“I shall raise much as three dollars’ worth of onions on my land.  Do you s’pose I can sell em, Mr. Desmonde?  I want to sell ’em and put the money in the bank, for when I get money enough I’m going to build a house, and get married, too, I guess.”

Louis answered him kindly, as he did all the rest, and when we went home he said he held more secrets than any one man ought to.

The dedication of our schoolhouse was a grand affair.  It came off on the seventeenth of June.  Uncle Dayton and Aunt Phebe came, and we gathered the children from the town and village, clothed them in white with blue ribbons streaming from their hats, and had them marched in line into the building—­the first two holding aloft a banner which Louis and I had made for them.  Many came from the surrounding town, and three of our friends from Boston.  There were speeches made by Mr. Davis, Uncle Dayton, Louis, John, and others, and singing by the children.  It was a glorious time, and we felt that our beloved Aunt Hildy must now be looking down upon us with an approving smile; and when the marble statuette of her dear self was placed in a niche, made for its reception, it seemed to me I could hear Clara say, “It is beautifully appropriate.”

The mode of operation was to be decided on, and when Louis spoke with feeling of the coming days, he said to the children: 

“You are our children; we are your friends; and together we mean to be self-supporting, instead of going about among the people soliciting alms.  We will be pensioners on each other’s bounty, and when we are strong enough to aid others who need our assistance, we will send forth gladly comforts from our home.  Some little boys who are to raise strawberries on their patch of ground, will be glad to carry a dish of berries to some poor invalid; and so with everything you do, remember the happiness of doing something for those around us, for the poor we have always with us.  I have been thinking about a teacher.  Mr. Brown, our little Burton from the mill, has engaged to teach school in an adjoining village, and for a time cannot come to you.  He will be able to be your teacher after awhile, and I understand that is his wish.  I never taught school myself, but I have been wondering if you would like me to try until he is ready.  All those who would like me to come, say aye.”

I rather think Louis heard that response.  I started, for such a sharp, shrill sound rent the air that the window glass quivered as if about to break.”

“Now all who do not wish me for a teacher, say no.”

A calm like that of the Dead Sea ensued, to be broken after a second by little Sammy, who cried: 

“Oh, pooh!  There ain’t nobody.”

“Agreed,” said Louis; “then I am elected, am I?”

“Yes, sir!” shouted the children.

“Then we’ll hear you sing ‘Hail Columbia,’ and separate for the day.  I hope the summer will be a happy one for you all!”