Purple Springs - Nellie L. McClung
"It was too good to last," she said with a sigh which broke into a sob
in the middle, "It was too good to be true!"
CHAPTER VII
THE INNOCENT DISTURBER
If there was any lack of enthusiasm among the parents it had no
reflection in the children's minds, for the Chicken Hill School, after
the great announcement, simply pulsated with excitement. Country
children have capabilities for enjoyment that the city child knows
nothing about, and to the boys and girls at Chicken Hill the prospect
of a program, a speech from Pearl Watson, and a supper--was most
alluring. Preparations were carried on with vigor. Seats were scrubbed
by owners, and many an ancient landmark of ink was lost forever.
Frayed window blinds that had sagged and dropped, and refused to go up
or down, were taken down and rolled and put back neat and even, and
the scholars warned not to touch them; the stove got a rubbing
with old newspapers; mousy corners of desks were cleaned out--and
objectionable slate rags discarded. Blackboards were cleaned and
decorated with an elaborate maple leaf stencil in green and brown, and
a heroic battle cry of "O Canada, we stand on guard for thee" executed
in flowing letters, in the middle. Mary Watson was the artist, and
spared no chalk in her undertaking, for each capital ended in
an arrow, and had a blanket of dots which in some cases nearly
obliterated its identity. But the general effect was powerful.
The day before, every little girl had her hair in tight braids
securely knotted with woollen yarn. Boudoir caps were unknown in the
Chicken Hill School, so the bare truth of these preparations were to
be seen and known of all. Maudie Steadman had her four curls set in
long rags, fastened up with pins, Mrs. Steadman having devised a new,
original way of making Maudie's hair into large, loose "natural"
curls, which were very handsome, and not until this day did Mrs.
Steadman show to the public the method of "setting."
Mr. Donald had placed all details of the entertainment in the hands
of Mary Watson and Maudie Steadman, and no two members of a
House-Committee ever worked harder, or took more pleasure in making
arrangements.
"Let's not ask the Pipers--they're dirt poor," said Maudie, when they
sat down at noon to make out the list of providers.
"Indeed, we will," said Mary, whose knowledge of the human heart was
most profound. "If people are poor, that's all the more reason why
they would be easily hurt, and it's not nice for us to even know that
they are poor. We'll ask them, you bet--and Mrs. Piper will bring
something. Besides--if we didn't ask them to bake, they wouldn't
come--and that's the way rows start in a neighborhood. We'll manage it
all right--and if there are any sandwiches left over--we'll send them
to the smaller children, and the Pipers will come in on that. It ain't
so bad to be poor," concluded Mary, out of her large experience, "but
it hurts to have people know it!"
When Pearl, with her father and mother arrived at the school on the
afternoon of the meeting, it came to her with a shock, how small the
school was, and how dreary. Surely it had not been so mouse-gray and
shabby as this when she had been there. The paint was worn from the
floor, the ceiling was smoked and dirty, the desks were rickety and
uneven--the blackboards gray. The same old map of North America hung
tipsily between the blackboards. It had been crooked so long, that it
seemed to be the correct position, and so had escaped the eye of the
House-Committee, who had made many improvements for this occasion.
In the tiny porch, there were many mysterious baskets and boxes and
tin pails of varying sizes, and within doors a long table at the back
of the room had on it many cups and saucers, with a pile of tissue
paper napkins. A delightful smell of coffee hung on the air.
Pearl wore her best brown silk dress, with a lace collar and cuff set
contributed the Christmas before by her Aunt Kate from Ontario, and at
her waist, one of the doctor's roses. The others had been brought
over by Mary, and were in a glass jar on the tidy desk, where they
attracted much attention and speculation as to where they had
come from. They seemed to redeem the bare school-room from utter
dreariness, and Pearl found herself repeating the phrase in the
doctor's letter, "Like a rose in a dark room."
The children were hilariously glad to see Pearl, and her lightness of
heart came back to her, when a group of them gathered around her to
receive her admiration and praise for their beautifully curled hair,
good clothes and hair ribbons. Bits of family history were freely
given to her too, such as Betty Freeman's confidential report on her
mother's absence, that she dyed her silk waist, and it streaked, and
she dyed it again--and just as soon as she could get it dry, she would
come--streaks or no streaks--and would Pearl please not be in a hurry
to begin.
