On the morning of the 1st of September, Alvin dressed himself handsomely and went out the pike to the schoolhouse. The school board had, at his request, advanced his first month's salary, and with a part of it, though he was not to be married until January, he had paid the rent of the little house on Main Street, and with the rest he had bought a present for Bessie. It must be confessed that no generous spirit dictated Alvin's giving of gifts. It was a proper thing to give girls presents, thereby one made an impression upon them and upon their friends. But it also deprived the giver of luxuries. Alvin had begun to anticipate eagerly the time when he would no longer need to make presents to Bessie.

Bessie was a saleswoman in a store in a county seat; she received good wages and lived at home.

"What I earn is mine," she explained. "My pop buys even some of my clothes for me. I need only buy my fancy clothes. I have a nice account in the bank."

Bessie was a thrifty soul; she had made Alvin persuade his landlord, Billy Knerr, the elder, to take two dollars a month less than he had asked at first for the little house. She had planned already the style of furniture she wished for each room.

"It is to be oak in the dining-room," Alvin explained to Sarah Ann Mohr, with whom he took his meals. Alvin had reached that point in his self-satisfaction when he would have bragged to stones and trees if there had been no human creature at hand to listen. In Sarah Ann he had an eager hearer. Sarah Ann sat at close attention with parted lips and shining eyes. Sometimes she cried out, "Du liefer Friede" (Thou dear peace)! or, "Bei meiner Seele" (By my soul)!

"There is to be a sideboard and a serving-table to match," went on Alvin.

Sarah Ann opened her mouth a little wider.

"What is a serving-table, Alvin?"

"A serving-table is a—it is—a—a table," explained Alvin. "You serve on it."

"Oh, of course," said Sarah Ann, without understanding in the least. "I am astonished, Alvin!"

"We are just going to furnish two bedrooms now. When we have a servant, then it will be time enough to furnish the other room."

Sarah Ann's eyelids fluttered up and down.

"A servant! Ach, Alvin, I hope you are not going to marry a sick one!"

"Of course not," protested Alvin. "Of course not, Sarah Ann!" Alvin's chest expanded, he breathed deeply. "Ladies in the city do not do their own work, Sarah Ann!"

"Ladies!" repeated Sarah Ann. Here was the capstone of Alvin's grandeur. A lady was to Millerstown almost a mythical creature. "Are you, then, marrying a lady, Alvin?"

"To be sure," answered Alvin. "She never yet had to work in a kitchen. She is in the store just because she likes it. Her pop is rich."

"Do you mean she cannot cook, Alvin? Or wash? Or bake?"

"She could," said Alvin. "She could if she wanted to. But she doesn't like it."

"Doesn't like it!" As well might one say that Bessie did not like to sleep or eat or breathe! Sarah Ann's own breath was quite taken away. She shook her head ponderously, certain that either she or Alvin was going crazy. Then a question occurred to Sarah Ann. She had really a delicate sense of propriety; if she had stopped to think, she would not have asked the question. But it was out before she could restrain herself. "You will then bring your pop home from the poorhouse, I suppose, Alvin?"

Alvin blushed. He did not like to have any one mention his father.

"Father is not in the poorhouse because he is poor. He is there because he has lost his mind."

"Ach, Alvin, he is better, indeed, he is better! I was at the poorhouse to help with a prayer meeting, and, indeed, he is almost himself, Alvin."

Alvin rose from his seat on Sarah Ann's bench. The conversation had taken a turn he did not like.

"I could not have pop with Bessie," he insisted. "Pop could easily become violent."

When he had left her, Sarah Ann sat paralyzed. Her whole soul longed for the listening ear of Susannah Kuhns, but as yet her body had not gathered strength enough to transport itself to Susannah's house. Mercifully, the fates arranged that Susannah should observe the departing Alvin and should hurry over as fast as her feet could carry her. Susannah liked to hear Sarah Ann tell of the strange events of which she read, of the man whose head was turning into the head of a lion, of the dog who had learned to talk, of the woman who put glass into her husband's pies. But Susannah loved better to hear Sarah Ann tell of Alvin.

Now Susannah stood with arms akimbo, with shakes of head, with astonished clapping of lips together.

"This makes the understanding stand still," declared Susannah as she listened.

"He gave her a ring already," went on Sarah Ann. "He has a wedding present ready for her. He let himself be enlarged from a photograph and he has a big picture. He carries a cane in the picture. He has it hung up already in his house. He said I should come over once and he would show it to me."

