“he’s taking holidays enough. i guess he can give us one,” said moses ayer, signing his name laboriously uphill.

“one licking more likely,” said lewis hoyt. he grinned as he took the big smooth-faced chip from moses and added his signature. “here, molly, it’s your turn. remember, you want to leave room for all the others that can possibly squeeze on.”

“if i couldn’t write smaller than that

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i wouldn’t sign,” retorted molly royce over his shoulder. “he’s got to stand treat and that’s all there is to it.”

while the three signers were busy at the master’s table, a little cloud of turkey feathers broke suddenly over a group of boys and girls who were gathered round the fireplace of the big schoolhouse. jimmy claiborne had thrown a handful of the feathers he was plucking at louis gist.

louis, who was busy with another turkey, dropped it and sprang at jimmy. jimmy dodged among the others. the benches were overturned. in a moment a skirmish had broken out and the school was a mass of dodging figures, laughs and screams.

“stop that racket,” cried moses ayer, pounding on the master’s table. “listen here!—jimmy claiborne, you and louis stop your fussing and come and sign this petition. quit fooling. he may be banging at the door any minute.”

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“louis says marion royce don’t want me to go on the ark,” shouted jimmy, “and i want to know if it’s true.”

“come and sign,” yelled moses. “the ark won’t be starting for a month and this petition goes into effect to-day. quit your squabbling and come here.”

“i tell you you won’t go to new orleans on the ark,” screamed louis gist, swinging his turkey round his head as he charged with it.

“never mind new orleans, i tell you,” cried moses, reaching after jimmy as jimmy dodged the turkey swung at him. “look out what you’re doing!” he caught at the turkey to ward it off, tripped over a puncheon, and went over, dragging the turkey and its holder with him.

lewis hoyt was still grinning. he caught the passing jimmy by a fringe of his buckskin and drew him to the master’s desk.

“sign here, if you’ve got sense enough,”

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he said. “you look as if you’d been rolling in a torn feather bed. if i were marion royce i’d leave you two muddle-heads behind even if i had to fill your places with girls.”

“i guess marion would be mighty glad to fill one of their places with a girl,” gasped moses ayer, emerging from the little boys who had promptly fallen over him when he tripped.

everyone laughed and looked at milly ayer. she blushed and bent over her book. she was one of the older girls who had sat quietly in the back rows, paying no attention to the younger ones about the fire.

“don’t mind him, milly, he’s only your brother,” said louis gist. now that jimmy claiborne was captured he could return to finish plucking his turkey at the fireside. “won’t we have a grand barbecue, if the old rascal doesn’t come!”

“we’ll have it even if he does come,”

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insisted moses ayer. “i guess an old toper that can stay away from his school four days at a time hasn’t much right to keep us from having a holiday. i guess he’s pretty lucky to be allowed to teach here at all.”

lewis hoyt, who was patiently guiding jimmy claiborne’s hand through the evolution of his long name, looked up.

“you can depend on it, master hempstead wouldn’t be here in fish creek teaching us if he wasn’t addicted to the bowl. he’s a scholar, and some day you’ll regret you didn’t appreciate what he’s tried to teach you.”

“lewis is preaching again,” cried moses. “what’s master hempstead taught us except the way to the marietta tavern?”

“who needs to go to marietta since the claibornes bought their new still,—except to hide himself?” asked louis gist.

there was a sudden silence over all the room. it was so quiet that jimmy claiborne’s

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labored writing was heard, and all the older scholars exchanged glances. the claiborne still had been a bitter subject at fish creek, and some of the older boys had said that it was already ruining jimmy claiborne.

lewis hoyt held his hand closed over jimmy’s as the silence fell,—a silence timed by the steady booming of the puncheon mauls at the little shipyard where the ark was building.

jimmy’s hand trembled and stopped. lewis steadily drove it to the finishing of the name.

“i wish there wasn’t a still on the whole length of the ohio river,” lewis said very quietly. “come here, louis gist, it’s your turn to sign.”

jimmy claiborne went back to the fire, sullen, red-faced and silent, and while the incident was soon dismissed by the others he sat looking into the fire or plucking savagely at the feathers of his turkey. he

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and louis had caught them that morning, just outside the schoolhouse, in their turkey trap.

over at the shipyard the treenail hammers sounded, blending their sharp raps with the measured hollow strokes of the mauls. all the men on the creek were working on the ark which young captain marion royce was building to go down to new orleans with the spring “fresh.”

jonas sparks, the veteran shipwright, had come down from marietta to oversee the work. even gaffir hoyt was working there, and uncle amasa claiborne, half of whose scalp the indians had taken thirty years before.

and louis gist had told jimmy that marion would not let him go. jimmy knew why. they were gradually coming to distrust him. he and kenton and macafee were one party in the fish creek school; moses and lewis and louis gist another.

