The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1943-06-17

candid eyes, looking straight in
to yours enshrined deceit, med
iocrity, and cold egotism quite
as readily as honor and integri-
ty He was, he often thought, in
oculated against the almost in
vincible magic of youth, from
having been exposed to it so long.
Holding forth one evening at
Miss Peck's table, MIR. Hume be
came aware of a dialogue going
on at the other end-Mrs. Wash
burn was putting Susan through
one of her ruthlessly prying in
QUESTIONS. He hastily withdrew
from the talk he had begun and
cooked his ear to profit by ques-
tions which would have been be-
meath his dignity to ask. mo, I
don't remember my father and
mother" Susan answered patient
ly. "They died when I was lit
tie girl. Delia-she's my sister
was baby. Yes, Father was
Peter Barney's son. But l don't
know much about the Barney
relatives. Grandfather Cadoret
brought us up. Yes, it was his
mother who was John Crandall's
wife"
There was a name Mr.. Hume
recognized. John Crandall was
the farmer and sheep raiser who
shortly after the Civil War had
left his money to the Academy,
the only gift ever made to it since
its foundation and all that made
It's existence now possible.
The intrusive questions contin-
ued, the candid answers followed.
"Grandfather died the year
graduated from Normal School.
No, he didn't leave us the house.
He had put mortgage on it
bigger than it was really worth.
That's what had put me through
the Academy and the Normal
School. I believe one of the
Ashley banks took it over. No,
| don't think the bank ever found
anybody to buy it. It's very
small house and too far from the
valley road to be practical to
farm. It's the last one on the old
road to the Crandall Pitch"
To Mr.. Hume it was easy to
fill in the gaps of this outline;
and a good many times after
that, when he was holding his
newspaper before his eyes he
was telling himself the whole
story-the little girl who grew
up as fast as she could to take
care of the house and the young
er sister.
After school hours Susan came
to the house to listen to the
gramophone and, as she grew
more familiar, to bring a little
order into the room where the
gramophone stood. Timothy was
usually in his office in the AGA
denny building. But sometimes
before she had left he came back
for his late afternoon reading of
the newspaper. Once as he
started up the stairs she came
running down. He could of course
have stopped her then and told
her what he felt he must say to
her about Mrs. Washburn. But
he had been able to think of moth
ing, as he looked up at her, save
the filmy lightness of her hair,
lifted and spread out cloudlike
by her rapid descent.
"Oh, good evening, Mr.. HUI
me-"
Good evening, Susan"
She passed him with a smiling
nod. The front door opened and
closed. She was gone. Timothy
stood silent, halfway up the
stairs, his hand on the railing.
On one afternoon the week at
ter this, she herself gave him an
excellent opportunity to tell her
anything he wished, by appearing
in his office at the hour he kept
open for consultation with teach
ers. But she was for the moment
so entirely Teacher, and the ques-
ton she asked engaged his peda-
gogical attention so instantly that
he stepped at once automatically
into his professional role of men
tor.
cts about nature study" she
said, the quality of her voice an
nouncing that she was out of pa
tience with nature study. "You
know the children are supposed
this term to learn fifteen birds
nests and tell the name of the
bird that built each one.