In a fork of the roads, opposite the school-house, stood a house with a
red door. It was loaded, in summer, with honeysuckle vines. Aunt Lobelia
sat always at the window. Sometimes she had the asthma and sometimes she
sang. This morning her favorite refrain from the Moody and Sankey Hymnal
was wafted in loud accents up the lane:--
"Dar' to be a Danyell!
Dar' to be a Danyell!
Dar' to make it known!"
As I entered the school-house, the inspiring strains still followed me.
There was a large Franklin stove within, which exhibited the most
enormous draught power, emitting sparks and roaring in a manner frightful
to contemplate.
Aunt Patty, who acted the part of janitress of the school-house at night
and morning, had written on the blackboard in a large admonitory hand,
"No spitting on this floor, you ninnies!"
The bench, containing the water-pail, occupied the most central position
in the room. At one side of the bench hung a long-handled tin dipper; on
the other, another tin instrument, resembling an ear-trumpet, profoundly
exaggerated in size.
"That's what you've got to blow to call us in," exclaimed a small child,
with anticipative enlivenment.
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