# The Grey Story Book/"Tramp, Tramp, Tramp"

* related works: Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! (Root)
* sister projects: Wikidata item
DON'T see why Teacher chose Mabelle Gates to play the piano for our drills, do you?"
"No," Kittie shook her head, thoughtfully. "I can't see why she did it," she said, puckering her forehead. "Mabelle don't play nearly so well as Bertha Allen or Nell Smith."
"Well, of course they are a good deal older than she is," said Grace, hastily. "You wouldn't expect her to play so well."
"No," agreed Kittie, "of course not, but the other girls would have done so much better. Mabelle keeps good time, but she doesn't know as many pieces or as pretty ones as the other girls. She hardly plays anything but exercises, and Bertha plays some beautiful marches and things."
"Yes, I know it, and I just can't think what made Teacher choose Mabelle to play the ​piano, and then have little Caroline Peck to lead the drills."
"Caroline isn't so young as Mabelle."
"No, but she's so small, and she isn't so straight and soldier-like as Nell Smith. I think that Bertha ought to play the piano, and Nell lead the drill."
"So do I," and the girls walked on in silence for a few moments.
"I like Mabelle, though," said Kittie, suddenly, "and Caroline, too. They are perfectly lovely girls; but I just don't understand Teacher's choosing them, that's all."
"Oh, of course! I like them, too," said Grace. "I always did, but I just wondered."
A good many of the girls and boys in school wondered, also; but they were very careful not to let the two favored girls know that the choice was not perfectly satisfactory to them.
Every day, at one of the recesses, the children went through what was called the fire drill, rising from their seats, and marching out in order, to the tune of the simple march or exercise which Mabelle played for them. The ​teacher stood by the door until they were all out of the room, and then Mabelle and she fell into line, and they went down the three flights of stairs and out of doors behind the others.
Mabelle worked hard at her music, out of school hours, though she was not very fond of it; but she felt the honor that the teacher had shown her in giving her the work, and though she guessed as to the reason, she kept it to herself, and tried to learn as many pretty marches as she could.
One morning she went to the piano with a pink little flush on her face, and in a moment the stirring strains of "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching," were ringing through the room.
Instantly there came a great hand-clapping from the girls' side, and some stamping and two or three shrill whistles from the boys' side, and Mabelle's cheeks flushed pinker than ever. This was worth the long hours of practice that she had put in.
The teacher smiled, but held up her hand in ​warning, and the drill went through with a great deal of enthusiasm.
And after this, the children always begged for "Tramp, Tramp," until the teacher had to limit its use to once a week, because the boys would "tramp, tramp" so loudly when they sang the words, and sometimes would even whistle, and that was entirely too noisy for a school-room.
One day, near the end of the term, the children were all sitting quietly, during study hour, when suddenly Nell Smith raised her head from her book and gave a prolonged sniff.
At the sound, other heads were raised and the sniffs were heard all about the room. The children glanced at each other apprehensively.
Presently the teacher looked up, cast her eyes about the room and then rose and went to the door leading into the hall. As she opened it, a little puff of smoke came into the room. She closed it quickly and went back to her desk. The children were watching her, ​breathlessly. She raised her pencil for the drill to begin, and Mabelle went quietly to the piano and struck the first few notes of a little exercise, as the children rose to their feet to commence their march. The room seemed very quiet save for the music, as they fell into line and moved slowly forward.
The teacher returned to the door; but as she opened it again, a stronger puff of smoke came in, and there was a crackling sound from below. The hall and stairway were now quite dim with smoke, and as little Caroline Peck reached the door, leading the long line of white-faced children, the teacher bent over and whispered to her:—
"Are you afraid, Caroline?"
"No, ma'am," said Caroline, quietly, looking up into her face, "I am being taken care of."
Just then the children from one of the lower rooms rushed out into the hall below, pell-mell, screaming in fright. This was too much for some of the girls, and in a moment a half-dozen ​of them, led by Bertha Allen and Nell Smith, had broken ranks and were rushing toward the door, and others seemed ready to follow.
"Bertha, Nell, stop where you are!" called the teacher, sternly, catching Bertha by the arm.
