Bound to Rise 3

Bound to Rise 3

"We will now proceed to the regular lessons," said Mr. Burbank, in

conclusion. "First class in arithmetic will take their places."

 

The first class ranked as the highest class, and in it was Harry Walton.

 

"What was your lesson to-day?" asked the teacher.

 

"Square root," answered Harry.

 

"I will give you out a very simple sum to begin with. Now, attention

all! Find the square root of 625. Whoever gets the answer first may hold

up his hand."

 

The first to hold up his hand was Ephraim Higgins.

 

"Have you got the answer?" asked Mr. Burbank in some surprise. "Yes,

sir."

 

"State it."

 

"Forty-five."

 

"How did you get it?"

 

Ephraim scratched his head, and looked confused. The fact was, he was

entirely ignorant of the method of extracting the square root, but had

slyly looked at the slate of his neighbor, Harry Walton, and mistaken

the 25 for 45, and hurriedly announced the answer, in the hope of

obtaining credit for the same.

 

"How did you get it?" asked the teacher again.

 

Ephraim looked foolish.

 

"Bring me your slate."

 

Ephraim reluctantly left his place, and went up to Mr. Burbank.

 

"What have we here?" said the teacher. "Why, you have got down the 625,

and nothing else, except 45. Where did you get that answer?"

 

"I guessed at it," answered Ephraim, hard pressed for an answer, and

not liking to confess the truth--namely, that he had copied from Harry

Walton.

 

"So I supposed. The next time you'd better guess a little nearer right,

or else give up guessing altogether. Harry Walton, I see your hand up.

What is your answer?"

 

"Twenty-five, sir."

 

"That is right."

 

Ephraim looked up suddenly. He now saw the explanation of his mistake.

 

"Will you explain how you did it? You may go to the blackboard, and

perform the operation once more, explaining as you go along, for the

benefit of Ephraim Higgins, and any others who guessed at the answer.

Ephraim, I want you to give particular attention, so that you can do

yourself more credit next time. Now Harry, proceed."

 

Our hero explained the sum in a plain, straightforward way, for he

thoroughly understood it.

 

"Very well," said the schoolmaster, for this, rather than teacher, is

the country name of the office. "Now, Ephraim, do you think you can

explain it?"

 

"I don't know, sir," said Ephraim, dubiously.

 

"Suppose you try. You may take the same sum."

 

Ephraim advanced to the board with reluctance, for he was not ambitious,

and had strong doubts about his competence for the task.

 

"Put down 625."

 

Ephraim did so.

 

"Now extract the square root. What do you do first?"

 

"Divide it into two figures each."

 

"Divide it into periods of two figures each, I suppose you mean. Well,

what will be the first period?"

 

"Sixty-two," answered Ephraim.

 

"And what will be the second?"

 

"I don't see but one other figure."

 

"Nor I. You have made a mistake. Harry, show to point it off."

 

Harry Walton did so.

 

"Now what do you do next?"

 

"Divide the first figure by three."

 

"What do you do that for?"

 

Ephraim didn't know. It was only a guess of his, because he knew that

the first figure of the answer was two, and this would result from

dividing the first figure by three.

 

"To bring the answer," he replied.

 

"And I suppose you divide the next period by five, for the same reason,

don't you?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"You may take your seat, sir. You are an ornament to the class, and you

may become a great mathematician, if you live to the age of Methuselah.

I rather think it will take about nine hundred years for you to reach

that, point."

 

The boys laughed. They always relish a joke at the expense of a

companion, especially when perpetrated by the teacher.

 

"Your method of extracting the square root is very original. You didn't

find it in any arithmetic, did you?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"So I thought. You'd better take out a patent for it. The next boy may

go to the board."

 

I have given a specimen of Mr. Burbank's method of conducting the

school, but do not propose to enter into further details at present. It

will doubtless recall to some of my readers experiences of their own,

as the school I am describing is very similar to hundreds of country

schools now in existence, and Mr. Burbank is the representative of a

large class.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V. THE PRIZE WINNER

 

 

"Are you going to the examination to-day, mother?" asked Harry, at

breakfast.

 

"I should like to go," said Mrs. Walton, "but I don't see how I can.

To-day's my bakin' day, and somehow my work has got behindhand during

the week."

 

"I think Harry'll get the prize," said Tom, a boy of ten, not heretofore

mentioned. He also attended the school, but was not as promising as his

oldest brother.

 

"What prize?" asked Mrs. Walton, looking up with interest.

 

"The master offered a prize, at the beginning of the term, to the

scholar that was most faithful to his studies."

 

"What is the prize?"

 

"A book."

 

"Do you think you will get it, Harry?" asked his mother.

 

"I don't know," said Harry, modestly. "I think I have some chance of

getting it."

 

"When will it be given?"

 

"Toward the close of the afternoon."

 

"Maybe I can get time to come in then; I'll try."

 

"I wish you would come, mother," said Harry earnestly. "Only don't be

disappointed if I don't get it. I've been trying, but there are some

other good scholars."

