 
 tured. 
 
 But John, instead of answering, had turned his 
 back upon her and walked away, a white, pained look 
 in his face that filled his loving family with dismay. 
 
 [90]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Can it be that Irene Laub turned him down? 
 But no," his eldest sister, Katy, answered her own 
 doubt, "that could not be as good a ketch as what 
 our John is yet! It stands to reason!" 
 
 "Yes, anyhow!" nodded Mrs. Wimmer. "I 
 guess then! " 
 
 "And when you think what Irene has took up 
 with yet!" exclaimed Jennie. "You can't make me 
 believe that a girl that could have our John would 
 take Hen Maus ! Well, I guess anyhow not ! " 
 
 "Then why does John look so funny when we talk 
 down on Irene? And he's so downhearted all the 
 time! He don't act a bit as if he was crazy about 
 Minnie. And he don't say nothing about when 
 they're a-goin' to stand up before the minister him 
 and Minnie." 
 
 Meantime, the brightness of Minnie's joy was a 
 trifle overshadowed by the eternal question of the 
 wherewithal to live; for Henry not only did not 
 provide in any way for her and her father, he did not 
 even pay his own board. Having begun to borrow 
 his salary in advance, he seemed to be obliged to keep 
 on doing so; and it was not long before he became 
 rather hopelessly involved in debt. At the same 
 time, he stormed and raged at Minnie for the meagre 
 meals she set before him. 
 
 "Drivin* that there truck gives me an appetite, I 
 tell you! I can't work if I don't eat!" he would 
 growl. " If you can't gimme decent meals, I'll go and 
 board at the Ao-tel!" 
 
 [91]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "You'll have to pay board there," Minnie 
 reminded him. 
 
 "Aw, shut up! Don't you sass me about my 
 affairs!" 
 
 "If you'll pay me half what you'd pay at the 
 hotel, Henry, I'll promise you better meals than you'd 
 get there." 
 
 "I can't pay you nothin' till I ketch up with what 
 I had to borrow," he crossly repulsed her. "You 
 kin work for your own livin' ! / ain't a-goin* to keep 
 you ! You kin make up your mind to that ! ' * 
 
 "But I do work, don't I? I cook and wash and 
 iron and clean for you and father. What do you do 
 for me? You don't pay me for it. And yet you 
 talk about my living on you! " 
 
 "Why don't you be a seamster, the way you said 
 you was going to, when you lost your school?" 
 Henry sulkily demanded. 
 
 "Be a seamster to pay for your meals?" Minnie 
 asked. "You know that since you got the mail 
 route, and I got engaged to John, no one brings me 
 sewing; they can't believe I want it. And then I 
 guess they think I don't know the styles, me being a 
 Mennonite so long. Anyhow, they don't hire me. 
 Emmy Slathauer gets all the sewing that's hired in 
 Hesswille. But I'm not asking you to keep me I'm 
 only asking you to keep yourself; to pay for your own 
 meals." 
 
 Henry's reply " to such unanswerable statements 
 was usually to take himself off with an oath. 
 
 [92]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 When the pinch of poverty at home became too 
 uncomfortable, he succeeded in persuading Irene 
 (by means of such appeals to her passion for him as 
 he knew how to make) to be married very suddenly; 
 upon which he promptly packed his belongings and 
 went to live on the fat of the land at his father-in-law's. 
 
 "We charge you no board," Mr. Laub kindly told 
 him, "because we know you got to help Minnie and 
 your pop. All we ast fur your board is that you haul 
 our goods free on your truck and tend store Saturday 
 evenings still." 
 
 Henry cheerfully acquiesced in this benevolent 
 arrangement for enabling him to help Minnie and 
 his father. He was perfectly willing to keep that 
 part of the bargain by which he cheated the United 
 States mail service of Mr. Laub's fee for carrying his 
 merchandise; but to "tend store Saturday evenings 
 still" was another matter. 
 
 "We'll see about that!" said Henry to himself. 
 
 Minnie, after her brother left home, had so much 
 less work to do and so much time on her hands, that 
 she tried hard to find some way of earning money 
 that would not hurt John's pride. But as she could 
 get no sewing to do, there seemed to be no work in the 
 village which the promised bride of John Wimmer 
 could do without humiliating not only him, but his 
 "folks." 
 
 The prospect of marrying John not only without 
 the usual "aus dire," but without even necessary 
 clothing, was deeply mortifying to Minnie. 
 
 [93]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "He's worthy of the best! And me what am 
 I?" 
 
 If she could only earn enough to buy food for her- 
 self and her father and some over to purchase "goods " 
 for her wedding outfit, she could make it herself. 
 She would have plenty of time to do it, for John had 
 not yet asked her to name the day. She wondered 
 sometimes whether it was the prospect of having her 
 father live with them that held her lover back. 
 
 "Are you willing, Henny," she asked her brother 
 one day, a few weeks after his marriage, when she 
 happened to encounter him at the General Store, "to 
 leave John support your own father after we are 
 married, and you not give a cent toward it, when 
 you're earning so much?" 
 
 "If John's fool enough to do it, I'm sure it don't 
 make me nothing!" Henry laughed. 
 
 "I know you don't have much shame about you, 
 Henny. But haven't you any that you'd leave 
 another man support your own aged and feeble 
 father?" 
 
 "I'm married and got a wife to keep!" 
 
 "Her father keeps her and you, too!" 
 
 "What's that to you? You mind your own 
 business!" 
 
 "Won't you give anything at all toward support- 
 ing father?" 
 
 "What fur should I support Pop? He never sup- 
 ported me!" 
 
 There came a day when even Doctor Maus realized 
 [94]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 that they were at the end of their rope and must find 
 some means of averting actual want. He was too old 
 to start in working himself, after years of idleness 
 during which his belief in his divine mission of healing 
 had kept him a dependent upon his too amiable 
 young daughter. But now that she, the only prop 
 of his old age, had failed him (through no fault of hers, 
 he knew well) he was forced to face a situation which 
 he would have preferred to ignore. 
 
 "I'll go talk to Kenny," he told Minnie. 
 
 "No use, father. He won't help us." 
 
 "I know Henny was always a little selfish that 
 way; but if I tell him we're hungry and cold well, 
 he's anyhow my own son, Minnie, and he's human! 
 I can't believe he won't help us when he's earnin* 
 such good pay." 
 
 "You'd better not ask him, father he'll only 
 abuse you." 
 
 "You hadn't ought to talk down on your brother 
 so, Minnie it ain't nice of you." 
 
 "I'm only trying to save you from having your 
 feelings hurt, father." 
 
 But her father, always inclined to believe that 
 other people were as generous with their worldly 
 goods as he was with his prayers, determined to put 
 Henry to the test. So, one Saturday evening, just 
 as John Wimmer arrived, as usual, to take Minnie 
 buggy-riding, the doctor slipped out of the house and 
 made his way feebly down the length of the village 
 to the garage where the mail truck was kept, and 
 
 [95]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 where he was pretty sure to find Henry loafing with 
 several other villagers though that young bride- 
 groom was supposed to be, at this hour, "tending 
 store" to pay for his board hi his father-in-law's 
 home. 
 
 "Kin I speak to you alone for a minute, Henny?" 
 the doctor timidly summoned his son from the 
 group surrounding him. "It's some important." 
 
 Henry knew that anything that could goad his 
 father to exercising such unwonted energy as to 
 walk the length of the village to seek a thing he 
 usually avoided an interview with himself must 
 indeed be "some important." 
 
 He leisurely extricated himself from his cronies 
 and led his parent away from them to the other end 
 of the building. 
 
 "What d'you come here bothering me about?" he 
 asked in a surly tone as he leaned against the wall and 
 picked his teeth with a straw. 
 
 "I guess you'll have to help us a little, Henny we 
 ain't got nothing in the house to eat and ain't had all 
 day ! To-morrow's Sabbath and we ain't got nothing 
 laid in for meals. The stores won't give us credit no 
 more. Mr. Laub won't leave us charge nothing. 
 He says he's got enough to do to feed you, without 
 feedin' all the rest of the fambly. Minnie had so 
 faint and sick all day, she could har'ly dress her- 
 self to go buggy-ridin' along, when John come fur 
 her." 
 
 "Why don't you try your prayin' stunt on your- 
 [96]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 self? Pray fur purvisions oncet!" Henry scornfully 
 mocked him. 
 
 "It ain't no use to pray fur un-impossible things, 
 Henny. Us we can't get food without money to pay 
 fur it." 
 
 "Why should I give you money to keep you? 
 You never kep' me, did you? And now in your old 
 age you want to live on me!" 
 
 "I'd work now if I wasn't too feeble! We never 
 was so bad off as what we are now ! " 
 
 "Why don't Minnie get to work and earn some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "She says the only work she could get in the 
 willage would be to go out washing and that would 
 disgrace John and his folks. And your Irene 
 neither wouldn't like it so well to have her mister's 
 sister go out washing." 
 
 "Och, her! It makes nothing what she likes! 
 Nor it makes nothing what John Wimmer likes! 
 Why don't he git married to Minnie and keep her 
 if he's too stuck up to leave her work?" 
 
 "Would you leave John Wimmer support me, 
 Henny, and you not help? " 
 
 "Look-a-here, I tell you I don't owe you nothin'! 
 You never did nothing fur me!" 
 
 " Yes, I did. I I loved you, Henny ! " 
 
 "It didn't feed my stummeek your lovin' me!" 
 sneered Henry. 
 
 "Well, but Minnie, she did a-plenty fur you. 
 Won't you help her any?" 
 
 [971
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Leave her help herself. I got enough on my 
 hands." 
 
 "But, Henny, I tell you we ain't got nothing to 
 eat in the house ! Us we're starvin', Henry ! Gimme 
 a dollar to buy food fur us!" cried the old man 
 desperately. 
 
 "I ain't got but seventy cents and I got use fur it! 
 I toP you often enough a'ready how dumb and 
 ignorant you was not to charge nothing fur your 
 prayin* but no, you wouldn't never listen on me! 
 So now then you needn't come whimperin' to me 
 about your hard luck! Leave some of your grateful 
 patients help you out. Go to them! " 
 
 "Henny! Me and Minnie we're hungry! Gimme 
 that seventy cents you got!" 
 
 "I won't! And you git on out of here now and 
 quit your botherin' me!" 
 
 He turned away, but his father caught his arm and 
 stopped him. 
 
 "Help us, Henny for God's sake!" 
 
 Henry shook him off. "You deserve your sufferin* 
 fur wastin' your time prayin'! I wouldn't help if I 
 had a-plenty!" 
 
 "I never did you no harm, Henny!" 
 
 "You never did me no good! Leave go my arm 
 and go on home!" 
 
 But the old man tightened his grip. "I can't 
 
 believe my own son would near treat me like this 
 j > 
 
 "Well, I'll prove it to you that your own son won't 
 [98]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 give you a thing more'n you ever give him. Go on 
 home now, I tell you damn you ! You and Minnie 
 can go to hell fur all I care!" 
 
 He jerked his arm free and slouched back to his 
 companions, who with mingled curiosity and amuse- 
 ment had witnessed his "row" with his "old 
 man." 
 
 Meantime, Minnie at home was going through an 
 experience almost as strenuous as that which her 
 father was having with his son. 
 
 When John led her out of the house to lift her into 
 his high buggy she had suddenly and without notice 
 fainted in his arms. 
 
 The shock which her death-like stillness gave him, 
 as he bore her limp body back into the house, re- 
 vealed to him how dear to him she had grown. 
 
 In his search for restoratives, when he had lain her 
 on the kitchen settee, he had another shock at sight 
 of a larder so absolutely empty that he understood 
 with a terrible certainty the cause of poor little 
 Minnie's illness. 
 
 The first thing he did after she "came to," was to 
 borrow some milk from a neighbour, heat it and feed 
 it to her with a spoon, as he would have fed a sick 
 baby. 
 
 Then, his arm about her, her head on his breast, 
 his gentle, strong hand smoothing her hair from her 
 pale forehead, she confessed to him her struggles of 
 the past few months. 
 
 He reproached her, of course, for not having told 
 [99]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 him of her difficulties. "Ain't I your man? to 
 stand between you and troubles like this? " 
 
 "You ain't my man yet and I didn't feel I had 
 the right to burden you until I'm giving you in 
 return all that a wife can give, John." 
 
 "You're giving me an awful lot every day of your 
 life, Minnie! I don't know how I could bear up and 
 live if it wasn't for you!" 
 
 It did not occur to Minnie to wonder what he had 
 to "bear up" against. 
 
 "I'm so glad if I am something to you, John!" she 
 responded, the light coming into her eyes which any 
 word of love from him always brought there. 
 
 "To think of a great hulk of a man like me eating 
 three square meals a day and you a dainty little 
 girl like you! say, Minnie! The citizens of this 
 willage ought to take Hen's job away from him! 
 He's no right to it. They got it for him to help you 
 out because they had to take your school from 
 you not because they wanted to favour Hen." 
 
 "Yes I know." 
 
 "I never suspected for a minute that he wasn't 
 keeping you and your father! " 
 
 "He has never given us a penny." 
 
 "You mean since since he got married?" John 
 gulped. 
 
 "Nor before that. Never one cent." 
 
 "Och, now, Minnie! If any one but you told me 
 that, I couldn't credit it that a man could be that 
 hoggish!" 
 
 [100]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Yes, ain't!" sighed Minnie. 
 
 "Does he know how you and your father are 
 faring just now?" 
 
 "It wouldn't make any difference to him." 
 
 "But I'm sure it must, Minnie dear. Can he 
 forget how you always kept him clothed and fed 
 him and worked for him? But no," John added, 
 shaking his head hopelessly, "I mind how he wouldn't 
 even do so much as carry a bucket of water for you on 
 wash day when you were supporting him! It 
 wonders me how a thing in human form could be 
 that low down ! Ain't, Minnie ? " 
 
 "Henny never thanked me in his life for anything 
 I ever did for him," Minnie admitted. 
 
 "What kind of a husband is he going to make for 
 poor Irene!" John faltered. 
 
 "He's afraid of Irene," said Minnie. "She can 
 take her own part." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it! If I ever hear of his abusin' 
 her, I'll- 
 
 He checked himself, his face red with embarass- 
 ment. 
 
 "I have given a great deal of reflection, Minnie, to 
 some things," he said ponderously, "about human 
 life. I don't favour prisons or punishment of 
 criminals. I think hopeless criminals should be 
 segregated that way, on an island, and left to govern 
 themselves or destroy themselves. Punishing 
 don't do them any good; it only makes those that do 
 the punishing wery brutal. But when it comes to a 
 
 [101]
 
 case like Hen that's had loving kindness shown to 
 him all his life and forbearance and patience then 
 I'm for " 
 
 He paused and looked so grim that Minnie smiled. 
 "I'm glad you can be stern as well as kind, John it 
 makes you so interesting!" 
 
 "We must get married right away, Minnie to- 
 morrow morning early already. I'd say to-night, but 
 you're too weak to drive to town to the preacher's." 
 
 " Oh ! " Minnie caught her breath and the colour flew 
 to her white face. " But I ain't got any clothes, John. 
 I hadn't any money to buy any, and and " 
 
 "We'll get what you need as soon as you're Mrs. 
 Wimmer," John said as he closed her lips with a kiss. 
 "I'd take you right to the farm till we got this house 
 done over for us, but on account of your father I 
 ru.ess I better come right here to live and we can 
 liave the house done over a little at a time." 
 
 "Do you have objections, John, of keeping 
 father?" Minnie timidly asked. 
 
 "Of course not, Minnie. If you wasn't worth 
 that much to me " 
 
 They were interrupted by the entrance of Doctor 
 Maus. White and gaunt-eyed, he came staggering 
 into the kitchen and sank into the nearest chair. He 
 was evidently too weak and wretched to note the 
 strangeness of the fact that his daughter lay prone 
 upon the big wooden settee which stood against the 
 wall and that John, sitting at one end of it, held her 
 head against his breast. 
 
 [1021
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Water!" gasped the old man. "I have sick!" 
 
 Minnie tried to get up to help John minister to her 
 father, but though she managed to give him the 
 settee and take his chair, she had to leave it to John 
 to heat and feed to him the rest of the milk which had 
 been borrowed. 
 
 When the doctor had rallied enough to talk to 
 them, he told them, with a fire of indignation in his 
 eyes such as Minnie had never seen in them before in 
 all her life, of his appeal to his son. 
 
 "I went to him my own son and told him that 
 his sister and me, his father, was hungry! starving! 
 And he turned me off with a curse! He cursed me! 
 Sayed he wouldn't help us if he had a-plenty! And 
 he cursed me yet ! " 
 
 "Never mind, father!'* Minnie soothed him, for he 
 was working himself into a frenzy. "Don't mind 
 Henny he don't mean all he says." 
 
 "He means it that much that he'll leave us die of 
 starvation before he'll help us! and him with full 
 and plenty!" 
 
 "There, there, Doc," said John, "your troubles 
 are over now, for I'm going to take care of you and 
 Minnie both after this. Minnie and I are getting 
 married to-morrow. What do you think of that?" 
 
 " And and me ? " faltered the old man. " Minnie ! 
 You won't desert me, too, will you like Henny?" 
 
 When they had reassured and comforted him, 
 John helped him to his bed; and shortly afterward 
 he took his leave. 
 
 [1031
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I must go home and pack my trousseau" he 
 grinned as he kissed her good-bye. "Ain't, little 
 wife?" 
 
 "And me, I ain't got any to pa,ck!" said Minnie 
 wistfully, though her eyes beamed with happiness. 
 "It seems, John, as if it couldn't be that I am getting 
 married to you to-morrow!" 
 
 John kissed her again a little hastily and then 
 hurried away. 
 
 [1041
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BUT John did not go directly home to pack 
 his "'trousseau." Hitching his horse to a 
 tree a little distance from the Maus's home, 
 and taking with him the carriage whip which, by the 
 way, he never used on his horse, he strolled through 
 the empty village street. It was after ten o'clock 
 and nearly everyone in Hessville was abed. 
 
 John considered very earnestly, as he wandered 
 about, his whip tucked under his arm, the step he 
 was going to take on the morrow. 
 
 He was going to be married ! and to another than 
 Irene! His passionate rebellion of a few months 
 back had changed to a dogged submission to the 
 inevitable; but there were recurrent hours of longing 
 that were devastating; and this to-night was one of 
 them. If it were rosy, radiant, queenly Irene that 
 was going to be his bride! 
 
 He tried to crush from his heart such disloyalty 
 for therein lay madness! 
 
 "How can I hope to be a good husband to Minnie, 
 feeling the way I do about Irene? How can I be as 
 true to Minnie as I expect her to be to me? true 
 even in her secret thoughts? How would I feel if I 
 
 knew she was longing for another man " 
 
 [1051
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But John realized ruefully that one cannot reason 
 with one's appetites and emotions; there was the 
 fact before him he loved Irene; and Minnie he did 
 not love not, at any rate, with the passion that 
 demanded marriage. 
 
 His meditative wandering brought him at last to 
 the only lighted building in the village the garage 
 where Henry Maus still loafed with his cronies. 
 John felt, as he drew near to it, a tingling sensation 
 along his strong right arm; some deep, prophetic 
 instinct told him that an effective means of working 
 off the feverish restlessness of his soul to-night would 
 be to let out with all his might his long-repressed 
 indignation against the brother of his bride, the 
 husband of the woman he coveted. 
 
 Clutching his riding whip, he stalked into the 
 garage. 
 
 Henry was sprawled on a bench, his hands under 
 Iris head, his five companions sitting or lying all 
 about him, smoking, chewing, chuckling over a 
 nasty yarn that one of them was relating. 
 
 The appearance of John, whom all the village held 
 in a curious respect, startled the group into an 
 astonished silence. Two of them, who were young 
 pupils of his, shrank in shame at being discovered 
 listening to a ribald story. 
 
 John walked straight to the bench where Henry 
 lay and jerked him to his feet by his collar. A 
 flourish of his whip scattered his five companions 
 like chaff. They fled ignominiously from the spot. 
 
 [1061
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Henry was a burly fellow, but John's choking 
 clutch on his collar found him helpless. He was 
 white to the lips with fright, for, being a bully, he 
 was of course a great coward. 
 
 "You lee' me be!" he gasped, his teeth chattering. 
 "I never done you nothing!" 
 
 "If I give you your deserts, I'll lash you until 
 you're as weak as your starving father and sister are 
 to-night!" said John. He spoke with a grim quiet 
 that was far more terrifying than loud anger, while he 
 tightened like a vise his hold on his victim's collar. 
 " If I thought this whip would cut through to your soul 
 (if you've got a soul) I'd beat you till I got there. 
 But, dirty dog that you are, I think it would be 
 wasted work. It ain't in you to be decent and that's 
 all there is to it. So if I did beat you up it would 
 only be giving myself a rare treat that wouldn't do 
 you (nor me) any good. I can hardly trust myself to 
 begin to beat you I might kill you! Murder ain't 
 the worst crime it would be a holy act to kill a 
 vicious cur like you that ain't any good to yourself or 
 any one else. Listen to me, Hen Maus! If ever in 
 all my life I hear of your giving grief or trouble to 
 Irene Laub, you'll reckon with me! Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 He paused for a reply, but Henry was sullenly 
 silent. 
 
 "Answer me!" demanded John, shaking him like a 
 rat. "Do you understand?" 
 
 "That's a nice way fur Minnie's fellah to be 
 [107]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 talkin' about another girl, ain't it? and that other 
 girl married yet! Where's your morals at?" gasped 
 Henry, his tone more abject than defiant. 
 
 "Answer me!" repeated John. "Do you under- 
 stand that you'll reckon with me if ever you hurt a 
 hair of Irene's head?" 
 
 "You better talk about Irene's hurtin* my hairs! 
 It's her does the hair pullin'. Ha!" Henry feebly 
 laughed. "Irene kin take her own part you're got 
 no need to worry about her!" 
 
 The picture evoked by these words, of the de- 
 grading relation Irene bore to this brute Irene, the 
 "rare and radiant maiden," idealized and adored, 
 made John suddenly feel limp; all the vim and fire 
 went out of him; his hand dropped from his captive's 
 neck; he leaned weakly against the wall. 
 
 "Get out!" he said hoarsely. "Go before I kill 
 you!" 
 
 Henry needed no second bidding. In an instant 
 he was out of the building and speeding toward the 
 General Store. 
 
 John, getting himself together, made his way 
 slowly, and with a heart of lead, back to his buggy. 
 
 The next day Hessville was electrified with the 
 news that Minnie Maus and John Wimmer had 
 gone to town to "stand up before the minister." 
 
 John took his bride for a two days' wedding 
 journey to visit his married sister in Philadelphia. 
 It was Minnie's first sight of a big city and her naive 
 wonder and delight were very entertaining to John, 
 
 [108]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 who, from what he considered his very extensive 
 knowledge of life, found great pleasure, school teacher 
 as he was, in instructing her innocence and ignorance. 
 
 "Ain't, John, all the ladies have pretty com- 
 plexions in Philadelphia even the old ones yet!" she 
 wonderingly exclaimed as they walked down Chest- 
 nut Street on Sunday afternoon. 
 
 "Minnie! These painted up women in big 
 cities are a lot of syreens and lure-lyes! Not fit for 
 a pure maiden like you to look at ! " 
 
 "Painted! Are their complexions painted yet?" 
 asked Minnie in great surprise. 
 
 "They mostly are," affirmed John with the 
 conviction of one who knows the wicked world. 
 " The life of a great city is wery degenerate, Minnie ! " 
 
 "But there are so many of these pretty -complected 
 women, John are they all sy-reens and lure-lyes 
 or whatever? " inquired Minnie, appalled. 
 
 "Well, that I couldn't rightly say that they're 
 all bad." 
 
 "Some of them look so nice!" said Minnie. "And 
 the ones that look the nicest ain't so fancy dressed 
 either," she added, a quick, instinctive discrimination 
 having noted the superior beauty of simplicity. "I 
 sometimes think the wreath on my hat is too 
 thick. When I get home I'll make some of it off. 
 I have a little too much flowers at." 
 
 "But it becomes you something surprising!" 
 said John kindly. 
 
 "I like to look nice for your sake," she returned, 
 [109]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 nestling a bit closer to his arm, her face illumined; 
 and John, as he looked down into that glowing face, 
 metaphorically called upon his own head the male- 
 dictions of the gods, should he ever by word or act 
 hurt or grieve this sweet and tender girl whom life 
 had given to him to protect and cherish. 
 
 His sister, who had been living in Philadelphia for 
 six months, languishing with homesickness for 
 Hessville, was pathetically glad to see her brother and 
 his bride. 
 
 "I can't home myself here in this here big place," 
 she told them tearfully. "Folks here in Phil-delphy 
 spend so! Och, it takes my breath how they 
 spend! And when I won't spend so reckless, too, 
 then they think I'm near with my money that way ! " 
 
 "You needn't care what other ones think, 
 Martha," said John, "so long as you're satisfied." 
 
 "Yes, well, but I ain't like you, John, not to care 
 what other ones think. I know you never cared; and 
 folks always seemed to hold you all the higher for not 
 caring." 
 
 "It's more to me what I think of myself than what 
 other ones think of me," said John and Minnie, her 
 soul in her eyes, gazed at him admiringly. 
 
 "It seems so queer to me the way folks like to do 
 here in this city," continued his sister. "There's a 
 house 'round the corner that has thirty rooms in and 
 only a man and his son living in it, with a whole lot 
 of hired help. Why, I heerd they keep one man just 
 to do nothing at all but answer the front door bell and 
 
 [1101
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 show wisitors in the parlour and then holler fur Mister 
 and his son to come to the parlour. An able-bodied 
 man doin' nothing but that! Yes, it would wonder 
 you the way the folks that keeps hired help wants to 
 be waited on! It don't seem like Christians." 
 
 "And it ain't either," agreed John. "I think the 
 day will come when no one will have wealth to spend 
 that he didn't work for." 
 
 "There's them that tells me," said Martha, "that 
 Phil-delphy ain't in it with Paris for grandness! 
 Just to think!" 
 
 "Paris is pretty so considered anyhow," John 
 granted, "but after all, there ain't any place like 
 Hesswille." 
 
 "I think, too," smiled Minnie. 
 
 "Yes, and me, too!" sighed Martha. "I wisht 
 Mister was located there instead of here where I 
 can't home myself. I'll have homesick worse than 
 ever when yous go home! Can't yous stay over till 
 a couple days more? " 
 
 "I couldn't wery well let father alone any longer, 
 Martha," pleaded Minnie. "Thank you kindly. 
 We only left him food enough to last two days 
 wegetables and sausage from your father's farm that 
 John brought in." 
 
 "And we have to get at and fix our house," added 
 John and Minnie thrilled to hear him call it "our" 
 house. "We're going to make it as homelike as we 
 can. I got a little saved toward it. To be sure, not 
 quite enough. We'll have to go in debt a little.'* 
 
 run
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "But you'll soon get that paid off," Martha 
 encouraged them, "with Minnie being the saving 
 housekeeper she is and you making such good money, 
 John, and livin' in such a cheap place like what 
 Hesswille is. Here, no matter what Mister earns, it 
 takes it all just to set the table." 
 
 "And that man and his son in a thirty-room house 
 with a lot of hired girls!" said John. "There's 
 something ain't right about it they with full and 
 plenty and not working and you, no matter how 
 hard you work, with hardly enough to get along." 
 
 Meantime, Doctor Maus's loneliness at home was 
 broken by an amazing variation of the monotony. 
 On Monday morning, a few hours before the ex- 
 pected return of the bride and groom, he received a 
 letter from a lawyer. Not in many years had the 
 mail brought any letters to the Maus household 
 except from sick people who wanted help. But this 
 letter was not from one of these. Its contents 
 fairly stunned the recipient for a time. But pres- 
 ently, when he had recovered a little from the shock, 
 he began to feel glad that it had happened in Minnie's 
 absence, for that gave him time to think it over and 
 decide what to do about it. 
 
 "I ain't got long to live no more I feel I ain't," 
 he thought. "Minnie's took good care of me all her 
 life since she was big enough. Henny he never did 
 nothing but abuse me. Now, then, Minnie's got 
 married and she's did grand for herself, marryin' 
 John Wimmer with a good moral character and a 
 
 [112]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 good job and a rich pop. Will she stick by me now 
 that she's so well -fixed? Will her Mister persuade 
 her to turn me off and put me to the county poor 
 house? I can't look to Henny for nothing. It's up 
 to Minnie. Well, till I see oncet how they treat me, 
 I ain't sayin' a word to 'em about this here grateful 
 patient. I'll hide this here letter good till a while 
 yet." 
 
 So he hid his letter away very carefully and 
 cunningly to bide his time. 
 
 113]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 f \HE tumbledown old Maus home was in so 
 much worse condition than John had realized 
 
 A that when the necessary repairs and altera- 
 tions were only half finished he had used up all that 
 he had saved hi three years and so the debt he was 
 obliged to contract far exceeded his calculations. 
 His well-to-do father would not give him a dollar, so 
 he was obliged to square his broad shoulders to bear 
 the burden of supporting a household and paying a 
 large annual interest on a mortgage. 
 
 It was more than he had bargained for. He hated 
 debt. He could know no peace until he was rid of it. 
 His face, after a time, began to look careworn. 
 
 "I could skimp and deny myself till it's paid 
 a'ready, but I hate to skimp Minnie. She's never 
 had anything in her life no pleasures, no pretty 
 clothes, not a thing that other young girls always had. 
 And debt or no debt, I'm darned if I don't see to it 
 that she gets some fun now ! " 
 
 But as the cost of the house repairing mounted 
 higher and higher with the progress of the work, 
 other expenses piled themselves upon the pyramid. 
 Doctor Maus fell ill and had to have a physician and 
 medicine. And one day Minnie told him the very 
 
 [114]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 welcome news that they were going to have a child. 
 Welcome in spite of the fact that, from the ex- 
 perience of his sister Martha, he knew that the cost 
 of a baby was, in these days, almost prohibitive. 
 A baby was, indeed, an expensive luxury. How, on 
 seventy -five dollars a month for eight months of the 
 year, he was going to be able to meet all these 
 expenses, was a puzzle. 
 
 *'Mebby I'll have to let teaching and go to other 
 work," he thought with a sinking heart. Teaching 
 was the work he did best; the work he most loved to 
 do. He would hate to give it up. 
 
 "Is everything I care for being taken from me? 
 Am I a Job?" he sadly wondered. 
 
 To be sure, he was not insensible of the compensa- 
 tions that came with his trials. If Minnie was not 
 the bride of his passion and yearning, she was at 
 least so comforting and interesting a companion that 
 he never parted from her without a sense of missing 
 her and never returned to her without eagerness. 
 Her advice and assistance in his school work, es- 
 pecially in the problem of understanding girls, her 
 sympathy with and comprehension of his quite un- 
 usual aims and ideals, the stimulous of her own 
 enthusiasm for his work, were not only invaluable to 
 him, but a great delight. 
 
 "We always seem to have so much of interest 
 between us," he reflected. "She's got good brains, 
 Minnie has, the way she understands even the 
 politics yet, that she reads in the newspapers! I 
 
 [115]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 never knew another girl I could conwerse to about 
 interesting subjects the way I can to Minnie. That's 
 a great point in a wife!" 
 
 When, after a time, her condition made it necessary 
 to hire the washing, and when the physician ordered 
 a special diet and an expensive tonic for Doctor 
 Maus, John saw that he could never hope to work his 
 way out financially through school teaching; he would 
 simply have to make up his mind to resign from his 
 school and find more lucrative employment. 
 
 With a heavy heart he planned to spend the few 
 days' vacation at Christmas time in looking for a 
 position in the near-by town of Lancaster. 
 
 He did not tell Minnie of his intention. She was 
 so proud of his being "the teacher," and she would so 
 grieve over his sacrifice; for she knew how he loved 
 his work. In her condition she must be spared as 
 much as possible from the anxieties of their limited 
 means. He could not shield her from them entirely; 
 she knew there was not money to buy the necessary 
 baby clothes and that they would have to charge a 
 bill at the General Store for that precious little out- 
 fit; she knew, also, that their weekly bill for groceries 
 and meat could not always be met promptly and that 
 the mounting doctor's bill for her father could not 
 be paid for a long time. These things clouded not a 
 little the brightness of her happy love. 
 
