That question was answered the very next day. Bos'n, carefully dressed by Georgianna under the captain's supervision, and weighted down with advice and counsel from the latter, started for the schoolhouse at a quarter to nine. Only a sense of shame kept Captain Cy from walking to school with her. He spent a miserable forenoon. They were quite the longest three hours in his varied experience. The house was dreadfully lonely. He wandered from kitchen to sitting room, worried Georgianna, woke up the cat, and made a complete nuisance of himself. Twelve o'clock found him leaning over the gate and looking eagerly in the direction of the schoolhouse.

Bos'n ran all the way home. She was in a high state of excitement.

“What do you think, Uncle Cyrus?” she cried. “What DO you think? I've found out who the cow lady is!”

“The cow lady? Oh, yes, yes! Have you? Who is she?”

“She's teacher, that's who she is!”

The captain was astonished.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Phoebe Dawes? You don't say so! Well, well!”

“Yes, sir. When I went into school and found her sitting there I was so surprised I didn't know what to do. She knew me, too, and said good morning, and was I all right again and was my dress really as bad as it looked to be? I told her that Georgianna thought she could fix it, and if she couldn't, her sister could. She said that was nice, and then 'twas time for school to begin.”

“Did she say anything about me?” inquired Captain Cy when they were seated at the dinner table.

“Oh, yes! I forgot. She must have found out who you are, 'cause she said she was surprised that a man who had made his money out of hides should have been so careless about the creatures that wore 'em.”

“Humph! How'd she get along with the young ones in school?”

It appeared that she had gotten along very well with them. Some of the bigger boys in the back seats, cherishing pleasant memories of the “fun” they had under Miss Seabury's easy-going rule, attempted to repeat their performances of the previous term. But the very first “spitball” which spattered upon the blackboard proved a disastrous missile for its thrower.

“She made him clean the board,” proclaimed Bos'n, big-eyed and awestruck, “and then he had to stand in the corner. He was Bennie Edwards, and he's most thirteen. Miss Seabury, they said, couldn't do anything with him, but teacher said 'Go,' as quiet as could be and just looked at him, and he went. And he's most as tall as she is. He did look so silly!”

The Edwards youth was not the only one who was made to “look silly” by little Miss Dawes during the first days of her stay in Bayport. She dealt with the unruly members of her classes as bravely as she had faced the Cahoon cow, and the results were just as satisfactory. She was strict, but she was impartial, and Alicia Atkins found, to her great surprise, that the daughter of a congressman was expected to study as faithfully and behave herself as well as freckled-faced Noah Hamlin, whose father peddled fish and whose everyday costume was a checkered “jumper” and patched overalls.

The school committee, that is, the majority of it, was delighted with the new teacher. Lemuel Myrick boasted loudly of his good judgment in voting for her. But Tad Simpson and Darius Ellis and others of the Atkins following still scoffed and hinted at trouble in the future.

“A new broom sweeps fine,” quoted Mr. Simpson. “She's doin' all right now, maybe. Anyway, the young ones are behavin' themselves, but disCIPline ain't the whole thing. Heman told me that the teacher he wanted could talk French language and play music and all kinds of accomplishments. Phoebe—not findin' any fault with her, you understand—don't know no more about music than a hen; my wife says she don't even sing in church loud enough for anybody to hear her. And as for French! why everybody knows she uses the commonest sort of United States, just as easy to understand as what I'm sayin' now.”

Miss Dawes boarded at the perfect boarding house. There opinion was divided concerning her. Bailey and Mr. Tidditt liked her, but the feminine boarders were not so favorably impressed.

“I think she's altogether too pert about what don't concern her,” commented Angeline Phinney. “Sarah Emma Simpson dropped in t'other day to dinner, and we church folks got to talkin' about the minister's preachin' such 'advanced' sermons. And Sarah Emma told how she'd heard he said he'd known some real moral Universalists in his time, or some such unreligious foolishness. And I said I wondered he didn't get a new tail coat; the one he preached in Sundays was old as the hills and so outgrown it wouldn't scurcely button acrost him. 'A man bein' paid nine hundred a year,' I says, 'ought to dress decent, anyhow.' And that Phoebe Dawes speaks up, without bein' asked, and says for her part she'd ruther hear a broad man in a narrer coat than t'other way about. 'Twas a regular slap in the face for me, and Sarah Emma and I ain't got over it yet.”

Captain Cy heard the gossip concerning the new teacher and it rather pleased him. She appeared to be independent, and he liked independence. He met her once or twice on the street, but she merely bowed and passed on. Once he tried to thank her again for her part in the cow episode, but she would not listen to him.

