These Happy Golden Years (Little House 8)

Slowly the week dragged by, the longest and most miserable week that Laura had ever known.

On Thursday, when Laura said, “Third arithmetic class, rise,” Clarence stood up quickly and Charles began to move languidly, but Martha half rose and yelled, “Ow!” and sat down as if she were jerked.

Clarence had driven his knife through her braid and pinned it to his desk. He had done it so quietly that Martha knew nothing of it until she tried to stand up.

“Clarence!” Laura said. He did not stop laughing. Tommy was laughing, Ruby was giggling, even Charles was grinning. Martha sat red-faced, with tears in her eyes.

Laura was in despair. They were all against her; she could not discipline them. Oh, how could they be so mean! For an instant she remembered Miss Wilder, who had failed to teach the school in town. “This is the way she felt,” Laura thought.

Then suddenly she was very angry. She yanked the knife up, and clicked it shut in her fist. She did not feel small as she faced Clarence. “Shame on you!” she said, and he stopped laughing. They were all still.

Laura marched back to her table, and rapped on it. “Third class in arithmetic, rise! Come forward.” They did not know the lesson; they could not solve the problems, but at least they went through the motions of trying. Laura felt tall and terrible, and they obeyed her meekly. At last she said, “You may all repeat this lesson tomorrow. Class is dismissed.”

Her head ached as she went toward Mrs., Brewster’s hateful house. She could not be angry all the time, and discipline was no good if the pupils would not learn their lessons. Ruby and Tommy were far behind in spelling, Martha could not parse a simple compound sentence nor add fractions, and Clarence was learning no history. Laura tried to hope that she could do better tomorrow. Friday was quiet. Everyone was dull and listless. They were only waiting for the week to end, and so was she. The hands of the clock had never moved so slowly.

In the afternoon the clouds began to break and the light grew brighter. Just before four o’clock, pale sunshine streamed eastward across the snowy land. Then Laura heard sleigh bells faintly ringing.

“You may put away your books,” she said. That miserable week was ended, at last. Nothing more could happen now. “School is dismissed.”

The music of the bells came ringing louder and clearer. Laura’s coat was buttoned and her hood tied when Prince and Lady passed the window with the dancing bells. She snatched up her books and dinner pail, and then the worst thing of all happened.

Clarence opened the door, thrust his head in, and shouted, “Teacher’s beau’s here!”

Almanzo Wilder must have heard. He could not help hearing. Laura did not know how she could face him. What could she say? How could she tell him that she had given Clarence no reason to say such a thing?

He was waiting in the cold wind, and the horses were blanketed; she must go out. It seemed to her that he was smiling, but she could hardly look at him. He tucked her in and said, “All snug?”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered. The horses went swiftly, their strings of bells merrily ringing. It would be better to say nothing of Clarence, Laura decided; as Ma would say, “Least said, soonest mended.”

Chapter 6

Managing

While Pa played the fiddle that evening at home, Laura felt much better. Two weeks were gone, she thought; there were but six more. She could only keep on trying. The music stopped, and Pa asked, “What’s the trouble, Laura? Don’t you want to make a clean breast of it?”

She had not meant to worry them; she intended to say nothing that was not cheerful. But suddenly she said, “Oh, Pa, I don’t know what to do!”

She told them all about that miserable week at school. “What can I do?” she asked. “I must do something; I can’t fail. But I am failing. If only I were big enough to whip Clarence. That’s what he needs, but I can’t.”

“You might ask Mr. Brewster to,” Carrie suggested. “He could make Clarence behave himself.”

“Oh, but Carrie!” Laura protested. “How can I tell the school board that I can’t manage the school? No, I can’t do that.”

“There you have it, Laura!” Pa said. “It’s all in that word, ‘manage.’ You might not get far with Clarence, even if you were big enough to punish him as he deserves. Brute force can’t do much. Everybody’s born free, you know, like it says in the Declaration of Independence. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink, and good or bad, nobody but Clarence can ever boss Clarence. You better just manage.”

“Yes, I know, Pa,” Laura said. “But how?”

“Well, first of all, be patient. Try to see things his way, so far as you can. Better not try to make him do anything, because you can’t. He doesn’t sound to me like a really vicious boy.”

“No, he isn’t,” Laura agreed. “But I guess I just don’t know how to manage him.”

“If I were you,” Ma gently began, and Laura remembered that Ma had been a schoolteacher, “I’d give way to Clarence, and not pay any attention to him. It’s attention he wants; that’s why he cuts up. Be pleasant and nice to him, but put all your attention on the others and straighten them out. Clarence’ll come around.”

“That’s right, Laura, listen to your Ma,” said Pa. “‘Wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove.’”

“Charles!” said Ma. Pa took up his fiddle and began saucily playing to her, “Can she make a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy; can she make a cherry pie, charming Billy?”

Sunday afternoon, when Laura was flying over the sunny snow in the cutter, Almanzo Wilder said, “It chirks you up to go home over Sunday. I’ve got an idea it’s pretty tough, staying at Brewster’s.”