 Meantime, the sick old man, Doctor Maus, was 
 silently observing the conditions in his home as he 
 had never before in all his life taken cognizance of the 
 
 [116]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 practical difficulties of existence. His recent new 
 experience of suffering from actual hunger; the 
 shock of discovering that his only son would see him 
 starve before he would put himself out to help him; 
 and the subsequent shock of that astounding letter 
 from the lawyer of a grateful patient, had all com- 
 bined to rouse him to a realization of some things 
 which he had hitherto taken entirely for granted. 
 
 He saw himself helpless, useless, dependent upon 
 the charity of his daughter's husband, yet furnished 
 with delicacies to tempt his sick palate, while his son- 
 in-law, accustomed to the abundant table of the 
 Wimmer farm, now half starved himself to keep 
 down the store bill. He saw himself made com- 
 fortable in an orderly bedroom while John and 
 Minnie, during the upheaval of remodelling the 
 house, made the best of a room in the loft. He saw 
 Minnie awkwardly trying to make shirts and collars 
 for John who was used to wearing the kind you 
 bought at a "Gent's Furnishing" shop at Lancaster. 
 He saw his young daughter's pathetic efforts at 
 devising a baby's outfit from scraps and patches. 
 
 One evening when Minnie, suffering from back- 
 ache, had gone to bed early, the old man called 
 John to his bedside. 
 
 "I ain't got long to live no more, John." 
 
 "So the doctor says, father." 
 
 "I see how I never done right by Minnie." 
 
 John did not reply. 
 
 "But I never rightly knowed I was not doing my 
 [117]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 dooty to my child. She's a prize you're got, John! 
 Fur all that I never done nothing much fur her, she 
 always done all she could fur me. And she never 
 blamed me, neither, nor treated me ugly." 
 
 "Why don't you say all this to her?" asked John. 
 
 "I'm a-goin' to before I die a'ready. But to-night 
 I got to talk to you. It's about a matter that's some 
 important. I choosed this evening when Minnie's 
 not round." 
 
 "All right, father," John replied, drawing his chair 
 closer and folding his arms. " I'm ready." 
 
 "It's about Henny, John." 
 
 John saw what was coming. He was going to be 
 asked to take over yet another financial burden; to 
 look after Hen and not let him come to want, if the 
 Laubs threw him out which some day they would 
 certainly do. Rumour said that they were threaten- 
 ing to do so; for not only had he lost his rural delivery 
 job, but he had been found by his father-in-law to 
 be an entirely unreliable assistant in the General 
 Store. Of these facts John, in common with all 
 Hessville, was aware. 
 
 He made a quick decision as he waited for the 
 sick man to continue. "I'll ease his mind for him 
 about his good-for-nothing son, so he can die in 
 peace; I'll promise any old thing. But Hen Maus 
 would not enjoy himself living on mel" 
 
 "Henny wasn't never a good son to me," resumed 
 Doctor Maus, "nor a good brother to Minnie." 
 
 "Right you are, father." 
 [118]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "When I went to him, starving he cursed me! 
 And turned me away!" 
 
 "He'll reap what he has sowed!" said John grimly. 
 
 "It wouldn't be fair to Minnie and you, fur me to 
 leave my my estate so as Henny could get any of 
 it away from Minnie." 
 
 "This house, you mean?" inquired John, sup- 
 pressing a smile at hearing the little old frame 
 dwelling called an "estate." "But we did arrange 
 that, you know, before I began the repairs. Do you 
 forget that the deed to the property is in Minnie's 
 name?" he asked in some surprise, for Doctor Maus 
 had never, in all his illness, shown any signs of a 
 mental breakdown. 
 
 "To be sure I don't forget my mind ain't gone 
 nowheres," the doctor reassured him. "It ain't this 
 old shanty I had reference to when I referred to my 
 estate" 
 
 "Oh! So you've got another estate, have you, 
 concealed somewheres about you?" smiled John 
 indulgently. He could not imagine what the old 
 man was driving at. 
 
 "Yes, I have. And after I'm dead, I want fur you 
 and Minnie to have all and Henny none. I've been 
 thinking, while I was laying here, how I could so fix it 
 that Henny can't get none. You see, a will couldn't fix 
 it so, fur Henny he could break the will and take one 
 half. And that I don't want and won't have." 
 
 "Raving delirious!" thought John, regarding the 
 doctor anxiously. " I wonder if I better call Minnie." 
 
 [1191
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Henny don't deserve nothing off of me!" re- 
 peated Maus. 
 
 "That he don't!" John humoured him. 
 
 "Not oncet was he in to see me since I had so 
 sick!" 
 
 " If you want him, I'll bring him to you." 
 
 "No, you needn't to trouble. It's you and 
 Minnie, and not Henny, that's taking care of me and 
 denyin' yourselfs to give to me! I see it plain 
 enough! And so, I'm fixin' it that yous two get 
 all." 
 
 "Thanks," said John kindly and added to him- 
 self, "for nothing!" 
 
 "The way I'm doin' it is this I'm makin' it over 
 to you before I die. Right aways. And I'm givin* 
 it to you, because Minnie she's just that soft-hearted, 
 she'd share up with Henny, whether or no." 
 
 "Where is this great estate, father? Have you 
 been speculating in Wall Street, or whatever?" 
 
 "You said where it was concealed somewheres 
 about me. I got it under the mattress.'* 
 
 John was startled. There was no glare of delirium 
 in the doctor's eyes; he spoke calmly and deliberately; 
 yet his words were madness. 
 
 John half rose to go and consult Minnie about it, 
 when the patient, lifting himself with a great effort, 
 got his hand under the edge of the mattress and 
 drew forth an envelope. 
 
 "There's my estate!" he gasped, thrusting the 
 envelope at John and sinking back again, exhausted, 
 
 [120J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 among his pillows. "A grateful patient died and 
 inherited it to me!" 
 
 "Did he die of your prayin'?" demanded John. 
 
 "I cured him of cancer by the power of prayer. 
 Then he up and died of consumption. The doctors 
 claimed that that's what ailed him all along 
 consumption. When I cured his cancer, they 
 claimed he didn't never have no cancer. Yes, that's 
 how ignorant they are yet! But he knowed I cured 
 his cancer. ' Doc,' he sayed to me, * I'd be a well man 
 if it wasn't fur this here damned consumption that's 
 got me now!' he sayed. 'If you'd of come to me 
 sooner,' I tol' him, 'before it got sich a headway on 
 you, I'd of cured you of it. But now it's went too far 
 fur the power of prayer to reach,' I tol' him." 
 
 "Is prayer limited, then, in its reaching power?" 
 asked John. 
 
 "No, but faith is. Oncet one of your lungs is 
 away, it takes more'n mortal faith to believe that 
 prayer can restore that there lung in your chest. 
 Open that there enwe/ope, John. That there's my 
 estate. I got it the day you and Minnie was married. 
 I kep' it from yous till I seen oncet how yous would 
 treat me. Yes, when yous two didn't know I had 
 a dollar in the world, yous both treated me as good 
 as yous otherwise could. So now I make over to yous 
 my whole estate on condition of a promise." 
 
 John, not expecting much, if, indeed, anything at 
 all, drew forth the letter from the lawyer of the 
 grateful patient, who had written to inform Doctor 
 
 [1211
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Maus that he was the sole heir to an estate worth 
 thirty thousand dollars, consisting of a large farm 
 equipped with live stock, farm implements, a large 
 dwelling-house, barns, and outhouses A purchaser 
 offered to buy it at once for thirty thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 "I wrote off a letter to the lawyer," explained 
 Doctor Maus, "telling him I agreed to sell. So he 
 sold and sent me that there check fur thirty thousand 
 dollars" pointing to the green slip of paper 
 attached to the letter. "I got it deposited in the 
 Hesswille bank. It's waiting there fur you, John. 
 Now I want to make it out payable to you on one 
 condition." 
 
 John's first feeling, when he could think through his 
 dazed amazement, was a great thankful relief that he 
 need not now give up his school. After that, his emo- 
 tions crowded upon him almost too fast for recogni- 
 tion; the lifting of the strain of anxiety, the trained 
 nurse for Minnie, the now accessible baby outfit, 
 the more abundant food which Minnie's health 
 demanded, the payment of all their debts, the nice 
 furniture they could buy for their home. The world 
 in a moment became transformed. 
 
 "Och!" he suddenly recalled something "Now 
 I understand why that bank clerk, Ben Heinzleman, 
 looked so funny, still, whenever I went to the bank! 
 I used to tell him, still, that he acted like as if he had 
 a joke on me up his sleeve!" 
 
 "And he had, too," smiled the doctor feebly.
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "He knowed what you didn't suspicion that you 
 had a rich father-in-law! Ain't?" 
 
 "I certainly never guessed that I had married the 
 daughter of a Plute yet ! " 
 
 "No, I guess anyhow not!" 
 
 "What will Minnie say!" exclaimed John joyously. 
 "I feel like wakin' her up to tell her such good news! " 
 
 "No I got to talk to you and there ain'tsuchalot 
 of time left no more, John. Anyhow the news would 
 excite Minnie and keep her awake, and she needs her 
 rest. It'll be time enough to tell her till morning." 
 
 "All right, father." 
 
 "She'll be glad more fur your sake than fur her 
 own. I think she was feelin' it some that me and her 
 was a burden to you." 
 
 "Minnie surely knows she's all my comfort and 
 happiness in life," said John humbly. 
 
 "I'm glad and thankful she's got such a good 
 Mister!" 
 
 "That condition you make, father? I guess it is 
 that Minnie and I pass our promise to take care of 
 Henny if he needs us ain't?" 
 
 "That you don't take care of Henny! That you 
 never give him a dollar of this here fortune. I see 
 now how wrong I brang up my son. This here 
 money would only do him harm. The best thing fur 
 Henny is to be throwed on hisself, with no one to 
 turn to. It's the only thing will make a man of 
 him if anything kin do it. Indeed I wisht Minnie 
 hadn't of always stood between me and want! I tell 
 
 [123]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 you, John, I learnt more from them couple days' 
 hunger that time, just before you and Minnie got 
 married together, than anything ever learnt me! I 
 only wisht I'd knowed it sooner ! " 
 
 "I guess hunger is some teacher!" nodded John. 
 
 "You bet you! So, then, I want to give you this 
 here thirty thousand dollars now to-night. I'll 
 write you off such a check if you'll pass me your 
 promise you won't give none of it to Henny." 
 
 " Make your check out to Minnie, not to me and I 
 promise you I'll see to it that she keeps the money her- 
 self and don't give any of it to her brother. I do have 
 some influence with my wife, you know," smiled John. 
 
 "Yes, I took notice to it a'ready." The doctor 
 nodded and smiled over the joke. 
 
 "Hen will raise an awful row, you know, father, 
 when he finds out about this thirty thousand dollars.'* 
 
 "But he can't make Minnie no trouble when the 
 money is hern since before I am deceased a'ready, 
 kin he?" asked the doctor anxiously. 
 
 "He cannot!' 9 responded John with relish. He 
 found himself anticipating Henry's chagrin with 
 considerable satisfaction. 
 
 "All right, then, John you git me the pen and 
 ink and that there spare check I fetched from the 
 bank along before I had so sick it's in the Bible 
 layin' at the Book of Job." 
 
 "At the Book of Job!" laughed John. "Well, 
 well, that's a co-in-ci-dence!" 
 
 Herose, opened theBook, andfound the blank check. 
 [124J
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 DIFFICULT as it was to hide one's personal 
 affairs in a place like Hessville, the financial 
 perplexities with which John and Minnie had 
 been wrestling were unsuspected by the general 
 public. It was known, of course, that a mortgage 
 rested upon their renovated home; but then John had 
 " prospects," his father being rich; and his salary, for 
 the simple life of the village, being large. So no one 
 dreamed of the desperate anxieties, the severe depri- 
 vations, which the young couple were enduring. 
 
 When a week after Doctor Maus's revelation of his 
 "estate," his physician told Minnie and John, one 
 morning, that the old man would die before night, 
 Minnie asked John to notify her brother. 
 
 But Henry did not show himself at his old home 
 until he came with his wife to attend his father's 
 funeral. 
 
 Minnie knew, the moment she saw him, that he 
 was not wholly unaffected by his father's death. 
 She had never seen him so subdued, so self-effacing, 
 so white and almost scared. This was evidently an 
 occasion to him of solemnity and awe, if not of some 
 remorse. Perhaps it was shame that had kept him 
 from his father's bedside. She hoped so. 
 
 [125]
 
 It was at* this funeral of their father-in-law that 
 Irene and John, for the first time since their separa- 
 tion on that fatal circus day, came together once more 
 in a personal relation. 
 
 That was a bitter hour to Irene, as she sat with the 
 "mourners," during the service, in an upper chamber 
 of John Wimmer's home, where the few relatives of 
 the deceased were gathered. The contrast between 
 the husbaYid at her side and the man, seated across 
 the room, whom she might have married, was so 
 painfully glaring to-day. Henny, a failure, dis- 
 credited, mistrusted; John, a success, respected, in- 
 fluential, holding the high-class job of Principal of 
 the Hessville school, with "prospects" from the 
 rich estate of his father Irene realized more poig- 
 nantly than ever before what a "mean trick" her 
 own senseless perversity had played upon her. 
 
 "I sure done poor fur myself!" she thought, with a 
 spiteful glance in the direction of her husband. 
 
 She did not doubt that everyone in that room all 
 the Wimmers, all the Laubs, all the Mauses for 
 miles 'round must be thinking, as she was, of how 
 poorly she had "done," and her pride winced 
 miserably; for what her neighbours thought of her 
 meant much to Mrs. Henry Maus. 
 
 "If I was married to John, all the girls would have 
 jealous! But Hen Maus! They pity me! Me! That 
 could have had my pick ! " 
 
 She inspected Minnie curiously, sitting at John's 
 side at the other end of the room, dressed in black, 
 
 [1261
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 listening tearfully to the voice of the preacher 
 coming to them from the hall below. She saw with 
 a start that Minnie was pregnant. That was one 
 thing at least that she did not envy her. 
 
 "But it ain't spoiled her complexion any she's 
 awful nice-complected ! " she observed. 
 
 She saw, with a pang, how attentive and solicitous 
 was John's bearing toward his bereaved wife. 
 Henry's marital ways were so "rough and common." 
 As Irene was by nature domineering and self-willed, 
 it was a constant irritation to her that her husband 
 was a man who could more than match her at the 
 game of bullying. If John were her husband, she 
 could derive some enjoyment and satisfaction from 
 the practice of that gentle art. 
 
 "I always thought I'd spend my married life 
 twisting John Wimmer round my little finger! And 
 now I ain't even got the chanct to!" 
 
 To be sure, experience had taught her that there 
 was a limit past which no woman could go in 
 "fooling" with John. 
 
 She would have been amazed and triumphant had 
 she had the slightest inkling of the hot tumult in 
 John's heart just now at finding himself in the same 
 room with her; if she had known that her mere 
 presence so near to him, her regal step across the 
 chamber, her rich, warm colouring against her 
 sombre black, her broad shoulders like an athletic 
 boy's, her full bosom and dainty ankles, were 
 shaking John to the foundations of his soul. She did 
 
 [127]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 not dream that his pallor was due to aught else than 
 the sombreness of the occasion, his sympathy with 
 the sorrow of his wife, the harrowing words of the 
 village preacher (who if he failed to harrow, would 
 greatly disappoint). 
 
 On his side, John was feeling deeply horrified at 
 the intensity of the emotion which the sight of Irene 
 called up in him. An hour before, the Madonna- 
 like softness of, Minnie's pensive face enshrouded in 
 its black veil, as she had mournfully taken leave of 
 the only parent she had ever known, had called forth 
 all the tenderness of which he thought he was capa- 
 ble. And now, how tame and colourless seemed her 
 daintiness in the presence of the riotous beauty, the 
 strong personality, of the woman he coveted! What 
 an awful thing was such a passion as this which 
 made him, against his will disloyal to his wife who 
 believed in him so absolutely; who was soon to be 
 a mother! 
 
 "We humans are in the hands of powers that we 
 ain't got any more control over than we have over 
 fire and wind!" he thought in wonder and conster- 
 nation. 
 
 In the fear of betraying to Minnie the state of his 
 heart toward another woman, his manner to Irene 
 stiffened and hardened in a way completely to mis- 
 lead that not very astute young woman, who dis- 
 guised her chagrin under an air of hauteur. 
 
 But Mannie saw none of this by-play. The 
 officiating minister's highly successful efforts at 
 
 [128]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 harrowing the feelings of the bereaved were followed 
 by the yet more sob-provoking number on the pro- 
 gramme the solo by the village soprano: 
 
 "Father's gone but not forgotten, 
 
 Never will his memory fade. 
 Sweetest thoughts will ever linger 
 'Round the grave where he is laid. 
 
 "We loved him, yes, we loved him, 
 
 But the Saviour loved him more, 
 So the angels sweetly called him 
 To that bright and happy shore. 
 
 "It was hard to part with Father, 
 
 Oh, so sad to see him die. 
 But then we'll try and meet him 
 Some sweet day by and by." 
 
 The funeral took place on Monday, and it was not 
 until the following Saturday that the Hessville 
 Weekly startled the village with the story of the great 
 legacy of thirty thousand dollars left to Doctor Maus 
 by a grateful patient who, after Doctor Maus had 
 cured him by the power of prayer, of cancer, had 
 "up and died of consumption." 
 
 And it was not until the big headlines of the Hess- 
 ville Weekly struck Henry Maus in the eyes when on 
 Saturday morning he picked up the newspaper from 
 the counter in his father-in-law's store, that he 
 learned of this wonderful fortune that had come to 
 his father. 
 
 [129J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 In wild excitement he rushed upstairs to Irene. 
 
 "Look-a-hereJ My pop! Thirty thousand dol- 
 lars yet! My pop! And he never peeped about 
 it to nobody!" 
 
 But Irene, after the first shock of amazement, was 
 suspicious. "How do you know your pop didn't 
 never peep to nobody about it? Mebby Minnie 
 knowed all about it. Mebby it was even more'n 
 thirty thousand dollars that was inherited to him, and 
 mebby Minnie she worked him to give some to her 
 before he died a'ready. You never went near him 
 when he had sick you don't know what Minnie 
 mebby done!" 
 
 "You don't know our Minnie. She's too damned 
 good to near do a thing like that cheat me out of my 
 share! Gosh, no! Say !" he cried, quite wild with de- 
 light, as he hurriedly began to lace up his shoes to go 
 to see his sister, "mebby I won't have my fling fur 
 oncet! To think of the old man keepin' a secret like 
 that fur two whole months! I'll take a trip to New 
 York!" he fairly yelled. 
 
 "Fifteen thousand will be yours," said Irene, her 
 eyes sparkling. "Say!" she cried, "leave us git a 
 Ford!" 
 
 "Och, no, a Pierce Arrow or mebby a Simplex and 
 sich a chauffeur fur you!" Henry mocked her. 
 "You think I'm a-goin' to spend it all on you, I guess! 
 Well, look-a-here, this here fifteen thousand is mine, 
 and I'm a-goin' to spend it on myself! See?" 
 
 "What I can see, Hen Maus, is my pop makin' you 
 [130]
 
 pay your board or get out of here!" retorted Irene, 
 furious at her impotence to dominate her own law- 
 ful husband either through threats or favours. 
 
 "I don't care how soon I get out of Hesswille, oncet 
 I got that there fifteen thousand!" exclaimed Henry. 
 "New York fur mine!" 
 
 "A pretty lookin' thing you'd be in New York! 
 You're too ignorant! They'd laugh at you in New 
 York!" 
 
 "They won't laugh at a fellah that's got fifteen 
 thousand dollars in New York or anywheres else!" 
 retorted Henry. 
 
 "And when it's all spent on yourself., then you'll 
 come crawlin' back here to loaf on us again! Huh!" 
 
 "I ain't likely ever to come back!" said Henry 
 darkly. 
 
 " When you come back, you'll have the pleasure of 
 goin' up to your brother-in-law's to beg fur board 
 you certainly won't get it here!" declared Irene. 
 "And I see John Wimmer boardin* a lazy loafer at 
 his expense! He'd sooner duck you in his rain 
 bar'l!" 
 
 "Aw, shut your face!" was Henry's loving re- 
 joinder as he flung himself out of the room and out of 
 the house. 
 
 A moment later he was running up the street 
 (finding it impossible to restrain his pace to a walk) 
 to get possession, without a moment's loss of time, of 
 his fifteen thousand dollars. Yet even at a running 
 pace he had time to wonder why he had not learned 
 
 [131]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 of this great good fortune before the Hessville Weekly 
 had been informed of it. How long had his sister been 
 keeping this news from him? He had had a right 
 to know of it as soon as she knew. Why had she not 
 told him? Was she resenting his refusal to aid them 
 when they were in need? Ever since his father's 
 death Henry had been unable to rid himself of the 
 uncomfortable memory of that night when he had 
 denied and cursed his starving old father. 
 
 When, without knocking, he opened the front 
 door and walked into his old home, he was impressed 
 almost to a state of awe by the grandeur of the im- 
 provements John and Minnie had made. The 
 newly painted exterior of the house, together with 
 the new porch and fence, had transformed the place 
 from the worst to the best home in the village; but 
 the interior was, Henry thought, really above the 
 station even of a schoolmaster. Brussels carpet, 
 plush chairs, sofa cushions, pictures, a victrola! It 
 was gorgeous. Minnie must surely already have 
 possession of her half of the fortune. Then why 
 didn't he have his half? 
 
 He passed from the parlour into the dining room. 
 
 "This is going some! A reg'lar dining room suit 
 yet! Gosh!" thought Henry, taking in the shining 
 yellow sideboard with chairs and table all matching. 
 "It sure is swell! I never conceited I'd see this old 
 shanty lookin' like this here!" 
 
 On the window sill were pots of artificial flowers 
 growing out of artificial earth. On the wall were two 
 
 [132]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 companion pictures of a style of art considered by 
 Hessville appropriate for a dining room calculated, 
 perhaps, to promote and encourage appetite; one of 
 them, a string of highly coloured fish, their eyes bulg- 
 ing in dying agony; the other, a bunch of limp, dead 
 game. 
 
 Henry went on out to the kitchen. New linoleum 
 on the floor, a bright new stove, new modern plumb- 
 ing! 
 
 "Gosh, you're swell up here!" he breathlessly 
 greeted Minnie who was making pie for dinner. 
 
 She turned white at his sudden appearing and sank 
 into a chair. "John will be in soon, Henry," she 
 said nervously. "He's up at the school putting 
 some exercises on the blackboard for Monday." 
 
 She wished, in her physical weakness, that her 
 husband were at home to shield her in this crisis. 
 
 "I kin worry through without John! Why didn't 
 you tell me before of our comin' into all this here 
 money?" he demanded chokingly; he could scarcely 
 speak for excitement. "Why do you leave me learn 
 all about it in the Hesswille Weekly? I see how you 
 spent enough of it a'ready! Why didn't you leave 
 me know?" 
 
 "There was nothing to tell you." 
 
 "Nothin' to tell me! Nothin'! As if fifteen 
 thousand dollars fell into my hand every day in the 
 week! What do you mean nothin' to tell me?" 
 
 "Father didn't leave you any money," answered 
 Minnie, white but resolute. 
 
 [1331
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Ha! You mean he made a will and left you all? 
 Well, I'll break it and git my half see?" cried 
 Henry. "You don't think you kin come a game like 
 that on me, do you?" 
 
 "Father didn't make a will because he knew you'd 
 break his will. He gave all he had to me before he 
 died." 
 
 Henry stared at her with bulging eyes. "What 
 fur? Why did he? You and John Wimmer in- 
 floonced him ! Yous cheated me ! I'll have the law on 
 you! Yous can't keep my half of them thirty thou- 
 sand ! Don ' t you think it ! I '11 have yous arrested ! ' ' 
 
 "There ain't a thing you can do, Henny. Father 
 didn't want for you to have any of this money; so he 
 made it that you couldn't get any. Before he died 
 already, he gave it all over to me. And I put it in 
 bank in my own name." 
 
 "So!" gasped Henry, his face apoplectic. "So 
 you'd cheat your own brother out of his rights! You 
 that wants to be so good yet ! Your own brother ! " 
 
 "When did you ever act like a brother to me, 
 Henry? Or like a son to father?" 
 
 "Minnie Maus! You ain't a-goin* to try to keep 
 my half away from me, are you?" 
 
 "Why should I wish you to have that money 
 sooner 'n John and I? You never did a thing for me 
 in all your life. I worked for you for years and years 
 without ever a thank you from you. Why shouldn't 
 I sooner give that money to John that's good to me 
 and loves me?" 
 
 [134]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Loves you! Much he loves you ! Ha!" 
 
 "/ know how much!" 
 
 "No, you don't neither! Say, Minnie Maus, do 
 you think Pop would have wanted his cash give to an 
 outsider, preferable to his own son? Heh?" 
 
 "John treated him much more as a son should 
 than ever you did, Henny. You never came near 
 him when he was dying!" said Minnie bitterly. 
 "When he went to you hungry starving! you 
 cursed him! and drove him off! His last dying re- 
 quest was that I should never give you any of this 
 money." 
 
 Henry, as white as Minnie now, sank into a chair. 
 "Minnie!" he gasped, "ain't you a-goin to gimme 
 any of that there money?" 
 
 "I'd sooner give it to any stranger on the street 
 than to you. Any stranger would have helped us 
 when we were starving but you would not!" 
 
 "It's John Wimmer has made you so changed! 
 You used to be dead easy before he got you so spoilt 
 up ! Say ! I kin prove it to you that John Wimmer's 
 stuck on my wife and that he never was stuck on you! 
 I kin prove it by " 
 
 Minnie laughed involuntarily almost merrily. 
 "How silly you are, Henny, to think you could make 
 me believe such foolishness!" 
 
 Scarcely had she spoken when suddenly she felt 
 John's arm about her pressing her close. He had 
 come in behind her at the kitchen door just in time 
 to hear Henry's assertion and her confident denial of it. 
 
 [135J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Her faith in his devotion stirred in John an emotion 
 compounded strangely of tenderness, remorse, and 
 satisfaction. Minnie seemed to him in that moment 
 a rod and a staff to comfort him; a very great com- 
 pensation for the loss of a more supreme happiness. 
 
 His sudden appearing seemed to act upon Henry's 
 temper like a torch to powder; to see this man, whom 
 he hated and envied, living complacently in the se- 
 cure possession of wealth which had belonged to his 
 father; which, by all the laws of God and man, ought 
 to be in his hands was too much for his self-re- 
 straint. He wanted to fly at him like a mad bull, 
 stamp upon him, crush him to death and his sense of 
 impotence before John's superior strength fairly 
 maddened him. Only with words could he lash at 
 his enemy and these he used in wild and reckless fury, 
 cursing, abusing, threatening ending his tirade in a 
 promise of dire vengeance. 
 
 "Don't yous two thief s think I won't git back at 
 yous! I'll burn your fancy house down over your 
 heads! your house that's rightly my house, fur my 
 pop owned it and it was his money that repaired it! 
 Yous listen on me! your stylish diggm's is goin* up 
 in smoke before yous are many days older!" 
 
 "Seeing that it's insured, furniture and all, and 
 that we'd like better to build new, go ahead, Hen," 
 said John. 
 
 "Aw, shut up, you " He used a ribald ex- 
 pression which Minnie, fortunately, did not under- 
 stand, but which made John turn white. 
 
 [136]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Here, here! None of that! Not on my prem- 
 ises!" he commanded peremptorily. 
 
 "Your premises!" Henry almost screamed. 
 "Yourn! Callin' yourn what belonged to my pop! 
 You- 
 
 He threw out his clenched fist to strike John in 
 the face but it was caught in mid-air and in an in- 
 stant Henry found his two hands pinioned behind 
 him. 
 
 No sooner did he know himself to be helpless in 
 John's power than all his bravado collapsed and he 
 whimpered with fear. 
 
 "You lee' me be! Say! You lee' me go and I 
 won't do you nothin'. I pass my promise I won't. 
 Minnie! You ain't standin' there and leavin' him 
 use me rough, are you?" 
 
 Minnie turned anxious, pleading eyes to John. His 
 free hand closed over hers reassuringly. "Go in the 
 other room, Minnie." 
 
 "Don't you go!" bawled Henry. "Don't you go 
 and lee' me here alone with him!" 
 
 But at the touch of John's hand, the anxious plead- 
 ing of Minnie's eyes changed instantly to a look of 
 confidence in his fairness, his mercy. She did not 
 want her brother hurt, said her eyes, but it was not 
 necessary to plead for him John would do what was 
 right. Without a word she turned away and left the 
 room. 
 
 "March!" said John to his brother-in-law and 
 still holding the hands of his captive pinioned behind 
 
 [1371
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 him, he turned him right-about-face to the kitchen 
 door and forced him out to the gate. 
 
 "If you ever make yourself worth associating with, 
 Hen, you can come back. But not till then. Do 
 you understand? Not till then. If I find you round 
 here bothering Minnie, you won't have a pleasant 
 call! Minnie was bothered with you all her life 
 now I'm going to see to it that she has some peace. 
 So you keep yourself away." 
 
 He relaxed his hold; and Henry lost no time in 
 getting out of his reach. 
 
 "You " He repeated his ribald epithet. 'Til 
 
 have my spite out on you and Minnie if I hang fur 
 it!" 
 
 As John walked slowly back into the kitchen, from 
 which came pleasantly the odour of freshly baked 
 pies, he reflected that he could not safely regard 
 Henry's threats as idle. The fellow would certainly 
 try to avenge himself. To minds like Henry's, 
 vengeance for grievances was a sacred duty which 
 only a weakling would forego. 
 
 "I got to keep very careful watch especially till 
 the baby's born already. He might give Minnie a 
 bad fright." 
 
 But Minnie, in her faith in John's power to pro- 
 tect her, felt entirely secure though she knew even 
 more certainly than did John that Henry would never 
 let such a wrong as the loss of a fortune go unavenged 
 if he could help it. 
 
 [138]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 I NEVER thought to be living on money earned by 
 some other person's hard work," said John one 
 evening as he and Minnie sat chatting together 
 in their cozy sitting room; they had just been 
 reckoning up the very reassuring bank account left 
 over after having paid all their debts ; and it must be 
 admitted that a bank balance, even when belonging 
 to idealists, does go a great way toward making a 
 happy home. "We're awfully well-fixed. But I'd 
 sooner it was through work I did than through 
 unearned increments. I'll explain you what they 
 are unearned increments " 
 
 "I know," smiled Minnie. "It's rents; or interest 
 on money invested; money that comes to you that 
 you didn't work for." 
 
 "You're awfully intelligent for a girl," said John 
 approvingly. "I hope the boy takes after you!" 
 
 "I'd sooner he'd take after you!" 
 
 "If only he don't fool us and take the worst from 
 both of us!" 
 
 "You haven't any 'worst' about you!" said 
 Minnie. 
 
 "Same to you!" John returned the compliment 
 with a wave of his hand toward her. 
 
 [139]
 
 "Mebby the boy will fool us both by turning out a 
 girl!" smiled Minnie. 
 
 "Only so it's a baby, I'll be more'n satisfied. I can 
 hardly wait till he comes a'ready, Minnie! if it 
 wasn't for the suffering for you!" 
 
 "I, too, can har'ly wait!" she said, ecstatically 
 hugging the baby dress on which she was sewing. 
 "I'm afraid I'll kill her with love!" 
 
 "If I see you spoilin' him up with indulgence and 
 humouring, the way you spoiled Hen, I'll have to be 
 awfully firm with him myself." 
 
 "Your children won't be spoiled, John. No 
 danger." 
 
 "About those unearned increments," John heavily 
 reverted to the troublesome doubt in his mind. 
 "You see, Minnie, all wealth, every dollar, stands for 
 somebody 9 s labour. There couldn't be wealth without 
 labour to produce it. So there's something awfully 
 wrong somewheres when we have the use of fifteen 
 hundred dollars a year that some other ones worked 
 to earn." 
 
