CHAPTER XXIII
AND SO THEY LIVED----
And so it turned out quite as if it were in the old ballad, that "all inthe merry month of May," and also "all in the merry green wood," therewere great doings about the bold little promontory where once stood thecabin on the old wood-lot where the Simms family had dwelt. The brook ranabout the promontory, and laid at its feet on three sides a carpet ofblue-grass, amid clumps of trees and wild bushes. Not far afield on eitherhand came the black corn-land, but up and down the bluffy sides of thebrook for some distance on both sides of the King-dragged highway, ran theold wood-lot, now regaining much of the unkempt appearance whichcharacterized it when Jim Irwin had drawn upon himself the gentle rebukeof Old Man Simms for not giving a whoop from the big road before cominginto the yard.
But Old Man Simms was gone, with all the Simmses, now thoroughlyestablished on the Blanchard farm, and quite happy in their new success.The cabin was gone, and in its place stood a pretty little bungalow, aboutwhich blossomed the lilacs and peonies and roses and other old-fashionedflowers, planted there long ago by some pioneer woman, nourished back tothriftiness by old Mrs. Simms, and carefully preserved during thestruggles with the builders of the bungalow by Mrs. Irwin. For this wasMrs. Irwin's new home. It was, in point of fact, the teacher's house orschoolmanse for the new consolidated Woodruff District, and the old Simmswood-lot was the glebe-land of the schoolmanse.
Jim turned over and over in his mind these new applications of old,historic, significant words, dear to every reader ofhistory--"glebe-land," "schoolmanse"--and it seemed to him that theysignified the return of many old things lost in Merrie England, lost inNew England, lost all over the English-speaking world, when the oldpublicly-paid clergyman ceased to be so far the servant of all the peoplethat they refused to be taxed for his support. Was not the new kind ofrural teacher to be a publicly-paid leader of thought, of culture, ofprogress, and was he not to have his manse, his glebe-land, and his"living"? And all because, like the old clergymen, he was doing a work inwhich everybody was interested and for which they were willing to betaxed. Perhaps it was not so high a status as the old; but who was to saythat? Certainly not Jim Irwin, the possessor of the new kind of "living,"with its "glebe-land" and its "schoolmanse." He would have rated the newquite as high as the old.
From the brow of the promontory, a light concrete bridge took the prettylittle gorge in the leap of a single arch, and landed the eye at thebottom of the front yard of the schoolhouse. Thus the new institution oflife was in full view of the schoolmanse veranda, and yet shut off from itby the dry moat of the brook and its tiny meadow of blue-grass.
Across the road was the creamery, with its businesslike unloadingplatform, and its addition in process of construction for the reception ofthe machinery for the cooperative laundry. Not far from the creamery, andalso across the road, stood the blacksmith and wheelwright shop. Stillfarther down the stream were the barn, poultry house, pens, hutches andyards of the little farm--small, economically made, and unpretentious, aswere all the buildings save the schoolhouse itself, which was builded forthe future.
And even the schoolhouse, when one thinks of the uses to which it was tobe put--kitchen, nursery, kindergarten, banquet-hall, theater,moving-picture hall, classrooms, manual training rooms, laboratory andcounting-room and what-not, was wonderfully small--Colonel Woodruff saidfar too small--though it was necessarily so large as to be ratherastonishing to the unexpectant passer-by.
The unexpectant passer-by this May day, however, would have beenespecially struck by the number of motor-cars, buggies and surreys parkedin the yard back of the creamery, along the roadside, and by the drivewayrunning to the schoolhouse. People in numbers had arrived by five o'clockin the afternoon, and were still coming. They strolled about the place,examining the buildings and grounds, and talking with the blacksmith andthe butter-maker, gradually drawing into the schoolhouse like a swarm ofbees into a hive selected by the queen. None of them, however, went acrossthe concrete bridge to the schoolmanse, save Mrs. Simms, who crossed,consulted with Mrs. Irwin about the shrubbery and flowers, and went backto Buddie and Jinnie, who were good children but natchally couldn't betrusted with so many other young ones withouten some watchin'.
"They're coming! They're coming!"
This was the cry borne to the people in and about the schoolhouse by thatHans Hansen who would be called Hans Nilsen. Hans had been to the top ofthe little hill and had a look toward town. Like a crew manning therigging, or a crowd having its picture taken, the assemblage crystallizedinto forms determined by the chances of getting a glimpse of the bungalowacross the ravine--on posts, fences, trees and hillocks. Still nobody wentacross the bridge, and when McGeehee Simms and Johnny Bonner strayed tothe bridge-head, Mrs. Simms called them back by a minatory, "Buddy, whatdid I _tell_ you? You come hyah!"
