In the Midst of Alarms, Robert Barr [read e book txt] 📗

and instantly Sandy and Macdonald, with two pails of water that stood handy, poured the cold liquid around the red-hot zone, enveloping themselves in clouds of steam, the quick contraction clamping the iron on the wood until the joints cracked together. There could be no loitering; quick work was necessary, or a spoiled wheel was the result. Macdonald, alternately spluttering through fire and steam, was in his element. Even Sandy had to be on the keen jump, without a moment to call his plug of tobacco his own. Macdonald fussed and fussed, but got through an immense amount of work in an incredibly short space of time, cursing Sandy pretty much all the while; yet that useful man never replied in kind, contenting himself with a wink at the crowd when he got the chance, and saying under his breath:

"The old man's in great fettle to-day."

Thus everybody enjoyed himself: Macdonald, because he was the center figure in a saturnalia of work; Sandy, because no matter how hard a man has to work he can chew tobacco all the time; the crowd, because the spectacle of fire, water, and steam was fine, and they didn't have to do anything but sit around and look on. The sun got lower and lower as, one by one, the spectators departed to do their chores, and prepare for the evening meeting. Yates at the invitation of the whittler went home with him, and thoroughly relished his evening meal.


CHAPTER XII.

Margaret had never met any man but her father who was so fond of books as Professor Renmark. The young fellows of her acquaintance read scarcely anything but the weekly papers; they went with some care through the yellow almanac that was given away free, with the grocer's name printed on the back. The marvelous cures the almanac recorded were of little interest, and were chiefly read by the older folk, but the young men reveled in the jokes to be found at the bottom of every page, their only drawback being that one could never tell the stories at a paring-bee or other social gathering, because everyone in the company had read them. A few of the young men came sheepishly round to get a book out of the library, but it was evident that their interest was not so much in the volume as in the librarian, and when that fact became apparent to the girl, she resented it. Margaret was thought to be cold and proud by the youth of the neighborhood, or "stuck-up," as they expressed it.

To such a girl a man like Renmark was a revelation. He could talk of other things than the weather, live stock, and the prospects for the crops. The conversation at first did not include Margaret, but she listened to every word of it with interest. Her father and mother were anxious to hear about their boy; and from that engrossing subject the talk soon drifted to university life, and the differences between city and country. At last the farmer, with a sigh, arose to go. There is little time for pleasant talk on a farm while daylight lasts. Margaret, remembering her duties as librarian, began to take in the books from the wagon to the front room. Renmark, slow in most things, was quick enough to offer his assistance on this occasion; but he reddened somewhat as he did so, for he was unused to being a squire of dames.

"I wish you would let me do the porterage," he said. "I would like to earn the right to look at these books sometimes, even though I may not have the privilege of borrowing, not being a taxable resident of the township."

"The librarian," answered Margaret, with a smile, "seems to be at liberty to use her own discretion in the matter of lending. No one has authority to look over her accounts, or to censure her if she lends recklessly. So, if you wish to borrow books, all you have to do is to ask for them."

"You may be sure I shall avail myself of the permission. But my conscience will be easier if I am allowed to carry them in."

"You will be permitted to help. I like carrying them. There is no more delicious armful than books."

As Renmark looked at the lovely girl, her face radiant with enthusiasm, the disconcerting thought came suddenly that perhaps her statement might not be accurate. No such thought had ever suggested itself to him before, and it now filled him with guilty confusion. He met the clear, honest gaze of her eyes for a moment, then he stammered lamely:

"I--I too am very fond of books."

Together they carried in the several hundred volumes, and then began to arrange them.

"Have you no catalogue?" he asked.

"No. We never seem to need one. People come and look over the library, and take out whatever book they fancy."

"Yes, but still every library ought to be catalogued. Cataloguing is an art in itself. I have paid a good deal of attention to it, and will show you how it is done, if you care to know."

"Oh, I wish you would."

"How do you keep a record of the volumes that are out?"

"I just write the name of the person, the title, and the date in this blank book. When the volume is returned, I score out the record."

"I see," said Renmark dubiously.

"That isn't right, is it? Is there a better way?"

"Well, for a small library, that ought to do; but if you were handling many books, I think confusion might result."

"Do tell me the right way. I should like to know, even if it is a small library."

