A year of life, how soon it slips away; its record written on human hearts and faces in characters never to be erased! So fled the year after the well-earned diplomas had been laid aside as treasured keepsakes, and each took up the duty that stood next.
Mark made a record as an educator that did not escape his friends in the faculty at A---, who, unknown to him, were closely watching his career. Doris, in the loved surroundings of Mt. Holyoke, acquitted herself with credit as a teacher, and, beloved by all, came to the close of the year proficient in French and with an enviable knowledge of music, ready for the next task awaiting her. She had learned well her lesson, and no longer laughed in the wrong places. A quick remembrance of Miss Lyon's serious face and sympathetic eyes, as the impulse came, was always her safeguard. Her merry laugh still rang with contagious sweetness, her sunny personality radiated in the schoolroom and in social events; but, as Jimmy had long ago expressed his conviction, so the girls of her classes realized, "We has to mind her, and if we don't do it quick she looks at us so it shivers us."
And yet, to the sore discomfort of her mother, sister and Mark, another bundle of letters, "semper fides," tied with a white ribbon, were in her trunk corner, and the treasure-box was filling again. Blind little Doris! The hearts that loved her best were torn with anxiety for her dear sake, but along this path of her strange choosing she went her way.
In the old farmhouse, the home of her childhood, Keren served as housekeeper and nurse, taking up the familiar tasks as if she had never laid them down. She transformed the chilly, prim front room into a warm and cheery invalid's chamber, and, together with the faithful Mr. Jones, watched a waning life through slow months of patient suffering. The bond of love strengthened daily, and often, toward the last, a faint voice whispered, "My daughter," and a worn face glowed with happiness as she heard the quick response, "What is it, dear mother? What can I do for you?"
At the farm, life went on with busy cheerfulness. The twins kept the atmosphere electric, as only healthy boys of thirteen can. They were still alike, so far as outward appearance was concerned, save for the black eyes and blue, but were developing mentally in widely different directions. Jimmy was his father's right-hand man on the farm, quick to see what needed to be done and eager to lend a hand. His merry eyes were brimming with mischief and endless were the pranks he played on his long-suffering twin. He longed for the time when school should be over, and begged:
"Father, what's the use of my goin' to school any more? I hate to. Teacher said the other day she wished I could learn with my hands 'stead of my head. She says I'm real good in 'Rithmetic, good as Jack, 'cause I can work my hands at it, but I'm mis-able at the rest, an' my hands are just achin' to do somethin', anythin', all the time. Then Satan gets me," said Jimmy ruefully, with a long-drawn sigh. "Teacher says, 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.' I'm a terrible trouble, father; I know I am; but I don't want to be bad, truly I don't."
He looked into his father's face, his clear, honest, boyish eyes making a strong appeal.
"Just try me for a year, father; let me work with you, an' I'll learn two lessons a day, an' recite 'em to mother. She knows a lot more'n the teacher. I'll learn 'em good, see if I don't."
"Well, my son, we will talk it over with mother. Perhaps it will be the best thing to do. But do you think you could get along and work without Johnny; he doesn't want to leave school, does he?"
"Jack leave school!" exclaimed Jimmy in amazement. "He's what Mr. Jones calls a 'book wurrum.' You know, father, how he pulls over Uncle Mark's books an' Aunt Doris's, an' gets at Great-grandfather West's, when grandma will let him. He lies on the haymow an' reads, an' reads, an' down by the brook, an' mother said she found some books under his bed. You'll let Jack go to school 'f I do stop, won't you, father? You know he's real good to work, too, if you can only get him at it, an' he'll help after school," pleaded loyal Jimmy.
"Yes, indeed, Johnny shall go to school as long as he likes. Maybe he will be a teacher like Uncle Mark."
"My cracky!" exploded Jimmy, and ran at full speed, to find his mother skimming milk in the pantry. He hoped by diplomatic coaxing, with his arms around her neck in a bear's hug, to forestall any objections she might make when father and she should talk it over. He was successful.
Johnny came around a corner as Jimmy emerged with a doughnut.
"Go in an' get one," he commanded; "mother's in there. Hurry up; I've somethin' to tell you, an' I'm most bustin'."
He was executing a back-handed somersault as Johnny appeared with his doughnut, which he immediately laid down, and joined in the performance. Over and over they went, coming up at last breathless.
"Now," demanded Johnny, with his mouth full, "what's up; what's the matter, Jim Brewster?"