Bos'n was making good progress with her studies. She was naturally a bright child—not the marvel the captain and the “Board of Strategy” considered her, but quick to learn. She was not a saint, however, and occasionally misbehaved in school and was punished for it. One afternoon she did not return at her usual hour. Captain Cy was waiting at the gate when Asaph Tidditt happened along. Bailey, too, was with him.

“Waitin' for Bos'n, was you?” asked the town clerk. “Well, you'll have to wait quite a spell, I cal'late. She's been kept after school.”

“Yes; and she's got to write fifty lines of copy,” added Bailey.

Captain Cy was highly indignant.

“Get out!” he cried. “She ain't neither.”

“Yes, she has, too. One of the Salters young ones told me. I knew you'd be mad, though I s'pose folks that didn't know her's well's we do would say she's no different from other children.”

This was close to heresy, according to the captain's opinion.

“She ain't!” he cried. “I'd like to know why not! If she ain't twice as smart as the run of young ones 'round here then—Humph! And she's kept after school! Well, now; I won't have it! There's enough time for studyin' without wearin' out her brains after hours. Oh, I guess you're mistaken.”

“No, we ain't. I tell you, Whit, if I was you I'd make a fuss about this. She's a smart child, Bos'n is; I never see a smarter. And she ain't any too strong.”

“That's so, she ain't.” The idea that Emily's health was “delicate” had become a fixed fact in the minds of the captain and the “Board.” It made a good excuse for the systematic process of “spoiling” the girl, which the indulgent three were doing their best to carry on.

“I wouldn't let her be kept, Cy,” urged Bailey. “Why don't you go right off and see Phoebe and settle this thing? You've got a right to talk to her. She wouldn't be teacher if it wasn't for you.”

Asaph added his arguments to those of Mr. Bangs. Captain Cy, carried away by his firm belief that Bos'n was a paragon of all that was brilliant and good, finally yielded.

“All right!” he exclaimed. “Come on! That poor little thing shan't be put upon by nobody.”

The trio marched majestically down the hill. As they neared the schoolhouse Bailey's courage began to fail. Miss Dawes was a boarder at his house, and he feared consequences should Keturah learn of his interference.

“I—I guess you don't need me,” he stammered. “The three of us 'll scare that teacher woman most to death. And she's so little and meek, you know. If I should lose my temper and rare up I might say somethin' that would hurt her feelin's. I'll set on the fence and wait for you and Ase, Whit.”

Mr. Tidditt's scornful comments concerning “white feathers” and “backsliders” had no effect. Mr. Bangs perched himself on the fence.

“Give it to her, fellers!” he called after them.

“Talk Dutch to her! Let her know that there's one child she can't abuse.”

At the foot of the steps Asaph paused.

“Say, Cy,” he whispered, “don't you think I better not go in? It ain't really my business, you know, and—and—Well, I'm on the s'lectmen and she might be frightened if she see me pouncin' down on her. 'Tain't as if I was just a common man. I'll go and set along of Bailey and you go in and talk quiet to her. She'd feel so sort of ashamed if there was anyone else to hear the rakin' over—hey?”

“Now, see here, Ase,” expostulated the captain, “I don't like to do this all by myself! Besides, 'twas you chaps put me up to it. You ain't goin' to pull out of the race and leave me to go over the course alone, are you? Come on! what are, you afraid of?”

His companion hotly denied that he was “afraid” of anything. He had all sorts of arguments to back his decision. At last Captain Cy lost patience.

“Well, BE a skulk, if you want to!” he declared. “I've set out to see this thing through, and I'm goin' to do it. Only,” he muttered, as he entered the downstairs vestibule, “I wish I didn't feel quite so much as if I was stealin' hens' eggs.”

Miss Dawes herself opened the door in response to his knock.

“Oh, it's you, Cap'n Whittaker,” she said. “Come in, please.”

Captain Cy entered the schoolroom. It was empty, save for the teacher and himself and one little girl, who, seated at a desk, was writing busily. She looked up and blushed a vivid red. The little girl was Bos'n.

“Sit down, Cap'n,” said Miss Phoebe, indicating the visitor's chair. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

The captain accepted the invitation to be seated, but he did not immediately reply to Miss Dawes's question. He dropped his hat on the floor, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and then observed that it was pretty summery weather for so late in the fall. The teacher admitted the truth of his assertion and waited for him to continue.

“I—I s'pose school's pretty full, now that cranb'ryin' 's over,” said Captain Cy.

“Yes, pretty full.”

“Gettin' along first rate with the scholars, I hear.”

“Yes.”

