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<h2> CHAPTER VII </h2>
<h3> Mrs. Mitchell is Defeated </h3>
<p>After this talk with my father I fell into a sleep of perfect contentment,
and never thought of what might be on the morrow till the morrow came.
Then I grew aware of the danger I was in of being carried off once more to
school. Indeed, except my father interfered, the thing was almost
inevitable. I thought he would protect me, but I had no assurance. He was
gone again, for, as I have mentioned already, he was given to going out
early in the mornings. It was not early now, however; I had slept much
longer than usual. I got up at once, intending to find him; but, to my
horror, before I was half dressed, my enemy, Mrs. Mitchell, came into the
room, looking triumphant and revengeful.</p>
<p>"I'm glad to see you're getting up," she said; "it's nearly school-time."</p>
<p>The tone, and the emphasis she laid on the word <i>school</i>, would have
sufficed to reveal the state of her mind, even if her eyes had not been
fierce with suppressed indignation.</p>
<p>"I haven't had my porridge," I said.</p>
<p>"Your porridge is waiting you—as cold as a stone," she answered. "If
boys will lie in bed so late, what can they expect?"</p>
<p>"Nothing from you," I muttered, with more hardihood than I had yet shown
her.</p>
<p>"What's that you're saying?" she asked angrily.</p>
<p>I was silent.</p>
<p>"Make haste," she went on, "and don't keep me waiting all day."</p>
<p>"You needn't wait, Mrs. Mitchell. I am dressing as fast as I can. Is papa
in his study yet?"</p>
<p>"No. And you needn't think to see him. He's angry enough with you, I'll
warrant"</p>
<p>She little knew what had passed between my father and me already. She
could not imagine what a talk we had had.</p>
<p>"You needn't think to run away as you did yesterday. I know all about it
Mrs. Shand told me all about it I shouldn't wonder if your papa's gone to
see her now, and tell her how sorry he is you were so naughty."</p>
<p>"I'm not going, to school."</p>
<p>"We'll see about that"</p>
<p>"I tell you I won't go."</p>
<p>"And I tell you we'll see about it"</p>
<p>"I won't go till I've seen papa. If he says I'm to go, I will of course;
but I won't go for you."</p>
<p>"You <i>will</i>, and you <i>won't</i>!" she repeated, standing staring at
me, as I leisurely, but with hands trembling partly with fear, partly with
rage, was fastening my nether garments to my waistcoat. "That's all very
fine, but I know something a good deal finer. Now wash your face."</p>
<p>"I won't, so long as you stand there," I said, and sat down on the floor.
She advanced towards me.</p>
<p>"If you touch me, I'll scream," I cried.</p>
<p>She stopped, thought for a moment, and bounced out of the room. But I
heard her turn the key of the door.</p>
<p>I proceeded with my dressing as fast as I could then; and the moment I was
ready, opened the window, which was only a few feet from the ground,
scrambled out, and dropped. I hurt myself a little, but not much, and fled
for the harbour of Kirsty's arms. But as I turned the corner of the house
I ran right into Mrs. Mitchell's, who received me with no soft embrace. In
fact I was rather severely scratched with a. pin in the bosom of her
dress.</p>
<p>"There! that serves you right," she cried. "That's a judgment on you for
trying to run away again. After all the trouble you gave us yesterday too!
You are a bad boy."</p>
<p>"Why am I a bad boy?" I retorted.</p>
<p>"It's bad not to do what you are told."</p>
<p>"I will do what my papa tells me."</p>
<p>"Your papa! There are more people than your papa in the world."</p>
<p>"I'm to be a bad boy if I don't do what anybody like you chooses to tell
me, am I?"</p>
<p>"None of your impudence!"</p>
<p>This was accompanied by a box on the ear. She was now dragging me into the
kitchen. There she set my porridge before me, which I declined to eat.</p>
<p>"Well, if you won't eat good food, you shall go to school without it."</p>
<p>"I tell you I won't go to school."</p>
<p>She caught me up in her arms. She was very strong, and I could not prevent
her carrying me out of the house. If I had been the bad boy she said I
was, I could by biting and scratching have soon compelled her to set me
down; but I felt that I must not do that, for then I should be ashamed
before my father. I therefore yielded for the time, and fell to planning.
