A SPARROW'S NEST.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XV, Issue 30, 18 November 1887, Page 27

A SPARROW'S NEST.

(By Maey E. WilkiinS in Good Cheer.) "Thebes no use talking, I know the re t isn't paid.'* " Now, mother, don't worry ; everything will turn out all right." " That's what you say. I don't see mytelf what's to hinder our being turned out on the street if the rent isn't paid in two weeks." " Why, mother, you know Mr. King wouldn't do such a thing as thai. He would wait a little while. He has always been real kind." " People can't wait for ever." " Now, mother, don't Bit here and worry about that all day." " I can't help it. It's nothing but worry all the time, as far as I can see."

" W«ll, there isn't any ute in it. Perhaps I shall get the Elliott School, who knows ? " Sarah said, laughingly.

" You won't. You might have if Florence Benton thought as much of you as she pretended to once. Judge Benton could get the place for you by lifting his little finger. But that's always the way, the p orer anyone is and the more she needs it, the less she has done for her.'*

11 You're all discouraged .his morning, mother. Now, don't sit here and fret, and make yourself sick. I've left everything where you can get it, and I'll come home early and bring something nica for supper. What do you want? " " I don't want anything," sighed her mother. Sarah Mayhew stooped and kissed her ; then she hurried away. It was high time that she did. She had a mile to walk to her school, and it waa already half-past eight. It was raining very hard when she stepped out of doors. All the green tree boughs toased in a mist, and the grasses bent over, they were so heavy with rain drops. The moment that she opened tb« door, she could hear the great roar of the river at the east. It wag very high. When she came to the Elliott Schoolhouse she looked at it longingly. It was a noble brick building, and accommodated Beveral graded schools. There waß shortly to be a vacancy in the corps of instructors ; the assistant principal of the grammar school tad resigned, the resignation to take effect at the close of the present term. Sarah had risolved to apply for the position, which meant six hundred dollars a year, and the ability to hire a pretty little tenement for herself and mother which ptood vacant near the scboolhouse.

Just after she passed the Elliott School she met Florence Eeaton. There was a strange young lady with her, probably some school friend, she thought to herself. She knew that Florenco was home on a vacation ; she attended a boardiug school in a neighbouring city.

The two girls in then pretty gray waterproofs came tripping along, laughing and talkiug in the ram. They held a silk umbrella between them airily. Florence's cheeks were a lovely pink from the damp fresh wind ; her dark, eyes were radiant. She nodded in a gay, careless way to Sarah, as tney passed, and did not stop talking to her friend.

Sarah plodded on, damp and shabby, her resolute face pale. This wa^ thf fiist time she had Been Florence since her return from Bchool; ttivy had been gradually dritting apart tor two years, but ttiia waa the farthest dritt of <ill. Florence had always stopped aud greeted her pleasnnt'y, although she rarely visited her nowadays. Sarah had told herself many a time, that it was all natural enough, and that Florence was not to blame. Tney had been almost like sisters when they attended the village school together. Sarah ha 1 been at home in Florence's house, aud Florence in hers ; bnt now, of course it must be different. Florence w^s in a city boarding-scnooi. She was forming new acquaintances with girls who were of her own social standing. She could not have much in common with Saiah Mayhew, und Sarah Mayhew ought not to expect it nor feel hurt. As she went on, the roar of the river grew louder ; the road curved more and more in its direction. Saran's little schoolhouse, wnicn was in an outlying district of the village, was peculiarly BUUnted. It stood m a meadow in aa angle formed by the junctioa of a brook known as 1 ' Stony Brook," with the river. The brook was an inconsiderable stream, although it worked a grist mill, and boasted ot a dam two mile* above. However, the Hood of to-day would swell the tiniest rill, and Sarah, a^ she drew near her schoolhouse could hear the little angry song oi the brook, beside the roar of the river. Shu doubted if she would tiud a pupil there, the nearest liTed half a mile away ; but eight had assembled, five boys and three girls. The oldest boy was nine, the youngest girl rive. Her name was Be&sie Morton ; s:.e was a pretty, black-eyed little thing. She had come under the guardianship of her older brother, but Sarah wondered how her mother had happened to let her, Sarah built a fire in the little box stove so the children could dry their clothes, then she begun the usual exercises of the school. It seemed almost a farce with this number of pupils, but Sarah was punctilious in the discharge of her duties ; and, moreover, the school committee and the parents of this district were somewhat exacting. Sarah knew that if they sent their children to school they would expect them to be regularly aud faithfully taught. It wrs half an hour before noon. Sarah was about to call the scholars out on the fl"or to spell, when suddenly they began whispering excitedly. She thumped her ruler upon the dtsk, out they paid no attention. A boy near the window bad risen and was looking out, and gesticulating wildly. All at once the other children left their seats and rushed towards him, pressing wildly up t > the window. Sarah brought her luler down, oa the desk again. " Children I " she cried out, sternly, " what does this mean."

