Presently a well-dressed elderly man, with an expectant, masterful
look, stood on the doorstep, glanced in with a smile, and knocked.
Miss Marilla Hender blushed, smoothed her pretty hair anxiously with
both hands, and stepped down from her little platform to answer the
summons. There was hardly a shut mouth in the primer class.
"Would it be convenient for you to receive a visitor to the school?"
the stranger asked politely, with a fine bow of deference to Miss
Hender. He looked much pleased and a little excited, and the teacher
said,--
"Certainly; step right in, won't you, sir?" in quite another tone from
that in which she had just addressed the school.
The boys and girls were sitting straight and silent in their places,
in something like a fit of apprehension and unpreparedness at such a
great emergency. The guest represented a type of person previously
unknown in District Number Four. Everything about him spoke of wealth
and authority. The old dog returned to the doorstep, and after a
careful look at the invader approached him, with a funny doggish grin
and a desperate wag of the tail, to beg for recognition.
The teacher gave her chair on the platform to the guest, and stood
beside him with very red cheeks, smoothing her hair again once or
twice, and keeping the hard-wood ruler fast in hand, like a badge of
office. "Primer class may now retire!" she said firmly, although the
lesson was not more than half through; and the class promptly escaped
to their seats, waddling and stumbling, until they all came up behind
their desks, face foremost, and added themselves to the number of
staring young countenances.
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