 "But it's awful comfortable. Never before in my 
 life did I have a penny I didn't work for. I like it!" 
 
 John laughed. "Yes, it sure is comfortable!" he 
 said as he stretched his long legs out from the big 
 Morris chair in which he lounged. "But," he added 
 seriously, "it ain't ethical." 
 
 "Look at the big incomes spent by what they call 
 the idle rich in Philadelphia," said Minnie, "all 
 earned by other ones than those that spend them." 
 
 [140]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "If I was more educated, I could mebby work out 
 such questions," said John. " I'd have liked to go to 
 college. But it was some fight to get father to leave 
 me go just to Kutztown Normal. And I didn't learn 
 such an awful lot there, either. I learnt more from 
 teaching than ever I learned from going to school. 
 Seneca says," he solemnly quoted, '"Men, while 
 teaching, learn." 
 
 "Mebby that's what that poet, Robert Browning, 
 meant in that poem you read me one evening you 
 mind? called 'Christmas Eve': "Tis the taught al- 
 ready that profits by teaching."' 
 
 "Mebby," acquiesced John. "And then again 
 mebby not. It's hard to tell sometimes what that 
 poet was driving at! I sometimes think he didn't 
 rightly know himself. I want our children, Minnie, 
 to have all the education they'll take, so's they'll be 
 fitted to give their best service to the world and not 
 be handicapped like I am." 
 
 "We'll bring them up to be such Crusaders or 
 knights, you mind of in the history books, John, to 
 fight against things that ain't just or right in the 
 world. Ain't?" 
 
 "We will," nodded John gravely. "I'm going to 
 teach them they're here for two things to be of use 
 and to have a good time. You, Minnie, missed both 
 those things. You never had a good time 
 
 "I'm making it up now, though!" said Minnie 
 radiantly. 
 
 John bent to kiss her lips before going on with his 
 [1411
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 harangue. "And you never were useful except the 
 year you taught in my school. All your other time 
 you wasted on two idle men. It's a big mistake to 
 think you're being useful and unselfish when you're 
 only making other people selfish. So our children 
 are going to be taught to be more sensible than their 
 mother has been," he concluded, patting her shoulder. 
 "Say, Minnie, didn't it ever bother you any that you 
 gave up your Mennonite faith?" 
 
 "No," she shook her head. "Our love is my re- 
 ligion and always will be." 
 
 She said it with a simple sincerity that humiliated 
 John almost more than it pleased him, so unworthy 
 of her devotion did he feel himself to be. For though 
 Minnie grew dearer and more necessary to him every 
 day of their life together, he knew, to his sorrow, that 
 his passion for Irene grew in the same proportion. 
 This evening, for instance, in this pleasant domestic 
 intimacy of their hour alone together, the traitorous 
 thought obtruded itself upon his shrinking imagi- 
 nation, "If it was Irene, instead of Minnie, that was 
 sitting here with me the mistress of my home 
 about to be the mother of my child " 
 
 He closed his eyes to steady his beating brain be- 
 fore the fancied picture. Irene with her rich, warm 
 bloom, her splendid physique, that proud carriage of 
 her head every movement of her body a lure, every 
 tone of her voice a thrill! if it were she that were 
 here at his side his own! 
 
 It chanced that at that very hour the object of 
 [1421
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 all this romantic idealizing was, like Minnie, enjoy- 
 ing an evening of closest domestic intimacy with her 
 husband. 
 
 "Look at here! and here! and here!" Henry 
 was violently demanding as he displayed to his coldly 
 indifferent and contemptuous spouse his undarned 
 socks and buttonless underwear, "You lazy, good-for- 
 nothing piece, can't you keep your Mister's clo'es 
 mended up?" 
 
 "Mend 'em yourself you're got more time than I 
 got. What do you ever do?" 
 
 "If it ain't a wife's place to sew on her Mister's 
 buttons yet and keep his socks darned, what's she 
 fur anyhow?" 
 
 "Fur? Well, if I wasn't fur somepin better 'n 
 keepin' you mended up, I wouldn't be fur much, 
 that's sure! I'll see myself settin' round sewin' fur 
 you whiles you loaf! Huh!" 
 
 "Well, all I got to say, John Wimmer's lucky he 
 didn't git you! Minnie'll anyhow keep his clo'es 
 good mended and his house clean. Look at this here 
 bedroom! You never redd up!" 
 
 "Redd up yourself if you like things redd up!" 
 
 "Is it your Mister's place to redd up the room?" 
 
 "What is the Mister's work, Hen, in your opinion? 
 I have curiosity to know what you think it is ha!" 
 Irene laughed derisively from where she lounged in a 
 kimono on the foot of the bed, munching an apple and 
 leafing the pages of a fashion magazine. 
 
 "I congratulate John Wimmer that he didn't git 
 [1433
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 you ! " Henry repeated tauntingly. " He done grand 
 fur hisself when he jilted you!" 
 
 This was going too far. Irene, rising, walked 
 regally to the door, and from that safe vantage 
 hurled at Henry's head first her apple core then her 
 magazine; and before he could recover to dash after 
 her, she had banged the door shut and fled to the 
 safe shelter of her father's presence. 
 
 "Pop!" she exclaimed, "it don't make me nothing 
 how soon you tell Hen to get out!" 
 
 "That suits me!" her father eagerly returned. 
 "Then I tell him right aways! It's only because you 
 wouldn't have it so that I didn't tell him long ago 
 a'ready to get out!" 
 
 As Mr. Laub quickly determined to act before his 
 spoiled and petted only child had time to change 
 her mind, Henry suddenly found himself, for the first 
 time in his life, without shelter or food, and forced, 
 therefore, to work or starve and freeze. Under 
 these circumstances he shook the dust of Hessville 
 from his feet and departed, unlamented, for the city. 
 
 What sort of employment he succeeded in securing 
 there Hessville did not hear. John Wimmer fer- 
 vently hoped it would be permanent; for so long as 
 his resentful brother-in-law remained in the village, 
 he could know no peace in leaving Minnie alone for an 
 hour. It would be so easy for Henry to wreck his 
 vengeance upon her in her present condition. John 
 felt an immense relief, therefore, at the news of 
 Henry's departure. 
 
 [144]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But he spent hours in reflecting pensively upon the 
 hurt which Irene's proud spirit must have suffered iu 
 such a wretchedly mistaken marriage. If he were free, 
 how he would fly to her side to comfort that hurt and 
 help her to woo back her self-respect ! It was bitterly 
 hard to have to remain aloof, silent, inexpressive, 
 when all his soul hungered and thirsted to go to her. 
 
 Domestic alienations among the Pennsylvania 
 Dutch being so rare as to be counted a deep dis- 
 grace, Irene found her situation neither wife nor 
 widow most unenviable; so that when Henry, after 
 two months of silence, wrote and told her he had 
 "a good-paying job," and could keep her in style if 
 she would join him, she did not hesitate a moment to 
 respond, in spite of her parents' protest that she 
 ought to demand some details as to this "good-pay- 
 ing job" before committing herself. 
 
 "It's easy enough to come back if I find he's lyin'," 
 was her reply. "I have sick of Hesswille anyhow. 
 It ain't so slow in the city. Yous needn't plague me 
 not to go, fur I'm goin*. 'Nuff said!" 
 
 John's first feeling upon learning that Irene was 
 going to join Henry was one of sheer amazement. To 
 have escaped from such a degrading union and then 
 voluntarily to return to it! for an instant his ideal of 
 her was dashed. But only for an instant. 
 
 "That sacred she holds her wifely dooty!" was his 
 second thought, "even to a skunk like Hen Maus! 
 What a wife she'd have made to a husband that was 
 worthy of her!" 
 
 [145]
 
 For the hundredth time he tortured his soul to 
 understand what had ever brought her to give her- 
 self, in the first place, to such as Henry. 
 
 "A queen of a woman stooping to a dog!" he 
 marvelled. 
 
 He wished that he might, with safety, go to her and 
 persuade her that it was not her duty to cleave to a 
 bad mate; that, on the contrary, she owed it to herself, 
 to her parents and her friends, to break away from a 
 union which must drag her down to the level of the 
 wretch to whom she was bound. 
 
 But John could not trust himself to go near her. 
 Therein lay danger to himself, to Minnie, to their un- 
 born child. 
 
 For a while after Irene was gone he was wretchedly 
 unhappy; for even an occasional chance glimpse of 
 her on the street had been something to hope for; to 
 delight in. 
 
 It was well for the peace of his home and for his 
 wife's happy faith in his supreme love for herself that 
 his keen interest in the baby that was coming, as well 
 as Minnie's precarious state of health forced his 
 mind out of the groove of brooding into which it 
 seemed prone to sink. 
 
 The melancholy fact was that Irene's absence was 
 far more calculated to keep alive the flame of his 
 passion than the daily sight of her would have done. 
 Marriage itself would have worked a speedy cure; but 
 her departure, leaving his imagination to play un- 
 challenged with his infatuation, kept his idealized 
 
 [146]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 image of the maiden not only alive, but increasingly 
 dazzling and beautiful. With what might seem 
 strange perversity, he grew into a secret habit, during 
 the few years that passed before he ever again be- 
 held Irene, of transforming her most glaring faults of 
 character and Minnie's finest, rarest qualities into 
 contrasts highly favourable to the imaginary absent 
 one. When Minnie was sweetly yielding, he saw 
 Irene strong and firm; when Minnie was frail from 
 child-bearing, though he cherished her chivalrously 
 and tenderly, yet he beheld Irene a robust mother 
 of stalwart sons; when Minnie was patiently sym- 
 pathetic with her children's faults and weaknesses, he 
 saw Irene a wiser mother, honoured and worshipped, 
 rather than companioned, by her children. 
 
 And yet, he never felt critical toward his wife. He 
 would not have had her different. She would not 
 have been Minnie if she had been big and robust and 
 regal and strong. No, he liked her as she was. 
 
 "There's one thing about you, Minnie," he once 
 told her; "if you're a little weak sometimes with them 
 you love me and the children you have an awfully 
 strong will over yourself. Your will and your con- 
 science sure do drive you where they want you to go ! " 
 
 He was sure that a more comfortable wife than 
 Minnie no man ever possessed (Being a Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutchman he of course thought of his mate as 
 a " possession ") . Her only shortcoming was that she 
 was not the love of his impassioned imagination, his 
 burning heart. 
 
 [147]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie, through it all, remained wholly unsuspicious. 
 John's true state of mind wedded to one woman and 
 loving and dreaming of another would have been 
 unthinkable to her utter sincerity and loyalty. 
 
 "Ain't, we are happy together, John!" she would 
 say sometimes in the fulness of her heart, when her 
 cup seemed overflowing perhaps upon discovering 
 that a new baby was coming to them; or in the thrill 
 they both always experienced when finding some new 
 and vital point of mental or spiritual contact; for they 
 alone, in all the village, tried not to stagnate among 
 the practical and material cares of their joint life. 
 They read; they took little jaunts to town to hear 
 lectures or to hear an occasional play; they bought 
 first-class records for their victrola; they subscribed 
 for several good magazines. Hessville considered 
 them almost too superior to be comfortable. 
 
 It was when the third baby was expected that there 
 occurred a dramatic variation in the peaceful mo- 
 notony of their lives. John had gone to Lancaster 
 for a week to attend "Teachers' Institute." As 
 Minnie's "time" was near, he did not like to leave 
 her, but "Teachers' Institute" was a momentous 
 occasion to all "Educators" of the county and could 
 not be slighted except in case of absolute necessity. 
 
 "I wish you could go with," he told Minnie. "It 
 would be so much more interesting to me if I could 
 talk over the' speeches with you afterward. Only 
 once in the six years we are married together did you 
 go with. Babies do sure tie a woman down. Ain't?" 
 
 [148]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OE HESSVILLE 
 
 "But they're more than worth all they cost!" 
 laughed Minnie. "To be sure I wish, too, I could 
 go with. That one time I did go along, I liked it 
 near as well as a theatre yet! Some of the speakers 
 were grand! I think, John, if you could make a 
 speech and give your ideas of teaching and managing 
 a school, it would be useful to the audience to hear it, 
 for you have better thoughts than some that speak." 
 
 "I know I have. Some of the speakers say such 
 awfully dumb things! things that every teacher of 
 any experience in the audience knows ain't so. Some- 
 times I want to stand up and holler, 'You're either 
 a nut or either a damned liar!' Or to some I would 
 like to yell, 'Quit killin' time ours and yours and 
 say something!' But I'm not educated enough to 
 speak in public. And I'm not a Prominent Educator 
 enough to be asked to tell my opinions on Education." 
 
 "It will be a long week," sighed Minnie, "with you 
 away. But I'm glad you're having the change. 
 And your letters will be my change and treat. If you 
 didn't go off, I wouldn't get letters." 
 
 " It always clears up my own ideas, Minnie, to talk 
 them out to you; so I'll miss not having you along. 
 And not seeing the kiddies for a whole week ! Gosh ! " 
 
 "Yes, ain't! It draws my breath!" 
 
 John left on Monday morning, after having first 
 arranged with one of his pupils, Eva Hertzogg, a 
 reliable little girl of fourteen, to call every morning 
 and evening at his home during his absence, to do 
 chores for Minnie, run errands, and bring the mail. 
 
 [149]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 The mail would of course consist of his daily letter 
 to Minnie; nothing else, for they had no correspon- 
 dents and none of the periodicals for which they sub- 
 scribed was due at this time. 
 
 Minnie was, then, surprised when on Monday 
 evening, a half day after John's departure, Eva 
 Hertzogg brought her a letter from the postoffice. 
 
 "Why, I didn't look for a letter till to-morrow 
 morning yet! I don't see how it could get here that 
 quick," she said as she eagerly took it from the little 
 girl. 
 
 "It can't be from Mister," Eva pointed out, "for 
 the reason that its postmark is Hesswille." 
 
 "And it ain't his penmanship, either," added Min- 
 nie wonderingly. "It's awful poor penmanship!" 
 
 She opened the letter quickly, a vague fear in her 
 heart of impending trouble. 
 
 "Who's it from?" asked Eva curiously, running 
 around to Minnie's side and looking over her shoul- 
 der. "Why, it ain't signed, is it?" 
 
 Minnie started to read it aloud, but changed her 
 mind after a few words and sent the curious and very 
 reluctant Eva home. 
 
 Then she reopened and read slowly and carefully 
 this appalling communication which the mail had 
 brought to her: 
 
 Minnie Wimmer You put $100 in a enwelope and stick 
 it under the shutter of the window on your south porch, on 
 Toosday at nine p m in the evning. Or before morning 
 your firstborned will be stole from you. If you tell this 
 
 [150]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 here to any one, your husband will never come back to you 
 alive, If you send for him he won't get your message. If 
 you try to go to him, yule be stopped. Obay this here 
 letter and none of yous will be harmed. Fale to obay it in 
 everey partikler and yule be sorry for the rest part of your 
 life. * 
 
 "This is Henny!" she instantly concluded. "He 
 knew John would be away this week to Teachers' 
 Institute!" 
 
 In her physical plight and with the two young 
 children on her hands, her helplessness to cope with 
 the situation alarmed her. 
 
 "If I didn't look so, I'd take the babies and go 
 straight to Lancaster to John," she thought. 
 
 Since that was impossible, what should she do? 
 
 If she appealed to her neighbours to protect her, 
 the threat of harm to John might be executed; and 
 as for an appeal to the law, Hessville's police force 
 consisted of one feeble little constable. If she 
 telegraphed to John to come home, her message would 
 perhaps be intercepted. 
 
 Perhaps the only thing she could do was to hand 
 over the hundred dollars. 
 
 "I always knew Henny would some day try to 
 have revenge for that money," she thought. "And 
 if I don't give him the hundred dollars, he will 
 certainly do what he says in this letter!" 
 
 But she knew John would consider such a yielding 
 to threat as inexcusably cowardly and a very weak 
 conniving with wickedness. 
 
 [151]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "And anyhow, whoever it is that wrote off this 
 letter (if it ain't Henny) why, if I gave him the money, 
 it would only encourage him to come another time 
 and demand more," she decided. 
 
 If Henry was not the author of the letter, it must 
 be someone who knew her well. " To so understand 
 just what would frighten me into giving him the 
 money ! For to be sure I'd do most anything before 
 I'd leave my child be stolen from me!" 
 
 The more she considered the situation, the more 
 frightened she became. 
 
 "If only I could ask someone's advice!" 
 
 But that would endanger John if there were 
 anything in the threats of the letter. She had no 
 doubt of John's ability to defend himself if fore- 
 warned. But with cowards who stabbed in the back ! 
 
 Finally, after long consideration, she concluded 
 that the only thing she could do would be to take at 
 least one person into her confidence; to send a man or 
 boy to Lancaster at once to deliver into John's own 
 hands the anonymous letter. John would know 
 exactly the right thing to do about it. 
 
 The question was whom should she send? The man 
 of the house next door would, she knew, be a willing 
 messenger, but he drank and could not be trusted to 
 hold his tongue or even to deliver the letter. 
 
 There was Eva Hertzogg's brother Peter, seven- 
 teen years old, who attended John's school he was 
 a level-headed lad; and he would be delighted to have 
 a trip to the city, all expenses paid. 
 
 [152]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She would, however, have to act very cautiously. 
 If Peter were seen by the anonymous letter-writer, 
 coming to her house, it might arouse a suspicion of 
 her plan. 
 
 When Eva arrived next morning, per schedule, to 
 inquire what provisions Mrs. Wimmer wanted from 
 the store, Minnie was ready with a list that would 
 keep the family supplied with food for a month. 
 
 "It'll be too heavy for you to carry, Eva, so get 
 your brother Peter to come right up here with the 
 things as fast as he otherwise can ! I got to have that 
 peck of potatoes right aways." 
 
 "But, Missus, you're got potatoes a-plenty in 
 your cellar ! A bar'l full anyhow ! " 
 
 "I don't like mine I have hungry for the nice 
 ones they're got at Laub's store. Tell Peter to hurry 
 with the potatoes, Eva! I got to have them till 
 twenty minutes a'ready." 
 
 Eva, as she obeyed, decided that here was a proof 
 of what she had heard of the cranky notions women 
 got when they were pregnant. 
 
 "To be that fussy about such common things as 
 potatoes yet! that you even let your bar'l full and 
 go and buy other ones ! Don't it beat all ! " 
 
 "Better hurry, Peter, with them potatoes she's 
 cravin', or she'll throw a fit!" Eva advised her 
 brother. "I bet you she'll pitch in and eat one of 
 them Laub's store potatoes raw, as soon as she can 
 get her hand on 'em!" 
 
 But when Peter arrived, breathless, with his 
 [153]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 heavy load, Minnie manifested no interest whatever 
 in the potatoes. 
 
 "Peter, you must go to Lancaster for me on the 
 nine-thirty train," she announced to the astonished 
 boy as she put a dollar bill into his hand, "and find 
 Mister at Teachers' Institute and deliver him this 
 note" putting into his hand the anonymous letter 
 sealed in a fresh envelope and addressed to John. 
 "You know Teachers' Institute is held at the Court 
 House. Don't leave any one see the note ! And don't 
 give it to any one but John. He'll come on home 
 with you." 
 
 "Ain't you feelin' so well, Missus, that you must 
 send for Mister over? " 
 
 "Oh, I'm feelin' just so middlin'. But but I got 
 to have Mister home right aways. Will you go?" 
 
 "Sure, Missus, if Mom'll leave me." 
 
 "But, Peter, I don't want any one to know I'm 
 sending for Mister not even your mother." 
 
 "But Mom won't know where I'm at! She'll be 
 worried and have cross at me!" 
 
 "You'll be back by one o'clock. Eva's coming 
 back for an hour this morning to help me and I'll 
 explain to her. You go right to the depot from here, 
 Peter, without going home first; and you dare keep 
 the change from the dollar." 
 
 "Och, thank you, Missus, but that's most too 
 much pay! It's only fifty cents round trip to 
 Lancaster." 
 
 "You can keep the change." 
 [1541
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Thank you kindly. But I ought anyhow to put 
 on my Sunday suit to go to town yet ! " 
 
 "You haven't time!" cried Minnie desperately. 
 
 "Don't you want fur our Evy to fetch Mom and 
 the doctor whiles I'm goin' fur Mister?" asked 
 Peter, blushing but well-meaning. 
 
 "Och, no, Peter! I tell you I don't want a living 
 soul to know you are going for Mister! " 
 
 "All right then, Missus," said Peter soothingly, 
 thinking that such extreme "modesty" as would 
 conceal from her neighbours the imminent necessity 
 for summoning "Mister-" was even crankier than a 
 craving for "store potatoes." "I'll start right 
 aways," he agreed. 
 
 [155]
 
 CHAPTER XH 
 
 OF COURSE it's Hen," John agreed with 
 Minnie when, upon his return at one o'clock, 
 they talked it over, while he ate the hot 
 dinner she placed before him. "Do you know his 
 penmanship when you see it, Minnie?" 
 
 " No for the reason that he never wrote anything 
 though to be sure, Henny can write. This letter 
 could be his penmanship, for all I know." 
 
 "Nobody else could be writing you such a letter. 
 It sounds like Hen!" 
 
 "I was so sorry to call you home!" said Minnie 
 regretfully, though the weight of the universe 
 seemed to have rolled from her heart in knowing her 
 children to be once more under their father's sure 
 protection. "You can go right back to-morrow, 
 John." 
 
 "You did the right thing to get me here. When I 
 think of you and the babies at Hen's mercy! with 
 me away! Well, I ain't letting you alone again, 
 Minnie. I'll get Mother or one of the girls to come 
 and stay with you." 
 
 "Would your father spare one of them?" 
 
 "He'll have to. Of course he'll kick! Gosh, how 
 he hates me!" added John a little sadly. "It must 
 
 [156]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 be great, Minnie, to have a father you can respect and 
 be fond of!" 
 
 " Your children have that kind of a father ! " 
 
 "A man's children ought to keep him to the mark 
 ain't? I'd hate for my children not to be able to 
 respect me." 
 
 "That's one grief you'll never know, John, dear!" 
 
 "No telling, Minnie a man's got temptations 
 that an innocent girl like you couldn't understand 
 and better men than me have yielded to them." 
 
 At half-past eight that evening, Minnie, acting 
 under John's directions, stepped out of the house, 
 went to the southern end of the porch, tucked a 
 sealed envelope containing a sheet of blank paper 
 under the shutter, and returned to the house. 
 
 "Of course he won't come for it if he saw me come 
 home," said John. "But if he didn't know you sent 
 Peter for me, I guess he wasn't watchin' for me to 
 come." 
 
 He wrapped himself in a big coat and under cover 
 of the darkness stole out to the thick evergreen hedge 
 at the south side to the house and lay down to wait 
 for the villain. 
 
 About nine o'clock he heard slow footsteps ap- 
 proaching along the silent, empty street. They did 
 not, however, turn in at his gate, but passed on. He 
 lay very still and waited. In a few moments he 
 heard the footsteps reapproaching slowly and a 
 little cautiously from the other direction. Again 
 as they neared his gate they did not turn in, but 
 
 [157]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 passed by and moved on, even out of earshot. And 
 again John waited. Presently he heard them the 
 same slow, cautious steps returning. He propped his 
 head on his hand and peered through the dimness to 
 try to see who it was that was so patiently patrolling 
 his house. He descried the slim figure of a young 
 boy certainly not Henry's burly, clumsy frame. 
 John held his breath as the youth once more ap- 
 proached the gate, more slowly than before. He 
 paused now, for a moment then entered. Going 
 noiselessly to the south side of the house, he stepped 
 upon the porch and tiptoed to the window. The 
 white envelope showed plainly against the dark 
 green shutter. Drawing it from its nook, he turned 
 hastily to step off the porch only to find himself 
 caught and held in the unescapable grip of big John 
 Wimmer. 
 
 "Who are you, boy? Why, bless me Carl 
 Eichler ! What are you up to ? " 
 
 "A man's givin' me a dollar to fetch him this here 
 letter," explained Carl cheerfully. 
 
 "But what's the letter about? Why all this 
 sneaking, Carl?" 
 
 "He says he's your sister's beau that your oP man 
 won't leave hang round his place, so she writes him 
 off sich love letters and lets 'em here fur him." 
 
 "That's his story, is it? Who is he do you 
 know?" 
 
 "No, he's a stranger to Hesswille. A foreigner 
 from New York." 
 
 [158]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Look here, Carl! Why didn't you walk up to the 
 porch and get the letter without so much caution and 
 pussy-footing?" 
 
 "The man tol' me not to get the letter if I seen any 
 one round. I guess he had afraid your oP man was 
 watchin'. Say, Teacher!" Carl suddenly exclaimed, 
 scenting a mystery in this errand relegated to him, 
 "what's it all about, anyhow?" 
 
 His innocence was so transparent that John, 
 knowing the simplicity of the lad, who was one of his 
 pupils, could not doubt his sincerity. 
 
 "Come on in the house with me, Carl." 
 
 " But the man's waitin' fur me, Teacher, with that 
 there dollar I got to hurry." 
 
 "He'll be more likely to give you a kick than a 
 dollar when he sees the contents of that enwelope. 
 Come in." 
 
 He led the way to the lighted sitting room where 
 Minnie, having just put her two children to bed, was 
 seated with her sewing though she was far too 
 anxious to be able to work at it. She greeted their 
 entrance with a start of apprehension, which turned 
 to astonishment as she saw, not her brother, but 
 young Carl Eichler. 
 
 "Now, then, Carl, how did this stranger get hold 
 of you?" asked John. 
 
 "He talked to me over our back fence and ast me 
 would I do him this favour fur a dollar. Say, who is 
 he, anyhow?" 
 
 It was six years since Henry had left Hessville 
 [159]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OP HESSVILLE 
 
 and the boy could easily have forgotten him en- 
 tirely. 
 
 "What does he look like?" asked John. 
 
 "He's a thick-built fellah with a black beard." 
 
 "Where is he waiting for you?" 
 
 "Down back of Laub's store. Say, what's it all 
 about, anyhow?" 
 
 " Come, I'll go with you. We'll take him his letter." 
 
 John bent to kiss Minnie. "Don't worry, dear." 
 
 "I'll be glad when you're safe home again! I 
 
 can't help being afraid " her lips shook and she 
 
 bent over her sewing. 
 
 John smoothed her hair. "I'll hurry right back, 
 dear." 
 
 When he and the boy were about half way to 
 Laub's store he bade Carl go on ahead. "I'll follow 
 slower," he said. "I'm going to nab the scamp that 
 put you up to doing his dirty work for him ! " 
 
 Carl turned into the lane back of Laub's store. 
 A few steps and he came upon the sombre figure of a 
 man skulking close to a fence, his gait and his whole 
 bearing betraying such nervous apprehension that 
 the boy shrank from approaching him. But the man 
 had heard him coming and sprang forward eagerly,, 
 almost savagely, to snatch for the envelope. 
 
 Carl, however, held it out of his reach. "My dollar 
 first!" he demanded. 
 
 "Gimme the letter first!" cried the man in a 
 coarse, husky voice, 
 
 "No, siree my dollar before you git your letter!" 
 [1601
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 "But your dollar's in the letter, kid! Gim- 
 
 JJ 
 
 me 
 
 "Then I'll help myself," said Carl, tearing open the 
 envelope. 
 
 But the man leapt upon him and snatched it. 
 "Now you don't git nothin' fur bein' so fresh! 
 See?" 
 
 He sprang away into the darkness right into the 
 arms of John Wimmer. 
 
 "Leave us see who you are," said John, wheeling 
 the fellow about so that the distant light from Mrs. 
 Laub's kitchen fell upon his face. " Ah, I thought so ! 
 Hen Maus ! Well, Hen, if I believed in jails, you'd 
 get locked up for that letter you sent your sister!" 
 
 "I didn't send her no letter! You can't prove it! 
 You lee' me go!" 
 
 "I can prove it by your handwriting," said John at 
 a venture. 
 
 "That's where I ketch you lyin', fur it ain't my 
 writin'! I didn't write it!" Henry stoutly main- 
 tained. 
 
 "It? What?" 
 
 "The letter!" 
 
 "Who did you get to write it for you?" 
 
 "It's none of your damned business who I got! I 
 didn't git nobody! That there letter Minnie got was 
 wrote to her by my wife. I don' know what was in 
 it. Irene she ast me to fetch her the answer along." 
 
 "You don't know what was in the letter Minnie 
 received?" 
 
 [161]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 " No, I don't ! You lee' me go ! " 
 
 "But you toF Carl Eichler the letter had his 
 dollar in it." 
 
 "Well, anyhow, you lee' me go, John Wimmer!" 
 
 "Listen to me!" commanded John. "If ever 
 again you bother Minnie, I'll put you where you 
 can't! Even if I don't uphold to jails, I'd sooner see 
 you jailed than have Minnie frightened and bothered. 
 You know me, Hen Maus. You know you can't 
 fool with me. So you take care and heed what I 
 tell you! If you try this kind of thing again, you'll 
 get yours! " 
 
 "Lee' me go if you're through your jawin' ! " 
 
 "Another thing don't you dare to try and mix 
 Irene up in your dirty acts ! " 
 
 "What's Irene got to do with you? You mind to 
 your own business!" 
 
 "Tell me where is your where is Irene?" 
 stammered John, his hunger for news of his secret 
 divinity overcoming even his dislike of this source of 
 it. "Do you know where she is?" 
 
 "It ain't none of your damned business where my 
 wife is!" 
 
 "Look here, you answer my question or by God r 
 I'll make you ! Where is Irene I " 
 
 "You!" sneered Henry. "You that wants to be 
 so much, turnin' red and white about my wife! 
 Gosh, I wisht Minnie could hear you now with 
 your, 'Where is Irene?' What 's it to you, heh?" 
 
 "Answer me where is she?" 
 [162J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to know? Oho ! " 
 
 John, suddenly realizing the futility of his question- 
 ing; knowing that whatever Henry might answer, he 
 could not be sure that it was the truth, released his 
 hold upon him so unexpectedly that they both 
 staggered and Henry fell to the pavement. 
 
 "Remember what I've said to you!" John de- 
 livered a parting warning as Henry gathered himself 
 together to rise. "Annoy your sister again at your 
 peril!" 
 
 He turned away to go back to his home. 
 
 But he felt, as he walked up the street, that he must 
 not enter Minnie's presence until he had recovered 
 from the agitating effect of those painful references 
 to Irene. 
 
 "I got to walk it off," he told himself. "I'll walk 
 till I've got myself in hand once." 
 
 So shaken was he that he did not hear, presently, a 
 stealthy step behind him. But when, just before 
 reaching his own gate, he turned to walk back again, 
 he saw the figure of a man, a short distance ahead of 
 him, also turn abruptly then quickly disappear into 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Was that Hen following me?" he wondered. "I 
 didn't hear him!" 
 
 He ran down the street peering into the side 
 lanes; but he found no one. 
 
 "I'm so upset, I'm seeing things! Hen wouldn't 
 be following me he was only too glad to escape me ! " 
 
 But his little run after the dark, disappearing 
 [163]
 
 figure had dulled his quivering nerves and he felt that 
 he could now safely venture to face Minnie. So sure 
 he was that the retreating figure was only imagined 
 or a shadow that as he walked quickly home he 
 never once looked behind him. It was not until he 
 put his foot on his own porch that he heard a sudden 
 scuffling noise at his side. Wheeling about quickly, 
 he heard a pistol shot startlingly close to him. Be- 
 fore he could see who had fired it, there was another 
 shot and he fell face downward. 
 
 But it was not the pistol shots which roused the 
 heavily sleeping villagers, but a woman's piercing 
 shriek followed by a blood-curdling silence. 
 