This was a most unpromising beginning, really no beginning at all. The captain cleared his throat, set his teeth, and, without looking at his companion, dove headlong into the business which had brought him there.

“Miss Dawes,” he said, “I—I s'pose you know that Bos'n—I mean Emily there—is livin' at my house and that I'm taking care of her for—for the present.”

The lady smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “I gathered as much from what you said when we first met.”

She herself had said one or two things on that occasion. Captain Cy remembered them distinctly.

“Yes, yes,” he said hastily. “Well, my doin's that time wasn't exactly the best sample of the care, I will say. Wan't even a fair sample, maybe. I try to do my best with the child, long as she stays with me, and—er—and—er—I'm pretty particular about her health.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“Yes. Now, Miss Phoebe, I appreciate what you did for Bos'n and me that Sunday, and I'm thankful for it. I've tried to thank—”

“I know. Please don't say any more about it. I imagine there is something else you want to say, isn't there?”

“Why, yes, there is. I—I heard that Emmie had been kept after school. I didn't believe it, of course, but I thought I'd run up and see what—”

He hesitated. The teacher finished the sentence for him.

“To see if it was true?” she said. “It is. I told her to stay and write fifty lines.”

“You did? Well, now that's what I wanted to speak to you about. Course I ain't interferin' in your affairs, you know, but I just wanted to explain about Bos'n—Emmie, I mean. She ain't a common child; she's got too much head for the rest of her. If you'd lived with her same as I have you'd appreciate it. Her health's delicate.”

“Is it? She seems strong enough to me. I haven't noticed any symptoms.”

“Course not, else you wouldn't have kept her in. But I know, and I think it's my duty to tell you. Never mind if she can't do quite so much writin'. I'd rather she wouldn't; she might bust a blood vessel or somethin'. Such things HAVE happened, to extry smart young ones. You just let her trot along home with me now and—”

“Cap'n Whittaker,” Miss Dawes had risen to her feet with a determined expression on her face.

“Yes, ma'am,” said the captain, rising also.

“Cap'n Whittaker,” repeated the teacher, “I'm very glad that you called. I've been rather expecting you might, because of certain things I have heard.”

“You heard? What was it you heard—if you don't mind my askin'?”

“No, I don't, because I think we must have an understanding about Emily. I have heard that you allow her to do as she pleases at home; in other words, that you are spoiling her, and—”

“SPOILIN' her! I spoilin' her? Who told you such an unlikely yarn as that? I ain't the kind to spoil anybody. Why, I'm so strict that I'm ashamed of myself sometimes.”

He honestly believed he was. Miss Phoebe calmly continued.

“Of course, what you do at home is none of my business. I shouldn't mention it anyhow, if you hadn't called, because I pay very little attention to town talk, having lived in this county all my life and knowing what gossip amounts to. I like Emily; she's a pretty good little girl and well behaved, as children go. But this you must understand. She can't be spoiled here. She whispered this afternoon, twice. She has been warned often, and knows the rule. I kept her after school because she broke that rule, and if she breaks it again, she will be punished again. I kept the Edwards boy two hours yesterday and—”

“Edwards boy! Do you mean to compare that—that young rip of a Ben Edwards with a girl like Bos'n? I never heard—”

“I'm not comparing anybody. I'm trying to be fair to every scholar in this room. And, so long as Emily behaves herself, she shall be treated accordingly. When she doesn't, she shall be punished. You must understand that.”

“But Ben Edwards! Why, he's a wooden-head, same as his dad was a fore him! And Emmie's the smartest scholar in this town.”

“Oh, no, she isn't! She's a good scholar, but there are others just as good and even quicker to learn.”

This was piling one insult upon another. Other children as brilliant as Bos'n! Captain Cy was bursting with righteous indignation.

“Well!” he exclaimed. “Well! for a teacher that we've called to—”

“And that's another thing,” broke in Miss Dawes quickly. “I've been told that you, Cap'n Whittaker, are the one directly responsible for my being chosen for this place. I don't say that you are presuming on that, but—”

“I ain't! I never thought of such a thing!”

“But if you are you mustn't, that's all. I didn't ask for the position and, now that I've got it, I shall try to fill it without regard to one person more than another. Emily stays here until her lines are written. I don't think we need to say any more. Good day.”

She opened the door. Captain Cy picked up his hat, swallowed hard, and stepped across the threshold. Then Miss Phoebe added one more remark.

“Cap'n,” she said, “when you were in command of a ship did you allow outsiders to tell you how to treat the sailors?”

The captain opened his mouth to reply. He wanted to reply very much, but somehow he couldn't find a satisfying answer to that question.