 

"You're the best, Harry," said Tom.

 

"I don't know about that. I shan't count my chickens before they are

hatched. Only if I am to get the prize I should like to have mother

there."

 

"I know you're a good scholar, and have improved your time," said Mrs.

Walton. "I wish your father was rich enough to send you to college."

 

"I should like that very much," said Harry, his eyes sparkling at merely

the suggestion.

 

"But it isn't much use hoping," continued his mother, with a sigh. "It

doesn't seem clear whether we can get a decent living, much less send

our boy to college. The cow is a great loss to us."

 

Just then Mr. Walton came in from the barn.

 

"How do you like the new cow, father?" asked Harry.

 

"She isn't equal to our old one. She doesn't give as much milk within

two quarts, if this morning's milking is a fair sample."

 

"You paid enough for her," said Mrs. Walton.

 

"I paid too much for her," answered her husband, "but it was the best I

could do. I had to buy on credit, and Squire Green knew I must pay his

price, or go without."

 

"Forty-three dollars is a great deal of money to pay for a cow."

 

"Not for some cows. Some are worth more; but this one isn't."

 

"What do you think she is really worth?"

 

"Thirty-three dollars is the most I would give if I had the cash to

pay."

 

"I think it's mean in Squire Green to take such advantage of you," said

Harry.

 

"You mustn't say so, Harry, for it won't do for me to get the squire's

ill will. I am owing him money. I've agreed to pay for the cow in six

months."

 

"Can you do it?"

 

"I don't see how; but the money's on interest, and it maybe the

squire'll let it stay. I forgot to say, though, that last evening when I

went to get the cow he made me agree to forfeit ten dollars if I was

not ready with the money and interest in six months. I am afraid he will

insist on that if I can't keep my agreement."

 

"It will be better for you to pay, and have done with it."

 

"Of course. I shall try to do it, if I have to borrow the money. I

suppose I shall have to do that."

 

Meantime Harry was busy thinking. "Wouldn't it be possible for me to

earn money enough to pay for the cow in six months? I wish I could do

it, and relieve father."

 

He began to think over all the possible ways of earning money, but

there was nothing in particular to do in the town except to work for the

farmers, and there was very little money to earn ill that way. Money is

a scarce commodity with farmers everywhere. Most of their income is in

the shape of farm produce, and used in the family. Only a small surplus

is converted into money, and a dollar, therefore, seems more to them

than to a mechanic, whose substantial income is perhaps less. This is

the reason, probably, why farmers are generally loath to spend money.

Harry knew that if he should hire out to a farmer for the six months the

utmost he could expect would be a dollar a week, and it was not certain

he could earn that. Besides, he would probably be worth as much to his

father as anyone, and his labor in neither case provide money to pay for

the cow. Obviously that would not answer. He must think of some other

way, but at present none seemed open. He sensibly deferred thinking till

after the examination.

 

"Are you going to the school examination, father?" asked our hero.

 

"I can't spare time, Harry. I should like to, for I want to know how

far you have progressed. 'Live and learn,' my boy. That's a good motto,

though Squire Green thinks that 'Live and earn' is a better."

 

"That's the rule he acts on," said Mrs. Walton. "He isn't troubled with

learning."

 

"No, he isn't as good a scholar probably as Tom, here."

 

"Isn't he?" said Tom, rather complacently.

 

"Don't feel too much flattered, Tom," said his mother.

 

"You don't know enough to hurt you."

 

"He never will," said his sister, Jane, laughing.

 

"I don't want to know enough to hurt me," returned Tom, good humoredly.

He was rather used to such compliments, and didn't mind them.

 

"No," said Mr. Walton; "I am afraid I can't spare time to come to the

examination. Are you going, mother?"

 

It is quite common in the country for husbands to address wives in this

manner.

 

"I shall try to go in the last of the afternoon," said Mrs. Walton.

 

"If you will come, mother," said Harry, "we'll all help you afterwards,

so you won't lose anything by it."

 

"I think I will contrive to come."

 

The examination took place in the afternoon. Mr. Burbank preferred to

have it so, for two reasons. It allowed time to submit the pupils to

a previous private examination in the morning, thus insuring a better

appearance in the afternoon. Besides, in the second place, the parents

were more likely to be at liberty to attend in the afternoon, and he

naturally liked to have as many visitors as possible. He was really a

good teacher, though his qualifications were limited; but as far as his

knowledge went, he was quite successful in imparting it to others.