A motor-car came over the hillock, ran down the road to the driveway tothe schoolmanse and drew up at the door. Out of it stepped Mrs. Woodruffand the colonel, their daughter, the county superintendent of schools, andMr. Jim Irwin. Jennie was dressed in a very well-tailored travelingcostume, and Jim in a moderately well-tailored business suit. Mrs. Irwinkissed her son and Jennie, and led the way into the house. Jennie and Jimfollowed--and when they went in, the crowd over across the ravine burstforth into a tremendous cheer, followed by a three-times-three and atiger. The unexpectant passer-by would have been rather surprised at this,but we who are acquainted with the parties must all begin to have oursuspicions. The fact that when they reached the threshold Jim pickedJennie up in his arms and carried her in, will enable any good detectiveto put one and one together and make a pair--which comes pretty neartelling the whole story.
By this time it was nearly seven, and Calista Simms came across thecharmed bridge as a despatch-bearer, saying that if Mr. Jim and MissJennie didn't mind, dinner would be suhved right soon. It was cooked aboutright, and the folks was gettin' right hungry--an' such a crowd! Therewere fifteen in the babies' room, and for a while they thought theyoungest Hamm young one had swallowed a marble. She would tell 'em theywould be right over; good-by.
There was another cheer as the three elderly and the two young peopleemerged from the schoolmanse and took their way over the bridge to theschool side of the velvet-bottomed moat; but it did not terminate inthree-times-three and a tiger. It was, in fact shut off like the vibrationof a bell dipped in water by the sudden rush of the shouters into the bigassembly-room, now filled with tables for the banquet--and here thedomestic economy classes, with their mothers, sisters, female cousins andaunts, met them, as waiters, hat-snatchers, hostesses, floor-managers andcooks, scoring the greatest triumph of history in the Woodruff District.For everything went off like clockwork, especially the victuals--and suchvictuals!
There was quantity in meats, breads, vegetables--and there was also savor.There was plenty, and there was style. Ask Mrs. Haakon Peterson, whoyearned for culture, and had been afraid her children wouldn't get it ifYim Irwin taught them nothing but farming. She will tell you that thedinner--which so many thought of all the time as supper--was yust as wellserved as it if had been in the Chamberlain Hotel in Des Moines, where shehad stayed when she went with Haakon to the state convention.
Why shouldn't it have been even better served? It was planned, cooked,served and eaten by people of intelligence and brains, in their own house,as a community affair, and in a community where, if any one should askyou, you are authorized to state that there's as much wealth to the acreas in any strictly farming spot between the two oceans, and where you areperfectly safe--financially--in dropping from a balloon in the dark of themoon, and paying a hundred and fifty dollars an acre for any farm youhappen to land on. Why shouldn't things have been well done, when everyone worked, not for money, but for the love of the doing, and the love oflearning to do in the best way?
Some of these things came out in the speeches following the repast--andsome other things, too. It was probably not quite fair for B. B. Hamm toincorporate in h
is wishes for the welfare and prosperity and so forth ofJim and Jennie that stale one about the troubles of life, but he wanted tosee Jennie blush--which as a matter of fact he did; but she failed to growquite so fiery red as did Jim. But B. B. was a good fellow, and a Trojanin his work for the cause, and the schoolmaster and superintendent ofschools forgave him. A remark may be a little broad, and still clean, andB. B. made a clean speech mainly devoted to the increased value of thatfarm he at one memorable time was going to sell before Jim's fool notionscould be carried out.
Colonel Woodruff made most of the above points which I have niched fromhim. He had begun as a reformer late in life, he said, but he would leaveit to them if he hadn't worked at the trade steadily after enlistment. Hehad become a follower of Jim Irwin, because Jim's reform was like draggingthe road in front of your own farm--it was reform right at home, and notat the county seat, or Des Moines, or Washington. He had followed JimIrwin as he had followed Lincoln, and Grant, and Blaine, andMcKinley--because Jim Irwin stood for more upward growth for the averageAmerican citizen than the colonel could see any prospect of getting fromany other choice. And he was proud to live in a country like this, savedand promoted by the great men he had followed, and in a neighborhoodserved and promoted, if not quite saved, by Jim Irwin. And he was not sosure about its not being saved. Every man and nation had to be saved anewevery so often, and the colonel believed that Jim Irwin's new kind ofrural school is just as necessary to the salvation of this country asLincoln's new kind of recognition of human rights was half a century ago."I am about to close my speech," said the colonel, "and the small serviceI have been able to give to this nation. I went through the war,neighbors--and am proud of it; but I've done more good in the peacefulservice of the last three years than I did in four of fighting andcampaigning. That's the way I feel about what we've done in ConsolidatedDistrict Number One." (Vociferous and long-continued applause.)