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he wanted to go to new orleans. he was entitled to. all winter long he had planned it. marion royce would not dare refuse. but louis’ unconsidered speech rankled in his bitter heart. he would have been glad to escape into the woods, but he sat sullenly plucking his turkey for the barbecue, entrenched behind his knowledge that he had as much right in the schoolhouse as any of the others who chattered around him.

free public schools had not yet been established in ohio, but the pioneer families maintained a “subscription school” for their children in primitive schoolhouses of logs afterwards widely known as “brush college.” here masters of greater or less merit taught school six days in a week, with no holidays. not a few, indeed, of the early schoolmasters of this new region were men whom certain weaknesses of character or appetite had exiled from the older walks

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of civilization. except for such infirmities many of them were instructors of remarkable ability.

master hempstead’s foible was the all too common one of a fond and apparently ungovernable liking for beverages which inebriate. on a number of occasions he had dismissed school in the middle of the forenoon, and after touching homilies to his pupils, had walked out and not been seen again for several days. he had then reappeared, visibly the “worse for wear.”

marietta, then a vigorous young colony of farmers and shipwrights from new england, was the mecca to which master hempstead’s erratic pilgrimages were directed; and it was from one of these, after an absence of four days, that he was returning, in no very pleasant humor, on the morning of our story.

in the meantime his little kingdom had

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run riot and tasted the sweets of self-government. an exuberant hilarity indeed was in the air during these first years of the century just past. moreover, ohio had become a state that month, and daring schemes for capturing new orleans from the spanish were on foot.

on every day of master hempstead’s absence his pupils, numbering nineteen, of various ages, had assembled, in expectation of his reappearance. they played “gool,” “i spy” and “hide-and-seek” in the underbrush about the stumpy clearing. of more interest still was a trap for wild turkeys which the boys had constructed at a distance in the woods.

this trap was a covered pen of stakes and brush, into which a “tunnel” led from the outside. this subway, as well as the pen, was baited with corn, and wild turkeys, which abounded in the forest, were thus allured to enter. the two turkeys which

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the boys were plucking this morning had been caught in this way.

it was the custom at these early subscription schools of ohio for the master to “stand a treat” on new year’s day, and provide, at his own expense, a bushel of hickory nuts and ten pounds of candy. this coveted festival master hempstead had ignored, much to the dissatisfaction of his pupils; and now they determined to bring him to terms.

to guard against a surprise they had closed the door and barricaded it with their benches, which consisted merely of rough “puncheons,” each having four wooden pins for legs; and moses ayer, lewis hoyt and molly royce had prepared a species of “round robin,” containing the demands of the school, written laboriously on a large, smooth chip.

such was the state of affairs when, at about ten in the forenoon, the instructor

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entered the clearing where the schoolhouse stood, and was promptly espied by more than one pair of sharp eyes at the one small, four-pane window.

beyond doubt the man was in bad plight. his indiscretions were heavy upon him; a raging headache and many other aches oppressed him sorely; his coonskin cap was pulled low over watery eyes. he noted the smoke from the rock chimney and strode to the door.

but the latch-string, that ancient token of hospitality, had disappeared within its hole, and the door itself was fast shut. he thundered at it with his fist, but obtained no response, unless an ambiguous and irritating snicker from within could be thus construed.

“open the door! it is i, the master! open this door!” he shouted.

still no response; but now the window was pushed slowly aside, and out through

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the hole there came a long stick, to the end of which was tied a huge, fresh, white-walnut chip; on the smoothed side of this the master at length noticed there was a black, coarse scrawl.

“what’s this?” exclaimed the irate pedagogue, starting backward as they dangled the chip under his nose.

“read it, master!” yelled a chorus of wild voices from within the dark hole. “read it, master! ye can’t come in till ye do.”

with a snarl of disdain master hempstead snatched at the chip.