Then the meeting was called to order, and the smaller children were
set like a row of gaily colored birds around the edge of the platform,
so their elders could sit on their little desks in front, and the
schoolroom was filled to its last foot of space. There were about a
dozen chairs for the older people.
Pearl had gone to the back of the room to speak to the old gardener
from Steadman's farm, a shy old man, who just naturally sought the
most remote corner for his own. Her affectionate greeting brought a
glow into his face, that set Pearl's heart throbbing with joy:
"It's good to see you, Pearl," he said, "you look like a rose to me,
and you don't forget an old friend."
Pearl held the hard old gnarled hand in her own, and her heart was
full of joy. The exaltation of the day she rode home was coming
to her. Love was the power that could transform the world. People
everywhere, all sorts of people, craved love and would respond to it.
"If I can cheer up poor old Bill Murray, and make him look like this,
with a glisten in his eyes, I'm satisfied," she thought.
To Mr. Donald Pearl looked like a rose, too, a rose of his own
growing, and his voice trembled a little when he called the meeting to
order and in his stately way bade everyone welcome.
"I am going to hand over the meeting to Mr. Steadman in a moment," he
said, "but before I do I wish to say that the Chicken Hill School
is very proud today to welcome one of its former pupils, Miss Pearl
Watson."
At this the gaily colored company who bordered the platform, burst
into ecstatic hand clapping, in which the older members joined rather
shamefacedly. Demonstrations come hard to prairie people.
"The years she spent in this school were delightful years to me," went
on Mr. Donald. "She helped me with the younger children--she helped
me to keep up enthusiasm for the work--she helped me to make life
pleasant for all of us--she did more--she helped me to believe that
life is worth the struggle--she helped me to believe in myself. I was
not surprised that Pearl made a record in her work in the city; she
could not fail to do that. She is in love with life--to me, she is the
embodiment of youth, with all its charms and all its promise."
"I have wanted to hear her impressions of the city. Nothing, to her,
is common-place--she sees life through a golden mist that softens its
sharp outlines. I am glad that every one could come today and give a
welcome home to our first graduate from Chicken Hill School!"
This threatened to dislodge the seating arrangement on the platform,
for in their enthusiastic applause, the Blackburn twins on account
of the shortness of their legs and the vigor of their applause, lost
their balance and fell. But they bore it well, and were restored
without tears! The excitement was so great that no one of the young
row would have known it if they had broken a bone!
"And now I will ask our local member, Mr. Steadman, to take charge
of the meeting, and give the neighborhood's welcome to our first
graduate!"
Then Mr. Steadman arose! He was a stout man, with a square face, and
small, beady black eyes and an aggressive manner; a man who felt sure
of himself; who knew he was the centre of his own circle. There was a
well-fed, complacent look about him too which left no doubt that he
was satisfied with things as they were--and would be deeply resentful
of change. There was still in his countenance some trace of his
ancestor's belief in the Divine right of kings! It showed in his
narrow, thought-proof forehead, and a certain indescribable attitude
which he held toward others, and which separated him from his
neighbors. Instinctively, the people who met him, knew he lacked human
sympathy and understanding, but he had a hold on the people of his
constituency, for through his hands went all the Government favors and
patronage. Anyone who wanted a telephone, had to "see Mr. Steadman."
The young people who went to the city to find employment, were wise to
see Mr. Steadman before they went. So although he was not liked, he
had a prestige which was undeniable.
Mr. Steadman began his remarks by saying how glad he was to be offered
the chair on this glad occasion. He always liked to encourage the
young, and he believed it our duty to be very tolerant and encouraging
to youth.
The boundaries of the platform began to wriggle. They had heard Mr.
Steadman before--he often came in and made speeches--but he never
brought any oranges--or peanuts or even "Farmers' Mixed."
"Youth is a time of deep impressions," went on the chairman; "wax to
receive--granite to retain. Youth was the time of learning, and he
hoped every boy and girl in his presence would earnestly apply himself
and herself to their books, for only through much study could success
be attained. That is what put him where he was today."
More wriggles, and some discussion at his feet!
