The Night School

For the first time in my life a great secret had been confided to me. Of course, I felt quite proud that they had considered me important enough to be a sharer of the secret. But my! What a struggle it was not to tell Paula!

In a few days it would be Paula’s fifteenth birthday, and the whole family seemed endued with the same idea, to make it an especially happy and unforgettable occasion.

Paula must have suspected something with all the coming and going; the whispering and smothered giggles in corners, etc., but she wasn’t the kind to pry into other people’s affairs, and so, no matter what she may have thought, she kept her own counsel.

On the morning of the great day, which to our great satisfaction, came on a Sunday, Paula was quite a bit surprised to find that Mlle. Virtud and Gabriel had been invited over to breakfast; but aside from that occurrence there was nothing unusual as yet to indicate that we were celebrating Paula’s birthday.

When the meal was finished, however, my father folded up his napkin, and with an air of mock gravity said, “Why, let me see, this is Paula’s birthday; isn’t it? I suppose Paula’s been wondering why there were no gifts piled up on her plate. You see, Paula, we’ve all combined on the one gift, but it’s too big to put on the dining table. However, it’s not far away. Let’s all go and have a look at it together.”

He led the way out of the house and across the road, and we all followed.

I presume the neighborhood received quite a shock of surprise to see such a procession of folks coming out of the big house. Many came and stood in their front dooryards to view the unusual sight, for instance, of Louis with his arm linked in that of our old servant Teresa, and Paula herself on our father’s arm, and the rest of us strung out behind.

We finally stopped in front of Mlle. Virtud’s newly-painted little house, with its tiny garden in front in all the splendor of its spring dress.

“Come in, Paula,” said our teacher of former days. “Your present is in here in this front room.”

We all followed after Paula, eager to see the result of her inspection of the “present.”

Paula took one step, and then stopped on the threshold.

“What do you think of your birthday present, Paula?” said my father. “Do you think the Breton and his comrades will be content to come here to study and to leam to sing, etc., in this room?”

“Oh, uncle dear!” and that was all she could say as she embraced and kissed him with a gratitude we all knew well was too deep for mere words to express.

Suddenly Louis pulled her hair a bit, saying, “Well, how about the rest of us. Aren’t you going to thank us too? There are a lot of folks here that have had a share in this business.”

Paula gave him a smile in which she included all of us in her thankful joy and gratitude.

“Why!” said Paula, “this was the room everybody thought was useless, and which was in such bad condition that the landlord didn’t think it worthwhile to fix up!”

“Yes,” said my father; “it’s the very room. I confess one would hardly recognize it, but when Monsieur Bouché understood what it was to be used for, he went to unusual trouble to fix it properly. You’ll have to thank him especially, Paula. He has a reputation of being not always so amiable.”

“I will take him a lovely bunch of flowers,” said Paula.

“Humph!” said Louis, “I’m sure I don’t know what he’d do with them. He doesn’t often get flowers from his tenants.”

Paula walked about the room as in a dream, examining everything.

The table in the center had been loaned by Dr. Lebon. The lovely red curtains were a present from Mlle. Virtud. Rosa and Louis had given the two long benches on each side of the table. My father had given the schoolbooks, and I had bought pencils and copybooks from my monthly allowance. It was all very simple and severe, but to Paula’s eyes these gifts brought together in the little whitewashed room seemed to her quite wonderful.

“Look up there,” said Louis, “you haven’t seen that yet,” and Paula saw hanging from the ceiling a fine new lamp to which a white paper seemed to be tied. Louis reached up and took down the paper for her, and she read as follows: “In great gratitude from the Breton.”

“Now, look here,” said Louis, “you don’t need to weep over it! The Breton is only grateful for all you’ve done for him. Thanks to you, he’s been able to save up a little money lately instead of spending it all on drink.

“Now, look here,” he continued, “you don’t need to weep to an elaborately embroidered motto on the wall containing the Lord’s words to the weary ones of earth. ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’* (Matthew 11:28) ”

“Oh, it’s all too much!” said Paula completely overcome. “How can I thank you all for what you’ve done?”

“Your gratitude and happiness is sufficient reward for us,” said my father. “I don’t know what put the idea in our heads. I suppose you will say it was God, and perhaps you are right. All I know is that I spoke to Mlle. Virtud of your desire to have a night school for the Breton and his friends, and then spoke to others about it and—well, now you’ve seen the result. You owe most of your thanks to Mlle. Virtud who brought the thing about and gave us the use of the room.”

“Which room,” said Mlle. Virtud, with a dry little smile, “had no value whatsoever, you’ll remember.”

“And another thing,” said my father, “she is the one who has taken over the responsibility of the night school. Otherwise I could not have permitted you to take up such a task. Then Rosa is going to help when she can, and Lisita has an idea she can do something also.”

“And I,” said Louis, “where do I come into the picture?”

With a grin my father turned to his son, “That’s where you’re only in the background for once.”

It was decided, in accord with Mlle. Virtud, to have classes twice a week. Thursdays would be for reading, writing and arithmetic, and Sundays would be a time for learning songs and for putting their studies into practice by reading in the Bible, and, for what several had been asking, namely, to learn how to pray.

If the Breton was a model scholar, this could not be said of his two younger sons. These boys appeared to be much below the average in natural intelligence, besides the fact that their ordinary educational opportunities had, as in the case of Joseph, their older brother, been decidedly neglected. Their father had compelled them to attend the night school, but apparently they didn’t seem to grasp what it was all about. Without any apparent cause they both would suddenly duck down below the table to hide their merriment. Whatever story, no matter how interesting, was read aloud, they didn’t appear to comprehend a word of it, and if a chapter from the Bible was read they either showed elaborate signs of boredom or else they would doze in their seats. Paula would gaze at them sadly—her young heart was grieved at such colossal indifference.

The three comrades of the Breton, however, were decidedly different, taking up their studies with great eagerness and listening well to everything that was read aloud.

“It’s a whole lot better here than spending our money at the liquor shop,” they would say with a smile of satisfaction.

“I’ll say so,” the Breton would chime in. “I’ll tell you what, comrades, if I’d known only before all that one gains in Christ’s service, I would have started long ago on this new life with Him.”

The happiest and most beloved of all in the school was Gabriel. He was so happy that he was able to come in and study with the others; and when it came to singing, his marvelously fresh and clear tones outclassed them all—that is, all but one.

I seem to hear yet those lovely hymns that were sung with such sincerity and heartiness—but the voice that rang clear and true above all others is now mingling its notes with the choirs of heaven.