 164
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MY GOODNESS, John, you workin' at this 
 time of night! Why, it's near nine 
 o'clock!" exclaimed Jennie Wimmer as she 
 entered her brother's cluttered kitchen one evening, 
 a month after that fatal week of the Teachers' 
 Institute. "It does take a man long to get through all 
 ain't it does? Here! You set a while and leave 
 me finish redding up you look wore out ! " 
 
 "I'm just hog enough to take you at your word, 
 Jennie, and leave you do it," returned John, throwing 
 down the pan he was cleaning at the sink and casting 
 himself exhausted upon the settee, while Jennie, 
 removing her wraps and rolling up her sleeves, 
 capably tackled the wild disorder of the kitchen. 
 
 Her snapping black eyes, neatly arranged black 
 hair, and slim, strong figure, all seemed to judge, 
 condemn, and challenge the dirt and disorder of the 
 room. John heaved a long sigh of relief as he 
 abandoned to her the battle with the chaos of the 
 place. It had beaten him completely. 
 
 "My, but a man is a dopple when it comes to 
 housework!" Jennie talked as she worked. "You're 
 as helpless as your two babies, John! How are they, 
 anyhow?" 
 
 [165]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 " They're well, but they fret for their mother, poor 
 kiddies! more and more every day!" answered 
 John from the settee, speaking in a dull, hopeless 
 tone that made his sister's snapping eyes soften with 
 sympathy. "I had an awful time getting them to 
 sleep to-night!" 
 
 "And you yourself only a week out of the hospital 
 yet! You ain't fit to be worried like this! If only 
 you could get a housekeeper!" 
 
 "Yes, if only a body could ! But there ain't any to 
 be had, whether or no!" said John. "If it wasn't for 
 the neighbours being so good about keeping the 
 children whilst I'm at school, I'd have to let my 
 teaching." 
 
 "If only Pop would leave one of us girls come and 
 stay!" sighed Jennie. "It's awful to think of you 
 having to come home from your school every day and 
 do housework and keep care of the children! But 
 Pop he won't spare any of us." 
 
 "It goes without saying that he won't put himself 
 out any," said John heavily. 
 
 "I'd of got here sooner this evening," said Jennie, 
 "but Pop he watches us so, to keep us at home! 
 Goodness knows what heTl say when he knows I got 
 away ! " 
 
 "I wonder what he gets out of it being so mean 
 and so tyrannical!" said John thoughtfully. "Now 
 that I know what a father's feelings are and a 
 husband's," he added huskily, "I'm more puzzled 
 than ever over Pop ! " 
 
 [166]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "And when you think what Mom's had to put up 
 with all her married life!" said Jennie. 
 
 "Why does a woman want to get married any- 
 how," cried John passionately, "when all she gets 
 out of it is sacrifice and sickness and work ! Look at 
 poor little Minnie ! From the day our first baby was 
 born, she never knew a free hour ! And then when 
 I think," he faltered, "of the price she had to pay for 
 that last baby and it dead yet ! " 
 
 "Ain't it fierce!" said Jennie in tender sympathy. 
 She longed to go and put her arms about her stricken 
 brother, to comfort him with caresses and petting 
 such as one would give to a hurt child. But the 
 Pennsylvania Dutch are not given to demonstrations 
 of affection and she could more easily have gone to 
 the stake. "Minnie was always as happy, though, 
 John, as a woman can be," she said softly, as she hung 
 up her dishcloth and began to put the dishes away. 
 
 "Why was she?" demanded John bitterly. 
 "What did I give her in return for all she gave 
 me?" 
 
 " Love ! You gev her love ! " said Jennie, blushing. 
 **And it kep* her satisfied and happy. I never 
 knowed a happier woman than Minnie. Just 
 because she had a good man to love her. You kin 
 take it from me, John, that women are just sich 
 nuts!" 
 
 John's eyelids were lowered and he did not answer. 
 His heart was sick with its secret sense of deep 
 disloyalty. 
 
 [167]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But after a few moments he spoke: "I know, 
 Jen, that I anyhow gave her companionship. I know 
 it from my own lonesomeness since she's gone. I'm 
 so lonesome I think I can't stand it! To come into 
 this empty house!" 
 
 "Och, ain't!" cried Jennie. 
 
 Again they were silent for a while, Jennie working 
 busily and John lying very still, his eyes closed, his 
 face white and drawn. 
 
 "Did you hear, John, that Irene Maus is home?" 
 Jennie presently asked as she began to pick up and 
 sort out the medley of toys, clothes, books, and 
 sundry other things strewn about the floor and 
 chairs. 
 
 John was thankful that her back was turned 
 toward him as she spoke, so that she did not see the 
 violent start her announcement gave him. 
 
 "She's wearin' such a crape wail," Jennie con- 
 tinued, "fur Hen fur all, I bet you she was only too 
 glad he got kilt before the cops caught him! She 
 acts awful gay and jolly! Just think of wearing a 
 crape wail and then not acting to look according! 
 But Irene always was a flighty piece!" 
 
 "How's her father?" asked John faintly, his hand 
 over his eyes. 
 
 "They ain't got no hopes fur him. Mrs. Laub's 
 giving up the store it takes all her time to tend 
 Mister, she says, since he has his stroke. And Irene 
 she says she never did tend the store and she ain't 
 beginnin* now. But Mrs. Laub'll have barely 
 
 [168]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 enough to live on if they give up the store, and 
 folks is wonderin' how Irene will support herself 
 and her so much for dressin' and a sporty time. 
 Well, John, I guess I'll have to be goin' now or 
 Pop'll be missing me and come after me and I 
 certainly wouldn't enjoy his comp'ny home!" 
 
 "I certainly am much obliged to you for helping 
 me out, Jen! I'll go and hitch up my horse and 
 buggy and you can drive yourself home. You must 
 not walk those two miles it's after ten o'clock," 
 said John, rising from the settee. 
 
 "But, John, if Pop seen your horse and buggy in 
 the stable to-morrow, he'd know why they was 
 there and then I'd ketch it!" 
 
 "I'd drive you home and bring the team back, but 
 I'm afraid to let the children alone here they're so 
 restless and wakish. They get awake and cry for 
 for their mother!" 
 
 "Them poor little things! But I ain't afraid to 
 walk home alone, John." 
 
 "I won't leave you do it. Not if I have to wake 
 the children and take them with. I'll ask Peter 
 Hertzogg to drive out with you and bring the buggy 
 back. You stay here with the children till I go get 
 Peter." 
 
 Jennie, while she waited, thought wistfully of the 
 happy married life Minnie must have had with a 
 man who was always so considerate of a woman as 
 John was. 
 
 "Yet he don't see what he gev her in return fur all 
 [169]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 she gev him! Ain't men dumb, though! Why, it 
 must have been enough happiness for her just seein' 
 how awful dependent on her he was. At every turn 
 he misses her!" 
 
 Later that evening, as Jennie, alone in her bedroom 
 at home, was undressing for the night, her mother 
 cautiously slipped from her bed, at the side of her 
 sleeping spouse, and joined her daughter, to hear the 
 latest report from the bereaved household of her son. 
 
 "It ain't only Minnie's good housekeepin' that our 
 John misses, Mom," said the girl sadly. "I see 
 every day how he misses not havin' her to talk to. 
 So often when I'm down there workin', he'll start 
 tellin' me his thoughts about something and then 
 pull up short when he remembers that I ain't so nice 
 educated like what Minnie always was, and that I 
 can't take in his deep conwersation. Dear goodness, 
 Mom, but Minnie and our John did have fond for 
 each other!" 
 
 "Well, to be sure, Jennie," responded John's 
 mother unenthusiastically, "it's understood that a 
 man and his wife likes one another! That's under- 
 stood." 
 
 "There's lots of things I could sooner understand!" 
 retorted Jennie, "judgin' by most marriages I seen 
 a'ready. I could sooner understand how being tied 
 to a person by law would make you hate 'em like the 
 devil ! But our John a woman could like him even 
 if she was married to him." 
 
 "How you talk, Jennie! 'even if she was married 
 [170]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 to him!' Somepin'll mebby happen you if you 
 sneer so at God's plans!" 
 
 "Was it God's plans, do you think, to bring such 
 trouble to John? I think it was Hen Maus's!" said 
 Jennie flippantly. 
 
 " Jennie ! It takes my breath when you speak so on- 
 religious it squeezes me ! I can't get it over myself ! " 
 
 "Och, Mom!" Jennie laughed involuntarily. 
 "You're talkin' awful Dutch! You're all up- 
 mixed! Yes," she sighed, "this here Pennsylwania 
 Dutch does make a body get their words all through- 
 other! Ain't? Even our John yet, a little some- 
 times gets his words up-mixed!" 
 
 "I never took notice that he did. I think Johnny 
 talks awful pretty!" his mother defended him from 
 any least criticism. 
 
 The practical difficulties of John's present situa- 
 tion helped to dull somewhat the pain of his sorrow. 
 
 "I know now," he would think while wrestling 
 with the cleaning of the house, the children's baths, 
 the laundry work, the cooking, "why women are 
 turning Suffragists and wanting men's jobs! And 
 these rotten jobs," surveying his disordered house, 
 "are the things Minnie's had to do every day since 
 we are married! Why didn't she go crazy? She 
 with her fondness for reading and the things of the 
 mind ! It makes me feel as dumb as an ox, this kind 
 of work does! But Minnie was always that bright 
 and intelligent ! And never once since we're married 
 did I see her not looking happy ! Even when she was 
 
 [ml
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 suffering the awful pain of child birth! Gosh! 
 Why was she so contented?" 
 
 He put from his mind the unbearable explanation 
 Jennie had offered "You gev her love." Only his 
 own heart knew the bitterness that lurked for him in 
 those words. Minnie had been cheated! She had 
 been given false coin the "love" that had made 
 her so happy had been counterfeit! 
 
 Much as he hated the housework he had to do, it 
 was his salvation from reflections that would have 
 maddened him. 
 
 "Drudgery! That's what housework is, 
 drudgery!" he would growl as he violently swept a 
 room with all the doors and windows tightly closed, 
 wondering, the while, why Minnie had never choked 
 to death in the process, as he was doing. 
 
 He realized how marvellously she must have 
 managed her housework to have spared him so 
 entirely from ever feeling its machinery. He had 
 known only its comforts. 
 
 " I see now how many ways I could have helped to 
 make it easier for her," he thought with wild regret. 
 
 He learned, also, when he saw how the weekly 
 grocery bills mounted under his regime, what an 
 economical "provider" Minnie had been. "One 
 less to eat, yet it's costin' twice as much! How did 
 she do it? We didn't have hash every day!" 
 
 It must be said to John's credit that, greatly as he 
 missed the physical well-being which Minnie's man- 
 agement of their home had given him, he missed yet 
 
 [172J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 more the companionship that he now knew, as he had 
 never fully known before, had meant more to him 
 than anything else he had ever possessed more than 
 his home, his children, his work. Without her he had 
 no outlet, no expression of himself whatever. He 
 felt spiritually suffocated. His longing to talk to 
 her seemed at times an unendurable obsession. 
 
 "If I'd never had her, I wouldn't feel so darned 
 lonesome!" he would sigh as he paced the floor in his 
 desolated home. 
 
 Having failed to find a hired housekeeper in or 
 near Hessville, he had advertised for one in a daily 
 paper of Lancaster. But the answers he had 
 received had been disheartening. 
 
 FRIEND: 
 
 You request a housekeeper. Leave me be your house- 
 keeper. I have a grammar school education and in- 
 telligent. Please inform me by return mail without fail 
 as to my privileges. Hoping this will meet your approval. 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 MYRTIE AUKAMP. 
 
 UNKNOWNED FRIEND: 
 
 Until this evening I never heard of you. But in this 
 evening's Era I seen an Ad. Wanted a housekeeper. 
 Wanted for a gentleman. Wanted to help keep care of 
 two children. I thought that will just suit me. Now if I 
 suit you I will come to see you, and you see me, and if all is 
 Agreeable, I will come. I have no incumbrance. I am 
 well. No disease. I have took care of invalids, so know 
 I can suit. I am of an elderly age. 
 
 GRACETTA STEINKOMPH. 
 [173]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 DEAR SIR: 
 
 I think I am qualified to fill the position or I would 
 not have applied. If this proves satisfactory I will take 
 the position. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 CALLIE BOLTZ. 
 
 FRIEND: 
 
 I can give A No. 1. references in regards to my 
 personality and filling my last place of employment. If 
 you can do same, we can suit each other. 
 Yours trueley, 
 
 ELLIE BOMBERGER. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND: 
 
 I will come to be your housekeeper, for I like the way 
 your Add reads. It is interesting and fatherly. Your 
 Add tells me you are very nice and I hope I am not 
 mistaking. Please kindly don't through this in wiast 
 basket without opening it. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 LIZZIE CRAMP. 
 
 MISTER: 
 
 I seen your Ad and think I can come to your wish, as I 
 am very refined and kind, if you will give me a trile. 
 
 Your Well-Wisher, 
 
 EMMA DIEFENDERFER. 
 
 DEAR MISTER: 
 
 I live all alone and live a lonely life, so need a companion 
 myself and will be glad to come and live at your place for to 
 be companionable and friendly to a Gentleman. 
 
 Your true Frend, 
 
 NAOMI EBY. 
 [174]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 DEAR GENTLEMAN: 
 
 Nicely educated and of a refined disposition and pleasing 
 personality. Will be pleased to hear from you. 
 
 Yours Sinsear, 
 
 RUTHY GAUGLER. 
 
 DEAR SIR: 
 
 Seeing your Ad, I decided to accept the offer. I need 
 a place somewhat to this effect. The position you offer 
 me seems favourable to me. Will come at once. I only 
 want something whereby my need can be met by your 
 need or I should say another's need. Would also say I 
 am a Protestant. I know all about caring for children. 
 I have a cheery disposition, gentle manners and a very 
 willing heart and try to make life bright for all. I am 
 very refined, agreeable and optimistic. So I feel sure I 
 can fill the bill on agreeable manners and education. 
 Now what else do you require? I was housekeeper to one 
 Gent till God called him Home. Ten years we were 
 companions and his nurse when ill. Then another almost 
 two years when he also was called away by death. We 
 loved each other. I always like to do to others as I would 
 have others do to me. If you are already suited, hope 
 there will be no hard feelings. And trust my rival will be 
 good, kind, trustworthy and optimistic as a Christian Lady 
 should and ought. 
 
 Your humble correspondent, 
 
 Miss MAMIE GROSCH. 
 
 DEAR EMPLOYER: 
 
 Now I have a nice sister and has some high school 
 course. She lives in country so therefore has nice manners 
 and is nice. She would be no Girl to run around. If you 
 
 f 1751
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 can give satisfactory References as to your moral char- 
 acter, you can get my sister. She's a nice Girl. Was 
 raised in a nice home. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 MAE KIMMICH. 
 
 KIND GENT IN REGARDS TO TOUR AD: 
 
 I am a lady of a Kind and also a Christian. Belong to 
 church. I lived with a former Gent and done all his 
 writing and that was some, for he had five out-of-town 
 children and they must each have their letters every 
 week, one or two. Please send me an acceptable answer. 
 If you want to see me personal, you can call. If reference 
 is desired, same will be cheerfully furnished. Trusting 
 you will consider same favourably, 
 
 Remain Sinsere, 
 
 FLOSSIE HALFPOP. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND: 
 
 Now if I loved the work I am at, I would not be writing 
 this. But it is quite tiresome. I could not be expected 
 to love it. You would not yourself. I desire to change 
 my vocation. I don't know if you will understand, but / 
 prefer to work for love preferable to money. It isn't 
 salary I look to. I want to make some lonely gentleman 
 feel less lonesome. This may sound as if I was prating 
 about my virtues. But I assure you I have no such 
 intention, even if I do have virtues to prate about. It has 
 always been my One Desire to be a companion to some one 
 who would appreciate me and now at last I am about to 
 realize this long-cherished Hope. I do not keep Company. 
 Kindly leave me hear of you and oblige 
 
 Miss AMYE DAMBACK. 
 [176]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Poor Miss Damback's long-cherished hope is 
 doomed to remain unrealized some longer!" had been 
 John's mental comment on this communication. 
 
 DEAR GENTLEMAN: 
 
 If its a cancer case to nurse I tell you right now I won't 
 nurse it, for I got stung once when I went to housekeep and 
 never again ! So if it ain't, will ask you to consider me an 
 applicant please answer at once and tell me more of your 
 request. I have a kind disposition. Am a woman of 
 uncertain age and have been thinking of doing something 
 of that sort. 
 
 Your Kind frend, 
 
 MRS. CHARITY LOVE. 
 
 There was one letter that said nothing except that 
 the writer hoped to be with him in the near future and 
 referred him to " our Fire Chief, Sam Kindler." 
 
 "A fire chief named Kindler! " John grinned. 
 
 He felt utterly discouraged and hopeless over this 
 assortment of applicants. "There ain't one among 
 them all that don't sound dippy!" 
 
 One of the hardest trials of his present situation was 
 the daily necessity of leaving his two children, 
 Jacky and Sophie, to the care of neighbours while he 
 was at school. He early realized that however 
 kindly disposed his neighbours might be, they did 
 not seem to understand his children. 
 
 "Were they good for you to-day, Mrs. Yutzy?" he 
 would inquire when, after school, he would call to 
 "collect "them. 
 
 [177]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Well, I guess it's my dooty to tell you, Mister," 
 Mrs. Yutzy one day replied to this question, 
 while six-year-old Jacky and four-year-old Sophie 
 rushed frantically to be gathered into their father's 
 arms, "that Jacky and Sophie both sweared somepin 
 awful this after!" 
 
 "Why, I never heard them do that!'* exclaimed 
 John, surprised and interested in this new develop- 
 ment, but not so shocked as Mrs. Yutzy thought he 
 should have been. "Where on earth did they ever 
 hear any swearing? What did they say?" 
 
 "Well, Sophie she wanted to play Sunday school," 
 explained Mrs. Yutzy, "and she sayed to Jacky, 
 'I'm the teacher. Come here, scholard.' But 
 Jacky he had tied his hands behind him and pinned 
 a table cover on him like a shawl and he was layin' on 
 the floor with his head under a chair and he an- 
 swered her, 'I can't be a scholard I'm the mother 
 of Jesus.' And Sophie she sayed, 'Mother of Jesus, 
 come here* But Jacky he says, 'Och, Sophie, the 
 Mother of Jesus can't be your scholard. The bad 
 men have put me in prison all tied up, till they get 
 Jesus hanged a'ready. They're afraid I might stop 
 'em.' 'Yi, yi,' I tol' him, 'you darsent play about 
 Jesus like that there! I'll tell your pop!' I sayed. 
 And Sophie she sayed, 'But I speaked polite about 
 Him.' And then after bit, when she wanted fur to 
 dress herself up like a pictur in a fashion paper that 
 she seen, with sich a awful low-neck frock. Jacky he 
 says to her, 'No one but Jesus' mother has the dare to 
 
 1178J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 wear sich a low-neck frock like what that is!' Och, 
 Mister, it freezed my blood, the light way Jacky 
 talked about sich sa-kerd things! And when after 
 while I was rockin' Sophie to sleep and singin' to her, 
 *I have a Father in the Promised Land,' she says, 
 '/ haven't. My fader's here.' I thought I'd ought 
 to tell you, Mister, so's you could learn 'em better 
 than to be so light-minded about religion." 
 
 Heavy-hearted though John was, he had to turn 
 away to conceal a smile at the idea of his two babies 
 being "light-minded about religion." 
 
 "To be sure," sighed Mrs. Yutzy, "they're not 
 got their mother, now, to teach 'em what's right." 
 
 "Fader," Jacky here interrupted, "when Jesus 
 dot alive after the bad men killed Him, did they kill 
 Him aden? Or did they think it was no dood?" 
 
 John's eyes invited Mrs. Yutzy's admiration of 
 this precocious intelligence which, at such a tender 
 age, asked such thoughtful questions. "You see how 
 that boy thinks!" he pointed out with fatherly 
 pride. 
 
 "Yes, ain't it awful!" said Mrs. Yutzy disapprov- 
 ingly. "You got to break him of the habit, Mister." 
 
 John laughed as he turned to answer his boy's 
 question. "I'll explain you all about it when we get 
 home, Jacky," he said as he began to put on the 
 children's overshoes and coats. 
 
 "I telled Mrs. Yutzy," Jacky said conversation- 
 ally, "she mustn't say, 'You bet!' It ain't polite to. 
 Muvver said it ain't. Is it, Fader?" 
 
 1 179 ] .
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Before John, colouring with embarrassment, could 
 answer this awkward question, Sophie spoke in. 
 "And Mrs. 'Ootzy she teeps her 'poon in her tup. 
 She hadn't ought to Muvver said so." 
 
 "She don't know any better," said Jacky com- 
 passionately. "She never went to Kutztown Nor- 
 mal like my Fader did, to det teached. Did you, 
 Mrs. Yutzy?" 
 
 As John walked across the lot from his neighbour's 
 home to his own, a child perched on each shoulder, he 
 thought despairingly of the drudgery awaiting him 
 beds to make, the breakfast dishes to wash, supper 
 to cook, the kitchen to "redd up," the children to 
 wash and put to bed. 
 
 "And I'm dog-tired!" he sighed. He had had a 
 hard day at school. 
 
 He thought how different his coming home from 
 school used to be a clean, orderly house, a warm, 
 bright sitting room (unlike the rest of Hessville, 
 John and his wife had never used their kitchen as a 
 living room), a prettily dressed, radiant young wife, 
 and two clean and fascinating children eager for his 
 return; the savoury odours of a good supper coming 
 from the kitchen; after supper a romp with "the 
 kiddies," while Minnie "did" the dishes; then a 
 story to quiet down the excited, bright-eyed chil- 
 dren after which he and Minnie together would 
 carry their precious babies upstairs and put them to 
 bed. Then a good, long, quiet evening alone with 
 Minnie in their sitting room, talking and reading. 
 
 [180]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie always had a lot of funny things to repeat to 
 him that the children had said during the day; he 
 always had school anecdotes to relate to her. What 
 a help she had always been to him when he was per- 
 plexed over some question of government or peda- 
 gogy ! Oh, that had been the life ! Did ever mortal 
 man have such a paragon of a wife? Ah, had that, 
 perhaps, been the trouble? If she had been a little 
 selfish sometimes, had exacted more from him for her- 
 self, more leisure, more freedom, more money; if he 
 had had to serve her more instead of being served so 
 perfectly (even their financial security came from 
 her) wouldn't he have valued her more highly? 
 Had she made herself too cheap to him? Was that 
 why he had never been able, in all his comfort, con- 
 tentment, and even happiness, to forget Irene? 
 Even yet stricken as he was the thought of Irene 
 was never far away from his heart. 
 
 He deposited the children on the step of the back 
 porch, opened the kitchen door, and took them in. 
 
 " Hello ! Your Aunt Jennie must have been here ! ' ' 
 he exclaimed as he saw at once, with deep relief, that 
 the disorder of the morning was all cleared away and 
 that a supper was cooking on the stove. "Gee! 
 Ain't this fine and dandy! All the work done and a 
 hot supper cooking!" 
 
 Little Jacky's face turned suddenly white. " Meb- 
 be Muvver's corned home!" he said breathlessly. 
 
 John pressed the boy to his side. "No, Jacky, not 
 that not that!" 
 
 [1811
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 The door into the sitting room suddenly opened 
 and little Sophie, running forward to greet her aunt, 
 stopped short and shrank back shyly against her 
 father at sight of the strange lady in black that stood 
 in the doorway. 
 
 "Hello, John!" exclaimed the strange lady. 
 
 John trembled and every drop of colour left his 
 face. 
 
 * * Why ! " he gasped . * * Irene ! You here Irene ! ' * 
 
 [182]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IRENE explained at once that having seen John's 
 "ad" in a Lancaster paper, she had come right 
 over and "pitched in." 
 
 John's heart beat so wildly as he gazed upon her 
 that he thought she must hear it. She had grown so 
 much more beautiful ! Her figure was fuller and her 
 stylish, close-fitting black revealed its graceful lines; 
 her shoulders and head were more regally erect, her 
 colouring much deeper than he remembered it it 
 was truly marvellous now! Surely she was a woman 
 upon whom no man of blood could look indifferently : 
 
 It was not until several hours later, when supper 
 was over and the children in bed, that they sat down 
 alone in the sitting room to discuss the situation, 
 
 It was the first time John had sat down in his 
 sitting room since he had lost his wife. 
 
 "For old tunes' sake, John, I'll help you out. By- 
 gones is bygones with me. I don't know how you 
 feel." 
 
 "You can't really mean, Irene, that you'll stay 
 here and keep house for me and take care of my 
 children!" he breathlessly asked. It seemed in- 
 credible that such heaven was to be his. His face, 
 that had for many weeks been white and drawn, was 
 
 [1831
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 flushed ; his eyes, that had been heavy and dull, were 
 sparkling; his voice, that had been lifeless, vibrated 
 with long-repressed passion. "You'll stay here with 
 us, Irene?" 
 
 "That's what. To be sure I ain't the house- 
 keeper Minnie was Hen was all the time thro win' 
 that at me " 
 
 "I'll never throw it at you!" said John. 
 
 "Better not!" laughed Irene. 
 
 "You can have the spare room," said John eagerly. 
 " It's awfully nice fixed. Minnie gave me that suit of 
 furniture for a Christmas present. But we had to 
 put it in the spare room for fear the children would 
 get it scuffed. You'll like that furniture in there." 
 
 "The spare room!" Irene looked him in the eyes 
 and laughed. 
 
 John thought, "How little she guesses what I'm 
 feeling! with her sitting here alone with me! more 
 beautiful than ever she used to be! she that was to 
 have been my wife ' She don't nearly guess what I'm 
 feeling l Women are that innocent! She wouldn't 
 stay here if she guessed!" 
 
 But little did he guess that Irene was saying to her- 
 self, "Spare room yet! The country green-hom! 
 Ain't he the slow one! Oh, Lord! I wonder if I 
 can learn him anything!" 
 
 "I'd think, John, your hard luck would near make 
 you wisht you'd never got married, " she said, "since 
 it turned out like this here ! A house and two kids on 
 your hands and only you to do all ! A man that don't 
 
 [184]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 go and hamper hisself with a famb'ly of kids sure has 
 it good! mind you how free he's got it yet!" 
 
 "How about the woman's side of it? I often 
 think, when I look back at Minnie's life," said John 
 with a catch in his voice, "that a woman pays too 
 dear a price for what she gets out of marriage!" 
 
 "Sure she does when she's the nut that most 
 women are. See me bein' that kind of a nut!" 
 
 "You're right, Irene. Some women make selfish 
 brutes of men! I only realize it now that it's too 
 late now that 
 
 "Such selfish brutes," broke in Irene spitefully, 
 "that even a strong woman's got her hands full 
 tryin' to knock some sense into 'em! Minnie had 
 Hen Maus that spoiled up that I had my own 
 troubles with him, belie' me, before I learned him 
 where he had to get off!" 
 
 "I was so thankful for you, Irene, when Hen was 
 removed by Providence from your path!" 
 
 "Say, John, you say them things awful pretty! 
 You always did speak so nice! Many's the time, 
 since I lived in the city, that I wisht / had a nice 
 education. Out here I never missed it any. But in 
 the city it gives you a shamed face not to be educated 
 that way. Oncet when me and Hen was out in 
 Chicago, a man ast me, * Where are you from?' and 
 when I sayed, 'From Pennsylwania back,' he sayed, 
 'Can you talk it?" She laughed boisterously. 
 "Some lingo, ain't? I didn't know we talked so 
 funny here till I went away from this here bum town. 
 
 [185]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 With all your grand education, John Wimmer, why 
 do you content yourself sticking in a hole like this 
 here?" 
 
 "Because I'm not nearly educated enough to cut 
 a figure anywhere else," John acknowledged. 
 
 "Och, it's cheek you need, not more education 
 than what you're got a'ready. If you had some of 
 Hen's, cheek, you'd get somewheres " 
 
 "Not where Hen got, I hope!" 
 
 "To be sure," granted Irene, "he did have bad 
 luck at the end." 
 
 "Good luck, I'd say! A quick death was an easy 
 way out for him ! If the police had caught him he'd 
 of got a long prison sentence for attempt at murder ! 
 I trust," John added doubtfully, "that I don't hurt 
 your feelings, Irene, by talking so plainly about your 
 former husband?" 
 
 "You can't tell me nothing about Hen I don't 
 know!" 
 
 "I suppose not. It must have been awful for you, 
 living with him!" said John sympathetically. "And 
 yet you don't look as if you'd had the hard life I al- 
 ways pictured you as having with Hen. It don't 
 show on you any." 
 
 "Hard life no thin'! I give Hen as good as he 
 sent! Belie* me, I kep* him guessin' some! You 
 bet you!" 
 
 John's subconscious mind winced at her coarseness 
 (used as he was to Minnie's chaste, gentle speech) 
 even while his conscious self thrilled at her musical 
 
 [1861
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 voice and hungered for her red lips, her white throat, 
 her shapely shoulders, her wonderful hair (so much 
 more abundant than it used to be). Could it be pos- 
 sible that at last he was going to realize, at least in 
 part, the dream of all these years of thwarted de- 
 sire? that he was going to live under the same roof 
 with Irene, sit opposite her at his table three times a 
 day, walk out with her, talk with her of their thoughts 
 and feelings as he and dear little Minnie used to do? 
 Could it be that such unspeakable consolation as this 
 was to be vouchsafed to him for the calamity that had 
 befallen him in his loss of Minnie? 
 
 He saw that Irene's life in the city had changed 
 her, given her an air of gayety, of assurance, that 
 seemed strange to the serious-minded, country-bred 
 schoolmaster. He felt awkward, inexperienced, be- 
 fore her self-confidence. 
 
 "It surprises me, Irene, that you've come through so 
 fresh and strong from all your trials!" he told her. 
 "I'd have thought that livin' with Hen Maus would 
 have crushed even you!" 
 
 "Och, John, it would have took a smarter fellah 
 than Hen Maus to get the best of me ! " 
 
 "I always knew you were strong and courageous!" 
 said John admiringly. "Now, about your stopping 
 here with me we've got to put it on a business 
 basis," he added in some embarrassment at the 
 necessity of a sordid money relation between them. 
 "What salary shall I pay you, Irene, for being my 
 housekeeper and taking care of the children?" 
 
 [187]
 
 "Housekeeper and child's nurse! A large order! 
 Ain't?" she laughed but she caught herself up and 
 added demurely, "We won't talk about pay, John. 
 I come to accommodate you, and anything I can do to 
 help you, I'll be only too glad to do." 
 
 "That's awfully kind of you, Irene! I can't 
 nearly tell you how much I appreciate it there ain't 
 no words in the English language " 
 
 "Only so you don't talk Pennsylwania Dutch to 
 me!" she laughed r 
 
 "But, Irene, of course it goes without saying that 
 I couldn't leave you work for me for nothing and 
 you a widow!" John protested. "I'D pay you a 
 salary though to be sure no money can pay you for 
 being so large-minded and big-hearted as to come to 
 me in my trouble i " 
 
 "That's all right, Johnny!" she cried, patting his 
 head at which his face, forehead, and neck grew 
 crimson ; ;< we won't talk about salary, though. When 
 I got to buy things, you can cough up the price. 
 That'll be better." 
 
 "Any way you like it," agreed John, quite un- 
 suspicious. "I'll see to it that you get all you are 
 worth to me:" 
 
 "No more'n that?" she said playfully and they 
 laughed together over the joke. 
 
 "You'll like the kiddies!" he told her, "They're 
 the cutest little tads ! And awfully affectionate once 
 they get to know you're friendly to 'em. The way 
 they miss their little mother!" said John sadly. 
 
 [188]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "The other day Jacky was looking at her photograph 
 and he said so wistfully, * If that was my real muvver 
 she'd open her arms and hug me!' It broke me all 
 up!" 
 
 "Och, what's the use? You got to livei Buck 
 up!" 
 
 "You'll help me to bear it, Irene!" 
 
 "I'll do my darndest, old man!" 
 
 He felt angry with himself for shrinking at her way 
 of speaking, "She always was awfully blunt and 
 honest!" he reasoned with himself, "There ain't 
 any hypocrisy about her." 
 