"I ain't goin' to school, I ain't! Oh, my cracky, ain't I glad!" and Jimmy stood on his head as a final expression of his satisfaction with the change in his plans.
Soon after this important decision had been made Mrs. Banner was sitting by her window, on a June afternoon, with an open letter from Mark in her hand. It said:
Dearest Mother:-
I have a plan which I want to submit first of all to you. Our school is having a successful year, and I have come to know the families of many of our boys. There is a growing sentiment here in favor of the higher education of Females (I can see Doris stamp her foot), and some of the influential men of the place propose starting a Female Academy. They have consulted the teachers of our Academy freely about the matter. One of them invited me to dinner yesterday, and we had a long talk about it. I told him that I knew of an excellent teacher, a graduate of Mt. Holyoke, an assistant teacher there at present, whom I thought they would be able to get.
"That is just the thing," he said emphatically; "if we have a school for training female minds, we want a thoroughly trained teacher and high ideals. What is her name?"
"I am afraid you will think me wanting in modesty," I answered; "her name is Doris Banner, my own sister. Aside from our relationship, I know her to be a thorough student and a successful teacher."
"Better and better!" he exclaimed; "we know then that she is a lady, and has had excellent home training; but if as many attend as we think now, more than one teacher will be needed. Do you know of any one whom you can recommend as an assistant?"
I did know, and answered immediately:
"My sister has a friend, also a graduate of Mt. Holyoke, who will, I feel sure, be at liberty next year. They would work well together, as they have known each other from childhood. Her name is Miss Keren Winthrop."
He seemed much pleased, took the names and said he would bring them before the rest of the committee. I suggested that if they considered the proposition favorably they should write at once to Mt. Holyoke and ask the teachers there for their opinion as to the fitness of the young ladies for the position. I asked him also not to use my name in the matter, except with the committee.
Of course Doris and Keren must know nothing of this at present. What I want to ask of you is this, dear mother: if this arrangement is brought about, will you come to Barnwell and make a home for us three? I am sure we can find a comfortable house; there is one I have in mind, which is to be vacant in September. If you consent, I will get the refusal of it until things are settled. I have little doubt of the outcome here, and I believe Doris and Keren are just the teachers for the place. We can bring some things from home, as Amelia will not need them all for her family, and furnish the rest here. Do not deny me this, dear mother.
Your devoted son,
Mark West Banner.
The plan met with general approval, and as Keren's loving task was ended and Doris free to choose her work for the coming year, they accepted the unanimous invitation of the authorities in Barnwell to open a Female Academy on the first of October. Mrs. Banner gladly consented to Mark's request, and the middle of September found them comfortably settled in their new home.
The principal and her assistant were planning a school of thorough scholarship, modelled, so far as possible, on Mt. Holyoke lines. In this school, as in many others of that day, and in those of days long after, Miss Lyon's influence was as a living presence.
"How would she decide this or arrange that?" Doris and Keren constantly asked each other.
Mark gave his help as the curriculum was arranged, and it came as nearly as that stage of public opinion admitted to that of a first-class boys' school.
"I want Greek for my female minds," asserted Doris; "don't you think we may have it?"
"Not yet,'' said Keren and Mark; "you know even Miss Lyon had to wait for that."
"Yes," sighed Doris resignedly; "but if a girl wants private lessons she shall have them, shades of Mr. Mather notwithstanding."
With a merry twinkle in her eye she stamped her foot like the Doris of old.
To the dwellers at the farm came this characteristic letter, giving a vivid picture of the new regime:
Barnwell, Mass., Oct. 10, 1851.
Dear Sister Amelia, Brother Charles, and Twinnies Two:-
This half of the Banner family sends greeting to the other half. Just as soon as you can you must drive over to see this half. Mother says that Thanksgiving is a sort of breathing place in the year, and that you must plan to spend it with us, bringing a gobbler from the farm. No other would taste right.
I cannot tell you how old and dignified I feel to be the head of this Academy for the higher education of the Female mind. But I am, and dignified I have to be, and amazingly dignified I am, Keren says. She defers to me in school hours in perfect manner, but I must confess that she takes it out of me afterward. I have turned all the mathematics over to her, and a fine teacher she is. I insist on Latin as soon as a pupil has a fair knowledge of English, and I have a class in French also.
We have worked out a regular course of study, and have submitted it to the Committee (spelled with a big C). Mark helped us to get it into shape, and we made it as nearly like the curriculum in his Academy, for training the Male mind, as we dared. Strange to say, they accepted it without a protest. They are really intelligent gentlemen, some of them college bred, or this school would not have been in existence. They have treated us very nicely.