In Alvin's course at the normal school he had studied not only pedagogy and psychology, but he had had practical experience in teaching. Connected with the normal school was a model school. There, in a light and airy room whose windows were filled with blooming plants and whose walls were decked with pictures, Alvin had given the "May lesson," a half-hour of instruction in the blossoms and birds of spring. Vases of snowballs and iris and dishes of bluets and violets served as illustrations for his remarks; he had also pictures of flickers and robins. His class was orderly and polite. For a month he had prepared for this half-hour of teaching; he had even reviewed with the superintendent of the model school what he meant to say and had received her advice and approval. Alvin thought so much about himself and so little about any other subject that he had by this time forgotten the ways of the Millerstown school. The Millerstown school and the model school were not much alike.

He received after his lesson was over a commendatory letter from the superintendent, the same letter which he had proudly exhibited to Edwin Gaumer and the other directors. The superintendent said that he was a young man of good presence, that he had thoroughly mastered his subject, that he had held the interest of his pupils throughout his teaching period, and had maintained perfect discipline. The superintendent did not say that she herself was a stern person, whom no child would disobey, and that she had remained in the room while the lesson was in progress. The model school superintendent could, to be sure, have conducted the lesson no differently. It would hardly have been wise to train the model school children to test the disciplinary powers of their teachers by insubordination, in order that the teachers might be trained in the various methods for quelling riots!

On the 1st day of September, Alvin put on his best suit and went to school. He had been carefully instructed in the importance of first impressions, the necessity for brightness and cheerfulness of hue as well as of disposition in the schoolroom. He had quite forgotten that the Millerstown teachers were expected to dust and sweep the room in which they taught.

He looked for his scholars along the road, but could see none of them. He had forgotten also the custom which awarded the best seat, which was always the rear seat, to the first comer. In his own day he had frequently arrived at the schoolhouse at seven o'clock of the opening day to discover that there were half a dozen boys ahead of him.

The children, trained finally by Mr. Carpenter into some respect for the office of teacher, answered politely the good-morning with which Alvin had been instructed to begin the school day. They sang with gusto the familiar,—

a favorite for several generations, since it gave full opportunity for the use of the human voice. Then the children set themselves with gratifying diligence to a study of the lessons which Alvin assigned them. Alvin had notebooks in which were Outlines of Work for Primary Schools, Outlines of Work for Secondary Schools, Outlines of Work for Ungraded Schools, and the like. Here also were plans for Nature Work and Number Work, and various other kinds of Works whose names at least were new in the curriculum of the Millerstown school. The children took kindly enough to them all; they went quietly about their tasks. The discipline of school was pleasant. The older girls smiled at Alvin and blushed when he spoke.

To Sarah Ann, Alvin imparted daily fresh plans made by him and his Bessie for the furnishing of their house.

"We have changed to mahogany for the dining-room. Oak is not fashionable any more. People are getting rid of their oak." In these statements Alvin quoted from the clerk in a furniture store who had showed to him and Bessie a new mahogany set of dining-room furniture. "We have picked out our things already."

Sarah Ann did not know much about the various kinds of wood, but mahogany was a longer word than oak, and the furniture made of that wood was probably the finest that could be had. As a matter of fact, Sarah Ann had in her house without knowing it several fine pieces of mahogany. Sarah Ann told Susannah about Alvin's plans and they spread promptly over Millerstown.

"It is a rich girl, for sure," said Millerstown.

Once the young lady herself appeared to inspect Alvin's house. Millerstown saw the two step from the car and appraised the furs and the feathered hat as well as they could, considering that furs and feathers were not in general use in Millerstown except upon the backs of the creatures who wore them naturally. Millerstown was astonished and Millerstown admired. Katy Gaumer, returning from an hour spent with her Aunt Sally, her feathers a scarlet nubia, her furs a crimson shawl, blushed first scarlet and then crimson as she came upon Alvin and his lady, and went on her way choking back something in her throat. Alvin took his Bessie directly to Sarah Ann's house, and Sarah Ann, embarrassed and silent, accompanied them upon their tour of inspection. Sarah Ann could not explain exactly why she was invited.

"It is something about the fashion," she explained to Susannah. "The young folks are nowadays not to be alone."

Susannah laughed a scornful laugh.

"These must be fine young folks nowadays, if they cannot be trusted fifteen minutes to walk alone through a cold house!"

