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?"