Only think, for forty years, he
had been there in his place, with the playground facing him, and his
class always as full! Only the benches and the desks which had once
been polished were worn from usage now; the walnut trees in the yard
had grown very large, and the hop vine that he, himself, had planted
twined now above the window and as far as the roof. It was breaking
the heart of the school-master to leave all these things.
But he had the courage to carry on the class to the very end. After
the writing lesson, he began the lesson in history. Afterward, the
little ones sang their A. B. C.'s all together and at the end of the
room the old soldier took off his spectacles and, holding his spelling
book in his two hands, he read off the letters with them.
Suddenly the clock in the tower of the village church sounded the hour
of noon. Instantly, the trumpet call of the Prussians, returning from
their drilling, burst through the windows. The school-master rose,
quite pale, in his place. Never had he seemed so great to the
children.
"My friends," he said, "my little friends, I--"
But he could say no more; he was not able to speak the words. He
turned to the blackboard and, taking a piece of chalk, he wrote upon
it,
"_Vive la France!_"
Afterward, he remained there, his head resting against the wall, and,
without speaking, he made a sign with his hand.
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