 "You'll get awfully fond of the children," he 
 repeated (was it perhaps to reassure himself?). 
 "The funny things they're all the time sayin'! Here 
 the other day Sophie asked me, 'Do storekeepers 
 have homes and mothers?' and the other night 
 Jacky asked me, * Fader, if a bear dot into our house, 
 would you telephone for a hunter to come?' Last 
 summer Minnie and I took them to the seashore for a 
 couple of days and one day last week when I was tell- 
 ing them a story about the Jungle, Jacky said, 'Do 
 savages that live in the Jungle wear nothing but 
 bathing suits?' Bathing suits, mind you!" laughed 
 John. 
 
 But he saw that Irene looked uninterested. "I 
 guess it's awful tiresome of me to keep talkin' about 
 my babies all the time!" he said, flushing. "It ain't 
 reasonable to expect other ones to take interest in 
 them like their own parents take. But wait till you 
 
 [189]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 get to know them once! You'll be as crazy about 
 them as I am you can't help it. You see," he 
 explained, "they ain't just like other children. 
 They're cuter and smarter and prettier and " 
 
 *'Och, John, you're killing! Of course they're just 
 like other kids! Why wouldn't they be? You'd 
 have need to worry if they wasn't!" 
 
 "Well," John maintained, "I never saw other 
 children around here that played so intelligently as 
 my children play. To be sure the other children 
 didn't have the kind of mother my children had 
 Minnie was all the time reading to them and telling 
 them stories; and when they asked questions, Minnie 
 was enough educated that she could give them in- 
 structive answers." 
 
 "Poor kids!" yawned Irene, "to have their brains 
 so bothered! I don't hold to it!" she said tartly. 
 "It's likely to go to their heads!" 
 
 "I don't think," said John judicially, "that they 
 were over-stimulated." 
 
 "Stimulated! Did she give 'em spirits yet?" 
 
 John felt chilled. " Mentally stimulated, I mean." 
 
 "Och, John, you high-brow! Come off the band- 
 wagon ! " 
 
 "But indeed, Irene, it's as good as a moving 
 picture show to "watch my two children playing. 
 Jacky was playing to-day that he was on a ship at- 
 tacked by pirates and he hollered to God (he thinks 
 heaven's so far off he has to holler) to send a storm to 
 drown the pirates. Then he played that the storm 
 
 [190]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 came and the pirate ship went down. So then he 
 shouted to heaven, 'That'll do, God! You can stop 
 your storm now their ship is sinked !' I thought I'd 
 die laughing at him. I kept wishing Minnie could 
 hear them." 
 
 He paused, but Irene, looking bored, made no 
 comment. 
 
 John, feeling it incumbent upon himself to awaken 
 her interest in the precious babies she was to have in 
 her care, talked on. "This morning when Jacky 
 and Sophie fell awake, I heard Jacky telling his sis- 
 ter of a dream he'd had how he dreamed he was in a 
 burning house and how he was a brave hero and 
 rescued all the women and children and Sophie 
 (her eyes all over her face with wonder) said to him: 
 * And I dweamed, too I dweamed I was dere to help 
 you!' Wasn't that cute?" asked John eagerly. 
 
 But with a white and shapely hand, Irene patted 
 her yawning lips. And John, resolutely putting 
 aside his sense of disappointment, said to himself, 
 "It makes her feel bad, I guess, that she has no 
 children of her own, when she hears about ours. 
 
 "Irene," he said to her, "it's a good thing you 
 didn't have any children!" 
 
 "Well, I guess! I got all I can do to support 
 myself!" 
 
 "I mean it's a good thing not to have perpetuated 
 such a heredity as Hen Maus would have trans- 
 mitted to his offspring." 
 
 "Holy cats! Have you eat the dictionary, John 
 [191]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Wimmer? I don't know what you're trying to say! 
 Put it simple!" 
 
 "You wouldn't want a son that took after Hen." 
 
 "That's talkin'. Why couldn't you say it that 
 way at first? But say! Your Min had the same 
 blood as my Hen. What's the matter with you?" 
 
 "But the difference between her and her brother 
 makes a person almost doubt whether there are any 
 laws of heredity," said John sententiously. " Minnie 
 never believed in heredity much. What are your 
 views about that question, Irene?" 
 
 "I ain't got none! You're at the wrong shop, 
 John, if you're after ideas. I don't deal in 'em!" 
 
 To herself Irene said, "Oh, Lord, ain't this excit- 
 ing! I know I can't stand it for wery long! Askin* 
 me my views about hereditary yet!" 
 
 "It don't matter anyhow what a woman thinks 
 about deep subjicks," she told him. "I never yet 
 seen the man that considers a woman's opinions 
 worth nothing." 
 
 "I always thought Minnie's opinions worth con- 
 sidering she was such a wise little woman!" 
 
 "Oh!" thought Irene, "damn Minnie! He's that 
 nutty about her yet that I don't know if it's any use 
 my buttin* in here!" 
 
 "It's a pity," she said aloud, "that Min didn't 
 have some wise views about havin' so many babies, 
 and about spoilin* her brother and about och, 
 look-a-here, the woman & man thinks wise is either 
 awful slick or else a fool of a thing that don't demand 
 
 [192]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 and take what's comin' to her. Say, John, I'm so 
 sleepy I can't har'ly keep awake no more!" 
 
 She rose, took his two hands, and pulled him up. 
 "Come on conduc' me to the spare room!' 9 
 
 Again she laughed boisterously and her eyes 
 challenged him. But although John flushed red and 
 trembled, yet such was his self-control that, astute as 
 Irene had become in some respects, she never 
 suspected, as he said good-night to her at the door of 
 the "spare room," how wildly he yearned to clasp her 
 in his arms. 
 
 [193]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 INASMUCH as Irene Maus was John Wimmer's 
 sister-in-law and a widow who, because of her 
 father's illness and business failure, had to earn 
 her own living, Hessville not only tolerated but 
 praised her going to keep house for John. 
 
 "It ain't as if they wasn't related together," was 
 the town's lenient judgment upon the arrangement. 
 
 In the fevered dream in which John now lived, 
 with Irene presiding over his home, in Minnie's 
 place, he was only dimly aware of certain physical 
 annoyances which, in a normal state of mind, he 
 would have found hard to bear her bad cooking, 
 the "bluff" she made at cleaning, the damp and 
 wrinkled napkins, tablecloths, and sheets to which he 
 was served; his very discomforts, when caused by her 
 fan* hands, seemed haloed with glory. Everything 
 she touched was beautified for him. Everything she 
 did had a charm. 
 
 But if he did not mind her domestic shortcomings, 
 there was one failure of hers to which passion could 
 not blind him. He loved his children too well not to 
 know it when they were neglected. He soon recog- 
 nized that except when he himself attended to their 
 needs, they went quite uncared for. 
 
 [194]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I know from ray own experience with this job of 
 housework, Irene, that there's too much work here 
 for one person to do all," he explained her own delin- 
 quency to her, though Irene herself never apologized 
 for it. "I know, now, that I left Minnie carry too 
 heavy a burden though she never left me see it was 
 too heavy. Always cheerful and contented and 
 seeming always to have time a-plenty to sit down and 
 talk with me, how was I to guess what a lot of work it 
 took to have things the way she always kept them? 
 Why, I thought Minnie had it easy! I wanted my 
 wife to have it easy and I thought she did." 
 
 Irene was very tired of hearing of Minnie's virtues, 
 but she had not yet reached the place where she 
 could say so. She was playing a game, and though 
 she had not an instant's doubt of her ultimate 
 success, she knew she must go cautiously. 
 
 She did not have to wait long for her triumph. 
 There came an hour, inevitably, when John's self- 
 restraint gave way. It was one night just two 
 weeks after her arrival. They had gone upstairs 
 together and were about to say good-night at the 
 door of the "spare room," when suddenly, like 
 waters over a broken dam, his passionate, reckless 
 protestations poured out upon her as he seized and 
 crushed her to his heart. 
 
 "I love you, Irene! Don't you know it? I've 
 always loved you! I've never for one day stopped 
 loving you!" 
 
 "Och, John, are you nutty!" she laughed as she 
 [195]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 clung to him. "Always loved me yet! Where did 
 Minnie come in, then? Heh?" 
 
 "I've never stopped loving you never for one 
 day!" 
 
 "Yes, that's what you think now. And while you 
 do think it, leave us get out of it all there is in it! 
 Ain't, John?" 
 
 "You do love me, Irene, don't you?" 
 
 "Sure I do! What do you think I come here for? 
 To enjoy myself cookin' and washin' dishes for you 
 and them kids of Min's? It don't sound like me, 
 does it?" 
 
 "Did you come because you loved me?" asked 
 John wonderingly. 
 
 "Sure! Why else?" 
 
 He wildly kissed her lips, her neck, her hair. "If 
 this ain't wonderful, what is it?" he cried. "Irene! 
 We'll have happiness, won't we?" 
 
 "You bet you, old boy!" 
 
 "And you'll never feel, Irene, that I that I 
 wronged you? Much as I want you, dear as I've 
 always wanted you I love you too much to wrong 
 you!" 
 
 "You'll find it out about as soon as I do, Johnny 
 if you wrong me ! '* 
 
 "Haven't you any any scruples, dearest?" 
 
 "What's the use? Scruples don't get you no- 
 wheres not that I ever seen anyhow.'* 
 
 "I'll never leave you regret your love, darling! 
 
 Never!" 
 
 [196]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Mebby," she darkly opined, "you'll be the one to 
 regret it no tellin'!" 
 
 He closed her lips with his kisses. 
 
 It was not until several days later that John began 
 to have a faint realization of the abyss into which he 
 had deliberately cast himself. He and Irene were 
 alone in the sitting room after the children were in 
 bed sitting together just as he and Minnie had been 
 wont to sit evening after evening for seven years. 
 Yet how different was this fevered excitement from 
 the quiet, peaceful happiness of that other life that 
 life which now seemed to John like a sweet, lost 
 dream; a life in which there had been books, ex- 
 change of ideas, deep affection, mutual respect, aspi- 
 ration. By contrast with his present thrilling ex- 
 perience, it seemed like Sunday School compared 
 with a Broadway success. 
 
 Irene, wearing a diaphanous kimono, was lying on 
 a sofa and he was sitting on the floor at her side, one 
 of her hands clasped in his, the other smoothing his 
 cheek or toying with his hair. 
 
 "This is happiness, ain't it, Irene!" he said 
 dreamily, with a long sigh of deep satisfaction, as he 
 pressed her hand to his lips. 
 
 "Yes while it lasts." 
 
 '* While it lasts < Can it ever end, dearest ? ' * 
 
 "Sure it can unlest you want to tie me fast to you 
 by law T 
 
 [197]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Bylaw?" 
 
 "Don't be so dumb, John! You know what I 
 mean!" 
 
 "You mean marry you?" 
 
 "Sure!" 
 
 "But but how could I?" 
 
 "Get divorced." 
 
 "Divorced!" He caught his breath in a gasp* 
 "Divorced from Minnie because she's sick! Cast 
 her off when she's helpless! I I couldn't do that, 
 Irene!" 
 
 "Och, well, all right, then. We can stick to- 
 gether till one of us gets tired. Ain't? Or till 
 Minnie mebby fools us and gets well! Aha!" 
 
 Irene did not take seriously John's protestations 
 that he had never, since the days of his betrothal to 
 her, ceased to love her. She did not believe it. 
 She believed that he had loved Minnie and that it 
 was only his loneliness and his need in his wife's 
 absence that made his passion turn to her. 
 
 "Minnie will never get well," John answered her. 
 "The sanitarium doctors give me wery bad hopes 
 that she'll ever be different." 
 
 "Then you could easy get a divorce if you wanted 
 to on them grounds." 
 
 "I don't want it! I couldn't do it!" he hotly 
 asserted. 
 
 "Oh, all right then." 
 
 "You know how I wish I could marry you, Irene 
 beloved! But to divorce Minnie!'* 
 
 [1981
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "If she's goin' to stay nutty all her life, she'd 
 never know you divorced her." 
 
 "No, she wouldn't know it but all the same I I 
 couldn't do it I couldn't! She's Jacky's and 
 Sophie's mother I took her for better or worse!" 
 
 "Mostly for worse ain't? if she's to be on your 
 hands all the rest of your days a incurable nut! 
 You poor Johnny boy!" 
 
 "I owe her a lot she gave me Jacky and Sophie. 
 And her dear little self! It's she took me for worse, 
 Irene!" 
 
 "She sure did, seeing how things is turned out for 
 her. But she don't know she did. She was satisfied 
 whiles she had you, and now she don't know her 
 loss if she's like you say her mind such a blank all 
 tibe time. Didn't you see no change when you was 
 at the sanitarium yesterday? You ain't said a 
 word about it since you come back." 
 
 John shook his head, his eyes suddenly looking 
 very tired. "None." 
 
 "Don't she never ast after the kids?" 
 
 "Never. She don't know me when I go!" 
 
 "Ain't it queer?" 
 
 "Not when you think what she went through 
 concussion of the brain from her fall the night I was 
 shot; a premature confinement without proper care 
 me being at the hospital wounded and not being able 
 to see after her; and then to top all that, child-bed 
 fever! What could you expect after all that?" 
 
 "But, John, if the doctors all says she can't never 
 [199]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 be nothin' to you no more, I don't see why you don't 
 ac' sensible about it and get a divorce. No use 
 cryin' over spilt milk. To be sure, if you feel a little 
 conscientious about her that way, you could always 
 pay to have her kep' nice at the sanitarium, even 
 when she ain't your wife no more. I guess them 
 doctors don't give you no hopes she might die, do 
 they?" 
 
 "Irene, darling! Minnie was always a good wife 
 to me and " 
 
 "Oh, help!" laughed Irene, throwing back her 
 beautiful head and showing her white, strong throat. 
 "Say!" she cried derisively. "A woman that's a 
 'good wife* to a man always does get left and it 
 pretty near serves her right fur bein' such a soft 
 mess! See what Minnie's got fur all them seven 
 years of bein' a 'good wife' to you! me here in 
 your arms and her livin' in a houseful of crazy nuts! 
 She'd of better done the way I done I took my 
 pleasure as I went along it's the only way to get any. 
 My adwice to you, John Wimmer, is get divorced and 
 marry or mebby you won't be able to hold me!" 
 
 "Look here, Irene," answered John earnestly, 
 "I love you and I'll be true to you. But leave us 
 never again speak about me divorcing Minnie. 
 Promise you won't!" 
 
 "I won't have to speak about it it'll be you that'll 
 be speakin* about it just as soon as you see you 
 can't hold me without gettin' married to me. You 
 mind if you don't!" 
 
 [200]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 John shuddered and did not reply. How could he 
 be sure that her prediction would not come true? 
 It did not now seem possible but a few months 
 ago how impossible would have seemed his present 
 situation! Minnie in a sanitarium for the rest of 
 her life, her mind asleep; and he living "in sin" with 
 Irene, his first and only love! 
 
 "Och!" he suddenly started, "what's that?" 
 
 "I didn't hear nothing," said Irene. 
 
 "It's the children they have fallen awake," he 
 said hastily, starting to rise from her side. 
 
 "Och, set still!" commanded Irene fretfully, pres- 
 sing the palm of her hand on the top of his head. 
 "You hadn't ought to go up to 'em when they wake; 
 it gets 'em too spoilt." 
 
 "I'll just open the stair door and listen if they 
 need something," he said, drawing away her hand, 
 but kissing it as he let it go. "Mebby they're 
 thirsty, or scared, or or lonesome for their mother." 
 
 "You spoil 'em something awful!" Irene scolded 
 crossly. 
 
 John opened the stair door and listened. " They're 
 scrapping! " he announced. " If other parents didn't 
 tell me that their children all scrap with each other, 
 I'd think mine were depraved ! " he grinned. "They're 
 near dismembering each other!" 
 
 "You ought to spank 'em good!" snapped Irene. 
 
 He looked at her wistfully. "If they were your 
 own, Irene dear, you would feel so different!" 
 
 "WeU, they ain't. And don't you think I 
 [201]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 wouldn't settle my own good when they bothered 
 me if I had any!" 
 
 "Hi, there!" John called up the stairs as the 
 noise of battle waxed louder. 
 
 Two sobbing voices called down from above as the 
 boy and girl sprang out of bed and ran to the head of 
 the stairs. 
 
 "Fader! Sophie says she won't marry me and I 
 don't want to marry a strange lady that I ain't 
 acquainted to!" bawled Jacky. 
 
 "But, Fader," wailed Sophie, "I don't want to 
 marry a boy, I want to marry a printheth ! " 
 
 "And she says," cried Jacky, pointing an accusing 
 finger at his sister, "dat a drave yard is where they 
 make dravy and she won't believe me when I telled 
 her it arn't!" 
 
 "And, Fader, Jacky slapped me tause he says I 
 say isn't I, for arn't I!" 
 
 John ran upstairs, picked them both up, and 
 carried them back to bed, admonishing them, as he 
 kissed them, to be quiet and not to get out of bed 
 again. He felt deeply the tragic loss to his children 
 of such a mother as they had had and he tried to 
 make up to them in tenderness, patience, and in- 
 dulgence for the love that had gone out of their 
 lives. 
 
 "Fader!" Jacky manoeuvred to detain him as he 
 started to leave the room, "did God make Hisself?" 
 
 "Och, Jacky, son, no mortal man could answer you 
 that! Anyhow, I never heard of any that could." 
 
 [202]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "But when Muvver was here," said Jacky plain- 
 tively, "if she didn't know the answers to my 
 questions, she made up a answer. If you don't 
 know wevver God maked Hisself, why don't you 
 read a book and find out! I want to know!" 
 
 "Where is Muvver?" asked Sophie sleepily. 
 
 "In Phil-delf-ella," Jacky told her. "Fader, 
 Aunt Iween says ewy body in Phil-delf-ella is 
 richer'n kings, so please write to Muvver and tell her 
 to fetch me a pony, won't you?" 
 
 "She wouldn't have money enough, Jacky." 
 
 "Is a pony too suspensive for even a king to 
 buy?" 
 
 "But your mother isn't rich and she's wery sick, 
 my dear." 
 
 "Poor piteous Muvver!" sobbed Sophie. "I 
 wish my muwer would come home! It's years and 
 years since I saw my muwer!" 
 
 John soothed and comforted his little girl, while 
 Jacky chattered. 
 
 "Fader, do you mind that song Muwer used to 
 sing to us, 'bout sin, shame, and sorrow?" 
 
 "What ith thin?" interrupted Sophie. 
 
 "Sin is putting a cat in water," Jacky promptly 
 answered. 
 
 "Cruel ith thin," Sophie nodded understandmgly. 
 
 "I know what patriotic is," Jacky boasted. "It's 
 red, white, and blue!" 
 
 "I wish," sighed Sophie, "dat Muwer was here 
 to sing me to s'eep she'd sing, 'Jesus wants me to be 
 
 [203]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 a little sunbeam.' A sunbeam's wed and yellow. 
 I'll have to paint mysel wed and yellow wif Jacky's 
 paints for Jesus wants me to." 
 
 "I'd wavver be a wainbow for Him, then I could 
 paint myse'f purple and blue and orange, too," said 
 Jacky. 
 
 "Fader," asked Sophie, "was I borned when I 
 was jus' on'y a teeny 'ittle baby and tould on'y 
 jabber?" 
 
 "Yes, dear. Go to sleep. Father must go down- 
 stairs." 
 
 "If Muwer don't soon come back home," com- 
 plained Sophie, "I'm goin' to ast Jesus to be my 
 Muvver." 
 
 John got himself away at last and went slowly 
 downstairs, thinking regretfully that he must not 
 bore Irene with a repetition of his children's bright, 
 cunning talk. How he would have hastened to tell 
 Minnie all the amusing or touching things they had 
 been saying just now, and how she would have 
 delighted in their brightness, and how deeply and 
 vitally at one he and his mate would have felt in 
 their common love and interest in their wonderful and 
 charming babies! 
 
 But he had learned by this time that his children 
 did not interest Irene; that nothing interested her 
 that did not centre in herself. 
 
 "Look-a-here, John," she greeted his return to her 
 side, "you'll have to cough up some cash for me to- 
 morrow. I got to go to town to buy myself some 
 
 [204]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 clo'es. I seen by the paper there's a special sale at a 
 big department store, of ling-ry and silk hose and 
 coat suits." 
 
 "All right, dear. Will you take the children 
 along to town?" 
 
 "Holy cats! Drag them youngsters along!" she 
 laughed. "Not if I know myself! It'll be a awful 
 relief and rest to be rid of 'em for a day ! " 
 
 John tried to conceal his hurt. "I bet you you'll 
 be awfully glad to see 'em again when you come 
 back!" he ventured. 
 
 "Och, I could manage to worry through more'n 
 one day without 'em if I put my mind to it ! " 
 
 She offered no suggestion as to what disposition 
 should be made of the children during her absence. 
 John waited to hear her broach the subject. But as 
 she did not, he said, "I'll have to take them to school 
 with me for the day. It's darned hard on me, 
 though! They're not used to school and they won't 
 keep still. They set an awfully bad example to the 
 other scholars." 
 
 He laughed, looking to Irene to share his amuse- 
 ment at the joke. 
 
 "I don't see nothing funny in that in your 
 children setting a bad example to the other scholars." 
 
 "Don't you? But it is funny. You see I ain't 
 like Squeers I don't fatten up my children for an 
 advertisement . ** 
 
 "Who's Squeers." 
 
 "A Dickens character." 
 
 [2051
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "What's that again? a dickens of a character, do 
 you mean?" 
 
 "A character in a novel, I mean," John briefly 
 returned. 
 
 "Och," retorted Irene fretfully, "you're always 
 talkin' about them book people like as if they was 
 your neighbours and friends!" 
 
 "They are. I guess they were always a lot more 
 real to Minnie and me than our actual neighbours." 
 
 "No wonder she's in a crazy house then! And 
 you, Johnny, you better watch out, or you'll get 
 there yourself!" 
 
 She patted his cheek playfully and smoothed his 
 hair from his forehead. He bowed his head and 
 kissed her lovely white neck. 
 
 [2061
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 NOW that Irene's claim and hold upon John 
 were secure, her demands for money became 
 incessant and, from his standpoint, very 
 extravagant. Their relation being what it was, he 
 felt bound to be far more indulgent than any Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutchman, even an exceptional one like 
 John, would ever dream of being with a wife. For a 
 time he gave her everything she asked of him within 
 the limits of his salary as a teacher. He had had a 
 raise a year ago and he considered his salary of 
 ninety dollars a month to be large. But he was now 
 obliged to go shabbily clad; to deny himself books 
 and periodicals which he greatly desired; to do 
 without many things which he needed, while Irene 
 decked herself in fine raiment and jewels. 
 
 There was a point, however, at which he took a 
 stand a point from which her most seductive 
 blandishments seemed, at this stage, powerless to 
 move him. He refused to give her a dollar of 
 Minnie's income of one hundred dollars a month; nor 
 would he go into debt. 
 
 "I use Minnie's income for her and the children. 
 Not a dollar for myself now" he would reply to- 
 Irene's urging, emphasizing the "now" with a 
 
 [207]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 significant kiss. "I've forfeited the right to use her 
 money." 
 
 "So long as she can't use it herself, you ain't 
 robbing her any if you do use it," Irene would argue. 
 
 But John refused even to discuss the question. 
 
 Irene, however, did not give up. "I'll make him 
 use it," she resolved. "As if I'd do all I'm doing for 
 a man that's got only ninety dollars a month yet, to 
 spend on me and hisself together! I can easy bag 
 bigger game'n that! He must be conceity if he 
 thinks I love him good enough to take him for the 
 little he's givin' me!" 
 
 The stakes for which she had played her game were 
 much higher. 
 
 "I'll get my fingers on that little old pile Doc 
 Maus left, or I'm a nut!" she said with secret fury. 
 "I ain't wastin' my time much longer for the Kttle 
 Tmgettin'!" 
 
 Her frequent excursions to the city, upon which 
 John seldom accompanied her (she did not seem to 
 want him to), were sometimes prolonged for several 
 days. Her account of herself after an extended 
 absence was always vague and indefinite. John 
 wondered at this indefiniteness, but being a very 
 candid person himself, he never dreamed of suspect- 
 ing her of any treachery. His instinctive fineness 
 checked his pressing for information which she 
 seemed reluctant to give. 
 
 He soon realized that her actual dislike of his 
 children was reciprocated by them. They would 
 . [208]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 have nothing to do with her. At the table it was 
 their father who must tie on their bibs, cut their 
 meat, put "spreadins" on their bread. They re- 
 fused to touch anything offered to them by their 
 aunt. No discipline which John imposed could 
 break down this attitude. 
 
 "You darsen't say 'I won't to your Aunt Irene!" 3 
 he would admonish his daughter. "Don't leave me 
 hear you!" 
 
 "Lizzie Landis says it to her Aunt," Sophie would 
 argue. 
 
 "Lizzie Landis don't know any better." 
 
 "Neever do I know any better, Fader!" 
 
 "I never seen two hatefuller children!" Irene 
 would declare. 
 
 "I don't see why you two can't act nice with your 
 Aunt Irene!" poor badgered John would plead with 
 his boy and girl. "You never act so ugly when 
 you're at Grandmother's!" 
 
 "Don't you see why, Fader?" Jacky, looking 
 thoughtful, asked him one day. 
 
 "No, I don't," John answered rather hypocriti- 
 cally. 
 
 "Well, I'll 'splain it to you. You see, you and 
 Muvver and Aunt Jennie and Aunt Susie and 
 Grandmother and Aunt Sallie and all my parents 
 love me. But Aunt Irene not." 
 
 "She would if you'd be good to her." 
 
 "But she ain't good to us. She shakes us so hard 
 that nearly all the air gets out of us." 
 
 [209]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "If Aunt Iween don't wike us," Sophie added, 
 "anyhow my muvver used to fink I was the nicest 
 'ittle dirl wound here!" 
 
 "When we're sassy to her she puts red pepper on 
 our tongues," said Jacky. "Gee, but it burns! 
 Say, Fader, if any robbers gets into this house, you 
 just put red pepper on their tongues and they'll run 
 away and never come back! " 
 
 Sometimes Irene would insist upon John's punish- 
 ing the children for things that happened in his 
 absence. This he found it very hard to do. Minnie 
 had never asked such a thing of him. 
 
 "Jacky passed insults at the washlady to-day, so's 
 she up and left without finishing her work and 7 had 
 to get at and finish all!" Irene one day complained 
 to Jacky 's father on his return from school. "Now 
 if you don't punish him good, John Wimmer, I'll want 
 to know the reason why!" 
 
 The "washlady," Mrs. Johnson, was the only 
 coloured woman of Hessville, and not only had 
 Jacky never seen her before to-day, but she was the 
 first Negro he had ever seen at all. 
 
 "How did he insult her?" asked John with the 
 keen interest he always manifested in any least 
 thing said or done by his two children. 
 
 "Well, first it was Sophie she up and said to 
 Mrs. Johnson, 'You're a bwack wady, ain't you? 
 What makes you so bwack?' Then Jacky he butts 
 in and says to her, 'Why don't you wash yourself? 
 You're too dirty. You're black! Go wash yourself 
 
 [2101
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 white!' Your children got to be learnt better 
 manners, John!" 
 
 "You must say teached, not learnt, Aunt I ween," 
 Jacky corrected her. "And, Fader, Aunt Iween 
 always says, 'You kids keep quiet, I want to lay 
 down.' But she had ought to say, 'I want to lie 
 down.' If we say, 'I want to lay down,' we're 
 hens; but if we say 'I want to lie down,' we're little 
 boys,'" explained the schoolmaster's well-instructed 
 son. 
 
 "The wabbit is going to lie some eggs for me; ain't 
 he, Fader?" put in Sophie. 
 
 "Say, Fader," said Jacky, "Aunt Iween told a 
 book-agent she was a widow-lady. Why is she?" 
 
 "Because her Mister's dead. She has no hus- 
 band." 
 
 "Then was Muwer a widow-lady before she 
 married you?" 
 
 "No. She was a maiden lady." 
 
 "Ain't Aunt Iween your wife now? And ain't my 
 Muwer a grass widow? What is a grass widow? 
 The book-agent told Aunt Iween she was a grass 
 widow. Does she have to eat grass 'cause she hasn't 
 any Mister to earn up money to keep her?" 
 
 "Och, shut up!" cried Irene. "Shut up, and give 
 us a rest, can't you?" 
 
 When John refused to punish the children for their 
 quite innocent questioning of the washwoman, 
 Irene's resentment did not let him go unpunished. 
 
 He thought sometimes, in these days, of the peace- 
 [211]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 f ul home life, free from all discord and wrangling, that 
 he had lost with Minnie. He knew that he would 
 never have tolerated from her what he bore from Irene. 
 Was that because he loved Irene so much more, he 
 wondered? Or because he knew that Irene, being 
 free, could leave him whenever things became un- 
 pleasant for her. 
 
 It worried him deeply to learn that in his absence 
 she was in the habit of shaking and slapping the 
 children and feeding them red pepper. He and 
 Minnie had never resorted to such methods. 
 
 A small crisis came in his relation with her when 
 one morning he found in his mail several large bills 
 which she had contracted at city stores, unknown to 
 him. They amounted to one hundred and fifty 
 dollars, nearly two months' salary. 
 
 According to his standards, Irene had committed 
 almost a criminal breach of faith in having run him 
 into debt without his knowledge and consent. He 
 had been giving her so large a share of his income 
 lately that he was now too short of money to be able 
 to pay these bills. Being firmly resolved not to draw 
 upon Minnie's income, he was forced to borrow the 
 amount at the bank at six per cent, interest. 
 
 It was on his way home from the postoffice, after 
 having mailed the checks to Irene's creditors, that 
 he wondered how he ought to treat this painfully 
 embarrassing matter with her. 
 
 "I thought I was giving her a-plenty for her 
 clothes! Why, Minnie never spent as much in a 
 
 [2121
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 whole year on dress as what Irene spends in a couple 
 months a'ready and Minnie always looked awfully 
 nice. To be sure, she hadn't Irene's style" 
 
 Yet he felt vaguely that Minnie had had a style in 
 dress as individual, as characteristic of herself, as was 
 Irene's Minnie's being simple, refined, restful; 
 Irene's elaborate, conspicuous, alluring. He did not, 
 at this stage, stop to ask himself which of the two 
 styles he preferred. He was deeply enamoured of 
 Irene; of Minnie he never had been. 
 
 When he reached home, it was supper time, but 
 Irene was not in the kitchen and there was no sign 
 of a meal. The children, their faces tear-stained and 
 forlorn, their clothes soiled, were alone in the kitchen. 
 The eager joy with which they greeted their father 
 was, he sadly realized, the measure of the desolation 
 that his coming dissipated. 
 
 Sophie, who was inclined to be tragic and dramatic, 
 pointed to a pool of water on the floor near an empty 
 tin cup. "Dat's my tears dat I cried tause you 
 didn't turn, Fader!" 
 
 "Aunt Iween locks up all our toys 'cause she don't 
 like to clear 'em up and we haven't anyfing to play 
 wif," complained Jacky. 
 
 "I want my Teddy bear!" whimpered Sophie. 
 
 "Aunt Iween slapped us 'cause we tried to bolt in 
 the parlour when she had comp'ny," added Jacky. 
 
 " Company? " repeated John. " Who? " 
 
 "A man. We heered him, but we didn't saw him," 
 said Sophie. 
 
 [213]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I thinked it was you, Fader, corned home from 
 school," said Jacky, "and that's why I tried to bolt 
 in; but Aunt Iween said yes, it was you, but she 
 wanted to talk wif you alone so she frowed me and 
 Sophie out. But I told Sophie, 'It ain't my Fader, 
 he don't speak in that woice." : 
 
 "Is the man there now?" asked John. 
 
 "No, he wented away just before you corned home. 
 I heered Aunt Iween fru the keyhole when she telled 
 him school would soon leave out now and he better 
 get a move on. I wisht," sighed Jacky, "that Aunt 
 Iween would get a move on ! I'm too tired of her ! " 
 
 The wild idea occurred to John that perhaps 
 Irene's husband was not dead, but in hiding from the 
 law; that perhaps Hen was the recipient of the money 
 which she was all the time extracting from him; that 
 that was why she had to run up a charge account for 
 the clothes she wanted; that perhaps she actually 
 loved that scamp, Hen, and that the two of them 
 were working 
 
 The kitchen door leading into the dining room 
 opened and Irene, radiantly handsome hi her newest 
 and gayest frock, cut very low at the throat, came 
 into the room. 
 
