THAT DISREPUTABLE SCHOOL-HOUSE STOVE.

BY ARTHUR WILLIS COLTON.

The district school-house in Hagar was very old, but it never looked so, on account of the paint. When the Selectmen concluded not to do something that ought to be done, because it would cost too much, they violently painted the school-house instead. It relieved their feelings and did not cost too much. Also, the school-house standing prominently by the cross-roads, it gave a thrifty appearance to the village.

The inside of the school-house was seldom painted by the violent Selectmen, or its individuality interfered with in any way. Its desks became more whittled from year to year, its ceiling smokier, and its blackboards dingier with adding and subtracting. The water-pail that stood over the cellar stairs was often upset for different reasons, so that now and then there was a new water-pail. The stove stood in front of the teacher's desk, and, on cold days, an enormous distance from the back seats. The stove-pipe was strung along the ceiling on precarious wires.

This stove was not an adequate stove. The sphere of its influence fell short of the back seats. It was an uncertain and variable stove. It sulked; sometimes it dropped legs and severed connections with the pipe. On windy days it shook, roared, threw sparks, and interrupted lessons. The Selectmen, namely, Deacon Crockett, Harvey Cummings, and Mr. Atherton Bell—who had been to the Legislature—were told that the stove was not an adequate stove, and denounced the school-house as a source of endless expense.

In the fall and spring the school was taught by different young ladies, who were much to be pitied. In the winter it was taught by a man—for some years by a man named Pollock, who had ideas. When the school became very unruly he flung the bell on the floor to produce silence. It was a large yellow-colored bell. When it was rung, the sound of it was as the sound of lamentation, and when it was flung on the floor it made us think of a number of funerals all mixed up. Mr. Pollock also taught algebra to those whom he thought deserved it; that was his idea of rewarding merit. It seemed to us that his idea was wrong.

But this story which I have to tell is not about the school in general, but a particular story intended to bring out a moral about the putting of horse-chestnuts in a stove, namely, that it is very revolutionary, and a good way to play nihilists, if you wish to play nihilists. It concerns one Willy Flint, who was an imp; not one of those nervous black little things, however, such as you would expect an imp to be. He had light hair, rather thin red eyelids, and no nerves; but for all that he was an imp. His sister's name was Angelica Bertina and some other names. She also was an imp. I believe she was, or grew up to be, a very pretty girl, but at that time I had no opinion of such matters.

Angelica kicked the snow against the entry-door and mentioned a desire to smash things. She felt that way, perhaps, more often than most people, but we all know how it is when it is a relief, although nothing in particular has happened, to get a large club and pound a rock. It is partly surplus energy and partly discontent. Bobby Bell stared at Angelica admiringly. It was the noon-hour. Willy Flint reached the bottom of his lunch-pail, shook up the crumbs, and fitted it deftly on the head of Bobby Bell, who escaped and ran into Angelica. Angelica collared him and shook him out of the dinner-pail, but respectfully, for Bobby Bell was a gentleman, though very little, and though only five or six years old, greatly admired Angelica.

"You let Bobby alone," snapped Angelica; but Willy Flint was thinking of something else. Angelica, holding Bobby by the collar, brushed off the crumbs, and Bobby became contented and conversational.

"My fatha's comin' to thee the thtove," he announced.

"How do you know?" asked Willy Flint, blinking his red eyelids.

"My fatha thaid tho. Tho'th Deacon Cwockett. Tho'th Mithta Cummin'. Tho'th my fatha."

Willy Flint blinked his eyelids at Bobby Bell for some minutes, and then, without looking to the right or left, started on a run through the drifts to the road and along the road eastward. The entire school stopped snowballing and watched him in dumb amazement. Just as he turned into the Flints' gate, a quarter of a mile away, Mr. Pollock came to the entry and rang the lamentable bell. Therefore Willy Flint was late, and had to do a strange sum, involving two men who exchanged commodities in such a manner as never ought to be done in this world.

Willy Flint sat, pretending to do this sum, on the seat behind the stove, because he was an imp, and Mr. Pollock wished to keep an eye on him. The scholars on the back seats were good but cold; those in between were middling. Angelica Bertina was reciting geography, which she did very well. I suppose it practised her memory to remember her name. When one can say Angelica Bertina and the other names easily, it helps one out with Liberia and Porto Rico.