“‘read it!’” he muttered. “that’s more than you could do yourselves, i warrant. what blockhead of ye wrote this? what ignoramus of ye spelled it?” in truth the spelling was not above reproach. but those were pioneer days. the chip read as follows:

we the undersined scollars of fish creke want and are determined to have a

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hollerday. you didn’t give us one at new yere’s. you can’t kepe school here again til you do. ohio is a state. we want to cellarbrate it. we dimmand that you get a bushel of hickerry nuts, or wallnuts ten ponds of candy and five ponds of raizeans. say you will or you cant come in. sine your name at the bottom of this with your led pensel to let us know you mene it and all will yit be wel. if you dont you cant never come in here again for you are a bad-drinking old fellar.

moses ayer

lewis hoyt

molly royce

james claiborne

louis gist

and all the rest of us.

this, as must be confessed, was hardly respectful or complimentary, but these were rough times and these children had much to learn. master hempstead was accustomed to the utmost consideration. the man of learning had then, as now, the highest place in the regard of the community, and his anger seethed, as, with the hastily adjusted aid of his horn-bowed glasses, he perused this gage of rebellion.

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“numskulls!” he shouted. “after all i have taught ye, to spell like that! y-e-r-e, year! r-a-i-z-e-a-n-s, raisins! t-i-l, till! p-o-n-d-s, pounds! s-i-n-e, sign! o you young ignoramuses! you will go out into the world and disgrace me!”

“sign your name, master!” shrilled the unfeeling chorus inside.

“o you young vipers! vipers whom i have cherished in my bosom! mox anguis recreatus! sting the hand that nourished you! and spell like that!”

“sign it, master! you got to sign it! h-i-l-l-e-l h-e-m-p-s-t-e-a-d, hillel hempstead. sign it!” still yelled the dissonant chorus within.

“ingrates! thankless cubs! good instruction has been wasted on ye! open the door, that i may flog it out of ye!”

“no—no—no, master, you can’t come in!” retorted the young rebels. “you

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have got to sign that, and promise not to whip us!”

“compacts with a mob! truces with rebels! never!” shouted the wordy old schoolmaster.

“parley is at an end. prepare to suffer. you shall have your deserts.”

master hempstead hurled the walnut chip back in at the window—where it caused lively dodging of youthful heads—and made ready for active operations.

at the wood-pile hard by lay a small hickory log, some ten feet in length and four or five inches in diameter. heaving this up in his arms, he ran with it full tilt against the door, delivering a blow which made the whole house tremble and started the latch-bar in its socket.

“hear that, ungrateful hearts!” he vociferated. “i am now illustrating to ye the principle of the battering-ram, which played so noble a part in the wars of

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antiquity. vespasian and titus employed it against the gates of stiff-necked jerusalem. and thus do i batter in the gate of this stronghold of young deviltry!”

he came bang! against the door again, this time with such effect that the latch gave way and the benches were pushed back.

yet again the doughty pedagogue drew back, and panting hard, made another staggering rush with his improvised ram. this time the shock was so forceful that everything gave way, so suddenly that both master and “ram” fell in headlong at the doorway.

the “principle,” indeed, was well illustrated; but master hempstead had still to deal, hand to hand, with his youthful rebels.

lewis, moses and the others were athletic youngsters, and the master, owing perhaps to his many “vacations” at marietta, was at best somewhat tottery.

the battle went sorely against him.

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with shouts of triumph they dragged him forth into the yard, and holding him down in the snow, clamored loud for his signature. still, with reproaches, he refused it, calling down upon them the vengeance of all known powers of good and evil.

but now an interruption occurred. milly ayer, who had thus far sat quietly in the back row, now donned her hood in haste, and slipping forth in the midst of the mêlée, ran down to the creek bank, where the ark was being built, to summon aid.

“help! help!” she cried, then waved her red hood to attract attention, for her cries were drowned in the din of hammers below.

young captain royce was the first to see and hear. between milly and himself there had long existed a warm friendship.

“what is it, milly? what’s happened?” he shouted, and all the hammers stopped short.

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“o marion, come quick!” cried milly. “they are fighting at the schoolhouse!”

the young captain was half-way up the bluff before these words were all spoken. the others followed him; even old jonas sparks, gaffir hoyt and uncle amasa claiborne hurried stiffly to the schoolhouse in the wake of marion royce and milly.

but the most sedate of them could but smile at the spectacle which was there presented. moses ayer and lewis hoyt were holding master hempstead fast with his back to a tree trunk, while louis gist was trying to bind him to it with green hazel withes. the smaller boys, equally excited, were endeavoring to bear a hand, and yelled like young redskins; while molly royce and the other girls looked on with something akin to enthusiasm.