Upon the strength of Alvin's good position, and of Sarah Ann's account of the riches of the young lady's father, and of a dazzling glimpse of the young lady herself, Billy Knerr trusted Alvin for the second and the third and the fourth month's rent of his house, the school board continued to pay Alvin in advance, and the coal dealer let him have three tons of coal on credit. An Allentown tailor made him a new winter suit on the same terms, and Sarah Ann let him stay on without reminding him of his board bill. Alvin hated to pay for commodities which could be eaten, like potatoes, or which could be burned up, like coal. When the coal was in the cellar, he forgot entirely that presently there would be a bill. Alvin was wholly happy; there were moments when the contemplation of his good fortune made him dizzy.

On Sunday evenings Alvin continued his attendance at the Millerstown churches. He meant to ally himself finally with one of them, the Lutheran, probably, since the Weygandts and Gaumers and Fackenthals were Lutheran. He still visited, however, the church of the Improved New Mennonites where Essie Hill blushed deeply under her plain hat as he approached. There was a new legend upon Essie's hat. Instead of being a worker in the vineyard, she was now a soldier in the kingdom. David Hartman still sat occasionally with her upon her doorstep. Again her father spoke to her about him.

"You can't marry anybody outside the church, Essie."

"No, pop."

Into the Reverend Mr. Hill's somber eyes there came for an instant a hopeful gleam.

"Perhaps we could get him in the church?"

"Perhaps," agreed Essie. "I talk to him sometimes."

It was in December when Fate turned against Alvin. Alvin had now burned his supply of coal and was angrily refused more. Alvin's Allentown tailor, failing to receive replies to his letter, sent a collector to interview Alvin, an insistent person who, failing to find him at home, visited him at the schoolhouse. Even Sarah Ann, who was patience personified, reminded her boarder gently that she had fed him for four months without any return.

"I did it to earn a little extra missionary money, Alvin," explained Sarah Ann. "We have at this time of the year always a Thank Offering. I thought I would earn this to put in my box."

In December, the spirit of evil entered the Millerstown school. The familiar sound of twanging wires, of slamming desk lids, the soft slap of moistened paper balls striking the blackboards, were the first warnings of the rise of rebellion. The Millerstown children had not enough to do. Their teacher had reached the end of his outlines and knew not how to make more. He was desperately tired of teaching; he could not understand how he could ever have supposed that Mr. Carpenter had an easy or a pleasant time.

One morning when he entered the schoolroom, he found the blackboard decorated with a caricature of himself, labeled with the insulting appellation which Susannah Kuhns had once bestowed upon him, "Der Fratzhans." There were only two pupils who were skillful enough to have drawn so lifelike a representation of their teacher; they were two of the four large girls in the upper class, of whose admiration Alvin had been certain. It was a cruel blow for poor Alvin.

Again the collector who represented the tailor visited him. This time he met Alvin on Main Street, in front of the post-office, and at the top of his loud and unfeeling voice, demanded instant payment.

"I will get it," promised Alvin. "Till Monday I will have it for sure."

It must be said in justice to Alvin that he did not think at once of making application to Katy Gaumer for succor in his financial situation. To his Bessie he offered no such slight as that. But succor Alvin must have. He knew so little about the law that he feared he might be cast into prison. When he had got rid of the insulting creature and his demands, he dressed himself in the suit under discussion and at once sought Bessie at her father's house in the county seat.

There, alas! Alvin did not behave in a manner befitting one whose education and manners were so fine. He asked Bessie plainly and frankly for a loan, having been led by Miss Katy Gaumer to expect an immediate and favorable response from any female whom he honored with such a request. To his astonishment Bessie stared at him rudely.

"Why do you want money?"

"To pay a few things."

"Don't you have any money?"

"It isn't time yet for my salary." In reality Alvin had been paid as at first, in advance.

"Don't you have any money in the bank?"

"Why, no!" It had never occurred to Alvin to do anything with money but spend it.

"Have you paid for the furniture?"

"The furniture?" repeated Alvin weakly.

"Yes, the furniture." Bessie was growing redder and redder, her voice sharper. "The furniture that you and I picked out this long while!"

"Why, no," confessed Alvin, "I thought that you—that you would—would—"

"You thought I would pay for it!" Bessie's voice rose so high that her whole family might have heard if they had not considerately left the house to her and her beau. "Well, you were mistaken!"—Bessie was a slangy person, she said that Alvin was "stung." "And here"—Bessie ran upstairs and returned with a letter—"here is this. I thought, of course, this was a mistake. I paid no attention to it. Open it!"

