Later in the school year she urged the children to bring dried corn

husk to school, she brought brightly colored raffia, and taught them

how to make baskets. The children were clamorous for more knowledge of

basket making. The fascinating task of forming objects of beauty and

usefulness from homely corn husk and a few gay threads of raffia was

novel to them. Amanda was willing to help the children along the path

of manual dexterity and eager to have them see and love the beautiful.

Under her guidance they gathered and pressed weeds and grasses and the

airy, elusive milkweed down, caught butterflies, and assembled the

whole under glass, thus making beautiful trays and pictures.

On the whole it was a wonderful, happy year for the new teacher of the

Crow Hill school. When spring came with all the alluring witchery of

the Garden Spot it seemed to her she must make every one of her pupils

feel the thrill of the song-sparrow's first note and the matchless

loveliness of the anemone.

One day in early April, the last week of school, as she locked the door

of the schoolhouse and started down the road to her home an unusual

glow of satisfaction beamed on her face.

"Only two more days of school, then the big Spelling Bee to wind it up

and then my first year's teaching will be over! I have enjoyed it but

I'm like the children--eager for vacation."

She hummed gaily as she went along, this nineteen-year-old school

teacher so near the end of her first year's work in the schoolroom. Her

eyes roved over the fair panorama of Lancaster County in early spring

dress. As she neared the house she saw her Uncle Amos resting under a

giant sycamore tree that stood in the front yard.

"Good times," she called to him.

"Hello, Manda," he answered. "You're home early."

"Early--it's half-past four. Have you been asleep and lost track of the

time?"

He took a big silver watch from a pocket and whistled as he looked at

it. "Whew! It is that late! Time for me to get to work again. Your Aunt

Rebecca's here."

"Dear me! And I felt so happy! Now I'll get a call-down about something

or other. I'm ashamed of myself, Uncle Amos, but I think Aunt Rebecca

gets worse as she grows older."

"'Fraid so," the man agreed soberly. "Well, we can't all be alike. Too

bad, now, she don't take after me, eh, Amanda?"

"It surely is! You're the nicest man I know!"

"Hold on now," he said; "next you make me blush. I ain't used to

gettin' compliments."

"But I mean it. I don't see how she can be your sister and Mother's! I

think the fairies must have mixed babies when she was little. I can see

many good qualities in her, but there's no need of her being so

contrary and critical. I remember how I used to be half afraid of her

when I was little. She tried to make Mother dress me in a plain dress

and a Mennonite bonnet, but Mother said she'd dress me like a little

girl and if I chose I could wear the plain dress and bonnet when I was

old enough to know what it means. Oh, Mother's wonderful! If I had Aunt

Rebecca for a mother--but perhaps she'd be different then. Oh, Uncle

Amos, do you remember the howl she raised when we had our house wired

for electricity?"




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