He was glad to know that one of Mr. Donald's pupils had been able to
do so well in the city. Three cheers for the country! He had always
believed it was the best place to be brought up--and was glad to say
that he too, had spent his youth on a farm. Most of the successful men
of the world came from the farms.
He believed absolutely in education for women, education of a suitable
kind, and believed there was a definite place for women in the
world--a place which only women could fill. That place was
the home--the quiet precincts of home--not the hurly-burly of
politics--that was man's sphere--and a hard sphere it was, as he knew
well. He didn't wish to see any woman in such a hard life, with its
bitter criticism and abuse. He was sorry to notice that there was a
new agitation among women in the city--it had come up in the session
just closed--that women wanted to vote.
Mr. Steadman threw out his hands with a gesture of unconcern:
"Well," I say, "let them vote--if they want to--let them run the whole
country; we'll stay at home. It's time we had a rest, anyway!"
A little dry cackle of laughter went over the room at this, in which
Mr. Donald did not join--so it got no support from the pupils of
Chicken Hill, who faithfully followed their teacher's lead.
Mr. Steadman went on blithely:
"I am old fashioned enough to want my wife to stay at home. I like
to find her there when I come home. I don't want her to sit in
Parliament; she hasn't time--for one thing."
Mrs. Steadman sat in front, with the purple plume in her hat nodding
its approval:
"And I say it in all kindness to all women--they havn't the ability.
They have ability of their own, but not that kind. Parliaments are
concerned with serious, big things. This year, the program before
our Provincial Parliament, is Good Roads. We want every part of this
Province to enjoy the blessing of of good roads, over which they can
bring their produce to market, binding neighborhoods together in the
ties of friendship. Good roads for everyone is our policy."
"Now what do women know about making roads? They are all right to go
visiting over the roads after they are built, but how much good would
they be in building them?"
This was greeted with another scattered rattle of laughter, followed
by a silence, which indicated intense listening. Even the restless
edging of the platform knew something was happening, and listened.
"Our Opposition is coming forward with a foolish program of fads and
fancies. They want the women to have the vote; they want to banish the
bar! They want direct legislation. These are all radical measures,
new, untried and dangerous. With women voting, I have no sympathy,
as I said. They are not fitted for it. It is not that I do not love
women--I do--I love them too well--most of them."
He paused a moment here--but no one laughed. The audience did not
believe him.
"There are some women in the city whom I would gladly send to jail.
They are upsetting women's minds, and hurting the homes. Don't let us
take any chances on destroying the home, which is the bulwark of the
nation. What sight is more beautiful then to see a mother, queen of
the home, gathering her children around her. She can influence
her husband's vote--her son's vote.--she has a wider and stronger
influence than if she had the vote to herself. Her very helplessness
is her strength. And besides, I know that the best women, the very
best women do not want to sit in Parliament. My wife does not want
to--neither did my mother--no true woman wants to, only a few
rattle-brained, mentally unbalanced freaks--who do not know what they
want."
Pearl smiled at this. She had heard this many times.
"Now, as to banishing the bar, you all know I am not a drinker. I can
take it--or leave it--but I am broad minded enough to let other people
have the same privilege that I ask for myself. Men like to gather in
a friendly way, chat over old times or discuss politics, and have a
glass, for the sake of good fellowship, and there's no harm done.
There are some, of course, who go too far--I am not denying that. But
why do they do it? They did not get the right home training--that
is why. In the sacred precincts of home, the child can be taught
anything--that's the mother's part, and it is a more honorable part
than trying to ape men--and wear the pants."
This brought a decided laugh--though if Mr. Steadman had been sensible
to thought currents, he would have felt twinges in his joints,
indicating that a storm was brewing. But he was having what the
preachers call a "good time," and went merrily on.
"Direct legislation is a dangerous thing, which would upset
representative government. It is nothing less than rabble rule,
letting the ignorant rabble say what we are to do. Our vote is too
wide now, as you know, when every Tom, Dick and Harry has a vote,
whether they own an inch of ground or not. Your hired man can kill
your vote, though you own a township of land. Do you want to give him
more power? I think not! Well if the opposition ever get in power, the
women and the hired men, and even the foreigners will run the country,
and it will not be fit to live in. We're doing all right now, our
public buildings, our institutions are the best in Canada. We have
put the flag on every schoolhouse in the country--we have good,
sane, steady government, let us stick to it. I believe that the next
election will see the good ship come safely into port with the same
old skipper on the bridge, and the flag of empire proudly furling its
folds in the breeze. We have no fears of the fads and fancies put
forward by short-haired women and long-haired men."
