Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1925-05-06
Chapter III


Miss Peakel Oh, Miss Peake"
I'm up!" Selma would call in what
she meant to be a gay voice, through
chattering teeth.
you better come down and dress
where is warm here by the stove"
Peering down the perforations in
the floor-hole through which the par
Tor chimney swelled so proudly into
the drum, Selma could vaguely descry
Mrs. Pool stationed just below, her
gaze upturned.
That first morning, on hearing this
Invitation, Selma had been rocked be-
tween horror and mirth. I'm not
cold, really. I'm almost dressed. I'll
be down directly"
Maartje Pool must have sensed
some of the shock in the girls voice !;
or, perhaps, even some OF the laugh
ter. pool and Jakob are long out
already cutting. Here back of the
stove you can dress warm"
Shivering and tempted though she
was, Selma had set her viii against
it. Il won't go down." she said to
herself, shaking with the cold. 81
won't come down to dressing behind
the kitchen stove like alike a peas
ant in one of those dreadful Russian
novels ~. That sounds stuck up
and horrid. The Pools are
good and kind and decent. But
won't come down to budding behind
the stove with. bundle of underwear
In my arms. Oh, dear, this corset's
like casing of ice.
"But l won't dress behind the kitch-
en- stOve!" declared Selma, glaring
meanwhile at that hollow pretense,
the drum. She even stuck her tongue
out at 1t (only nineteen, remember y.
When she thought back, years later,
on that period of her High Prairie
experience, stoves seemed to figure
with absurd prominence in her MEM
cry. That might well be. stove
changed the whole course of her life.
From the first, the schoolhouse
stove was her bette noir. Out of the
welter of that first year 1t stood, huge
and menacing, a black tyrant. The
High Prairie schoolhouse in which Sc
lima taught was a little more than a
mile up the road beyond the Pool
farm. She came to know that road
In all its moods-ice-locked, drifted
with snow, wallowing in mud. School
began at half-past eight. After her
first week Selma had the mathematics
Of her early morning reduced to the
least common denomination. Up at
six. A plunge into the frigid gar
ments; breakfast of bread, cheese,
sometimes bacon, always rye coffee
without cream or sugar. On with the
cloak, muller, hood, mlttens, galoshes.
The lunch box In bad weather. Up
the road to the schoolhouse, battling
the prairie wind that whipped the
tears into the eyes, blowing the drifts,
slipping on the hard ruts and ley
ridges in dry weather. Excellent at
nineteen. AS she few down the road
In sun or rain, in wind or snow, her
minds eye was fixed on the stove.
The schoolhouse reached, her numbed
fingers wrestled with the rusty lock.
The door opened, there smote her the
schoolroom smell-a mingling of dead
ashes, kerosene, unwashed bodies,
dust, mice, chalk, stove-wood, lunch
crumbs, mold, slate that has been
washed with saliva. into this Selma
rusheG, untying her muller as she en-
tered. In the little vestibule there
was box piled with chunks of stove
wood and another heaped with dried
corn-cobs Alongside this a can Of
kerosene. The cobs served as kin
ding. dozen or more Of these you
soaked with kerosene and stuffed
Into the nav of the rusty iron pot
bellled stove A match. Up fared
the corn-cobs. Now was the moment
for small stick of wood; another to
keep 1t company. Shut the door.
Draughts. Dampers. Smoke. Sus-
pense. A blaze, then a crackle. The
wood has caught. In with a chunk
DOW. wait. Another chunk. Slam
the door. The schoolhouse fire is
started for the day. As the room
thawed gradually Selma removed lay
Irs Of outer garments. BY the time
the children arrived the room was
livable.
Selma had seen herself, dignified,
yet gentle. instructlng a roomful Of
Dutch cherubs in the simpler ele-
ments Of learning But 1t is difficult
to be dignified and gracious when you
are suffering from chilbiains. Selma
fell victim to this sordid discomfort,
as did every child Ia the room. She
Eat at the battered pine desk or
saoved about. a little ice-wool shawl
around her shoulders when the wind
vas wrong ard the stove balky. Her
white little face seemed winter in
contrast with the black folds Of this