"Oh, Colonel!" The voice of Angie Talcott rose from away back near thekitchen. "Can Jennie keep on bein' county superintendent, now she'smarried?"
A great guffaw of laughter reduced poor Angie to tears; and Jennie had togo over and comfort her. It was all right for her to ask that, and theyought not to laugh at Angie, so there! Now, you're all right, and let'stalk about the new schoolhouse, and so forth. Jennie brought the smilesback to Angle's face, just in time to hear Jim tell the people amid loudercheers that he had been asked to go into the rural-school extension workin two states, and had been offered a fine salary in either place, butthat he wasn't even considering these offers. And about that time, thechildren began to get sleepy and cross and naughty, and the women set inmotion the agencies which moved the crowd homeward.
* * * * *
Before a bright wood fire--which they really didn't need, but how else wasJim's mother to show off the little fireplace?--sat Jim and Jennie. Theyhad been together for a week now--this being their home-coming--and hadonly begun to get really happy.
"Isn't it fine to have the fireplace?" said Jennie.
"Yes, but we can't really afford to burn a fire in it--in Iowa," said Jim."Fuel's too everlastingly scarce. If we use it much, the fagots anddeadwood on our 'glebe-land' won't last long."
"If you should take that Oklahoma position," said Jennie, "we could affordto have open wood fires all the time."
"It's warmer in Oklahoma," said Jim, "and wood's more plentiful.Yes"--contemplatively--"we could, dear."
"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" said Jennie.
"All right," said Jim briskly, "get me my writing materials, and we'llaccept. It's still open."
Jennie sat looking into the fire oblivious of the suggestion. She wassmiling. Jim moved uneasily, and rose.
"Well," he said, "I believe I can better guess where mother would putthose writing materials than you could, after all. I'll hunt them up."
As he passed, Jennie took him by the hand and pulled him down on the armof her chair.
"Jim," she said, "don't be mean to me! You know you wouldn't do such awicked, wicked thing at this time as to leave the people here."
"All right," said Jim, "whatever you say is the law."
When Jennie spoke again things had taken place which caused her voice toemanate from Jim's shirt-front.
"Did you hear," said she, "what Angie Talcott asked?"
"M'h'm," said Jim.
"Well," said Jennie, "now that I'm married can I go on being countysuperintendent?"
There was a long silence.
"Would you like to?" asked Jim.
"Kind of," said Jennie; "if I knew enough about things to do anythingworth while; but I'm afraid that by rising to my full height I shallalways just fail to be able to see over anything."
"You've done more for the schools of the county," said Jim, "in the lastyear than any other county superintendent has ever done."
"And we shall need the money so like--so like the dickens," said Jennie.
"Oh, not so badly," laughed Jim, "except for the first year. I'll havethis little farm paying as much as some quarter-sections when we getsquared about. Why, we can make a living on this school farm, Jennie,--orI'm not fit to be the head of the school."
There was another silence, during which Jennie took down her hair, andwound it around Jim's neck.
"It will settle itself soon one of these days anyhow," said he at last."There's enough to do for both of us right here."
"But they won't pay me," she protested.
"They don't pay the ministers' wives," said Jim, "and yet, the ministerswith the right sort of wives are always the best paid. I guess you'll bein the bill, Jennie."
Jim walked to the open window and looked out over the still landscape. Theuntidy grounds appealed to him--there would be lessons in theirimprovement for both the children and the older people. It was all good.Down in the little meadow grew the dreaming trees, their round crownsrising as from a sea not quite to the level of the bungalow, their thriftyleaves glistening in the moonlight. Across the pretty bridge lay thesilent little campus with its twentieth-century temple facing its chiefpriest. It was all good, without and within. He went across the hall tobid his mother good night. She clung to him convulsively, and they hadtheir own five minutes which arranged matters for these two silent natureson the new basis forever. Jennie was in white before the mantel when hereturned, smiling at the inscription thereon.
"Why didn't you put it in Latin?" she inquired. "It would have had so muchmore distinction."
"I wanted it to have meaning instead," said Jim. "And besides, nobody whowas at hand was quite sure how to turn the Latin phrase. Are you?"
Jennie leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and studied it.
"I believe I could," said she, "without any pony. But after all, I like itbetter as it is. I like everything, Jim--everything!"
"LET US CEASE THINKING SO MUCH OF AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION, AND DEVOTEOURSELVES TO EDUCATIONAL AGRICULTURE. SO WILL THE NATION BE MADE STRONG."
THE END
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