Alvin grew pale. He recognized, before the envelope was in his hand, the business card on the corner. The bill for Bessie's ring had come to him many times. Now upon the bill Bessie laid the ring itself.

"There!" said she.

Alvin remembered suddenly how David Hartman had appeared on the mountain long ago and had hurled himself upon him. He had now much the same sensations.

"Do you mean that it is over?" he faltered in a dazed tone.

"Yes," answered Bessie in a very firm, decided tone; "I mean just that."

After Alvin had carried the ring back to the jeweler, a way suggested itself of paying the tailor. He returned his beautiful best winter suit, worn but a very few times, and received some credit on his bill. The balance, alas! remained, and the tailor seemed but slightly mollified by his humility. The coal bill remained also, but the coal had been burned and could not be restored to the dealer. The landlord had also been deprived of the rent for his house, the food had been eaten. What Alvin should do about the landlord and about Sarah Ann he did not know. Alvin had a sad Christmas.

January and February passed slowly. Alvin was still too proud to confess to Millerstown that Bessie had jilted him; he paid a little on his great rent bill as means of staving off the discovery a little longer. The children in school became entirely ungovernable, their invention more brilliant and demoniacal. The stovepipe fell with a crash to the floor, the flying soot blackening the faces of teacher and pupils alike. Alvin found his overshoes filled with powdered chalk and damp sponges; he met fresh pictures of himself when he opened the door. When he undertook in midwinter to raise a mustache there appeared promptly upon the upper lip of most of his pupils a dark and suggestive line. The children grew more impertinent, the bills more pressing. In despair Alvin climbed the hill and ransacked the little house where he had lived with his father. He thought bitterly of William, who had squandered his money on madness, and who had given his son so unpleasant a life.

He found nothing in the little house. As he shut the door behind him, he remembered how John Hartman had sat dead in his buggy before the gate as he and Katy came down the mountain road.

At once a warm glow flooded the soul of Alvin. How comforting had been the touch of Katy on that frightful day, how brave she had been! How kind Katy had been to him always, how freely she had granted all he asked! And now Katy was rich, she had doubtless inherited a good deal of money from her grandmother, and she was earning dear knows what liberal salary at the rich Hartmans'. She had come to take a sensible view of education; she had decided, Alvin was certain, that it counted for nothing. To Katy his heart warmed. He remembered her with tears.

At once Alvin hastened back to his little house, and there, sitting straightway down at his table, indited a letter. Composition was easy; he had long ago written a model.

"Dear, dear Katy,—I am in great trouble. I need a little money. If you have any, Katy, say about $25, put it in the hole in the wall. Katy, say you will." Then Alvin added a postscript. "I am not going to marry, Katy. I have broken it all off."

But Alvin did not present his letter. Instead, he held it until he should have made trial of another expedient. Perhaps some fragment of Katy's earlier largess still remained in the putlock hole!

That evening Alvin attended service at the church of the Improved New Mennonites. He was so unhappy that he dared not be alone, and in the church of the Improved New Mennonites he would meet none of his creditors, all of whom belonged to the larger, longer established churches. Here, too, Essie smiled at him. Essie was a comfortable person; she was neither ambitious for learning nor scornful of those who had no money. The preacher exhorted his congregation to make a fresh start; this Alvin determined to do.

On the way home he made a dÉtour through the open fields until he reached the back of the Gaumer garden. Through the garden he crept softly. The night was dark, the wind whistled mournfully through the doors of the Gaumer barn. Alvin slipped and fell when his foot sank into the burrow of a mole. But Alvin pressed on.

When he put his hand into the putlock hole and his fingers touched the hard stone, he could have sunk to the ground with disappointment. Again he thrust in his hand and could find nothing. A third time he tried, pushing his cuff back on his arm so as to insert his hand as far as possible. A fourth time he reached in vain. In the old days when Katy had laid there for him the fat bills, they had always been within easy reach. Finally, in the last gasp of hope, he took from his pocket a long lead pencil and felt about with its tip. The broad stone which formed the floor of the putlock hole sloped; there, in the little pit at the back, Alvin's pencil touched an object which he could move about.

After much prying he drew it forth, a round half-dollar, a part of the last wages which Katy had received from Mrs. Hartman.

He held it in his hand and tried desperately to reach its fellows. Surely the Fates would not mock him with a half-dollar when his needs were so great! To-morrow evening he would bring a bent wire and see what he could do with that.

With the blessed coin in his hand, Alvin turned his steps homeward.