We are living on school time, and mother seems to enjoy it. We have a pleasant house, not fully furnished, as you know; but we are quite comfortable, and have arranged the work so that mother is not at all overtaxed. We have a large air-tight wood stove in the "settin' room" (vide Mr. Jones), with a pipe running up into a drum in the room overhead. The room over the kitchen (Mark's) is heated in like manner. Mother has a warm little bedroom off the kitchen. Mark's room extends over it, and he has put a bell at the head of his bed, with a strong cord running down to the head of her bed, so that she can call him in an instant. Mother prefers this to going upstairs to sleep. Mark's duty is to see that there is plenty of wood in the house for the fires, and "chunks" for the air-tight stove. The fire is never to go out in the latter in cold weather. Keren and I see that the house is in order in the morning before we leave, and dear mother has such smoking-hot home dinners when we come at noon.
"Mother," said Mark, this noon, "the best boarding in the world is not like home," and so said we all. Mother's face beamed and we were a lively family as we sat down to eat the good things she had provided.
After supper mother has nothing to do but enjoy herself, and what do you think? She is going to review her Virgil, and take a regular course of English reading that Mark has planned for her. Isn't she clever? There is not another like her. We send out our washing in the middle of the week, and iron on Saturday morning. There! you can tell what we are doing any hour of the day, and as we know pretty well what you are doing, we are not so very far apart, after all.
We are much interested in Jimmy's plan, and were not surprised to learn from your letter that he was really learning his two lessons "good," as he promised. Mother and Mark say that is the very best plan for a boy like him, bless his dear, honest, mischievous heart! He is and will be as true as steel all his life.
Is dear Johnny as much of a "book wurrum" as ever? Well, he cannot help it, and I know you are not sorry. He is a born student, and there is no use trying to make anything else out him. He will not shirk life's duties, either; he is too true for that. You see I have great faith in my nephews.
So the Banner family is doing well all 'round, and as my heart is at rest about them, I must sleep and knit up "my ravelled sleeve of care."
Always yours in sisterly and aunt-erly affection,
Doris.
The cycle of the year swung around - autumn, winter, spring, summer - bringing at last the close of school to teachers and pupils of the Barnwell Academies. It had been a happy year of work and study and of mutual helpfulness in the Barnwell home, and had brought rich fruitage of mental and spiritual growth to the dwellers there.
The Female Academy had proved successful beyond the hope of its patrons, and a substantial number of new pupils were enrolled for the coming year. The committee waited on Doris and her assistant, after the exercises of the closing day, and declared, in the words of their spokesman:
"We have come to thank you, ladies, for the work you have done, not only for your pupils, but also in demonstrating to our citizens that the female mind is capable of high culture. We are most happy to have our own daughters under your care, and will use our influence to induce others to attend the Academy. You may count on our help in any way, as you may need it. We predict for you large success, and again express our appreciation of your work."
The family rejoiced together, and settled down for a rest before undertaking vacation projects. Doris was singing happily as she spread the supper table late one afternoon. She had established her mother by a front window with a book in her hand, and playfully ordered her to be quiet until she was called. Absorbed in her reading, Mrs. Banner did not notice that the door opened and shut softly until she lifted her eyes and saw Keren and Mark standing before her.
"Mother," said Mark, "I have asked Keren to be my wife, and she has consented, providing you are willing. Will you receive her as a daughter, and give us your blessing?"
He knelt at her feet and laid his head in her lap. She bent over him and laid her hand, with a gesture of inexpressible tenderness, on his fair hair:
"My precious boy, with all my heart."
She turned to Keren, standing with drooping head beside her:
"My daughter!"
Keren knelt by Mark's side, and felt a mother's hand in caress on her bowed head.
"Bless you, my children; you make me happy indeed."
As the lovers rose from their knees the mother stood beside them, and Mark drew her to him. He threw an arm around Keren and held them both in his close embrace.
"Was ever a man so blessed as I?" he whispered.
"Supper's ready - ready - ready," sang a clear voice. "Come, mother, come. Where are the rest?"
Doris stopped short as she threw open the door, comprehending the situation at once.
"Do you want a new sister, Crinkles?" asked Mark.
"Of course I do, you stupid boy. You need not think I have been blind as a bat. I knew she would be my sister some day, and I'm as glad as I can be; but if you think you are surprising me, you are greatly mistaken. Why, I have known it ever since I can remember. But come to supper; those hot biscuits will be cold if we stand mooning here any longer."