"I won't, I won't!" screamed Bertha. "I won't stay to be burned up!" and twisting herself free, she dashed out into the hall, followed by Nell and a few others.
Mabelle, sitting still and playing her little march, turned her head. Even some of the boys showed signs of breaking ranks, and others were beginning to crowd those in front of them. There was just a moment's pause at the piano, and then the strains of "Tramp, Tramp," took the place of the light march.
Almost without thinking, the children began once more to keep time to the music; but several of the girls were crying loudly and others looked ready to fall with fear. Then little Caroline Peck, who had just reached the head of the stairway, her head up and her eyes ​shining, steadily keeping time and leading the others, struck up, in a clear little voice, the chorus of "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching."
In an instant the others had joined in, some of the voices chokey by sobs or smoke, but all with hearty good will.
The jostling and pushing ceased, and the long lines of children became as straight and even as ever they were at recess.
Out of the door they marched, and down the three flights of stairs, singing loudly and tramping lustily, and led by the little bright-eyed girl whose head was high and whose face fairly shone with strength and courage.
As the last of the children filed out of the room, the teacher turned. She could scarcely see Mabelle, because of the smoke.
"Come, dearie," she called.
Mabelle played the last of the strain and then came quickly across the room. The teacher took her hand and they hurried after the others. They could hear the cheers of ​the people outside, as the head of the little column came out of the front door, still singing loudly, if chokily.
When they reached the lower floor, they found but little smoke, and as they paused for a moment, the teacher bent over and kissed Mabelle, tenderly. "I knew that you could do it, dearie," she whispered. "You are a brave little girl."
Mabelle looked up into her face, lovingly. "I knew that was what you chose me for," she said, simply.
As they came out of the school-house door, the last ones in the line, the fire-engines came rumbling up, and the children scattered in every direction, to be out of the way.
Presently little Caroline came and slipped her hand into Mabelle's. "Let's go home," she said. "We don't want to see any more. I guess it isn't much of a fire, anyway, most all smoke; but it looked pretty black when I started down stairs. It's on the third floor, and it wasn't so bad when we got below there. ​There wasn't any school on that floor to-day, so that's the reason we didn't hear anything until after we smelled the smoke. There wasn't anybody to give the alarm."
"Was it the second floor children who screamed so," asked Mabelle.
"Yes," said Caroline. "They got frightened and broke ranks and all rushed out together, and some of them fell and got hurt."
"I think you were ever so brave to march out and right down into all that smoke, when you didn't know what might be there," said Mabelle, "and the girls say that you didn't act a bit afraid."
"But that wasn't near so hard as to stay and play until the last one was out. You were braver than I was, and your starting 'Tramp, Tramp,' was what kept them from getting into a panic."
"And your singing! How could you ever sing in all that smoke?"
Caroline gave Mabelle's hand a little squeeze. "You know how," she said. "I knew that ​was God's child, and that He was leading me, and that smoke couldn't keep me from doing anything that He wanted me to do."
"Yes," said Mabelle, "and I knew that we were all God's children, and that God's children couldn't be frightened or forget themselves, and that there was no danger if we only knew that He was taking care of us,—and when the others were singing 'Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching,' I was singing 'Love, love, love, the good God loves us,' and I really wasn't afraid a bit. Teacher knew that we could do it; but I wonder how she knew. She isn't a Scientist."
Just then a gentle arm stole around the neck of each of them. "I want to thank you, girls," said the teacher, lovingly. "You both did all that any one could. You thought and acted quickly, and were brave and cool, and I'm proud of you. But I knew that you could do it," she finished, kissing first one and then the other.
Caroline looked up, patting the pretty teach​er's hand, softly. "How did you know it?" she asked, seriously.
The teacher hesitated. "Why, I hardly know," she said, "only you both seem to be strong and loving, and always to have your wits about you. That is the reason I chose you instead of some of the older girls. By the way, you used to be such a timid little girl, Caroline," she added, as if just remembering." What has made the difference?"
"Christian Science," said Caroline, softly, and Mabelle nodded her head several times, in approval.