"There are several methods, but I am by no means sure your way is not the simplest, and therefore the best in this instance."

"I'm not going to be put off like that," said Margaret, laughing. "A collection of books is a collection of books, whether large or small, and deserves respect and the best of treatment. Now, what method is used in large libraries?"

"Well, I should suggest a system of cards, though slips of paper would do. When any person wants to take out a book, let him make out a card, giving the date and the name or number of the book; he then must sign the card, and there you are. He cannot deny having had the book, for you have his own signature to prove it. The slips are arranged in a box according to dates, and when a book is returned, you tear up the recording paper."

"I think that is a very good way, and I will adopt it."

"Then let me send to Toronto and get you a few hundred cards. We'll have them here in a day or two."

"Oh, I don't want to put you to that trouble."

"It is no trouble at all. Now, that is settled, let us attack the catalogue. Have you a blank book anywhere about? We will first make an alphabetical list; then we will arrange them under the heads of history, biography, fiction, and so on."

Simple as it appeared, the making of a catalogue took a long time. Both were absorbed in their occupation. Cataloguing in itself is a straight and narrow path, but in this instance there were so many delightful side excursions that rapid progress could not be expected. To a reader the mere mention of a book brings up recollections. Margaret was reading out the names; Renmark, on slips of paper, each with a letter on it, was writing them down.

"Oh, have you that book?" he would say, looking up as a title was mentioned. "Have you ever read it?"

"No; for, you see, this part of the library is all new to me. Why, here is one of which the leaves are not even cut. No one has read it. Is it good?"

"One of the best," Renmark would say, taking the volume. "Yes, I know this edition. Let me read you one passage."

And Margaret would sit in the rocking while he cut the leaves and found the place. One extract was sure to suggest another, and time passed before the title of the book found its way to the proper slip of paper. These excursions into literature were most interesting to both excursionists, but they interfered with cataloguing. Renmark read and read, ever and anon stopping to explain some point, or quote what someone else had said on the same subject, marking the place in the book, as he paused, with inserted fore finger. Margaret swayed back and forth in the comfortable rocking chair, and listened intently, her large dark eyes fixed upon him so earnestly that now and then, when he met them, he seemed disconcerted for a moment. But the girl did not notice this. At the end of one of his dissertations she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, with her cheek resting against her hand, and said:

"How very clear you make everything, Mr. Renmark."

"Do you think so?" he said with a smile. "It's my business, you know."

"I think it's a shame that girls are not allowed to go to the university; don't you?"

"Really, I never gave any thought to the subject, and I am not quite prepared to say."

"Well, I think it most unfair. The university is supported by the Government, is it not? Then why should half of the population be shut out from its advantages?"

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do, you know."

"Why?"

"There are many reasons," he replied evasively.

"What are they? Do you think girls could not learn, or are not as capable of hard study as well as----"

"It isn't that," he interrupted; "there are plenty of girls' schools in the country, you know. Some very good ones in Toronto itself, for that matter."

"Yes; but why shouldn't I go to the university with my brother? There are plenty of boys' schools, too, but the university is the university. I suppose my father helps to support it. Why, then, should one child be allowed to attend and the other not? It isn't at all just."

"It wouldn't do," said the professor more firmly, the more he thought about it.

"Would you take that as a satisfying reason from one or your students?"

"What?"

"The phrase, 'It wouldn't do.'"

Renmark laughed.

"I'm afraid not," he said; "but, then, I'm very exacting in class. Now, if you want to know, why do you not ask your father?"

"Father and I have discussed the question, often, and he quite agrees with me in thinking it unfair."

"Oh, does he?" said Renmark, taken aback; although, when he reflected, he realized that the father doubtless knew as little about the dangers of the city as the daughter did.

"And what does your mother say?"

"Oh, mother thinks if a girl is a good housekeeper it is all that is required. So you will have to give me a good reason, if there is one, for nobody else in this house argues on your side of the question."

"Well," said Renmark in an embarrassed manner, "if you don't know by the time you are twenty-five, I'll promise to discuss the whole subject with you."

Margaret sighed as she leaned back in her chair.

"Twenty-five?" she cried, adding with the unconscious veracity of youth: "That will be seven years to wait. Thank you, but I think I'll find out before that time."