They answered her with a piteous ory : "O te vjher, teacher I Come here, come here, quick 1 Juat loot ! The wat -r, the water 1 It'B all around the acboomoube I " Sarah went quickly to the nearest window, and saw that the meadow waß Hooded. The water was up to the sill or the first story windows. The children Mustered arouad her, clinging t> her dress and crying. "O, teacher ! " they sobbed, " what ia it ,' What shall we do ? How are we going to get home ? "

Poor little Bessie Morton screamed for her mother. Sarah was puzzled for a moment, then she knew, The dam two miles up the brook had given way. A dreadful misgiving seized upon her when she understood that, but she never changed a muscle of her resolute, smiling lace. " Hush," said she, " what are you doing so for ? Go back to your seats.^P. shall keep the first one who speaks in at recess." The utter absurjTty of that remark struck Sarah as she spike. Sac felt a nervous desire to laugh, but she looked steadily at >he children with that Btrong, serene young face of hers, and they oooyed. They stared at her a minute, then they stopped crying and went quietly back to their seats. If the teacher was not frightened there was no danger, they argued. Sarah remained by the window, looking out composedly. "The brook hae overflowed a little," she remarked, in an even voice. "It often happens on meadow land." Even as Bhe spoke, she saw that the water was rising ; she had been fixing her attention upon a little mossy knot in a great buttonwood tree, which grew a few feet from the window. The water was certainly coming nearer to it . This scho^lhouse had not been built for one originally. It was merely a small two-storey dwelling house, which had been moved here, and devoted to educational purposes, although it was painted red and had much of the conventional achoolhonse look.

The school was held in the second storey ; the first was used for storing fuel, so doing away with the necessity for a wool shed. Sarah turned to the children. " Remain in your seats, and keep quiet until I return," she said, authoiitatively. Then she stepped into the entry aud looked down stairs. She could not see the lower floor. Out. here listening, without all those terrified faces looking into hers for a sign of weakness, she became convinced of something which she had suspected — the building trembled, as if it were stirring softly on its foundation. This was not v strongly-built house, nor was it strongly set on the meadow. That Sarah knew. If the water rose a little more — if ihe force of the current grew a little stronger — what then 1 That .-arah Vlajhew knew.

She looked out of the entry window toward the submerged street. If anybody would come. If she could see a boat gliding to the rescue between those dripping trees, Somebody must come, somebody must think of the terrible danger to which she and those helpless children were exposed. But the conviction gained upon her that the danger might be lapsed in certainty, and the worst over before those rescuers appeared. Whatever human help was to come at all must comt quickly, and come from her.

41 O Lord," whispered Sarah Ma>hew, " help me to save them." Standing there in that li tie, dark, steaming entry, the horrible ruih of the water in her ears, she gathered every energy which was in ier for effort, She, saw a lung rope, which the children bad used for their games in a corner, the picked it up, and carried it into the school-room w th her.

The poor children turned their pale, inquiring faces toward her. " Get out your spelling- books," said she calmly, " and study your lessons."

The little things stared at her and obeyed. She went to the window and looked at the button-wood tiee. If any tree would stand the pleasure of the n.-cd, itut vvould. It dio. not seem as if that grand nunk could be stirred. Just opposite this window was a a broad branch, s-tietehing paialU-1 to it, ou'.y a few feet away. Saiah stood »azing at it a minute. Tnen she decided— the furniture ot this schoolroom was rough and rustic : rude wooden d( &ks with slabs fasti ned to them for seats. Along two sides ut the rojm ran long wooden Denches ; planks-, meiely, wuh supports. Saiah dragged one of them up to the window, then she called the little boys, " Uunie here a mi.mte, boys," said she. They spraug They had been watoning her curiously. " Mow," s-aul she coolly, "we'll all take hold of this together, and lift the c' d up to the window." " Now. we want to pu-h it across on to that tree branch

Strah had borne wiry muscle in hiT small arms, and he nine-year-old boy was stout for his a^e. They pushed thu; bencu across. The hU n kprt at the end caugtit <>v the branch aid held firmly . TL Jlmldren looked up S .rah with bewildered faces. " 4^^we going out there ?" askod the oldest, b jy. Tue others began to whimper. •' Stop talking and wait until I toll \ ou," said the teacher. " Now I want you to all go out in the entry and put ou your things, ana get your dinnei-pails." Sarah felt the \ ouse tremble veiy peiceptUly as they went. One of them looked back. " The luuou shakes, teacher," he said with a sob.

" Be quick," she said, ■' it won't do any h inn. 1 ' She ued on the Irtle girl-t>al)y's hood, and buttoned up her coat carefully, aud put on her own poor waterproof cloak again. The children all huddled around her at the window, their dinner pails in their hands. Saiah took up the children' e " Cophenacren "rope and slung it across her aim, 1 h> j n she got on a chair and stepped from that to the beuch-biidgc. It stood film, bhe walked along a step and sto >d just outside thu wmk'ow. " .Now. Wille," 6he called to the oldest boy,' come right up her c, behind me.' He w.is a plucky httle fellow, lithe and nimble a 8 a >-quirrel. He sprang up promptly, and btood behind her, his pretty light hair tossing in the \\ lint ''Now,' said she, ''take hold < f my cloVc. and hold on ti^st. Luok right ahi ad at me, and walk straight . Don't be afraid." " I a'int a bit at raid !'' ':i:'i ill" 11 1 1 <• t '110-v, and followed.