That being the end of his speech, the place where his superior always
sat down, amidst thunderous applause. Mr. Steadman sat down, too,
forgetting that he had been asked to be the Chairman, and introduce
Pearl.
The applause which followed his remarks, was not so vociferous as he
had expected, partly because there were no "Especially instructed
clappers." No one was very enthusiastic, except Mrs. Steadman, who
apparently agreed with all he said.
Rising to his feet again he said: "The good ladies have bountifully
provided for our needs today--what would we do without the ladies? but
before we come to that very interesting item on our program, we are
going to hear from Pearl Watson. Pearl Watson is one of the girls who
has taken full advantage of our splendid educational system, than
which there is none better in Canada--or in the world. As a member of
the Legislature, I am justly proud of our Department of Education, and
today we will be entertained by one of our own products, Pearl Watson,
on whom we might well hang the label 'Made in Canada.' I do not know
whether she intends to say a piece--or what, but bespeak for her a
respectful and courteous hearing."
Mr. Steadman sat down, adjusting his gold and blue tie, and removed
his glasses, which he put away in a large leather case that closed
with a snap. His attitude indicated that the real business of the day
was over, now that he had spoken.
Pearl came forward and stepped to the platform, displacing temporarily
one of the twins, to make a space where she might step. Having
restored him safely, she turned to the people. There was a smile in
her eyes that was contagious. The whole roomful of people smiled back
at her, and in that moment she established friendly relations with her
audience.
"It has been a real surprise to me," she began, in a conversational
tone, "to hear Mr. Steadman make a speech. I am sure his colleagues in
the House would have been surprised to have heard him today. He is a
very quiet man there--he never speaks. The first night I went to the
House with a crowd of Normalites, I pointed out our member, to let
those city girls see what we could raise in the country--but it seems
the speeches are all made by half a dozen, the others just say 'Aye'
when they're told. All on one side of the House say 'Aye'; the other
side say 'No.' I have heard Mr. Steadman say 'Aye,' lots of times--but
nothing more. The Premier, or one of the Cabinet Ministers tells them
when to say it--it all looks very easy to me. I would have thought
even a woman could do it. The girls used to tease me about how quiet
my representative was. He sat so still that it just seemed as if he
might be asleep, and one girl said she believed he was dead. But one
day, a window was left open behind him--and he sneezed, and then he
got right up and shut it--Do you remember that day, Mr. Steadman?"
He shook his head impatiently, and the expression of his face was not
pleasant. Still, no one would attribute anything but the friendliest
motive to Pearl's innocent words.
"My! I was glad that day," she said, "when you sneezed, it was a quick
stop to the rumor--I tell you--and I never heard any more about it.
I am sorry Mr. Steadman is not in favor of women voting, or going to
Parliament, and thinks it too hard for them. It does not look hard to
me. Most of the members just sit and smoke all the time, and read the
papers, and call the pages. I have seen women do far harder work than
this. But of course what Mr. Steadman says about building roads all
over the country, is a new one on me. I did not know that the members
were thinking of doing the work! But I guess they would be glad to get
out and do something after sitting there all cramped up with their
feet asleep for the whole winter."
"Still, I remember when Mr. Steadman was Councillor here, and there
was a bridge built over Pine Creek--he only let the contract--he did
not build it--it was his brother who built it!"
There was a queer thrill in the audience at this, for Bill Steadman
had got the contract, in spite of the fact that he was the poorest
builder in the country--and the bridge had collapsed inside of two
years. George Steadman winced at her words.
But Pearl, apparently innocent of all this, went on in her guileless
way:
"I think Mr. Steadman is mistaken about women not wanting to sit in
Parliament. He perhaps does not know what it feels like to stand over
a wash-tub--or an ironing board--or cook over a hot stove. Women who
have been doing these things long would be glad to sit anywhere!"
