Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1883-07-06
"NUBBTNS."

All day the rain had fallen steadily, and at
four o'clock a sharp wind came driving down
from the Knobs, freezing the drops as they
fell, and shrouding the row of tall Expresses
in front of the old red school house in a flmy
crystal veil. The little knoll upon which the
building stood was sheeted with ice, and ap-
pArently impossible In front of it ran what
was usually dgnifed with the name of high
way, but in reality was only succession of
quagmires, halffrozen ponds, and wash.
outs through which rushed a muddy torrent
several feet deep.
Back Of the knoll lowered the twin Knobs,
"Crowfoot' and "Graytop," pine crowned,
rock. ribbed, and belted with magnificent ce.
dRrs. On one side Of the schoolhouse were
the rifed cotton fields, on the other a marsh,
green and fowery in summer, but in winter
covered with slmy water, stretched away to
where the great cypress swRmps lay like an
iuky shadow against the southern sky. The
dark object looming in the twilight like
many armed giant was the iron railroad
bridge and at one end of it, huddled close in
the curying arm Of the Mississippi was the
little village Of Brenton.
1t was growing dark rapidly. Already the
bridge lamps were lighted, and the cottage
windows wnked bright defiance to the storm.
In the little school room, which had only cne
window, it was so dark that Rachel could
hardly see the faces of the children huddled
about the stove. The wind roared fercely
around the frail building, and drove the rain
under the doors until the floor was soaked.
The children were shivering and blowing their
benumbed fingers, while the teacher Miss
Greame, vanly endeavored to keep herself
warm with rusty black shawl.
Would five O'Clock never come The rules,
written upon a sheet Of foolscap and pinned
on the wall named FIVE o'clock as the hour for
lgI, -
sooner. Her patrons demanded full return
for the pittance they paid her, and nothing
short of eight hours in the school-rocm would
satisfy them.
At last the whistle Of the five O'Clock ex.
press train sounded, and Rachel tapped the
bell upon her desk. When the last shabby
little figure had scrambled out of the door,
she leaned her head upon her hands with a
sigh that breathed more despair than relief
As her eyes wandered over the wretched
room where she toiled day after day, her
heart swelled with feeling of rebeious bit
terness that sent a cold glitter to the soft gray
eyes and hardened the delicate lips like steel
Poor Rachel! At eighteen life aud love
ara both so young Was it strange that sit
ting there alone in the early dusk, with youth
strength and beauty all her own, she should
have bowed her head in passionate prayer that
God would let her die Not strange in her
whose life had been one long dream of ease
and pleasure, whose proud, sensitive nature
had never felt the mastery of suffering until
the awful day when death and ruin desolated
her home.
After the shock was over, and thoughts of
the future began to force themselves upon
her, Rachel decided to seek work, for to this
she was driven to earn her daily bread, as far
as possible from the old home and the friends
who had formed her gay, delightful world. 1t
was the oft-fought battle between pride and
poverty and pride came off victor. Rachel
chose to exile herself hundreds of miles from
the friends who would have given her gener-
Gus aid, and fed her hungry heart upon the
mama of sympathy and love.
Here at Brenton she lived the life of a mere
drudge The village-folk were rough, litter,
ate, and inclined to be suspicious of the
"whte-handed lady, with her proud face and
| lofty airs" Eight hours day she taught a
dozen or two ragmufins and the remainder
| of the time she spent at her boarding house in
| the dreary little chamber where were her bed
trunk, and few books. She made no effort
to be social with the villagers, but shrank
from any unnecessary contact with them, a
procedure which they highly resented. There
was not soul in Brenton of whom she could
make a companion. Her life seemed utterly
blank, the days dumb and stagnant, the future
held no promise, and memory was only tor
ture.
Rachel was not Christian. Her parents
were fashionable, pleasure loving people, who
had been too much engrossed with the care OF
their fortune and the claims of society to givt
their child proper religious training She haC
been accustomed to attend church regularly
and more than once had felt a vague conyic
tion that she was beginning her life wrong
When sorrow came she reached out blindll
| Fon haI hut and nd ha failu
was only an added dropin her cup of bitterness
The conviction had never developed into re
solve or effort, SO Rachel struggled hopelessl
on in the dark.
tIf only had friend-iust one, Nigh
bear the work and homesickness. But l an
starving, absolutely starving for companion
ship and sympathy! 7" She dropped her heat
down upon her desk with hot, swift rush o
tears-the first she had shed for months.
Her face was still hidden, when the SCUM,
of the door closing softly, followed by stealth
footsteps, sent a thrill of terror through he
veins. queer shaggy looking creatur
stood in front of the blackboard, and as Racf
e raised her head, she saw hand reach up
the little shelf, lift down the box of orayoni
and take out pencil. Controlling her voic
with an effort, she said, sharply "Who
there ?"
Tho box fell with crash, and the intrudt
fed precipitately to the door,
Convinced that one of her pupils was pra
tising a ruse of some kind she hurried to IL
door and called out, sternly "If you are a
honest boy you will bring that pencil to N
desk"
There was no answer, but as she reache
the door she saw mite of a child wrapped
! a brown sheepskin, crouched down close
, the wall. Lady, Nubbins didn't steal; an
. ony wanted one-just one y The swee
I childish voice was shaken with the tears tn
' rained over his cheeks, and down upon Il
3 little dirty hands.
! "Whet is your pam9, child p queri'
Rachel looking pityingly at the twisted,