HEARTS OF GOLD

18. TEACHING THE YOUNG IDEA.

174 TEACHING THE YOUNG IDEA. Chapter XVIII. Too much praise cannot be awarded the brave-hearted girls who leave without a murmur their pleasant homes and agreeable companions and in answer to the call of duty or necessity, go forth alone into an untried world to take up the burdens and responsibilities of life. Friends at home never know what they suffer. If one real chapter from their lives, with all of its sorrows, temptations and unmentioned privations, could find its way to the happy firesides they have left, it would fill the doting parents’ hearts with sadness. Regenia Underwood had few to regret her mishaps, or condole her sorrows. She was alone in the world, and a world, too, in which she was in many respects a stranger. Reared in an atmosphere of ease and refinement, she was illy prepared for the uncouth side of life she was so soon to enter. She was, of course, well educated. Without a thought of ever having any practical use for her education, she had finished the High and Normal school courses in the city of Mt. Clare. She never dreamed, when spending her six weeks in the “School of Practice,” that stern necessity would some day demand an application of the knowledge attained. As she sat by the flickering wood fire, on the first night of her stay at Mrs. Landers,’ she ransacked her brain to recall any little scrap of theory concerning the first day in a new school, she had heard with indifference, if not with actual impatience. In vain she wished for some of her old notebooks, packed away in some dark closet at Mt. Clare, perhaps to be remembered, but never again to play any part in the real work of life. At last, by dint of hard, constant thinking, she managed to recall a few facts which would serve as a beginning, contenting herself with her partial preparation and relying on circumstances for future developments, she went to bed, to dream of schools of fretful children, stern trustees, and 175 hearts of gold duties but indifferently performed, till the loud rapping of Mrs. Landers the following morning awakened her to meet her fate. Her breakfast was not more than half finished when the door bell rang and the cheery voice and loud laugh of Mr. Foggs was heard in the front parlor. True to his promise, he was on hand to escort the new teacher to her school. To Regenia, Mr. Foggs, with all his kindness, had grown to be a somebody that she must tolerate, but could not esteem. His want of modesty, his coarse, unintentional familiarity filled her with a nameless dread. His exhibition of himself the evening before, concealed as it was by Mrs. Landers, had not escaped her sharp eyes. She was unaware, it is true, of the cause that had so transformed the man who had assumed a virtue, if he had it not, on the morning she first met him, but it was evident to her inexperienced eyes that Mr. Foggs was no better than he should be, considering the sacred office that he filled. She had therefore resolved to pursue his friendship no further than necessity compelled. When she came down to the parlor prepared for school, she found Mr. Foggs impatiently awaiting her. He was conscious that his behavior the evening before was not of a nature to increase the new teacher’s good opinion of him, and, therefore, he attempted to repair the supposed injury that his dignity had suffered by a liberal dose of politeness. “Ah, good morning,” he said, advancing to meet her and rubbing his hands expressive of his delight, “I hope you rested well and that you are in prime condition to wield the rod,” he said, taking Regenia’s hand and giving it another of those vise-like contractions that almost made her scream with pain. “I am very well,” she said, wincing with pain and extracting the ring that had buried itself in her tender flesh during the bear grasp that Mr. Foggs called handshaking. “It is a beautiful day,” he said as he opened the door. “One of those rare winter days that you never see in your climate.” And it was a beautiful day. The warm rays of the Southern sun fairly penetrated Regenia’s heart as she walked along. As she listened to the incessant flow of Mr. Foggs’ wagging tongue, she felt for such a day in...