There was a laugh at this, in which Mr. Steadman made a heroic attempt
to join, shaking his head as he did so, to counteract any evil effect
which the laugh might cause.
"But I did not intend to speak of politics," said Pearl, "I intended
to tell you how glad I am to be back to Chicken Hill School, and how
good home looks to me. No one knows how to appreciate their home until
they have left it--and gone away where no one cares particularly
whether you are sick or well--happy or miserable. Do you boys find it
pretty hard to wash your necks--and you wish your mother hadn't such a
sharp eye on you--be glad you have some one who thinks enough of you
to want your neck to be clean. You hate to fill the wood-box, do you?
O, I know what a bottomless pit it is--and how the old stove just
loves to burn wood to spite you. But listen! By having to do what you
do not want to do, you are strengthening the muscles of your soul--and
getting ready for a big job.
"Having to do things is what makes us able to do more. Did you ever
wonder why you cannot walk on water. It is because water is so
agreeable--it won't resist you. It lets you have your own way.
"The teachers at the Normal talked to us every Friday afternoon, about
our social duties, and rural leadership and community spirit and lots
of things. They told us not to spend our time out of school tatting
and making eyelet embroidery, when there were neighborhoods to be
awakened and citizens to be made. That suits me fine, for I can't tat
anyway. One of the girls tried to show me, but gave it up after three
or four tries. She said some could learn, and some couldn't. It was
heredity--or something.
"Anyway, Dr. McLean said teachers were people who got special training
for their work, and it was up to them to work at it, in school and
out. He said that when we went out to teach, we could be a sort of
social cement, binding together all the different units into one
coherent community, for that's what was needed in Canada, with its
varied population. One third of the people in Canada do not speak
English, and that's a bad barrier--and can only be overcome by
kindness. We must make our foreign people want to learn our language,
and they won't want to, unless they like us.
"He said Canada was like a great sand-pile, each little grain of sand,
beautiful in its own way, but needing cement to bind it to other
grains and it was for us to say whether we would be content to be only
a sand pile, or would we make ourselves a beautiful temple.
"I wish I could give it all to you--it was great to hear him. He said
no matter how fine we were as individuals, or how well we did our
work, unless we had it in our hearts to work with others, and for
others--it was no good. If we lacked social consciousness, our work
would not amount to much. I thought of our old crumply horn cow. She
always gave a big pail of milk--but if she was in bad humor, she would
quite likely kick it over, just as the pail was full. I used to think
maybe a fly had stung her, but I guess what was really wrong was
that she lacked social consciousness. She did not see that we were
depending on her.
"That's why the liquor traffic is such a bad thing, and should be
outlawed. Individuals may be able to drink, and get away with it, but
some go under, some homes are made very unhappy over it. If we have
this social consciousness, we will see very clearly that the liquor
traffic must go! No matter how much some people will miss it. If it
isn't safe for everybody, it isn't safe for anybody. I used to wish
Dr. McLean could talk to the members of Parliament.
"He told us one of the reasons that the world had so many sore spots in
it was because women had kept too close at home, they were beginning
to see that in order to keep their houses clean, they would have to
clean up the streets, and it was this social consciousness working in
them, that made them ask for the vote. They want to do their share,
outside as well as in.
"There was a woman who came and talked to us one day at the Normal. She
is the editor of the Women's section of one of the papers, and she put
it up to us strong, that there was work for each of us. We had to make
a report of her address, and so I remember most of it.
"She said that Canada is like a great big, beautiful house that has
been given to us to finish. It is just far enough on so that you can
see how fine it is going to be--but the windows are not in--the
doors are not hung--the cornices are not put on. It needs polishing,
scraping, finishing. That is our work. Every tree we plant, every
flower we grow, every clean field we cultivate, every good cow or hog
we raise, we are helping to finish and furnish the house and make it
fit to live in. Every kind word we say or even think, every gracious
deed, if it is only thinking to bring out the neighbor's mail from
town, helps to add those little touches which distinguish a house from
a barn.
"We have many foreign people in this country, lonesome, homesick
people--sometimes we complain that they are not loyal to us--and that
is true. It is also true that they have no great reason to be loyal
to us. We are not even polite to them, to say nothing of being kind.
Loyalty cannot be rammed down any ones' throat with a flag-pole."