Willy Flint looked at Mr. Pollock, who looked at him, and asked Angelica about the products of Liberia. Willy Flint sighed despondently and drew spindle-legged people on his slate. Angelica stated the products of Liberia to be coffee, ivory, and rofia-palm fibre, and Mr. Pollock did not deny it, though of course rofia-palm fibre belongs with Madagascar and not with Liberia. He was wondering what Willy Flint was about to do.

Angelica saw his abstracted eye and went on, "Arrowroot, sugar, chewing-gum."

Here Moses Durfey giggled and Mr. Pollock started.

"What's that?"

"Cotton," said Angelica, "cocoa, oranges, and lemons."

"Ah," said Mr. Pollock. "Correct."

And Willy Flint looked more cheerful.

This was the situation when the Selectmen came: the stove behaving in various ways, Willy Flint considering what he was about to do, Mr. Pollock wondering what that was, and Angelica reciting geography.

There was a loud knock at the entry-door, and Mr. Pollock and the entire school, with the exception of Willy Flint and Angelica, left whatever they were doing, and concentrated their minds on the door. Willy Flint leaned swiftly forward and slipped something through the damper of the stove. Angelica cast a glance after Mr. Pollock, closed her eyes, and recited in a loud voice:

"Abyssinia, eastern Africa, three kingdoms—Shoa, Tigre, and Amhara, elevated table-land, of which majority of people—m-m-m-m—pastoral pursuits."

Willy Flint again leaned forward and slipped something through the damper.

"Ah!" said Mr. Pollock, at the door. "Come in." And the violent Selectmen entered, namely, Deacon Crockett, Harvey Cummings, and Mr. Atherton Bell—who had been to the Legislature. Again Willy Flint leaned forward.

"Exports, skins," shouted Angelica, "ivory, gums—"

"Angelica," said Mr. Pollock, sternly—"Angelica Flint, that will do." And Angelica, with an eye on Willy's movements, thought that very likely it might.

"We've come to see about that stove," said the fluent Mr. Atherton Bell. "Now I don't see anything the matter with the stove. Do you, Deacon? It appears to me to have an excellent draught."

Deacon Crockett nodded gloomily.

"Furs rate," said Mr. Cummings.

"A good serviceable stove," said Mr. Atherton Bell.

Bang! went something in the stove; boom! crack! bang!

The top of the stove rose and danced about in an angular manner. The pipe came down and covered Deacon Crockett and Willy Flint impartially with soot. Legs went here and there. The door bounced off, followed by ashes and coals, and smote Mr. Cummings sorely on the foot. Then the stove settled down, propped only by one leg plainly showing and declaring itself the most disreputable stove in the town of Hagar; and the school resolved itself into anarchy, which proves just what all wise men say, that nihilism results in anarchy.

"Who done that?" shouted Mr. Cummings, angrily. Deacon Crockett said nothing, but glared. Willy Flint, being also covered with soot, looked in every respect like the down-trodden victim of conspiracy. Mr. Pollock wiped his glasses, which meant that he intended to maintain his presence of mind; and Mr. Atherton Bell, whom neither soot had touched nor flying missile smitten anywhere, seeing the misfortunes of his colleagues, immediately saw also the humor of the thing in a broad and liberal manner, thumped his sides and laughed loudly.

"Now, Harvey, tut, tut! Now, deacon—"

Then Bobby Bell, who greatly admired his father, joined in shrilly; then the rest of the school saw the humor of it too. Mr. Cummings, polishing his toe, smiled feebly. Mr. Pollock's eyes, as he brushed the Deacon's back with the broom, twinkled behind his glasses. The only persons who seemed really chagrined were Deacon Crockett and Willy Flint. Such it is to have an eye for the humor of a thing.

"Why—why," gasped Mr. Atherton Bell, "Pollock—Pollock—you don't mean to tell me it acts like this—I might say—customarily?"

Mr. Pollock wiped his glasses slowly. "No," he said, "I never saw it act just like that before—not so badly as that."

And all the school agreed that it had never acted so badly as that before.

And so it came about, what with Mr. Atherton Bell's sense of humor and the intense dislike which Harvey Cummings conceived for the ancient stove, that a new stove was put in—a large flat-topped satisfactory stove on which could be baked nearly a quart of chestnuts.

I remember distinctly how Chub Leroy, Moses Durfey, and I argued it over, and concluded that Willy Flint was to be a nihilist. After that we collected horse-chestnuts, and did things with them for which Moses Durfey was spanked. And Angelica, whose language was vigorous, like her stride, remarked that Mr. Pollock was "game." He was, in fact, a very honest and kindly gentleman, who always maintained his presence of mind, and that was about what Angelica meant.