“here, here, boys! do you know what you are doing?” the young captain exclaimed.

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“what’s the trouble?”

“he’s got to sign it!” shouted moses, hotly.

“yes, he’s got to!” yelled lewis.

“yes, mack, help us make him sign it!” chimed in molly royce.

“be quiet, molly!” replied marion, putting his impetuous young sister aside with one hand as he strode nearer. “we will see about this. let go, lewis! let go, mose! master hempstead, what’s the matter here?”

the master, who had been kicking hard and hitting right and left at his assailants, recovered his dignity and struck an attitude.

“how sharper than a serpent’s tooth is such ingratitude!” he cried, in injured accents. “these whom i have taught with so great patience, whose dull wits i have fostered, lo, they have lifted up the heel against me!”

“but what is it, master hempstead,

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that they want you to sign?” asked marion, laughing in spite of himself.

“an exorbitant demand! preposterous extortion! stuck under my very nose at the schoolhouse door on an illiterate chip!”

“and he’s got to sign it!” interrupted mose.

“but what is it? let’s see it,” said marion.

with that, jimmy hoyt came running with the chip, which, on being read aloud, caused jonas sparks and uncle amasa claiborne, who had now come up, to chuckle audibly.

“and i kinder reckon, master, that they was in a fair way to make ye put yer name to it!” cried the old shipwright. “i guess ye better sign it.”

“no, no, but the rising gineration musn’t be incouraged to be sassy!” cried gaffir hoyt. “they’re sassy enough now. give ’em an inch and they’ll take an ell.” uncle amasa agreed with him.

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“cut some switches and drub the young scamps,” said uncle amasa.

public opinion being thus divided, every one, including milly ayer, looked to marion for the guiding word. already this little community had come to rely upon his judgment in emergencies.

the young captain laughed good-humoredly. “i don’t want to set my word before that of my elders,” he said, “but drubbing isn’t always the best medicine. the boys have been rough and hasty. but from all accounts, master hempstead hasn’t set them quite so good an example of late as we wish he would. lewis, you and mose and molly must beg master hempstead’s forgiveness for misusing him. if they do that, you will overlook it, master, will you not?”

“hey, what? forgive them!”

“hey, what? forgive them!” cried the still agitated pedagogue. “forgive them! well, anything but their bad spelling! anything but that!”

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“wal, master, that is a fault you must try to remedy!” cried old jonas, laughing. “good spelling is the gift of heaven. i only wish that it had been given to me.”

“but the holiday!” exclaimed molly. “we want the holiday!”

“what do you say, master hempstead?” marion asked him, with much respect. his manner did more than any words could have done to remind the young people of the great regard in which a master was and should be held. “a holiday to celebrate the admission of ohio to the union would be no very bad thing, would it? suppose you give them one and let us all come to it.”

“but i haven’t the means. i’m a poor man!” protested the master. “candy and raisins cost good money at marietta.”

“and so does gin and whisky!” muttered moses, under his breath.

“hush, moses!” said marion. he

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turned to the other older men. “how would it be if we all give something, and have the celebration next month just before the ark starts to new orleans?”

the faces of the young people fell visibly at this suggestion of postponement, but the motion was carried, and it was arranged that the holiday should take place the day before the ark should leave for its long adventurous voyage down the mississippi.

the master pointed to the gaping schoolhouse doorway. “in, ye renegades,” he ordered, and they trooped noisily in to straighten the overturned benches and settle down to their study after the four days of unofficial vacation.

jimmy claiborne did not follow them. he waited until the men were starting back to the shipyard, then he stopped marion royce.

“louis gist says you won’t let me go on the ark,” he said, fixing the young

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captain with his sombre, discontented eyes. “i guess uncle amasa could make you, seeing what a share we’ve got in the cargo, but i just wanted to ask you if it’s true—what louis said—that you don’t want me.”

marion wished, as he looked gravely at the boy, that the ark were not taking the claibornes’ share of the cargo at all, but he only said:

“that depends on yourself, jimmy.”

jimmy made no answer in words. he turned and strode off towards the woods behind the schoolhouse clearing. marion called to him, but he gave no sign of hearing, and after waiting a moment longer marion went back to his work.