 

In the afternoon there was quite a fair attendance of parents and

friends of the scholars, though some did not come in till late, like

Mrs. Walton. It is not my intention to speak of the examination

in detail. My readers know too little of the scholars to make that

interesting. Ephraim Higgins made some amusing mistakes, but that didn't

excite any surprise, for his scholarship was correctly estimated in the

village. Tom Walton did passably well, but was not likely to make his

parents proud of his performances. Harry, however, eclipsed himself. His

ambition had been stirred by the offer of a prize, and he was resolved

to deserve it. His recitations were prompt and correct, and his answers

were given with confidence. But perhaps he did himself most credit in

declamation. He had always been very fond of that, and though he had

never received and scientific instruction in it, he possessed a natural

grace and a deep feeling of earnestness which made success easy. He had

selected an extract from Webster--the reply to the Hayne--and this was

the showpiece of the afternoon. The rest of the declamation was crude

enough, but Harry's impressed even the most ignorant of his listeners

as superior for a boy of his age. When he uttered his last sentence, and

made a parting bow, there was subdued applause, and brought a flush of

gratification to the cheek of our young hero.

 

"This is the last exercise," said the teacher "except one. At the

commencement of the term, I offered a prize to the scholar that would do

the best from that time till the close of the school. I will now award

the prize. Harry Walton, come forward."

 

Harry rose from his seat, his cheeks flushed again with gratification,

and advanced to where the teacher was standing.

 

"Harry," said Mr. Burbank, "I have no hesitation in giving you the

prize. You have excelled all the other scholars, and it is fairly yours.

The book is not of much value, but I think you will find it interesting

and instructive. It is the life of the great American philosopher and

statesman, Benjamin Franklin. I hope you will read and profit by it, and

try like him to make your life a credit to yourself and a blessing to

mankind."

 

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, bowing low. "I will try to do so."

 

There was a speech by the chairman of the school committee, in which

allusion was made to Harry and the prize, and the exercises were over.

Harry received the congratulations of his schoolmates and others with

modest satisfaction, but he was most pleased by the evident pride and

pleasure which his mother exhibited, when she, too, was congratulated

on his success. His worldly prospects were very uncertain, but he had

achieved the success for which he had been laboring, and he was happy.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI. LOOKING OUT ON THE WORLD

 

 

It was not until evening that Harry had a chance to look at his prize.

It was a cheap book, costing probably not over a dollar; but except his

schoolbooks, and a ragged copy of "Robinson Crusoe," it was the only

book that our hero possessed. His father found it difficult enough to

buy him the necessary books for use in school, and could not afford to

buy any less necessary. So our young hero, who was found of reading,

though seldom able to gratify his taste, looked forward with great joy

to the pleasure of reading his new book. He did not know much about

Benjamin Franklin, but had a vague idea that he was a great man.

 

After his evening "chores" were done, he sat down by the table on which

was burning a solitary tallow candle, and began to read. His mother was

darning stockings, and his father had gone to the village store on an

errand.

 

So he began the story, and the more he read the more interesting he

found it. Great as he afterwards became, he was surprised to find that

Franklin was a poor boy, and had to work for a living. He started out in

life on his own account, and through industry, frugality, perseverance,

and a fixed determination to rise in life, he became a distinguished

an in the end, and a wise man also, though his early opportunities

were very limited. It seemed to Harry that there was a great similarity

between his own circumstances and position in life and those of the

great man about whom he was reading, and this made the biography the

more fascinating. The hope came to him that, by following Franklin's

example, he, too, might become a successful man.

 

His mother, looking up at intervals from the stockings which had been

so repeatedly darned that the original texture was almost wholly lost of

sight of, noticed how absorbed he was.

 

"Is your book interesting, Harry?" she asked.

 

"It's the most interesting book I ever read," said Harry, with a sigh of

intense enjoyment.

 

"It's about Benjamin Franklin, isn't it?"

 

"Yes. Do you know, mother, he was a poor boy, and he worked his way up?"

 

"Yes, I have heard so, but I never read his life."

 

"You'd better read this when I have finished it. I've been thinking that

there's a chance for me, mother."

 

"A chance to do what?"

 

"A chance to be somebody when I get bigger. I'm poor now, but so was

Franklin. He worked hard, and tried to learn all he could. That's the

way he succeeded. I'm going to do the same."

 

"We can't all be Franklins, my son," said Mrs. Walton, not wishing her

son to form high hopes which might be disappointed in the end.

 

"I know that, mother, and I don't expect to be a great man like him.

But if I try hard I think I can rise in the world, and be worth a little

money."

 

"I hope you wont' be as poor as your father, Harry," said Mrs. Walton,

sighing, as she thought of the years of pain privation and pinching

poverty reaching back to the time of their marriage. They had got

through it somehow, but she hoped that their children would have a

brighter lot.

 

"I hope not," said Harry. "If I ever get rich, you shan't have to work

any more."

 

Mrs. Walton smiled faintly. She was not hopeful, and thought it probable

that before Harry became rich, both she and her husband would be resting

from their labor in the village churchyard. But she would not dampen

Harry's youthful enthusiasm by the utterance of such a thought.

 

"I am sure you won't let your father and mother want, if you have the

means to prevent it," she said aloud.

 

"We can't any of us tell what's coming, but I hope you may be well off

some time."

 

"I read in the country paper the other day that many of the richest men

in Boston and New York were once poor boys," said Harry, in a hopeful

tone.

 

"So I have heard," said his mother.