 "Hello, Johnny! Back a'ready? I guess you'll 
 have to make supper this evening, boysy. I ain't 
 cookin' in this here frock not on your tin type! 
 And I'm too darned tired to cook, anyhow. Jacky ! " 
 she sharply commanded, "wipe up that there pool of 
 water!" 
 
 [2141
 
 "I'm too darned tired to," Jacky repeated her own 
 words in such an exact imitation of her that John 
 grinned involuntarily, downhearted though he felt. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you not to play with water?" de- 
 manded Irene. "Get a move on and wipe it now, I 
 tell you!" 
 
 "I didn't play wif water," Jacky replied as he 
 obeyed. "It's Sophie's tears wot she cried 'cause 
 that man in the parlour wasn't Fader." 
 
 "John Wimmer!" cried Irene with a great show of 
 indignation, "the way you leave these children tell 
 lies all the time! I'm darned if I " 
 
 "Irene!" pleaded John, "I wish you'd not use 
 such words before the children. They're picking 
 them up from you." 
 
 He rose and began to set the kitchen table for 
 supper. He had grown almost expert at the job. 
 
 Under Minnie's regime, they had never had their 
 meals in the kitchen. But although he did not like 
 it, he agreed with Irene that it saved work. 
 
 "To be sure, John, if you think I poison your 
 children," she retorted, "I can easy leave, so far 
 forth as that goes! You only got to say the word, 
 you know. But I must say, you've left things go 
 pretty far before you decided I ain't good enough to 
 associate with your kids yet!" 
 
 "It's only that I don't want 'em to get in the way 
 of usin' coarse language, Irene." 
 
 "Coarse language! So my line of talk ain't re- 
 fined enough to suit you, ain't it? Well, then, take 
 
 [2151
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 your children somewheres else! 7 won't break my 
 heart! I'd be wonderful reconciled to the blow of 
 losin' 'em!" 
 
 "Who was your wisitor this after?" he asked her. 
 
 "Wouldn't you like to know, darling?" she 
 laughed teasingly, as she sat down comfortably in a 
 big rocker by the window, while he bustled about, 
 filling the teakettle and cutting bread. "You see, 
 John, you ain't the only pebble on the beach I got 
 other admarers!" 
 
 "Oh, have you?" said John, turning his back to- 
 ward her, as he slammed a slice of ham into a pan; 
 he did not want her to see the flush of jealous pain 
 that rose to his forehead at her words. 
 
 "Sure I hare! Why not?" 
 
 "Help yourself. But have your bills sent to them 
 then!" 
 
 He glanced at her over his shoulder to note the 
 effect of this thrust. 
 
 "Did you get some of my bills, then, beloved 
 treasure?" 
 
 " I certainly did I" 
 
 "Never mind, Johnny," she said caressingly, "them 
 won't be the last ones you'll get blee' me I" 
 
 "I think they will" said John grimly. "I'm 
 opposed to going into debt. I never do it. I'm not 
 going to begin now" 
 
 "Then drop this here rotten school teaching and 
 get a man's job! Why, there's jobs in Harrisburg 
 at the Capitol I know of where you can graft twicet 
 
 [216]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 your salary! You're acquainted with some poli- 
 ticianers ask 'em for one of them cinch jobs! I 
 could easy work it for you if you'd gimme the dare 
 to." 
 
 "Teaching seems to me a lot more of a man's job 
 than stealing off of taxpayers!" 
 
 *'Och, well," yawned Irene, "that depends, I 
 guess, on how a body looks at it." 
 
 All during supper he noticed how unusually flushed 
 and animated she was and he wondered, miserably, 
 whether her mysterious visitor were the cause of her 
 radiance. 
 
 After supper, she reseated herself in the rocker by 
 the window. "I can't work in this here frock,'* 
 she repeated. 
 
 So John "redd off" the table and washed the 
 dishes, Jacky drying them and Sophie putting them 
 away. After that, he took the children up to bed. 
 
 "I'm dog-tired!" he groaned when at last he and 
 Irene were alone in the sitting room. 
 
 He meant to have it out with her about those 
 bills. His opinion of her behaviour had not been 
 modified by all the tiresome domestic work he had 
 had to do since his return from a long day in his 
 schoolroom. 
 
 But what was his astonishment to hear her say, 
 before he could broach the subject of the bills, "Now, 
 Johnny, sweetheart, don't look like a Gloomy Gus, 
 for I want to talk money! Smile and look pleasant! 
 Ever read that there book called 'Pollyanna?' Better 
 
 [2171
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 read it it'll uplift you like anything. I couldn't go 
 it myself too soft! Elinor Glyn for mine, if I got 
 to read a book! Say, Johnny, I got to have some 
 money!" 
 
 "I was about to tell you, Irene, that after this 
 I'll give you such an allowance so much a month or 
 week as much as I can spare and you'll have to 
 keep your expenses inside that allowance. I won't 
 have you running up bills against me." 
 
 "What'll be the allowance?" 
 
 "My salary's ninety dollars a month. I'll give 
 you fifty. It ain't enough, I know. But it's more 
 than I'll have left to pay for our food and for all my 
 own and half the children's expenses. It's the best 
 I can do, Irene." 
 
 "Fifty a month? I need seventy-five dollars right 
 now to pay for a fur coat I bought (reduced to half 
 price) and they won't gimme the coat till I cough up 
 them seventy-five." 
 
 "I will give you fifty dollars a month," repeated 
 John. 
 
 "You'll have to find seventy-five dollars for me 
 to-morrow or I'll lose that there coat and if I lose 
 that there coat, John Wimmer, you'll know it!" 
 
 "I paid three bills for you to-day, Irene, to the 
 tune of one hundred and fifty dollars. My salary is 
 ninety dollars a month." 
 
 "You draw one hundred dollars every month from 
 Doc Maus's estate that's by rights as much mine as 
 yourn ! " 
 
 [218]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 " It's neither yours nor mine, Irene. It's Minnie's. 
 I will not touch it except for her and the children. It 
 costs eighty dollars a month to keep Minnie at the 
 sanitarium." 
 
 "You can easy borrow the seventy-five for my 
 coat." 
 
 "I borrowed the one hundred and fifty for those 
 bills to-day. Understand me, Irene," he said in a 
 tone of ominous quiet, "I will not go into debt any 
 deeper." 
 
 "Now look-a-here, John Wimmer!" cried Irene 
 shrilly, "I'll do something desp'rate if I'm provoked 
 too hard ! The idea of making all this here wild rum- 
 pus about seventy-five dollars and raising the rooft 
 and stamping round here like a wild hyena and 
 
 "Please, Irene, you'll wake the children!" 
 
 "Damn the children! I tell you you'll have to get 
 me that there seventy -five dollars!" 
 
 "You don't seem to stop to think, Irene, how hard 
 I have to work for seventy-five dollars." 
 
 "I know how hard I'm workin' for it just now! 
 I'm workin' my throat raw! Are you a-goin* to 
 find me that there money?" she demanded. 
 
 "I am not, my dear." 
 
 "If you'd see how lovely that there coat becomes 
 me, Johnny!" she tried wheedling. "It would melt 
 your heart! For that you're not got a hard heart and 
 that you are awful fond for me, I know no matter 
 how much," she tearfully added, "your sister Jen 
 wants to say you don't really love me and that I'm a 
 
 [219]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 burden to you and that I'm ruinin' your noble 
 chark'ter and that I ain't nice enough educated for 
 you. I near cry my little heart out the way Jen 
 talks to me, Johnny!" She nestled to his side 
 caressingly. "You won't leave 'em 'buse your little 
 sweetheart, will you, honey -bug?" 
 
 "Don't be a damn fool, Irene." 
 
 "Well, John Wimmer!" she snapped back, sitting 
 erect, "do you think I enjoy working the tremulo 
 record till it near cracks? I don't like slavin' like a 
 dog this way for every dollar I need! If you was 
 half a man, you'd see to it that I didn't have to." 
 
 They were interrupted by a loud knock at the front 
 door. No one in Hessville ever called as late as this 
 it was half -past nine o'clock. Every drop of colour 
 left John's face. 
 
 "Minnie!" he gasped. "News from Minnie!" 
 
 Irene sprang up to answer the knock, but he 
 stopped her. "I'll go." 
 
 "A telegram!" excitedly announced the .only 
 operator of Hessville, who always delivered in per- 
 son the few telegraph messages that ever came for 
 residents of the village. "Return answer requested." 
 
 John tore open the envelope with trembling fingers. 
 
 Recent manifestations indicate that immediate 
 though very dangerous operation may lead to wife's 
 recovery. Great risk, but only chance of complete 
 recovery. Wire us authority to operate. Answer pre- 
 paid. / 
 
 Doctors MANNING and SHERWIN. 
 
 [220]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A JOHN had been obliged to send an im- 
 mediate reply to the telegram, he had been 
 able to consider only two alternatives 
 Minnie's permanent blankness, on the one hand; her 
 recovery or death, on the other. Of course he had 
 not hesitated. Better death than her present con- 
 dition. So he had wired, "Operate" and had felt, 
 as he put his name to the telegram, as though he were 
 signing his wife's death warrant. 
 
 He would have taken the midnight train for 
 Philadelphia, but that he must find a substitute for 
 his school and then take the children to the farm and 
 leave them with his mother and sisters. His father 
 would, of course, object, because the "women folks*' 
 wasted tune when John's idolized children were there. 
 Indeed the harsh and selfish old man was not above 
 squandering some attention himself upon his only 
 grandson, whom he secretly considered the "smart- 
 est" child that had ever been born. But he went 
 far out of his way to hide this softness and (as he 
 thought it) weakness from his son. To cover his 
 own real pleasure at having the children at the farm, 
 he grumbled whenever they came, at the work they 
 made and the tune they consumed. 
 
 [221]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 John, however, found himself unwilling to leave 
 Jacky and Sophie alone with Irene while he was in 
 Philadelphia. "If they fall sick whiles I'm off, they 
 must be with someone that'll care," he decided. 
 
 He hardly knew whether he felt more relieved or 
 disappointed at Irene's manifesting no signs of being 
 hurt when he told her that he would not leave the 
 children with her during his absence. He did not yet 
 understand her well enough to know that she would 
 have been much more annoyed at having them on her 
 hands. 
 
 Irene, left alone in the house for at least a few days 
 and perhaps longer, had time to reflect upon some 
 phases of the situation now confronting her and 
 John which, in the confusing rush of events, they had 
 not stopped to consider She wondered whether 
 John, too, during his separation from her, was facing 
 and wrestling with all the possibilities inherent in 
 their precarious relation. 
 
 Should Minnie die (as she probably would) John 
 would be free! and rich! Would he want to marry 
 her? She'd see that he did ! It wouldn't be dif- 
 ficult. He was so ridiculously conscientious that, 
 whatever his wishes, he would think it his duty. 
 However, she was pretty sure that he would wish to 
 bind her legally. He was crazy about her, simply 
 crazy. Other men had been "gone on" her, but not 
 one of them so "clean gone" as John still was. 
 
 Nevertheless, when you stopped to consider how 
 greatly he disapproved of her handling of his absurdly
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 idolized children maybe he would balk at marriage 
 after all. But who ever heard of a man that put his 
 children before his passion? It was surely foolish 
 to fear that if he wanted her very much, he would let 
 himself be foiled by a trifle like that! 
 
 "He's a man! nuff said!" she decided. "All the 
 same, I got to go easy with them kids now that things 
 has come to a crisis! I got to play the soft-soapy 
 game of a lovin' mother to 'em! Ain't it a mess? 
 It sure won't come easy to me! But sooner'n lose 
 that there fortune of Min's, I guess I can stick it out 
 till I'm anyhow married oncet to John. Then watch 
 me make them brats stand round and do what I tell 
 'em to ! I won't spoil 'em any not that you'd notice 
 it ! And I'll see to it that their pop don't neither ! " 
 
 But if Minnie, contrary to all expectations and 
 probabilities, got well? What, under such cir- 
 cumstances, would John expect to do about it? 
 "Turn me out and bring back his wife, I guess! 
 Well, he'll find out I ain't that easy disposed of!" 
 
 Was John, also, she wondered, realizing all these 
 complications of their situation? Did he hope that 
 the outcome of the operation would be his freedom to 
 marry her? He had not hesitated an instant over 
 his answer to that telegram. Did his prompt con- 
 sent to the dangerous operation mean that he cared 
 more, or less, for his wife than for his mistress? 
 
 "He shan't have her back!" Irene hotly resolved. 
 "I'll blab the whole thing to her and she'll divorce 
 him!" 
 
 [223]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Ah, but if Minnie divorced him, her fortune would 
 go with her, and John without that fortune wouldn't 
 be worth having! 
 
 "He could easy work it so's he could get that there 
 money in his own hands, if only he would. Then 
 Min could get her old divorce if she wanted to and 
 he needn't give a damn! But he's so darned pertikler! 
 It'll take awful hard work to make him touch her 
 money." 
 
 She thought of a strong argument she could ad- 
 vance that might perhaps weaken his scruples. "He 
 can't deny that one half of that there fortune was 
 cheated off of Hen. So I got more right to that there 
 half than Min has. He can't deny it. So I'll any- 
 how try that there argiment." 
 
 If it failed? 
 
 "All right, then John'll lose us both! Min'll 
 divorce him and I'll jilt him ! the way he jilted me 
 oncet. Min'll take the kids and her money and he 
 won't have nothing left wife, kids, home, money 
 and serve him right ! " 
 
 Irene knew that in case of the failure of her 
 scheme to marry John with his money, she would find 
 much solace in the delectable sight of Minnie's 
 chagrin and jealous rage upon hearing of her hus- 
 band's love for another woman. 
 
 "I'll anyhow have that out of it!" she thought. 
 
 A few months ago, when she had first come into 
 John's home, she had found him prematurely old, 
 careworn, sad, and listless. Her coming had seemed 
 
 [224]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 to restore his youth. He had become vigorous and 
 active; he had not only grown cheerful, but, in 
 spite of many worries, almost gay. 
 
 But on his return from Philadelphia, three days 
 after the receipt of the startling telegram, all that he 
 had recently gained seemed to have dropped away 
 from him. He was grim and haggard. There was 
 tragedy in his face, agony in the strained expression 
 of his eyes. 
 
 Though the doctors called the operation successful 
 he told Irene, they were not sure Minnie would live; 
 hardly thought she would; John himself was sure she 
 would not. 
 
 " She looks awful ! I wouldn't know her ! She's a 
 skeleton covered with skin! She's shrivelled and 
 gray in the face ! Her hair's shaved off! I wouldn't 
 know her!" 
 
 He shuddered as he covered his face with his hands. 
 
 "How long do them doctors say it will go till they 
 know oncet if she'll get well or not?" asked Irene, 
 trying to cover her own eagerness under a tone of 
 sympathy. 
 
 " They say she may linger on a while yet or pick 
 up. She's so weak, she might die any minute. 
 I'm not to come again unless they send for me the 
 sudden shock of recognizing me (for they insist her 
 mind'll be all right now, if she lives) might kill her. 
 So I'm to keep away till they think it's safe already." 
 
 He did not see the gleam that shot from Irene's eyes 
 at these words. 
 
 [225]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Just seem' you might might kill her? Did they 
 say that?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 John nodded dumbly. 
 
 Irene turned away for a moment to fuss at the 
 stove. "That," she said to herself, her heart 
 throbbing thickly, "might be a way out! I could 
 fake a telegram from the doctors telling him to 
 come " 
 
 In the weary days of waiting that followed, John 
 was touched by Irene's changed demeanour her 
 gentle patience with the children, her unobtrusive 
 sympathy for his trouble and anxiety, her unwonted 
 attention to his comfort, her kindness and considera- 
 tion. It went far toward bringing him round, 
 soothing his horrible nervousness, reestablishing his 
 faith in her, restoring his comfort in his home. 
 
 Yes, Irene acted well her part and was even more 
 successful than she herself realized. For what John 
 was really thinking and feeling during these days, she 
 could not guess. 
 
 The fact was he did not understand himself. He 
 had hours of acutest torture in which his burning 
 passion for Irene warred with his loyalty and deep 
 affection for his wife; hours when he loathed himself; 
 others when he abandoned himself absolutely to the 
 lure of Irene; times when he was ready to sacrifice 
 the rest of his life to make amends to Minnie for what 
 she was suffering; days when he could not see an inch 
 ahead; when he could only passively await the out- 
 come and let things happen as they would. Of one 
 
 [2261
 
 thing, however, he felt sure gentle though Minnie 
 was, she would never forgive his disloyalty, should 
 she recover. 
 
 Meantime, Irene was finding her virtuous role an 
 almost intolerable strain upon her patience, her self- 
 control, her life-long habit of self-indulgence. After 
 a few weeks of quite exemplary behaviour, she 
 realized that if she were going to keep it up, if she 
 were not going to collapse hysterically and "raise 
 hell," she would have to have a respite. 
 
 "I'll say I got to go to Lancaster for a day and 
 then I can run on to Phildelphy and send him that 
 there fake telegram," she decided one day when she 
 felt she could not hold out any longer. 
 
 So that evening, as John sat reading in the sitting 
 room, after the children had been put to bed, she 
 came and sat on the side of his chair. 
 
 "Reading something interesting?" she asked as 
 she clasped his wrist and tilted his book to see the 
 title; "'Literary History of India,' by R. W. Frazer, 
 LL. B., Lecturer in Telugu and Tamil at University 
 College and the Imperial holy cats!" she broke 
 off. "If that's what a Normal school and a grand 
 education does to a fellah, gimme Ignorance. 
 Honestly, Johnny, what do you see in a book like 
 that? I'd have the woolies if I had to wade through 
 such dry punk! The only kind of a book I like to 
 read is a silly book the sillier the better for little 
 Reeny!" she laughed as she ran her fingers through 
 his hair. 
 
 [2271
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, hypnotized by the 
 touch of her soft hand. 
 
 "Beloved treasure, I got to go to Lancaster to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "What for, dear?" 
 
 "I got to see a doctor." 
 
 John started. "A doctor? Good God, Irene, you 
 don't mean " 
 
 "A baby?" she asked. She had not thought of 
 that. She quickly turned it over in her mind it 
 might work better than her own idea. Could she 
 risk such a bluff with John as experienced as he was 
 (the father of two living and one dead) and she her- 
 self so altogether inexperienced? No, she probably 
 knew too little about it to deceive him. 
 
 "No, John, dear, that ain't it you may thank your 
 lucky stars! I got to see a doctor about my throat 
 something the matter with the sarcophagus." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "The sarcophagus," Irene firmly repeated. 
 
 "A sarcophagus is a coffin," said John stolidly. 
 
 "It is, is it? Well, then, what is this here bloomin* 
 thing in your throat that gets on the blink?" 
 
 "I suppose you mean the oesophagus. What's 
 wrong with it?" 
 
 "Germs. It's got to be sprayed. Can you leave 
 me have the price?" 
 
 "I hope so. How much?" 
 
 "The specialist I want to go to charges twenty-five 
 dollars per, dearie." 
 
 [228]
 
 ' THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE] 
 
 John sighed. "Minnie's operation,'* he began, 
 but checked himself. 
 
 "Well, to be sure, Johnny, this here thing of 
 havin' a harem full of wives ain't cheap! You can't 
 expect it!" 
 
 "I'll try to raise the money for you, Irene,'* he 
 responded, trying not to speak despondently. "You 
 know I'd love to give you all you want if I only had 
 it." 
 
 "You're got it if you'd only take it!" she retorted. 
 
 But John would not reopen that argument. 
 Irene's efforts to prove to him that she was morally 
 entitled to at least Henry's share of Doctor Maus's 
 estate had thus far left him quite unconvinced. 
 
 "Will you wait, Irene, till day after to morrow to 
 go to the city?" he hastily veered away from the 
 unpleasant topic of the Maus estate. "That'll give 
 me more time to get you the money. I ain't got it, 
 you know. My salary's always spent already before 
 I get it. I'll have to borrow it for you from the bank. " 
 
 "Why don't you borrow the loan of some money 
 off of Minnie? You wouldn't anyhow have to pay 
 her int'rust." 
 
 John winced. Of late, in the financial stress of his 
 heavy expenses, he had been sorely tempted to do that 
 very thing. But as yet he had not yielded. 
 
 "I don't want to do that!" he said heavily. 
 
 "Minnie must always have been awful tight with 
 her old money, to make you so pertikler about 
 touching a penny of it ! " 
 
 [229]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "She leaves the management of her money so 
 entirely to me, Irene, that don't you see? that 
 makes me feel more conscientious about taking good 
 care of it than if she hadn't always trusted me so." 
 
 "Makes you feel conscientious och! You sound 
 like President Wilson's speeches yet! I wish't," she 
 suddenly exclaimed, "you was more like Hen!" 
 
 "Wish I was like Hen! You can't mean that!" 
 
 "I mean," she hastened to add, "so's you didn't 
 take things so hard. To be sure you're an awful 
 hon'rable man toward what Hen was, but you do 
 give yourself so much worry!" 
 
 "I don't give it to myself you give it to me," 
 smiled John. 
 
 "I know I'm an expensive luxury," she retorted. 
 "Most good things do come high, you know, 
 Johnny." 
 
 "Yes," he returned, kissing her hand, "and I'm 
 paying a lot all right!" 
 
 "Not more'n I'm worth ain't?" she demanded 
 playfully. 
 
 "We don't measure human worth in terms of 
 dollars," responded the schoolmaster. 
 
 "Don't we!" cried Irene mockingly. "What do 
 we mean, then, when we say, 'So and so is worth 
 thirty thousand dollars' heh?" 
 
 "The good and great men of history, Irene, have 
 never been the richest men." 
 
 "I don't know nothin' about history. And I ain't 
 acquainted with any 'good' men, are you, Johnny? 
 
 [230]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But I do know that the only people that has any 
 power about here is rich people. You don't hear any 
 one askin' of a man, 'How good is he?' but, 'How 
 much has he got?" 
 
 "It's all wrong that we're so sordid in America. 
 Our ideals are too materialistic; our 
 
 "Now, Johnny, now! Come off your perch! 
 Talk that highbrow stuff, and I'll get sleepy! I 
 ain't Min, you know." 
 
 John repressed a sigh. He still missed greatly the 
 "intellectual conversations," the earnest exchange of 
 ideas, which he and Minnie used to enjoy. 
 
 The next day after dinner, at the noon recess, 
 John, before returning to his school, forced himself to 
 the hateful ordeal of trying to raise some money for 
 Irene. But when he went to the bank to draw what 
 little he had deposited there, he made a discovery 
 that gave him a shock. 
 
 "Your money's all. You ain't got a dollar in," the 
 clerk informed him when he presented a check for 
 fifteen dollars, the amount he supposed he had to his 
 account. 
 
 "All! Why, I never before miscounted like that! 
 I thought I had yet fifteen dollars in." 
 
 "You did have till a couple days back. But 
 Missus she drawed it out yet." 
 
 "Missus?" 
 
 "I don't mean your Missus. Hen Maus's widdah 
 woman. Her." 
 
 "But I I didn't give her och, yes" John, 
 [231]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSV1LLE 
 
 who had turned white, caught himself up "I 
 remember now I did give her a check for the 
 amount." 
 
 "I thought at the time it didn't look near like your 
 penmanship. But seein' she's keepin' your house 
 and is your sister-in-law, I thought, too, again, it 
 must be all right." 
 
 "It is all right," John smiled in a sickly way as he 
 turned to leave the bank. 
 
 He was uncomfortably conscious all that after- 
 noon in school that his work was being done badly; 
 that sometimes he hardly knew what he was doing or 
 saying. 
 
 His pupils, of course, noticed his inattention and 
 depression and that evening on their return from 
 school, reported to their parents, "Teacher's Missus 
 must be took worse he acted so dumb and doplig!" 
 
 John, on his way home, wondered how he should 
 broach this matter of the forged check to Irene. 
 Forgery! She could not possibly realize the gravity 
 of what she had done. He would have to try to 
 make her understand. It was not the loss of the 
 money, but the duplicity, the dishonesty; his not 
 being aware of how he stood financially ; being bank- 
 rupt and not knowing it. 
 
 In some respects Irene seemed so "dumb" 
 would he succeed in convincing her that such things 
 as this she must not do? 
 
 A sickening weariness came over him at the 
 prospect of the struggle. He detested controversy. 
 
 [232]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He loathed the money discussions in which he and 
 Irene seemed constantly to fall. It was debasing! 
 
 For the first time in his life he found himself, to- 
 day, feeling glad that the children were not at home. 
 His sister Jennie had taken them to the farm this 
 afternoon because Irene was to go to town early the 
 next morning. 
 
 As he neared his own home, his heart grew more 
 and more heavy. He felt as cowardly an inclination 
 to run away as though he, instead of Irene, were the 
 guilty one. 
 
 When he was about a block from home, he saw 
 something which gave him another shock. The long, 
 empty street of the village opened a clear view, at the 
 distance of a block, of his own gate and porch. A 
 man, dressed in clothes of city, not Hessville, style, 
 stepped out of the front door and coming down to the 
 pavement, turned toward the end of the street from 
 which John was approaching; but seeing John, he 
 instantly wheeled about and walked away in the 
 opposite direction which would take him, not into 
 the heart of the village, but out into the country. 
 
 "Trying to avoid me?" wondered John. 
 
 He noticed just one conspicuous detail of the 
 man's spruce attire a green felt hat. He speculated, 
 as he hurried home, whether this could possibly be the 
 same man whose visit to Irene, some weeks previous, 
 the children had betrayed to him; whose name or 
 business she had refused to tell him. 
 
 The man seemed in a hurry and by the time John 
 [2331
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVTLLE 
 
 was at his own gate, the green felt hat was far up the 
 street. 
 
 He found Irene in the parlour, dressed out in her 
 gayest frock. 
 
 "Who was that man? " he at once curtly demanded. 
 
 "What man, Johnny?" she innocently asked. 
 
 " The *man that just left here. Who was he? " 
 
 "I didn't see no man " 
 
 "The man who wore a green felt hat. Who was 
 he?" 
 
 "Oh, him! Did you meet each other?" 
 
 "I saw him leave this house. What was he doing 
 here? Who was he?" 
 
 " Z don't know him. He's such a travelling agent." 
 
 "What did he have to sell?" 
 
 "A new kind of a carpet sweeper." 
 
 "He wasn't carrying anything." 
 
 "He had pikturs of it." 
 
 "Why are you all dressed up?" 
 
 "For you, beloved treasure!" 
 
 "I'd sooner you had on a dress you could cook in! 
 I'm tired and empty." 
 
 "All right, I'll go up and change. You needn't 
 have so jealous of a old book-agent, Johnny dearie ! " 
 
 "Book-agent! You said a carpet sweeper!" 
 
 "Z don't know what he was sellin'! I toF him he 
 needn't waste his wind, for I hadn't no money. So 
 he beat it." 
 
 "What do you do with all my money? What did 
 you do with the fifteen dollars that I had in the 
 
 [234]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 bank that you forged off of me! Don't you know you 
 could be sent to the penitentiary for forging my 
 name? Do you know that? What you have done 
 makes you a criminal! 91 
 
 "Flatterer!' she slapped at him coquettishly. 
 "*Och, don't go and have a stroke of apoplexy over it, 
 Johnny. Take Hood's Sarsaparilla ! " 
 
 "You can't do this kind of thing, Irene! I've got 
 to know "where I stand financially I 
 
 "Well, John, this here ought to be a lesson to 
 you!" she admonished him in a tone of virtuous 
 disapproval. "I hope this'll learn you to gimme 
 enough money so I don't have to commit crimes to 
 get what I need !" 
 
 ''Have you no sense of shame, Irene?" 
 
 "Sure I have! I'd be awful ashamed to be as 
 tight as what you are, John Wimmer ! I sure would ! 
 Do you s'pose I'd forge a check if I wasn't drove to 
 it? Sure I wouldn't! I don't enjoy doin' it! It 
 makes me awful nervous!" 
 
 "Irene! If ever again you forge my name, I'll 
 warn the bank 
 
 "Don't be a nut, John! To be sure, I can't work 
 that game no more! I ain't such a bonehead as to 
 try to work off a trick on you after you'd found it 
 out! Don't be so dumb!" 
 
 "For God's sake, Irene -" 
 
 "Don't take Gawd's name in wain!" she gravely 
 reproved him "Now," she said conclusively, "I got 
 to get a move on and change my dress." 
 
 [235]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 She danced out of the room singing. 
 
 John sank heavily into a chair by the window. It 
 was hopeless. He could not make any impression 
 upon her. What should he do? Wearily he leaned 
 his head on his hand, and in doing so, his arm came in 
 contact with two letters in his coat pocket which he 
 had taken from his postoffice box on his way home 
 from school. He had not yet even glanced at them 
 so distracted had he been over the discovery of the 
 forgery. 
 
 Mechanically, now, he drew them from his pocket. 
 "The same old news from the hospital, I guess," he 
 said to himself the bi-weekly report from the 
 doctors invariably being that there was no change as 
 yet in his wife's condition. 
 
 Yes, here was the familiar printed address in the 
 corner of the envelope. He tore it open. It was, as 
 usual, typewritten and marked "Dictated." It 
 was not, however, the customary brief few lines, but 
 a long letter. And the name at the end not that of 
 the doctor! The name! John's head swam, his 
 vision was blurred. He steadied himself and looked 
 again. "Minnie." 
 
 He trembled so that the letter shook in his fingers. 
 A letter from Minnie herself! A voice from the 
 grave! Minnie speaking to him after all these 
 months of silence! 
 
 He rose, and going into the seldom used parlour, he 
 locked the door to be alone with his letter; alone for 
 a few moments with Minnie, his wife. 
 
 [236]
 
 CHAPTER XVin 
 
 JOHN, MY DEAR: 
 
 The nurse is writing this for me, I'm too weak to write 
 myself. She says I darsent make it long. It seems as if I 
 had been away in a far off country where I didn't even 
 know you and Jacky and Sophie. I don't know anything 
 about being sick so long. I'm very comfortable and 
 contented now. It surprises me that I don't fret for you 
 and the children. The nurse says I'm too weak to. The 
 doctor says you can't come to see me yet awhile not till 
 he's sure I'm strong enough to stand it. I feel so weak, 
 I seem to shrink from seeing you yet. Isn't that queer? 
 You seem so far away you and the children as if I 
 would have to take a long, hard journey to reach you. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 MINNIE. 
 
 The next few lines were from the nurse 
 
 This is as far as your wife was able to dictate. She is so 
 weak that the slightest thing might turn the balance 
 against her. We have hopes, now, for her complete re- 
 covery if she is kept absolutely quiet. You can write to 
 her, but the doctor thinks it will be a month or more before 
 she can be visited. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 GRACE KENTNQR. 
 [237]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 The rush of joy that surged up in John's heart at 
 the sound, as it were, of Minnie's own voice from out 
 the long, blank stillness at this sudden, unexpected 
 restoring of the broken current of their joint life 
 was a revelation to him of the depth and the vitality 
 of his union with her. He felt like flying to meet the 
 happiness of that reunion. The weeks of patient 
 waiting before he could realize it in its fulness and 
 completeness seemed unbearable. His mind re- 
 fused to consider, now, the impassable barrier to her 
 return that existed in his home. At this touch of 
 Minnie's very self, he knew, from the deep delight it 
 gave him, how hungry he had been for his companion, 
 his mate, the dear creator of his home. With an 
 overmastering eagerness to talk to her at once, to 
 pour out his heart to her, he sat down before the 
 little walnut desk in the parlour (he had given her 
 this desk on her last birthday), seized tablet and 
 pencil and began to write to her. So many things 
 crowded upon his mind to say to her the accumula- 
 tion of all these months of separation he felt that he 
 would like to sit there and write all night long. 
 