They reached die uieat trte =. ifVly. Sarah seated the boy on one of the bivnches .'a-hid Inni to it with one. en>l of thy rope, and ieturned for anothi r ebil i. Kight times Bat ah Mayhcw traversed that peiilous bridge, three times she carried a child in her arms, who wis afraid to walk, and Bhiunk back with frantic screams. he branch to which the bench was extended was a httle lower than the window. It tilted a little

as she advanced, but she never shrank nor swerved. That slender, girlish figure moved on through the thick river mist, over that frail support, as straight and unhesitating as any mechanical thing. Her nerves never rebelled against that unselfish, self-sacrificing mind.

At last she had them safe for the present, at all events, every one of them lashed to the splendid button wood tree with their " Copenhagen " rope They were huddled close together where the main branches left the trunk ; poor babies in their little hats and coatß, with their tiu dinner-pails on their arms. Sarah loosened the end of the bench from the branch, and it tilted down into the water with a splash. The children, in their nervous terror, screamed out, " Now we can't get back," they cried, and burst out in loud sobs.

'• Hush,", said -Sarah, " what are you crying for 1 You don't want to get back." She held the littlest girl in her lap, and tried to pacify her. She clang cloci to her and trembled.

"I want to go home," she kept murmuring. '"I want my mamma."

Sarah, sitting there, saw a bird's nest on the bianch not far from her. The bird fluttered down to it aft?r a while. Somehow that little frail nest and little helpless bird in the button-wood tree encouraged Sarah. She kept her brave, patient eyes fixed upon it. " See the bird in the nest," she motioned to the children, but they paid little attention.

They were watching the schoolhouse with frightened eyes. They could see it rock. " The schoolhouse is moving, teacher," they shrieked. " I see it," said she. " I wouldn't wonder if it sailed off like a boat.'" Sarah had a terrible anxiety in her heart. Suppose the house should float this way — would it overthrow the tree 1 Would ii shake them fiom the branches ? Suppose it should topple over, and its roof come crushing down upon them ? As the h )use rocked more, she watched it more steadily, as if her gaze could avert the danger. If the house merely floated along in the current everything would be well. " It's going 1" shrieked the children, " the school-house ia going 1" The red school-house lurched their way, righted herself, then sailed, bobbing and wavering down the current. The buctonwood tree trembled a little, that was all ; some of the branches had been jostled. The children watched the departing echoolhouse with awe. "We would be gone down over the falls, an' been drownded, if we'd stayed in it," said the nine-year old reflectively. Sarah held Bessie close. Her heart was full of thankfulness, before which everything else paled. If these children were saved to their parents, what did anything else matter ? The rain had ceased, but they were surrounded by a thick mist, like a wall. They could not see a rod again. They could only hear that awful roar of water in the distance, and the soft lap of it around the button wood truuk. Sarah talked to the children and tried to keep up their courage, Sic made them eat their dinners, but thetuie wore on heavily. Would help never come 1 It was tour o'clock before Saiah heard a sound of voices, faint hallaos in the distance. " Childien," sne cried, "they are coming! Your f itheis are coming for you 1 Sing, sing quick, as loud as you cm, so they will know where you ar« ! Sing ' Litrbtly Row."

Sarah led off the little tune they had sung so often in school. The children's swd t, weak voices chimed in, Never would music sound as sweet as that to those anxious ones coming over the flooded meulowin their boats. Guided by it, they rowed straight for the button-wood tiee.

" Here they are, and all safe, thank God 1 " said one, with a great sob. He was little Bessie's father.

Sai.ih watched them all tak. n duwn into the boats. She would not go herself until the last one was safe ; she even helped to untie the rope, but a great faint ness and dizziuess was coming over her. Stu realised faintly that they were lifting her into a boat, she saw Judge Beaton's fpey, then she knew no moie. Wnen she came to herselt bhe was lying on the bed in Florence Benton's pretty room, w'n'h she remembered so well. The doctor was there, and Mr 3. lieuton, and Florence's beautiful face was bending over her with tears in her eyes. "Oh 1 " shi' cried, " she s better 1 mammi, she's batter I Oh, Sarah 1 you dear old Sarah, lam so glad 1 M imma, she's smiling at me ! Oh, Sarah, I'll never tieat you so again 1 It was a month later when Sarah came home from Florence's one evening— she had be^n there to te-t. She entered the room, and stood smiling at her mother a minute. Her eves were shining, her cheeks were almost as rosy as Florence:*. " Mother," she said, *• I've got the Elliott >chool."