“Ma'am,” he said, “all I can say is that if you'd been in South America, same as I have, and seen the way them half-breed young ones act, you'd—”

The teacher smiled, in spite of an apparent effort not to.

“Perhaps so,” she said, “but this is Massachusetts. And—well, Emily isn't a half-breed.”

Captain Cy strode through the vestibule. Just before the door closed behind him he heard a stifled sob from poor Bos'n.

The Board of Strategy was waiting at the end of the yard. Its members were filled with curiosity.

“Did you give it to her good?” demanded Asaph. “Did you let her understand we wouldn't put up with such cruelizin'?”

“Where's Bos'n?” asked Mr. Bangs.

Their friend's answers were brief and tantalizingly incomplete. He walked homeward at a gait which caused plump little Bailey to puff in his efforts to keep up, and he would say almost nothing about the interview in the schoolroom.

“Well,” said Mr. Tidditt, when they reached the Whittaker gate, “I guess she knows her place now; hey, Cy? I cal'late she'll be careful who she keeps after school from now on.”

“Didn't use no profane language, did you, Cy?” asked Bailey. “I hope not, 'cause she might have you took up just out of spite. Did she ask your pardon for her actions?”

“No!” roared the captain savagely. Then, banging the gate behind him, he strode up the yard and into the house.

Bos'n came home a half hour later. Captain Cy was alone in the sitting room, seated in his favorite rocker and moodily staring at nothing in particular. The girl gazed at him for a moment and then climbed into his lap.

“I wrote my fifty lines, Uncle Cyrus,” she said. “Teacher said I'd done them very nicely, too.”

The captain grunted.

“Uncle Cy,” whispered Bos'n, putting her arms around his neck, “I'm awful sorry I was so bad.”

“Bad? Who—you? You couldn't be bad if you wanted to. Don't talk that way or I'll say somethin' I hadn't ought to.”

“Yes, I could be bad, too. I was bad. I whispered.”

“Whispered! What of it? That ain't nothin'. When I was a young one in school I used to whis— . . . Hum! Well, anyhow, don't you think any more about it. 'Tain't worth while.”

They rocked quietly for a time. Then Bos'n said:

“Uncle Cyrus, don't you like teacher?”

“Hey? LIKE her? Well, if that ain't a question? Yes, I like her about as well as Lonesome likes Eben Salter's dog.”

“I'm sorry. I like her ever so much.”

“You DO? Go 'long! After the way she treated you, poor little thing!”

“She didn't treat me any worse than she does the other girls and boys when they're naughty. And I did know the rule about whispering.”

“Well, that's different. Comparin' you with that Bennie Edwards—the idea! And then makin' you cry!”

“She didn't make me cry.”

“Did, too. I heard you.”

The child looked up at him and then hid her face in his waistcoat.

“I wasn't crying about her,” she whispered. “It was you.”

“ME!” The captain gasped. “Good land!” he muttered. “It's just as I expected. She's studied too hard and it's touchin' her brain.”

“No, sir, it isn't. It isn't truly. I did cry about you because I didn't like to hear you talk so. And I was so sorry to have you come there.”

“You WAS!”

“Yes, sir. Other children's folks don't come when they're bad. And I kept feeling so sort of ashamed of you.”

“Ashamed of ME?”

Bos'n nodded vigorously.

“Yes, sir. Everything teacher said sounded so right, and what you said didn't. And I like to have you always right.”

“Do, hey? Hum!” Captain Cy didn't speak again for some few minutes, but he held the little girl very tight in his arms. At length he drew a long breath.

“By the big dipper, Bos'n!” he exclaimed. “You're a wonder, you are. I wouldn't be surprised if you grew up to be a mind reader, like that feller in the show we went to at the townhall a spell ago. To tell you the honest Lord's truth, I've been ashamed of myself ever since I come out of that schoolhouse door. When that teacher woman sprung that on me about my fo'mast hands aboard ship I was set back about forty fathom. I never wanted to answer anybody so bad in MY life, and I couldn't 'cause there wasn't anything to say. I cal'late I've made a fool of myself.”

Bos'n nodded again.

“We won't do so any more, will we?” she said.

“You bet we won't! I won't, anyhow. You haven't done anything.”

“And you'll like teacher?”

The captain stamped his foot.

“No, SIR!” he declared. “She may be all right in her way—I s'pose she is; but it's too Massachusettsy a way for me. No, sir! I don't like her and I WON'T like her. No, sir-ee, never! She—she ain't my kind of a woman,” he added stubbornly. “That's what's the matter! She ain't my kind of a woman.”