Nor was I long in coming to a resolution. I drew the pin that had
scratched me from her dress. I believed she would not carry me very far;
but if she did not set me down soon, I resolved to make her glad to do so.
Further I resolved, that when we came to the foot-bridge, which had but
one rail to it, I would run the pin into her and make her let me go, when
I would instantly throw myself into the river, for I would run the risk of
being drowned rather than go to that school. Were all my griefs of
yesterday, overcome and on the point of being forgotten, to be frustrated
in this fashion? My whole blood was boiling. I was convinced my father did
not want me to go. He could not have been so kind to me during the night,
and then send me to such a place in the morning. But happily for the
general peace, things did not arrive at such a desperate pass. Before we
were out of the gate, my heart leaped with joy, for I heard my father
calling, "Mrs. Mitchell! Mrs. Mitchell!" I looked round, and seeing him
coming after us with his long slow strides, I fell to struggling so
violently in the strength of hope that she was glad to set me down. I
broke from her, ran to my father, and burst out crying.</p>
<p>"Papa! papa!" I sobbed, "don't send me to that horrid school. I can learn
to read without that old woman to teach me."</p>
<p>"Really, Mrs. Mitchell," said my father, taking me by the hand and leading
me towards her, where she stood visibly flaming with rage and annoyance,
"really, Mrs. Mitchell, you are taking too much upon you! I never said the
child was to go to that woman's school. In fact I don't approve of what I
hear of her, and I have thought of consulting some of my brethren in the
presbytery on the matter before taking steps myself. I won't have the
young people in my parish oppressed in such a fashion. Terrified with dogs
too! It is shameful."</p>
<p>"She's a very decent woman, Mistress Shand," said the housekeeper.</p>
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<p>"I don't dispute her decency, Mrs. Mitchell; but I doubt very much whether
she is fit to have the charge of children; and as she is a friend of
yours, you will be doing her a kindness to give her a hint to that effect.
It <i>may</i> save the necessity for my taking further and more unpleasant
steps."</p>
<p>"Indeed, sir, by your leave, it would be hard lines to take the bread out
of the mouth of a lone widow woman, and bring her upon the parish with a
bad name to boot. She's supported herself for years with her school, and
been a trouble to nobody."</p>
<p>"Except the lambs of the flock, Mrs. Mitchell.—I like you for
standing up for your friend; but is a woman, because she is lone and a
widow, to make a Moloch of herself, and have the children sacrificed to
her in that way? It's enough to make idiots of some of them. She had
better see to it. You tell her that—from me, if you like. And don't
you meddle with school affairs. I'll take my young men," he added with a
smile, "to school when I see fit."</p>
<p>"I'm sure, sir," said Mrs. Mitchell, putting her blue striped apron to her
eyes, "I asked your opinion before I took him."</p>
<p>"I believe I did say something about its being time he were able to read,
but I recollect nothing more.—You must have misunderstood me," he
added, willing to ease her descent to the valley of her humiliation.</p>
<p>She walked away without another word, sniffing the air as she went, and
carrying her hands folded under her apron. From that hour I believe she
hated me.</p>
<p>My father looked after her with a smile, and then looked down on me,
saying—</p>
<p>"She's short in the temper, poor woman! and we mustn't provoke her."</p>
<p>I was too well satisfied to urge my victory by further complaint. I could
afford to let well alone, for I had been delivered as from the fiery
furnace, and the earth and the sky were laughing around me. Oh! what a
sunshine filled the world! How glad the larks, which are the praisers
amongst the birds, were that blessed morning! The demon of oppression had
hidden her head ashamed, and fled to her den!</p>
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