 "But I must go slowly or I'll overtax her strength," 
 he checked himself. He felt as tenderly toward her 
 precarious weakness as he had been wont to feel 
 toward the appealing helplessness of his infants. 
 
 When presently, as his pen was flying back and 
 forth across the tablet, Irene called him to supper, he 
 felt an irritability at being interrupted that was not at 
 all characteristic of him. 
 
 [238]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Immediately after supper, the children not being 
 at home to require his attention, he returned to his 
 fascinating task. He had not enjoyed anything in a 
 long while as he was enjoying this communion, on 
 paper, with his wife. 
 
 It was an especial luxury to be able to talk freely 
 about the children to one who was as interested in 
 them as he was himself. 
 
 You'll be glad to know, my dear, that the babies grow 
 prettier and sweeter and smarter every day. The dignity 
 that Jacky put on, on his sixth birthday you'd have 
 thought he had come of age ! The other day I told him he 
 darsen't say he "ketched" the ball so after while he said 
 to me, "Here, Fader, caught it!" He had the toothache 
 one day and some fever with it and he said to me, "It's 
 very painful, Fader much more painful than just a pain." 
 And he told the doctor, "Hot air comes out of me!" 
 The Doc told him he wasn't the only person hot air came 
 out of! Sophie gets to look more and more like you. I 
 often have to just sit and look at her so much like you she 
 grows. The way those children miss you, dear ! Oh, my 
 dear, my dear, when once I have 
 
 The turning of the door knob interrupted him, and 
 Irene's voice demanded, "What you got the door 
 locked for? Leave me in!" 
 
 He rose reluctantly, and after an instant's hesita- 
 tion, he thrust the unfinished letter into a drawer, 
 locked it, and put the key into his pocket. 
 
 "What're you doin' all alone hi here anyhow?" 
 [239]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 cried Irene as he opened the door to her. "And with 
 the door locked yet!" 
 
 "I was writing," he briefly answered. 
 
 "Why do you have to lock the door fur just to 
 write?" she asked suspiciously. 
 
 "To be alone and quiet." 
 
 "Huh!" she commented, not satisfied, but deterred 
 by John's tone and manner from pursuing her in- 
 quiry. 
 
 For the rest of the evening she found him strangely 
 distracted; at times quite unaware of her; at others, 
 short with her as he had never been before. 
 
 "Now, look-a-here, John Wimmer," she presently 
 demanded, curiosity getting the better of the vague, 
 uncomfortable awe whick his manner invoked, 
 '''what's happened? What's the matter of you? 
 You're actin' awful funny, I must say!" 
 
 "I've been thinking, Irene, what a mess a man can 
 make ef his life by not sticking to the straight and 
 narrow road!" 
 
 "Your life wouldn't need to be such a mess if you 
 wasn't so scared to touch a dollar of that there money 
 that's by rights half mine anyways! If you'd 
 only " 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of money. Don't let's talk 
 about money this evening! I'm sick of the sound of 
 the word!" 
 
 " Well, John, if you're too slow to need money for 
 yourself, / ain't ! " 
 
 "So I have observed!" 
 
 [240]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Och, you needn't go and get sarcastic that way! 
 You might as well understand that I'm an expensive 
 luxury that you're got on your hands!" 
 
 "I do understand it." 
 
 "What's the matter of you to-night?" 
 
 "Irene, suppose suppose Minnie should get 
 should get well?" 
 
 "Not much danger, is there?" 
 
 "Danger? Yes, she's still hi very great danger. 
 A tilting of the scales and we the children and 
 I -we'd lose her." 
 
 "And if the scales ain't tilted?" 
 
 "With great care she may get well." 
 
 "Gee! That sure would be a pickle fur us, John, 
 wouldn't it? But don't worry! Time enough to 
 think about it when we're up against it." 
 
 "We've got to face it." 
 
 " Well, I'm not one to borrow trouble, if you are ! 
 Just wait a week or so and leave us see how things 
 goes before we face it." 
 
 John was not unwilling .to postpone the ordeal of 
 unravelling the coil in which he found himself en- 
 meshed. Minnie's possible ultimate recovery seemed 
 so very far off in the future. 
 
 That night when Irene went up to bed, he re- 
 mained below. "I ain't sleepy. I feel for reading 
 till a while yet," he answered her puzzled and sus- 
 picious questions as to why he didn't "come up 
 along." 
 
 It was not until he felt sure she must be asleep 
 [2411
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 that he ventured to return to his letter in the 
 parlour. 
 
 I know, my dear, dear Minnie, that you are not strong 
 enough to read all this that I'm writing to-night. But I 
 got to talk to you, whether or no and if I don't send it all 
 to you at once, I'll send a little at a time. I wish now 
 that I'd have kept a daily record of the sayings and doings 
 of the children while you were sick but, my own dear 
 wife, we never thought you would get well. What I went 
 through in those first weeks ! and what I've learned about 
 you about what a wife you were to me and what a mother 
 to our children ! Until I had to try to learn to live without 
 you, I certainly didn't know all you were to me, Minnie! 
 And as for Jacky and Sophie all the love and care that I 
 could give them could never make up to them for your 
 devotion. 
 
 And so on through many pages. He told her of his 
 school work, of his wrestlings with housework, of his 
 futile advertisings for a housekeeper. "Of course 
 Jennie and Mother helped me out a good bit," he 
 wrote. 
 
 It was a new experience to him to find himself in- 
 hibited from speaking to Minnie of some things he 
 had never had but one secret from her in all his mar- 
 ried life. But now, everything which he started to tell 
 her presented difficulties, embarrassments, pitfalls. 
 " The way of the transgressor is hard ! " he kept think- 
 ing at every detour he was forced to make in his 
 narrative. He continued: 
 
 [242]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 I guess it won't surprise you, dear Minnie, to hear that 
 I've done almost no reading at all since that fatal night of 
 the shooting. I seemed to lose all interest in reading 
 books without you here to share them with me. And you 
 know there's never been any one else I could talk to of 
 books. And to have ideas and not be able to hand them 
 out to an interested listener, but keep them bottled up in 
 yourself well, it's fierce ! 
 
 Of the many sheets of paper that he covered that 
 night, he mailed only a few, on his way to school 
 next day. 
 
 Irene did not leave for the city that morning. " I've 
 changed my mind," she announced at breakfast. 
 
 "Why?" he asked indifferently. 
 
 "You need watchin', that's why! You're actin* 
 queer! You see, Johnny I know, if Minnie never 
 did, that you're some bird! I'm keepin' you in 
 sight." 
 
 He scarcely heeded her only half-understood 
 innuendoes. 
 
 "I'll bring the children home then," he replied. 
 
 "Och, you needn't be in a hurry to! Why don't 
 you give yourself a holiday from 'em fur a couple 
 days?" 
 
 "I live for my children, Irene." 
 
 "But a little fur yourself, too, I'm thinkin', John. 
 Ain't?" 
 
 "A man hasn't any right to bring children into 
 the world and then put his pleasures before their best 
 welfare." 
 
 [243]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Now what are you drivin* at with all that fine 
 talk anyhow?" she asked suspiciously. "Put it 
 plain!" 
 
 " Och, never mind. Give me another cup of coffee, 
 please." 
 
 During the next few weeks letters from Minnie 
 came more and more frequently, each one longer, 
 more like her old self, than the preceding one. John, 
 never mentioning these letters to Irene, eluded her 
 inquiries as to what news he received from the 
 sanitarium; and in order to avoid her curiosity as to 
 why he locked himself into the parlour so often, he 
 now remained in his schoolroom every day long 
 after the closing hour, to write letters to Minnie un- 
 disturbed; briefly explaining his late return home by 
 the statement that he had "extra work to do." 
 
 The only drawback to this arrangement was the 
 children's mournfulness over his prolonged absences. 
 In spite of Irene's recent forbearance and patience 
 with them, he could not help feeling uneasy at leav- 
 ing them, through so many hours of the day, alone 
 with one who was not fond of them and who was 
 sometimes very harsh to them. 
 
 When on Saturday and Sunday, also, he was 
 obliged to go to his schoolroom for this " extra work," 
 he always took the children with him, letting them 
 scribble on the blackboard while he wrote to their 
 mother. 
 
 It was hard to repress his desire to talk to his 
 children of their mother, to read them snatches of her 
 
 [2441
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 letters, to tell them that perhaps some day they would 
 have her back again. But he knew that of course 
 anything he told them they would be apt to "leave 
 out" before Irene; and therein lay danger for 
 Minnie, for himself, for his children, and, alas, for 
 poor Irene herself! 
 
 He hated the double dealing into which circum- 
 stances seemed to force him these days he who had 
 always been so direct in his relations with others. 
 
 "He's up to something!" Irene decided indig- 
 nantly, when she presently became conscious of his 
 evasions. "If I don't believe Minnie's gettin* well! 
 I'd ought to have sent that there fake talegrap from 
 the doctor sooner! Mebby I'm too late! I got to 
 get busy and find out what's what!" 
 
 She resented the many hours John now spent 
 away from her in his schoolroom. "I never knowed 
 no other teacher to work so long," she chided him. 
 "If it brang you in more pay, I'd say, Go to it! But 
 it don't, does it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You're gettin to be like old Doc Maus you're 
 givin' your services too cheap. People always turns 
 a man down that does that." 
 
 "I know they do; and invariably admire and 
 honour the man that overcharges and exploits them! 
 Och, human nature ain't a pretty thing when you 
 come to think of it!" 
 
 "Then if you know folks is like that, why do you 
 ac' like such a nut?" 
 
 [2451
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 " 'Every why hath a wherefore/ Shakespeare says." 
 "John Wimmer! Why can't I never get no 
 sensible answer out of you no more, to a plain 
 question? You that wants to be so intelligent!" 
 " 'Ask who is wise ? You'll find the selfsame man 
 A sage in France, a madman in Japan,' " 
 
 John flippantly quoted. 
 
 "Och!" cried Irene, "quit makin' poitry at me!" 
 
 "It was Tom Moore, not me, that made that 
 poetry, Irene." 
 
 "Who's he? I never heard of him." 
 
 "Poor fellah!" 
 
 "Say, John, it ain't like you to try to be funny! 
 And it don't set well on you, neither. You ain't no 
 funny man you never was and you never could be. 
 It ain't in you. Now Hen he could be funny. When 
 he wasn't strickly sober, he was a scream!" 
 
 "Irene!" protested John, "don't make yourself 
 out worse'n you are yet!" 
 
 "Worse'n I am!" she repeated resentfully "Och, 
 well, if it's a choice between insults and poitry, gimme 
 the insults. I understand 'em better. When it 
 comes to insults I ain't fightin' so in the dark. Say, 
 John, don't you think it's the pot callin' the kittle 
 black when you try to put it all over me that you're 
 got such a grand moral char'kter? " 
 
 "I'm not trying to do that," returned John as he 
 rose and removed himself from the range of her 
 questions. 
 
 But there was another besides Irene who asked 
 [246]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 inconvenient questions. The time came soon when 
 he had to meet Minnie's inquiries as to who kept 
 house for him and took care of the children. 
 
 He spoiled several sheets of paper trying to answer 
 that question honestly. 
 
 "I got a hired housekeeper," he wrote. But that 
 was too lacking in candour. He could not stand it. 
 So he tried another. 
 
 "I advertised for a housekeeper, but didn't get 
 one, so a member of the family came to help me out." 
 
 "She'll think, to be sure, that I mean one of my 
 sisters," he thought. 
 
 He could not deceive her. 
 
 You'll be surprised to hear who's with me, Minnie, 
 helping me out. Your sister-in -law, Irene ! 
 
 This, after some misgiving, was allowed to stand. 
 Minnie's response was strangely humiliating to his 
 feelings. 
 
 I hope I'll get well soon, for I know it must be hard on 
 you, John, as fine-natured as what you are, to have a 
 person like Irene around you and the children. I do hope 
 they won't pick up her coarse ways and her common talk. 
 Please watch that they don't, if you can, without hurting 
 Irene's feelings. 
 
 And, John, dear, I know you will be careful not to leave 
 Jacky get hurt when he rides a horse at his Grandpop's. 
 His joy over a horse reminds me of his Ma when she was a 
 little girl I've seen that woman get a ride out of two 
 chairs tied together to make the head and tail of a beast! 
 
 [247]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Occasionally Minnie's letters gave John some 
 dark hours of despair; as when, for instance, she 
 wrote, 
 
 I see so many different kinds of people here I didn't 
 know that it gives so many kinds of people in the world! 
 And all so different from each other; the doctors, the 
 nurses, the orderlies, the other patients. And, John, my 
 dear, the more I see of men-people, the more I know that 
 my man is a fine, up-standing specimen. 
 
 "If she knew! If she ever knows !" John's heart 
 groaned over her. 
 
 The time was surely drawing near when he and 
 Irene would have to meet and face their situation. 
 
 He believed that in her own selfish way Irene cared 
 for him. Had he not ample proof of it? And be- 
 cause of this he surely was obligated to her. His own 
 predicament seemed to him inexplicable bound to 
 two women whose opposing claims left him (any way 
 you took it) a miserable brute! 
 
 But his dominant feeling he found to be a dread, an 
 actual fear, of Minnie's judgment of him. How 
 strange it seemed to him to be fearing the very 
 presence of his gentle wife she who had always been 
 so pliant in his hands that he had done with her as 
 he would; who had spent her days in studying 
 to please him; who had looked up to him as to a 
 god! 
 
 "'How conscience doth make cowards of us all!" 3 
 he intelligently quoted at himself. 
 
 [248]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He made a second attempt to "sound" Irene as to 
 her own expectations in the event of Minnie's re- 
 covery and return. 
 
 "You know, Irene," he began uneasily as they sat 
 together one evening in the sitting room, "our 
 present relation probably can't go on indefinitely." 
 
 "Why not?" she quickly demanded. 
 
 "My wife may get well." 
 
 "And if she does? What then?" 
 
 "What would you suggest, Irene?" 
 
 "I ain't worryin' about it." 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Well, you can if you want to! If you purfur an 
 invalid wife to a husky " 
 
 "Look here, Irene," he hastily interrupted, "if you 
 and I hadn't believed that Minnie was incurable, that 
 she was as good as dead, we never, never would have 
 begun the relation in which we've lived! Now this 
 is Minnie's home she owns it; I am her husband, not 
 yours; Jacky and Sophie are her children, not yours. 
 What is your claim here on me and this home com- 
 pared to hers?" 
 
 "Do you forget what you promised me when I 
 first come to you? 'I'll be true to you,' you tol' me, 
 'and I'll never leave you regret it, darling, never!' 
 that's what you sayed! And you sayed, 'I love you 
 too much to wrong you!' And you tol' me you'd 
 always loved me! that you'd never stopped lovin* 
 me! That's what you tol' me! If you don't re- 
 member it, I do /" 
 
 [2491
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I do remember it, Irene every word of it," he 
 wretchedly admitted. 
 
 "Well, then, are you a-goin' to live up to it, or ain't 
 you?" 
 
 "I am obligated to you but I am bound, soul and 
 body, to Minnie." 
 
 "So you're plannin' to jilt me a second time, are 
 you? Whiles me and you was still promised to each 
 other, you went and ast Minnie Maus to marry you ! 
 You drove me into marryin' a fellah like Hen Maus! 
 Then when I took pity on your helplessness here and 
 come to help you out, you lured me into goin' the 
 limit! And now you want to turn me off!" 
 
 "I'll try to meet your wishes, Irene, as far as lies in 
 my power if you'll only tell me what they are. I'll 
 do every thing for you that I can do except injure or 
 hurt Minnie." 
 
 "It don't matter, I guess, how much you hurt and 
 injure me!" 
 
 "Yes, it does. I don't want to hurt and injure 
 you!" 
 
 "Well, look-a-here, John, leave me just tell you a 
 certain fac' Vm here to stay!" she affirmed, folding 
 her arms with a determination that seemed to John 
 appallingly hopeless. "When your Minnie comes 
 back, you can ast her, not me, what she's goin' to do 
 about it!" 
 
 It was only a few days after this drearily unsuccess - 
 ful attempt to come to an understanding with Irene 
 that a letter from Minnie announced triumphantly, 
 
 [250]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "The doctor says I am gaining so quick, he thinks in 
 a few weeks you dare come to see me! Sound the 
 loud timbrel!" 
 
 It was this note which fell into Irene's hands when 
 one night, driven by her suspicions and her desire to 
 know the truth as to Minnie's progress, she rose from 
 her bed, went to John's room across the hall, and 
 assuring herself that he was asleep, searched his 
 pockets for letters. 
 
 "A few weeks!" she thought in consternation. 
 "In a few weeks a'ready he has dare to go to see her! 
 Gee, I got to get busy right aways if I'm a-goin* to 
 stop it!" 
 
 [251
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 f ^HE next morning after John had gone to 
 school, Irene's search through the desk in' the 
 M. parlour for stationery proving fruitless (as 
 John kept his supply at school) she slipped on a 
 sweater and went to the new General Store to buy a 
 bottle of ink, an envelope, two sheets of paper (two 
 in case she spoiled one) , a pen and a stamp. Equipped 
 thus, she went home and, while the breakfast table 
 stood and the grease congealed on plates and pans, 
 she set herself to the unaccustomed task of composing 
 a letter. 
 
 When the strenuous ordeal was concluded, having 
 addressed the envelope to Mr. Albert Wenrich, at 
 Lancaster, she carried it to the postoffice. 
 
 It was in the noon mail that same day that John 
 received an unexpected letter from the sanitarium; 
 as this was not the usual time for one of his quite 
 regular bi-weekly letters from Minnie, he was 
 startled. With a sharp pang of alarm he found the 
 name of the nurse, instead of his wife's, at the end of 
 the note. Could Minnie have had a set-back? 
 
 MY DEAR MR. WIMMER: 
 
 Dr. Conrad thinks a few weeks at the sea would hastea 
 your wife's convalescence. She doesn't pick up so fast as 
 
 [252]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 we should like to see her. So with your consent we will at 
 once remove her to Oyster Cove to our cottage hospital 
 there five miles from Atlantic City where she will have 
 just what she has here nourishing diet, a doctor and 
 nurse, with the addition of the invigourating salt air. 
 Kindly wire your consent. 
 
 Dr. Conrad thinks you may be able to come to see your 
 wife at the end of her first week at the sea. Not before. 
 We will notify you. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 GRACE KENTNOR. 
 
 P. S. Mrs. Wimmer's address at the sea will be Cottage 
 Hospital, Oyster Cove, New Jersey. 
 
 John lost no time in telegraphing his reply. 
 
 As he walked home from the telegraph office, it 
 was with strangely mingled feelings of elation and 
 dread that he realized the nearness of the precarious 
 crisis which Minnie's recovery was going to precipi- 
 tate. His hunger for her, his almost feverish ex- 
 citement at the prospect of his imminent reunion with 
 her, brought him a sudden vision of a truth which 
 gave him a shock. 
 
 "Minnie always has been my true mate! Not the 
 woman I've spent myself longing for all these years! 
 I've been a blind fool! No other woman could ever 
 have met me as Minnie has met me! Why, in the 
 deepest places of our lives we have been at one 
 we've been one mind, one flesh and, fool that I've 
 been, I have not known it ! Didn't know how blessed 
 
 [253]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 I was! Believed I'd missed the truest and best 
 marriage!'* 
 
 He marvelled at himself as he thought of Irene in 
 the light of his present knowledge of her. "I mis- 
 took for love a lurid fire, a blinding glare, that burnt 
 out all that was fine in me! while my true love for 
 my mate a clear, steady light," thought John, 
 "that illumined all my days! I misvalued it! Oh, 
 God! Why was I so fooled?" 
 
 And now that he had waked up to know that 
 Minnie was the only mate for him hi all the world, 
 now perhaps it was too late! 
 
 "If I have escaped losing her through death, I may 
 lose her through worse!" 
 
 It was two days later, at about nine o'clock in the 
 evening, that a very peculiar thing happened. Irene 
 had just gone up to bed, leaving him reading below, 
 when the Hessville telegraph operator, in a state of 
 more than his usual excitement in delivering a 
 personal instead of a business message, arrived at 
 John's door with two yellow envelopes, both from 
 Philadelphia. John's heart stood still as he saw 
 them. Something must have gone wrong! Minnie 
 was worse a mishap on her way to the sea! 
 
 He tore open one of the envelopes. 
 
 Wife worse. Come right away. Don't lose time when 
 you get here, but come straight to her room, number 16, 
 third floor. 
 
 CONRAD SANITARIUM.
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 John's shaking fingers tore open the second en- 
 velope. "This," he thought, "is to say she's dead!" 
 
 Mrs. Wimmer bore journey yesterday to Oyster Cove 
 splendidly. Her condition most satisfactory. 
 
 DR. CHARLES CONRAD. 
 
 John stared helplessly at the two papers in his 
 hands. 
 
 "Say!" exclaimed the excited and curious oper- 
 tor, "them two telegraphs don't sound according to 
 each other ain't not?" 
 
 "One says she's at Oyster Cove, the other that 
 she's at the Phil-delphy hospital!" cried John 
 huskily. "Which one came first?" 
 
 "The one that says they got bad hopes fur her 
 come ten minutes ahead of the other one. You can 
 see the time marked on 'em. I guess, John, you 
 can't tell rightly which one is more reliable ain't 
 not?" 
 
 " I don't understand it ! I'll phone to the hospital ! " 
 
 "Och, John, it costs expensive to phone to Phil- 
 delphy! Seventy -five cents yet! Don't be so reck- 
 less!" 
 
 But John was already running up the street 
 ahead of the operator, to the public telephone at the 
 telegraph office. By the time the telegrapher got 
 there, the schoolmaster was talking to the long 
 distance operator at Lancaster. 
 
 After an agonizing wait of ten minutes, he was 
 connected with the hospital; and after another five 
 
 [255]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 minutes, Doctor Conrad's voice came to him across 
 seventy -five miles. 
 
 "Doctor Conrad, this is John Wimmer how is my 
 wife now?" 
 
 "I sent you a telegram an hour ago, telling you she 
 was doing splendidly. I wired you as soon as I 
 returned to Philadelphia after taking her to Oyster 
 Cove." 
 
 "I got that telegram but another one came ten 
 minutes earlier saying she was dying! at the 
 Phil-delphy hospital! and telling me to come right 
 aways!" 
 
 "What! Some mistake, Mr. Wimmer! We took 
 her away from the Philadelphia hospital yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 "And this telegram is dated to-day!" cried John. 
 
 "That's very queer! WTiose name was signed to 
 it?" 
 
 "It was signed 'Conrad Sanitarium." 
 
 "No telegrams are ever sent from here signed like 
 that! Someone has been trying to play a trick on 
 you, Mr. Wimmer someone with a rather perverted 
 sense of humour!" 
 
 "But I don't know any one in Phil-delphy since my 
 sister moved away from there and the telegram is 
 from Phil-delphy!" 
 
 "The thing should be ferreted out!" exclaimed the 
 doctor. 
 
 "And I'm not to come to see Minnie yet awhile, 
 ain't I?" 
 
 [256]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 ''Not a day before we send for you. Mrs. Wim- 
 mer is not out of danger and could not bear the 
 excitement of seeing you. Mr. Wimmer! Have you 
 an enemy?" 
 
 "Well one or two or so but none wery serious." 
 
 "An enemy that wanted to injure your wife must 
 have sent you that telegram, I think! Well, be 
 thankful that it is a trick!" 
 
 "I am, I am! And thank you, thank you!" 
 returned John, his voice thick with emotion. 
 "Good-bye, Doctor." 
 
 The inquisitive operator, eager to hear what the 
 schoolmaster had learned, was doomed to disap- 
 pointment, for the look in John's eyes as he blindly 
 staggered out of the office deterred the man from 
 daring to question him. 
 
 Who had played this miserable trick upon him? 
 All the way home he tried to "ferret out" the 
 meaning of it. What had been the purpose of it? 
 
 "If a person wanted to injure me through Minnie, 
 they took a dumb way to do it ! For if she was at the 
 Phil-delphy hospital yet, and hadn't the dare to see 
 wisitors, just as if the hospital authorities wouldn't 
 have stopped me from getting to her room ! " 
 
 But who would want to so injure him and Minnie? 
 Irene, hoping to marry him if Minnie died, was of 
 course not the guilty one; she was not in Philadelphia, 
 she was here in Hessville. And whatever Irene's 
 faults, she certainly wasn't capable of trying to murder 
 people who stood in her way! 
 
 [2571
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He considered the fact that the villain had been 
 someone who knew the number of Minnie's room at 
 the hospital. But this suggested no clue. 
 
 The stupidity of the plot puzzled him almost as 
 much as its wickedness. 
 
 Suddenly there flashed before his mind, he knew 
 not why, the green-hatted man dressed in clothes of 
 city cut, whom he had one day seen leaving his 
 house and about whom Irene had behaved so 
 mysteriously.* "I wonder if that guy came from 
 Phil-delphy?" he thought. 
 
 The idea persisted in haunting him in spite of its 
 rejection by his common sense. 
 
 "It's too far-fetched to think that Irene would 
 plot with another man to have me kill my wife! 
 I'm dippy!" 
 
 But next morning as he sat opposite her at the 
 breakfast table, contemplating her thoughtfully as he 
 sipped his coffee, he suddenly resolved to test her a 
 bit. 
 
 "See here!" he said, taking from his pocket the 
 doctor's telegram, "I got that last night after you 
 went upstairs." 
 
 The colour flew to her face as she took from him the 
 yellow paper. He watched her, fascinated, while her 
 countenance changed from surprise to consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 "Why why, she ain't at the hospital no more 
 then!" 
 
 "No. Left two days ago." 
 [258]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Oh! But why, look-a-here, John, if she's well 
 enough to be took to the seashore, there's somepin 
 awful funny about them keepin' you away from her 
 all this time! I believe they're trickin' you! I 
 believe she's plenty good enough fur you to see her. 
 You better look into it! Why don't you go to this 
 here Oyster Cove and take 'em by surprise? Force 
 'em to leave you see her ! " 
 
 "I got another telegram last night," said John. 
 
 Irene turned from crimson to white. "Another 
 one yet ! What was it about ? ' ' 
 
 He drew it forth and watched her as she read it. 
 
 "Say, John! I believe this here telegraph's the 
 one you better mind to. You better go on and see 
 your wife oncet and find out what's what!" 
 
 "But I talked to Doctor Conrad on the phone." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Irene, catching her breath. 
 "You did, did you?" 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 "And what did he have to say?" 
 
 "That telegrams sent out by the hospital are 
 never signed as that one is 'Conrad Sanitarium.* 
 He says I must have an enemy. Someone that wants 
 to injure my wife and me." 
 
 "Och! Punk!" 
 
 "This enemy of mine he took a clumsy way 
 about it, didn't he? He must be awful dumb!" 
 
 "You think!" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 [2591
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "In the first place, the wording of the telegram 
 ain't professional." 
 
 "Oh, it ain't, ain't it?" 
 
 "And any chump would know that I could not get 
 near my wife's room at the hospital unless those in 
 charge allowed me to!" 
 
 "You could force 'em to leave you see your own 
 wife!" 
 
 "That, I suppose, is what my enemy hoped I'd do. 
 Well," concluded John as he rose from the table 
 looking very pale, "he was a fool!" 
 
 "John!" Irene checked him as he went toward 
 the door. 
 
 He stopped. "Well?" 
 
 "Do you is there who do you suspicion of 
 playing you this here trick?" 
 
 He looked at her and her eyes could not meet his. 
 
 "I'm going to find out who did it, Irene," he 
 quietly answered; then turned and left the room. 
 
 Irene remained sitting at the table for a long time 
 after he had gone. "I believe he suspicions I had a 
 hand in it!" 
 
 She shivered as she thought of the ominous quiet 
 of his voice as he had said, "I'm going to find out 
 who did it!" 
 
 "He always seems to do what he says he's going 
 to!" she thought fearfully. "But I don't see how he 
 can prove nothing on me! I didn't fake that there 
 telegraph!" 
 
 She concluded, after a little further reflection upon 
 [2601
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 the situation, that it was very necessary to go to 
 Lancaster at once for that postponed visit to a throat 
 specialist. 
 
 An hour after John had gone to school, she locked 
 the children into the kitchen and walked down to the 
 postoffice to write and mail a special delivery note to 
 Albert Wenrich at Lancaster. 
 
 That evening she announced to John that she 
 could not defer any longer going to town to have her 
 throat treated. 
 
 "If you can spare me the price, I'll go to-morrow 
 morning, John." 
 
 She felt puzzled and uneasy at his extremely 
 gentle acquiescence. His manner to her for some 
 time past had been far too patient and kind to be 
 satisfactorily lover-like. 
 
 The next morning being Saturday, he offered to go 
 with her to "the Square" and put her and her 
 satchel on the trolley car. 
 
 Now she had never before happened to go to town 
 on a Saturday, the only day he was free to accompany 
 her to the car, and this unprecedented circumstance 
 found her embarrassed She manifested so unmis- 
 takably a reluctance to have him go with her that 
 his attention became focussed upon the fact. 
 
 "My bag ain't heavy, John, and you're so busy, 
 with all this here exter school work you're doin 
 
 She guessed, now, what that extra work probably 
 was. "He sets up there writin* to Minnie, I bet 
 you!" was her suspicion. 
 
 [2611
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I'll walk with you to the Square along," John 
 repeated. "It's Saturday and I got time a-plenty." 
 
 "But I want to stop at home a couple minutes and 
 see Pop and Mom, John." 
 
 "All right. I'll be at the Square with your bag till 
 you get there a'ready." 
 
 "It ain't necessary that you waste your time." 
 
 "That's all right, Irene." 
 
 "Och, John, I can carry my own bag. I don't 
 want for you to bother." 
 
 "It ain't no bother to me," John firmly persisted. 
 
 Irene turned away to hide the actual fear in her 
 face at his determination ; but he had glanced up and 
 caught the look before she turned, and he knew that 
 she must have a very urgent reason indeed for ob- 
 jecting to his accompanying her. 
 
 He said no more about it. But when she was 
 ready to leave, he took her bag from her hand and 
 started out with her. 
 
 "But, John," she protested, "I'm a-goin* to 
 Mom's first! It will be so tiresome for you to have 
 to wait at the Square for me ! " 
 
 "You haven't time to go to your mother's. You 
 barely have time to catch the trolley." 
 
 "Then I won't go by the trolley," she said 
 suddenly. "I'll take the train." 
 
 " That goes only ten minutes later. You can't go 
 first to your mother's, Irene." 
 
 "Och, well, then," she crossly surrendered as they 
 started down the street. 
 
 [2621
 
 "Which shall it be trolley or train?" he asked. 
 
 "Train," she curtly answered. 
 
 "But here's your trolley standing," he pointed out 
 as they came to the Square. "Why don't you take 
 it?" 
 
 "I don't want to leave us hurry to the depot 
 over," she replied, walking so fast that he had to take 
 long strides to keep up with her. "It takes so much 
 longer by the trolley," she added when, having gone 
 past the Square as though they were pursued, she 
 slackened her pace. 
 
 "But you hardly ever go by the train, Irene it 
 costs double." 
 
 "There you go again the cost, always the cost! 
 Och, no, I don't mean that, Johnny dearie!" she 
 hastily added. "I know you're as generous to me as 
 you otherwise can be. But I do hate to have to 
 think about costs all the time!" 
 
 "So do I. I don't have objections to your taking 
 the train. I'm only wondering why you want to." 
 
 "I want to save time." 
 
 "Will you be back to-night?" 
 
 "If it don't take too long to see the doctor." 
 
 "What doctor?" 
 
 "The throat specialist I'm goin' to." 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "John Wimmer! You ac' like as if you had sus- 
 picions of my not going to any doctor!" 
 
 John did not reply. They walked in silence to the 
 station. 
 
 [263]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 When he had bought her ticket and handed it to 
 her, she nervously tried again to get rid of him. 
 
 " You got no need to stand 'round here waitin' for 
 the train, John, if you don't want to." 
 
 "I would not deprive myself of the pleasure of 
 your society sooner 'n I must," he answered. 
 
