Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1879-09-04
The Old SchOOl-nOuse.

1t stood by itself on the outskirts of the
village, and had now fallen into decay.
The old porch through which we entered
was broken down, and no longer the honey
suckle clambered over the sides. There
was an air of gloomy desolation about the
place, and the moaning doves in the trees
without added to the gloomy picture. The
desks and benches were still there, but COW
cred with dust, and the spiders had hung
their gray drapery over them. The teach
er's table, raised on "a platform, still stood,
and the inkstand black and dry had never
been removed. The Bible, from whose
pages the exercises of the school were
always opened, was in its accustomed place,
but like everything else, covered with dust
and mold.
Twenty years before, when a very young
boy, had sat many days and months con-
ming my lessons in that old schoel-room. 1t
was q different place then. The warm sun
light came through the windows, and the
balmy breeZes crept in laden with the per-
fume of the flowers without. The butter
flies darted in and out of the windows, and
the little humming- birds lowered around
the honeysuckle which clambered over the
porch. The stream that dashed over its
rocky bed made a weird music which min
gled with the rustling of the leaves of the
tall trees without.
The teacher was pale-faced, dark, sad
eyed woman, not more than twenty-five
years old, with gentle manner that
seemed almost hopeless. She had come to
the village stranger and opened the school,
She called herself Mrs. Ray, and boarded
with the wife of the sexton of the church.
She evinced but little inclination for socia-
bility with the villagers, and generally re-
fused all invitations to social gatherings.
She was evidently woman of culture and
refinement, accustomed TO moving in polite
circles and how she ever came to drift
into our quiet, little, out-of-the-way village
it was hard to tell. She happened to come
| just at the time we needed a school, the
old teacher having died, and so, in short
time, her school was full
She was very gentle and the pupils
learned to love her. Her very gentleness
proved restraining force, and the toughest
boy bent readily to the rule of Mrs. Ray.
1t worried us, however, to see her fo sad,
and we noticed, too, at any unusual noise,
or sudden appearing of the parents in the
school-room, her dark eyes would assume
an eager startled look, and her white face
would turn still whittier.
Twenty years had rolled away since, as a
little boy, had gone to school to Mrs. Ray
had left the village for the city, and now,
for the first time, had come to visit the
home of my childhood.
"Well, John, said to the old sexton,
'let us take walk now to the school-room.
"Ah, sir, many is the day any one has
been there. 1t is never opened now, and is
fast falling to decay" said John.
"And Mrs. Ray, John; what became of
the pale, dark-eyed teacherl"
- Diu you never hear, sir, the terrible
storyl"
shook my head.
'Ah, sir, that was terrible thing. We
had TO shut up the school-room because the
children refused to 60 there, and so we
built a new one. The building fell to decay
and the flowers around it died, and the
weeds grew apace. 1t is very desolate
there, sir"
"And what became of Mrs. Ray :"
BY this time we had reached the old
school-house, and having entered, were
looking around.
"We'll dust this bench, John, and sit
down, and you can tell me the story Of Mrs.
Ray"
The sun was just sinking behind the hills
when we took our seats amid the dust aud
cobwebs of the old school-room. 1t seemed
to me that could see the sweet, pale face
of Mrs. Ray clearly defined against the dark
background of the gloomy place, and hear
the gentle tones of her voice.
S.NI III 4 Il. Il .l.4
a terrible day when we found Mrs. Ray
lying dead in the school-room, her throat
cut, and her dress covered with blood. The
children ran home and told the news, and
the villagers hastened there; but she was
dead, sir, and all we could do was to picl.
her up and carry her to my house, where
she boarded"
''Did she cut her own throat Z"
ooh, no, sir it must have been done by
a stranger who spent night in the village,
and who was heard to inquire if a person
answering to the description of Mrs. Ray
lived here. You see, sir, her name was not
Mrs. Ray at all, but Mrs. Vaudeville. The
man was not seen the next day, and was
never heard of again.
''What reason could he have for murder
ing her 2"
''Mrs. Ray told her story to my wife.
She had been engaged to be married to a
young man who was poor. and who her
father did not wish her to marry. He
wanted her to marry Colonel Vaudeville,
who was rich and influential. Then the
story reached her that the one she loved
had married a lady IN England, where he
had gone to visit his father, and she felt
desperate when she saw it in the news
papers. She married Colonel Vaudeville,
but she was not happy with him because
she did not love him, and he was a fiery
tempered man, and she was afraid of him.
In one of his RACES he told her one day that
the young man she loved was not married
at all, and that he and her father had
caused the marriage notice to appear in the
papers, and had intercepted all their letters
to each other. Then Mrs. Vaudeville told
him that there was no forgiveness in her
heart for him that she never wished to see
HIM again, or her father either, for they
had broken her heart. When the young
man had heard of her treachery in marry
ing another when she had promised to
marry him, he wrote her terrible letter,
upbraiding her. He grew sort of melan-
choly, and one day he was found dead in
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