 "You ain't been so anxious for my comp'ny lately 
 that I would notice it any!" 
 
 Again John did not reply. It was one of Irene's 
 trials that she could never provoke him to a quarrel. 
 It made existence very tame. 
 
 " That way you're got of not answering to a person 
 is awful tantalizing, John!" she complained. 
 
 "Here comes your train," he said. 
 
 She promptly lifted her face to kiss him good-bye. 
 
 "I'll see you to your seat," he told her. 
 
 "Och, you ain't got no need to do that! Here, 
 gimme" reaching for her bag. But he held it 
 away. 
 
 "Come," he said, laying his hand on her arm to 
 pilot her to the waiting train. 
 
 "Och, if you ain't!" she said helplessly, her face 
 very flushed, her eyes rather wild, as she submitted. 
 
 He handed her up to the platform, mounted the 
 steps after her, then led her through the aisle. The 
 car was filled. Not a vacant seat to be had. He 
 led the way to the forward car and here there was 
 plenty of room. Selecting a seat on the shady side of 
 the train, he deposited her satchel in the rack over- 
 head, kissed her good-bye, and turned to walk away. 
 
 [264]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 He had been unable to -detect anything to justify 
 her too-evident apprehension at having him with 
 her. 
 
 But just as he was stepping off the train, he saw a 
 man running up the street toward the station. 
 John stopped to watch him. Just as the train started, 
 the fellow sprang upon the steps of the rear car. He 
 was dressed sprucely in clothes of city style. And he 
 wore a green felt hat. 
 
 John, who had not removed his hand from the 
 railing of the forward car (in which Irene sat), swung 
 himself back upon it as it moved. 
 
 Without being seen by Irene, who was peering 
 from the window in evidently anxious expectation, he 
 took the empty seat directly behind her, and opening 
 the newspaper which he carried, he held it widespread 
 before his face. 
 
 In a moment, over the top of it, he saw, coming up 
 the aisle of the train, the green felt hat its owner 
 looking eagerly from right to left into every seat. 
 Spying Irene, who was still peering out of the win- 
 dow, he sprang to her side and touched her shoulder. 
 
 John watched their greeting demonstrative, con- 
 spicuous. As they did not lower their voices, he 
 could hear every word that they said as they sat 
 together directly in front of him. 
 
 "I didn't know but that I'd find the oF man 
 settin' here alongside of you!" said he of the green 
 hat. "In which case Yours Truly would have beat it 
 back to the smoker, P. D. Q. I seen him walkin* 
 
 [265]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 past the Square with you. Is that why you didn't 
 take the trolley because he was along with you?" 
 
 "Yes. And I had so afraid you'd gimme away by 
 buttin' in whiles he was with me!" 
 
 "Och, gimme credit for more gumption! So long 
 as he was along with you, I had sense enough to keep 
 my distance, you bet you! I wouldn't risk spoilin' 
 our little game by no sich false step!" 
 
 "If he'd ever get on to my larks with you on the 
 side good -night! But I'd die without 'em he's so 
 darned slow and goody-goody! It was cute of you to 
 ketch on that I was comin' by the train when I did 
 not take the trolley! I had awful afraid we'd miss 
 each other altogether by John's comin' with!" 
 
 "Do you think he suspicions you that he come 
 along to see you off?" 
 
 "Och, no, he's so honest hisself, he thinks others 
 are the same! He's awful slow! But, Alfred! I 
 got bad news! Mind you, Minnie ain't at the 
 Phil-delphy san " 
 
 The noise of a passing train drowned their voices. 
 John, to avoid discovery, rose and went to the rear 
 car. 
 
 At Lancaster, a half hour's ride from Hessville, he 
 watched to see whether Irene and the green hat got 
 off; and when they did, he also got off and followed 
 them to the hotel to which they walked. Keeping 
 himself out of sight, he saw them register at the desk 
 in the lobby and be taken by a bellboy upstairs on 
 the elevator. 
 
 [266]
 
 Then going himself to the desk he opened the 
 register. He had noted that the only people to 
 enter their names after Irene and her companion had 
 been two men. So he easily found the registration 
 for which he looked. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs Albert Wenrich, Room 102. 
 
 He spoke to the clerk. "Say, Mister, is Room 102 
 engaged for to-night?" 
 
 "Room 102?" repeated the clerk, glancing at his 
 keys. "Yes. But I can give you a room just as 
 good." 
 
 "But won't 102 be wacant by to-night?" 
 
 The clerk consulted the register. "No, it was 
 just taken by a man and wife and paid for up to this 
 time to-morrow. What's the matter that you want 
 102? We're got rooms a-plenty 
 
 John turned away unceremoniously and walked 
 out of the lobby, leaving the clerk indignant and 
 perplexed. 
 
 Returning to the station, he took the next train 
 back to Hessville. 
 
 [267
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 JOHN'S interview with Irene on her return, on 
 Sunday afternoon, was very quiet on his part; 
 very shrill on hers. He had left the children 
 at the farm to have them out of the way of "a 
 scene." With the bait of a generous fee for their 
 board, he had won his father's consent to their re- 
 maining there until their mother's recovery and 
 return from the sanitarium. 
 
 Irene found him waiting for her in the sitting 
 room as, glowing and vigorous, she came gaily into 
 the house. Instantly, as he saw how radiant she was, 
 the fear struck his heart that she and her accomplice 
 had succeeded in perpetrating a scheme against 
 Minnie and himself. 
 
 As he did not rise to greet her, she swooped down 
 upon him to embrace him but he did get up then 
 and step out of her reach. 
 
 "Don't take off your wraps," he said in that quiet 
 voice of his which meant to all who knew him, from 
 his pupils to his own children, a determination that 
 could not be gainsaid. 
 
 "Why not?" She stopped short, turning sud- 
 denly white. "What's up?" she demanded. 
 
 "You can't stop here, Irene. I've had your 
 [268J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 clothes packed and sent to your mother's. It's 
 good-bye between us. I can't have you here with 
 my children any longer." 
 
 "Oh, I ain't fit to be near your children, ain't I? 
 Well, then, why are you fit for 'em? Ain't you just 
 as bad?" 
 
 "I throw no stones at you, for I live in a glass 
 house. But our life together is over." 
 
 "Don't you fool yourself that it's over! I got 
 something to say to that whether it's over ! You're 
 got me to answer to not a milk-and-water woman 
 that leaves a man take all he wants and then turn her 
 out when he gets tired! Och, no, not when it's me 
 you're dealin' with, John Wimmer!" 
 
 "You must go." 
 
 "I must not either! I'm stayin' right here! You 
 just make up your mind to that, John! For if you 
 don't tell Minnie the truth, / will! And oncet she 
 knows the truth, you might as well keep me for 
 she'll never come back to you!" 
 
 "Minnie shall hear the truth from me, as soon as 
 she's strong enough to bear it." 
 
 "She'll hear it before she's strong enough and 
 she'll hear my wersion of it if you don't watch out, 
 John!" 
 
 "You see, Irene, I know, now, about you and 
 Albert Wenrich." 
 
 "What do you know?" she shrilly demanded, 
 looking startled. 
 
 "That you went with him to Lancaster yesterday 
 [2691
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 and stopped with him at the Stevens House last 
 night." 
 
 "Oh, so you got jealous and hired a sleuth to follah 
 me round, did you? Well, John, if Minnie adopted 
 them methods with you, she'd find out something, 
 too ain't?" 
 
 "I didn't hire a police force to trail you." 
 
 "How did you find out I mean, it ain't so! 
 Your informer is Another!" 
 
 "My informant is my own eyes. / trailed you to 
 Lancaster." 
 
 "Was you that jealous, John! Och, well," she 
 said, her tone suddenly ingratiating, "you're got no 
 need to be! Al Wenrich ain't you, by no means, 
 Johnny! not to my heart, beloved treas " 
 
 "You'll have to go!" 
 
 "Look-a-here, John, I tell you you're got no need 
 to have jealous of Wenrich!" 
 
 "I know I haven't. I couldn't be jealous of 
 Wenrich if I tried. What you do or who you care 
 for no longer matters to me, Irene." 
 
 "Oh, it don't, don't it? Well, I guess it matters to 
 you if I go right aways to that there Oyster Cove and 
 tell everything to your wife!" 
 
 "You can't get near her. I've warned them to 
 keep you off and to give Minnie no letters but 
 mine." 
 
 "If I can't get near her whiles she's there, I can 
 easy get at her oncet she's out. Look at it sensible, 
 John if you throw me out, you'll end by bavin' no 
 
 [2701
 
 one! You don't espect Minnie to stick to you oncet 
 she finds you out, do you?" 
 
 "I'm going to make the fight of my life to keep 
 her!" 
 
 "Look-a-here! You treat me like this here and 
 you'll lose your school as well as your wife! Oncet 
 that there Hessville school board knows ' 
 
 "But I'd certainly lose my school if I kept you here 
 after my wife is able to come back to me. And what 
 you tell against me would be (unfortunately for you) 
 much more against yourself!" 
 
 "Yes, that there's the woman's tough luck! And 
 yous men gloat over it!" 
 
 "No I see how unfair it is. But, Irene, why do 
 you want me to keep you? You don't care for me 
 and I have nothing but my salary, which ain't 
 enough to satisfy you. What do you hope to get out 
 of staying here with me?" 
 
 Her reply broke from her impetuously, before she 
 had time to consider and weigh it. "What I'm 
 agoin' to get out of you, John Wimmer, is the money 
 you and Minnie cheated off of Hen, my husband! 
 You that wants to be so much, keepin' back from a 
 poor widow what was by rights her own husband's! 
 If the law won't give it to me, I'll get it my own way 
 but you'll give it to me, or I'll make you lose somepin 
 that's more to you than any money!" 
 
 "How can I give you what is not mine? The 
 money is Minnie's." 
 
 He rose with a little gesture of finality against 
 [271]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OP HESSVILLE 
 
 which Irene had learned to know there was no 
 appeal. "Take your satchel, Irene, and leave my 
 house." 
 
 "All right, and now you just watch what I'll do to 
 your precious Minnie oncet I get at her! What I'll 
 tell her will certainly open her eyes to what you are ! 
 and put an end to your fancy little love story! 
 Well, I guess! Oh, you make me sick!" she almost 
 screamed as she flung herself violently out of the 
 room and banged the door behind her. 
 
 In the solitude which followed her departure 
 John had ample time to face and weigh every 
 possible and probable consequence of his approaching 
 understanding with Minnie. 
 
 He had no false sentiments as to its being his duty 
 to confess to her all the unfaithfulness of which he 
 had been guilty. "I'll spare her every bit of pain I 
 can. It's her I got to consider not the easing of my 
 own conscience." 
 
 He would, for instance, shield her from the horror of 
 learning that through all their married life he had 
 believed himself in love with Irene. 
 
 "I'd better cut out my tongue than steal from her 
 that happiness of the past! She shall anyhow keep 
 thai whatever her future may be!" 
 
 It was, however, obviously necessary that he 
 forestall whatever Irene might choose to tell his 
 wife. 
 
 His complete uncertainty as to how Minnie would 
 "take" it all made his nights sleepless, his days 
 
 [272]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 haunted. Would it kill her love? destroy all her 
 large faith in him? He scorned to plead even to his 
 own heart, "The woman tempted me!" 
 
 "The man that makes that an excuse!" he 
 shrugged. 
 
 In his inmost soul he knew that he was not nearly 
 so guilty a wretch as circumstances made him 
 appear. "For if I hadn't of believed that Minnie 
 was the same as dead that she could never again be 
 a wife to me, a mother to our children, the mistress of 
 our home if I'd had the least hope that she'd ever 
 be herself again I know, as surely as I know any- 
 thing in this mortal life, that even such passion as 
 drew me to Irene would not have made me go back 
 on my marriage vows!" 
 
 As marriage between him and any other woman 
 had been impossible while Minnie lived, he had not 
 thought he was doing wrong in his relation to Irene so 
 long as she did not feel herself harmed. 
 
 But how could he advance such reasonings and 
 excuses to his wife? What woman on earth would 
 consider them reasonable? The question of sex 
 morality had not been among those "deep subjects" 
 which he and Minnie had been wont to discuss; so he 
 actually did not know what her "views" about it 
 really were, and he found to his surprise that he 
 could not even imagine. 
 
 "You never can count on Minnie's thinking just 
 what other ones think about a thing," he reflected. 
 "She thinks for herself." 
 
 [273]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 But after all, would it be a question of what she 
 thought, rather than what she felt? Would not her 
 hot indignation condemn his conduct as unforgiv- 
 able? Would she not surely turn him away as he had 
 turned away Irene? taking the children with her! 
 
 But the black desolation of such a prospect was 
 intolerable. "I won't give her up!" he thought 
 fiercely. "I'll keep her if I have to do it by main 
 force ! I'll fight for her as I've never fought for any- 
 thing in my life! I'll hold her in my arms till she 
 swears she'll never leave me!" 
 
 But in his heart he knew that if Minnie deter- 
 mined to leave him, he would be as powerless to hold 
 her as though she had always been steel instead of 
 velvet in his hands. 
 
 "And I wouldn't want to keep her either, if she 
 didn't feel for staying with me!" he miserably con- 
 cluded. 
 
 He felt that he could more easily bear to see her 
 angry and indignant, to see her scorn and spurn him, 
 than to see her grieved, stricken, heartbroken. 
 
 "After all she's gone through, that I should have to 
 come to her with such a yarn as I've got to tell her! 
 Just when she's creeping back to life and health 
 again, to deal her such a blow!" 
 
 To be able to blot out the past few months he felt 
 he would give half his life. 
 
 When at last the long waited-for summons arrived 
 and the doctor named the very day on which he 
 might now come to Oyster Cove, his eagerness quite 
 
 [274]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 overleaped, for the time, all his doubts and mis- 
 givings. 
 
 As he walked from the little station at the Cove to 
 the cottage hospital, he determined to put off his con- 
 fession until he had made Minnie feel, through all her 
 being, the joy of their reunion, his deep, brooding 
 love for her, the blessedness of their life together, 
 holding, as it did for them both, all that was beautiful 
 and of worth in this earthly existence. 
 
 "Then when I do have to let the ax fall, she can't 
 feel that it's so bad that it's got to end everything 
 between us she can't!" 
 
 The mental image of her which he carried to this 
 meeting was not at all that of the young wife of his 
 bosom, but that of the ghastly wreck she had been 
 the last time he had seen her bald, wrinkled, 
 cadaverous, hollow-eyed. 
 
 "I'll find her improved, of course," he thought 
 but his mind's last picture of her persisted. He could 
 not get rid of it. 
 
 As he came in sight of the cottage, he saw two 
 people on the lawn one of them a young woman in 
 an invalid's reclining chair; the other a man of about 
 his own age sitting on the ground at her side, looking 
 up into her face, in an attitude that instantly sug- 
 gested to John that they were lovers. A few steps 
 nearer, and he recognized the man to be Doctor 
 Conrad, the head physician of the sanitarium. His 
 eye fell again upon the young woman and though 
 he was not at all interested, just now, in any one but 
 
 [275J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Minnie, he was struck with the glowing beauty of the 
 invalid. 
 
 "No wonder the doctor hangs round that patient!" 
 thought John with a sigh as he noted the short gold- 
 brown ringlets all over her head, the faint, exquisite 
 flush in her cheeks, the sweetness of her countenance, 
 the soft darkness of her eyes, the 
 
 He stopped short in the path in which he was walk- 
 ing, his heart suddenly standing still, his knees 
 weakening under him. That face, those features, 
 that countenance! 
 
 He had come to meet a broken-down invalid, 
 haggard, bald, prematurely old 
 
 Was he going to faint? A great husky fellow like 
 him, faint! He staggered to a tree by the path and 
 leaned against it, still staring wildly at that picture 
 on the lawn, a few yards distant the young doctor 
 sitting at the feet of his lovely patient, gazing up 
 adoringly into her radiant face! And the patient! 
 John had not known she was beautiful ! A pretty little 
 thing, yes, of course. Had she always been as beauti- 
 ful as this and had he, in his idiotic infatuation for 
 Irene, been blind to it? Or had her illness greatly 
 changed her? That short curly hair, to be sure 
 
 "It makes her look like a handsome little boy, by 
 gosh! She looks more like Jacky than like herself!'* 
 thought John with fast-beating heart. "And she's 
 mine, she's mine!" 
 
 But why was she gazing back so smilingly at that 
 damned young doctor? why were not her eyes 
 
 [2761
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 fastened eagerly upon the path by which her husband 
 was coming? Why was she looking as happy as this, 
 in the company of another man? 
 
 The fiercest jealousy he had ever known gripped 
 him. This doctor, a gentleman, a polished, ex- 
 perienced man of the city for months, now, Minnie 
 had been used to his society. Surely she would find 
 her husband crude and common beside such as he! 
 Had their long separation cooled her love for him? 
 A primitive impulse to leap upon that sprucely 
 dressed, elegant-looking physician and smash him, 
 surged up in John's blood. 
 
 "I never suspected before that Minnie could be a 
 flirt!" he said to himself bitterly. 
 
 Then he remembered, with great heaviness of 
 soul how little right he had to condemn her "flirt- 
 ing." 
 
 "I've done a lot worse'n just flirt yet!" 
 
 Never before in all the half-dozen years of his 
 marriage had he had a moment's jealousy of Minnie. 
 He had, to be sure, valued her, treasured her as his 
 life's best blessing; but he had always been absolutely 
 sure of her. And never had she seemed so desirable, 
 so priceless to him, as in this glaring light of another 
 man's admiration of her. 
 
 From the intensity of his own feelings against that 
 sleek doctor he suddenly realized what he might 
 expect Minnie to feel when she learned of his "inter- 
 lude" with Irene. 
 
 "I've lost her!" he thought, his heart like lead in 
 [2771
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 his breast. " This doctor! My behaviour with 
 Irene! I've lost her!" 
 
 Despair laid hold upon him. He felt an over- 
 powering inclination to turn away without making his 
 presence known without interrupting that appar- 
 ently happy communion of two kindred souls there on 
 the lawn and returning to Hessville. 
 
 But he thought of the children. "For their sakes 
 maybe, in spite of everything, she may be willing to 
 come back to me." 
 
 And though he did not want her that way if she 
 did not come for his sake, too yet after a while, per- 
 haps, he might win back her love. 
 
 Well, the only thing for it was to go ahead, now 
 that he was here, and try it out; to put his fate to the 
 test. 
 
 [2781
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A HOUR later he was sitting where Doctor 
 Conrad had sat, on the lawn at Minnie's 
 feet, his arm across her knees, her hand 
 clasped in his, his eyes drinking in all her sweetness 
 and content while they talked and talked of all that 
 was in their hearts, all that they had not written in 
 their letters, all the little things that one could say 
 only in closest touch. 
 
 The great joy with which she had welcomed him 
 had instantly and completely reassured him that she 
 still loved him loyal little Minnie! And in this 
 wonderful hour of reunion the cloud of the "con- 
 fession " he had to make receded so far into the back- 
 ground as almost to disappear. He held his wife in 
 his arms, he had her love, they were happy why 
 disturb her tranquillity and make her suffer? Why 
 not take his chances that Irene would, for her own 
 sake, remain silent? 
 
 But he could not hope that she would. And he 
 felt that if Minnie heard of his defection from his own 
 lips, it 'would be easier for her to forgive him. 
 
 Not, however, to-day, would he speak the words 
 that must blight their happiness, dim this girlish 
 brightness so beautiful in his sight, bring horror into 
 
 [279]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 eyes that now mirrored love and trust. To-morrow 
 morning before he left for home he might force him- 
 self to the ordeal. To-day 
 
 " 'Let joy be unconfined !' " he suddenly said aloud. 
 
 And Minnie responded, " It will be once I'm home 
 with you and the children again!" 
 
 *'I must say," said John ruefully, "you looked 
 awful well satisfied with that doctor sitting here 
 alongside of you, before I came. I watched you for a 
 while before I made my presence known to you. I'd 
 have thought, Minnie darling, you'd have been too 
 anxious to see me to take such interest in another 
 one!" 
 
 "But it was because I was expecting you that I 
 was so happy. I was talking to him about you." 
 
 "You were?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm all the time talking about you and the 
 children. Oh, John, I can't wait much longer to see 
 them!" 
 
 "Ain't there any one here that you'll miss, once 
 you get home?" asked John jealously. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'll miss Miss Kentnor, my nurse. She's 
 been so good to me! I have never known a woman 
 like her, John! such an educated woman that way, 
 and so ladylike and genteel!" 
 
 "So I gathered from her letters to me about you, 
 Minnie. But is there anything any one else 
 you'll miss maybe? " 
 
 "Well, yes, I'll miss Doctor Conrad. He and I 
 have come to be good friends. Does that sound 
 
 [280J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 funny to you, John, to hear me say I'm a friend to 
 another man? I know it would look awful funny in 
 Hesswille. But, John, I see now that Hesswille is a 
 little narrow in some ways. Why shouldn't the 
 doctor and I be good friends? I'd like to have a lot 
 of friends like him and Miss Kentnor." 
 
 "Only so it stops at friendship, Minnie!" said 
 John darkly. "It ain't so easy to make it stop just 
 where you want it to stop. Anyhow for a man it 
 ain't easy." 
 
 "But why should a person ever want to stop the 
 forces of nature?" 
 
 "Why, Minnie!" exclaimed John, shocked. 
 "You're not believing in free love, are you?" 
 
 "Do you believe only in legal love, John? Is 
 there such a thing as legal love?" 
 
 "Yes, there is!" returned John hotly. "Who's 
 been putting such ideas into your head anyhow? ' 
 
 "Well, the doctor and I had some conwersations 
 on that subject. " 
 
 "A funny kind of a doctor, I must say, to be 
 holdin' such improper conwersations with his young 
 lady patients!" said John indignantly. 
 
 "They weren't improper, John they were very 
 interesting and instructive. We mustn't be narrow 
 that way, if we can otherwise help it, dear. Life's 
 a lot broader than I thought it was before I was 
 sick." 
 
 "I hope you haven't got so broadminded that 
 you've got away a little from me, Minnie!" 
 
 [281]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "If I've moved away from you a little, I'll soon 
 pull you along after me up," she smiled. 
 
 "Minnie! I saw the way that doctor was looking 
 at you! I believe yes, I'm darned if I don't that 
 fellah's had the nerve to fall in love with you!" 
 
 "Sometimes I think so, too. There for a while I 
 was sure of it and it made things wery pleasant and 
 helped pass the time. I like having a man hi love 
 with me." 
 
 "Why, Minnie, how you talk! And you a 
 married woman yet ! If I didn't know how damned 
 innocent you are, I'd think I wouldn't know what 
 to think!" 
 
 "But so long as I'm not in love with him, John, it 
 can't make you any difference." 
 
 "Are you sure you're not in love with him a 
 little? him that is so much more genteel and 
 educated than what I am?" 
 
 "Oh, John!" she laughed. "He's not the big, 
 strong, splendid man that you are! Don't you 
 mind what I wrote you? that the more I see of 
 other ones, the more I see what a fine, upstanding 
 man /have!" 
 
 John's big chest heaved a deep, long sigh of 
 relief. "It sounds awful good to me, Minnie, to 
 hear you say it! But I don't deserve it, you know. 
 Mebby I ain't what you think me. I'm sure I don't 
 know what you do think me! A little god on a 
 pedestal, I'm afraid!" 
 
 "No, not a god but god-like sometimes, John." 
 [282]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "I wish that was true, dear for your sake 
 because you deserve the best. But it ain't true." 
 
 In his heart, however, John did not feel himself to 
 be a criminal. He believed, now, that he always had 
 loved his wife; that what had drawn him to Irene had 
 been lust, not love, and that inasmuch as she, being 
 what she was, had not been injured by him (such 
 was his highly masculine logic!), he had not really 
 been guilty. He had, of course, been a fool but 
 surely not a criminal; else every man that walked 
 was a criminal ! 
 
 It was not, however, what he thought of himself, 
 but what Minnie would think of him when she knew, 
 that mattered. And it was this great doubt which, 
 during the long hours of that night, as he lay in the 
 room adjoining his wife's, kept him awake and 
 suffering. 
 
 The next morning as he sat with her in her sunny 
 bedroom during the few hours before he must leave 
 her and go home, some questions of hers precipitated 
 his "confession." 
 
 "Does Irene make you and the children comfort- 
 able, John?" 
 
 "Well, to be sure, she ain't the housekeeper you 
 are, Minnie," 
 
 "She never had it to do her mother and aunt 
 always did all. I guess she's got my house all 
 through-other!" said Minnie anxiously. 
 
 "Don't worry about that, dear. It'll be cleaned 
 from garret to cellar before we bring you home. 
 
 [283]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Jennie and Mrs. Johnson, the coloured lady, will do 
 it." 
 
 "Won't Irene help?" 
 
 "She's gone, Minnie." 
 
 "Gone! But why did she leave before I was well 
 enough to come home?" 
 
 "She she got tired of it. She hates housework. 
 She don't like children. She's wery fond of pleasure. 
 It was slow for her with us," said John rather in- 
 coherently, hating the necessity for evasion and 
 subterfuge; he wanted his mind and soul to be an 
 open page to his wife, as hers were to him. 
 
 "But have you another housekeeper, John, to 
 take care of you till I come home? " 
 
 "Mrs. Johnson, the coloured lady you mind of, is 
 coming to stay. And I'm going to keep her for a 
 good while after you do get home maybe all the 
 time. I know, now, that you always had too much 
 work to do, Minnie. Never again am I going to 
 leave you do all the work by yourself. We're going 
 to hire. I'm getting one hundred dollars a month 
 after this term." 
 
 "Oh, John, that's grand! that the school board 
 appreciates so what a fine teacher you are!" 
 
 "Now if that ain't just like you, Minnie dear, to 
 see that side of it the honour to me sooner'n the 
 practical adwantage of it to you! It's ten dollars a 
 month more for you to buy gew-gaws!" he reminded 
 her. 
 
 "For Sophie!" she cried, her eyes sparkling. "I 
 [284]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 do like to doll her up! that's what the nurse calls 
 dressing fancy," she explained. "'I must go doll 
 up,' she says when she's expecting her gentleman 
 friend. Or she'll say, 'Well, I must go now and put 
 on my glad rags.' Glad rags yet, John ! Yes, that's 
 what she calls her best frock! Ain't it funny? 
 But they all think I talk funny. Sometimes they 
 can't understand me right. One day when the 
 doctor had to take out some stitches, the thought of 
 it made me have so sick, I said, 'Leave me wrench 
 out my mouth!' And the doctor and the nurse 
 laughed at me and Doctor Conrad said, 'It's me 
 that's going to do the wrenching, Mrs. Wimmer!' 
 for the stitches were awful hard to take out, John!'* 
 
 "Poor little Minnie! How can I ever make up to 
 you for all you've suffered ! " 
 
 "But you've suffered, too! It shows so in your 
 face how you've suffered!" 
 
 Was this the moment, he wondered, when he 
 should admit to her that his suffering had not been 
 unmitigated, had not been without its consolations? 
 It was a bitter thing to have to do! To deliberately 
 hurt a thing so frail, so tender, so precious to him! 
 It seemed as impossible as it would be to lift his hand 
 and strike her. 
 
 "John," she said presently, a touch of anxiety in 
 her voice, "I've been awful anxious about something 
 that I didn't like to bother you with but now I'm 
 going to ask you." 
 
 "Well, dear?" 
 
 [285]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 "Tell me truly was Irene ugly to the children 
 sometimes? I've been so afraid of that! She's so 
 ugly-dispositioned that way! and all for herself I 
 I knew she'd never have the patience with children 
 that you've got to have to be fair to them. To be 
 fair to children you darsen't think of your own 
 comfort and conwenience. And Irene never thought 
 of anything else." 
 
 "How do you know her so well? You never were 
 friends." 
 
 "We went to school together, you know. She 
 used to make fun of the clothes I wore that I had to 
 make for myself because I hadn't any one to make 
 them for me. And she'd taunt me about father's 
 healing and ask me why he didn't pray some new 
 paint on our old house, or some new shoes on my 
 feet. Oh! She used to torment me awful! It's 
 been a worry to me, John, that she had care of the 
 children! But of course I knew you had to have 
 some one to keep house for you, so I didn't say any- 
 thing. But I'm glad she's not there any more. 
 Was she ugly to them?" 
 
 "Sometimes, Minnie. But of course I did all I 
 could to shield them." 
 
 "You poor John! You did have an awful time, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Yees." 
 
 "Where's Irene gone?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Why did she go, John?" 
 [286]
 
 "Look here, Minnie, you know that I love you, 
 don't you? You know that I have always loved 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Nothing could shake my faith in your love, 
 John." 
 
 "Nothing? Are you sure?" 
 
 "HowcowMIdoubtit?" 
 
 "But, Minnie try to understand it if you can! 
 during some of those long, long weeks when you were 
 like dead to me when you didn't know me, didn't 
 remember anything, your mind a dead blank when 
 I thought you'd always be like that Irene came 
 she lived with us she was young and strong and 
 handsome and, Minnie, my dear!" 
 
 "What, John?" 
 
 "Irene became my mistress!" 
 
 It was bewilderment, rather than the horror which 
 he looked for, that she seemed to feel at first. She 
 couldn't take it in, could not imagine such a thing as 
 possible. Her comments were vague, incoherent, 
 almost trivial. 
 
 "But just yesterday you were indignant because 
 you thought Doctor Conrad was in love with me!" 
 
 "I'm indignant with myself, too, Minnie!" 
 
 "But such a coarse, common person as Irene! 
 Henry's widow! you, John!" 
 
 Through her eyes it did look to John unspeakably 
 sordid. He could not plead to her that there had 
 been at first for him an ideal side to it; that he had, 
 for a while, romantically idealized and really loved 
 
 [287J
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 Irene, such glamour had her personal lure thrown 
 over her coarseness and "commonness." That fact, 
 far from mitigating his conduct, would surely make it 
 hold for Minnie a disloyalty such as she would not, 
 perhaps, find in mere sordidness. 
 
 "I didn't know you were so weak, John! I've 
 always thought you were a tower of strength!" 
 
 "A leaning tower is what you'll have to think me 
 after this, Minnie! You know, now, that I'm human 
 like other men!" 
 
 "Oh, I always knew that" 
 
 "You did, did you?" 
 
 "But I never thought you could be common! I 
 always have known that you were fine inside, John. 
 So different from all the other men in Hesswille. 
 That's why I loved you. But this thing you tell me 
 is so common that it makes me feel repulsive!" 
 
 "Oh, Minnie! Don't tell me that!" 
 
 "You see, I can't seem to understand what could 
 draw you to Irene. Of course I know it wasn't 
 love you're not the sort of man to love a person 
 like her. So what you did feel for her, wonders 
 me!" 
 
 "I wonder at it, too, now, Minnie." 
 
 "I ain't jealous, John I couldn't have jealous of a 
 woman like Irene. I just couldn't. She and I are 
 too different. I could only have jealous of a person 
 that was worthy for you, John." 
 
 "Minnie, dear, you have always made a god of me. 
 Well, you have lost an object of worship but 
 
 [288]
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER OF HESSVILLE 
 
 maybe I've gained spiritually in losing a worshipper! 
 It was hard to keep from becoming a prig, living with 
 a person that thought you were more than human, 
 dear!" 
 
 "No, John, I don't think I have thought better of 
 you than you deserved. To be sure, I've seen only 
 the best in you, and maybe I've overlooked some 
 other things that never came up so conspicuous that 
 I could see them. But that best that I saw was 
 there 1" 
 
 "Do you mean, Minnie, that your faith in me is 
 not shaken?" he asked wonderingly. 
 
 "I know you love me," she said simply. 
 
 "Bless you for that!" he cried as he knelt at her 
 side and buried his face on her knees. "I'll never, 
 never fail you again, Minnie!" 
 
 "To be sure, John, a thing like this you tell me 
 could never disturb the deeps of our love!" 
 
 "I believe, Minnie dearest, you've known me 
 better than I've known myself!" said John. 
 
 It was a comfortable belief and he tried to hold 
 fast to it. 
 
 THE END 
 
 [2891
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
 
 A 000110721 8