A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge

"A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge" is a novella by Bret Harte, set against the backdrop of the American West during the Gold Rush era. The story follows a young, aspiring student at a remote school in a rugged mountain town, where he and his classmates navigate the challenges of frontier life, friendships, and personal growth. Harte's characteristic wit and keen observation of human nature shine through as he explores themes of youth, ambition, and the impact of environment on character. Through his vivid storytelling, Harte captures both the harsh realities and the endearing moments of life in a small community, revealing the resilience and dreams of those striving for a better future.

• Short story

								
The schoolmaster of Chestnut Ridge was interrupted in his after-school
solitude by the click of hoof and sound of voices on the little bridle
path that led to the scant clearing in which his schoolhouse stood. He
laid down his pen as the figures of a man and woman on horseback
passed the windows and dismounted before the porch. He recognized the
complacent, good-humored faces of Mr. and Mrs. Hoover, who owned a
neighboring ranch of some importance and who were accounted well to do
people by the community. Being a childless couple, however, while they
generously contributed to the support of the little school, they had
not added to its flock, and it was with some curiosity that the young
schoolmaster greeted them and awaited the purport of their visit. This
was protracted in delivery through a certain polite dalliance with the
real subject characteristic of the Southwestern pioneer.

"Well, Almiry," said Mr. Hoover, turning to his wife after the first
greeting with the schoolmaster was over, "this makes me feel like
old times, you bet! Why, I ain't bin inside a schoolhouse since I was
knee-high to a grasshopper. Thar's the benches, and the desks, and the
books and all them 'a b, abs,' jest like the old days. Dear! Dear! But
the teacher in those days was ez old and grizzled ez I be--and some o'
the scholars--no offense to you, Mr. Brooks--was older and bigger nor
you. But times is changed: yet look, Almiry, if thar ain't a hunk o'
stale gingerbread in that desk jest as it uster be! Lord! how it all
comes back! Ez I was sayin' only t'other day, we can't be too grateful
to our parents for givin' us an eddication in our youth;" and Mr.
Hoover, with the air of recalling an alma mater of sequestered gloom and
cloistered erudition, gazed reverently around the new pine walls.

But Mrs. Hoover here intervened with a gracious appreciation of the
schoolmaster's youth after her usual kindly fashion. "And don't you
forget it, Hiram Hoover, that these young folks of to-day kin teach the
old schoolmasters of 'way back more'n you and I dream of. We've heard
of your book larnin', Mr. Brooks, afore this, and we're proud to hev you
here, even if the Lord has not pleased to give us the children to send
to ye. But we've always paid our share in keeping up the school
for others that was more favored, and now it looks as if He had not
forgotten us, and ez if"--with a significant, half-shy glance at her
husband and a corroborating nod from that gentleman--"ez if, reelly, we
might be reckonin' to send you a scholar ourselves."

The young schoolmaster, sympathetic and sensitive, felt somewhat
embarrassed. The allusion to his extreme youth, mollified though it was
by the salve of praise from the tactful Mrs. Hoover, had annoyed him,
and perhaps added to his slight confusion over the information she
vouchsafed. He had not heard of any late addition to the Hoover family,
he would not have been likely to, in his secluded habits; and although
he was accustomed to the naive and direct simplicity of the pioneer,
he could scarcely believe that this good lady was announcing a maternal
expectation. He smiled vaguely and begged them to be seated.

"Ye see," said Mr. Hoover, dropping upon a low bench, "the way the thing
pans out is this. Almiry's brother is a pow'ful preacher down the coast
at San Antonio and hez settled down thar with a big Free Will Baptist
Church congregation and a heap o' land got from them Mexicans. Thar's
a lot o' poor Spanish and Injin trash that belong to the land, and
Almiry's brother hez set about convertin' 'em, givin' 'em convickshion
and religion, though the most of 'em is Papists and followers of the
Scarlet Woman. Thar was an orphan, a little girl that he got outer the
hands o' them priests, kinder snatched as a brand from the burnin', and
he sent her to us to be brought up in the ways o' the Lord, knowin'
that we had no children of our own. But we thought she oughter get the
benefit o' schoolin' too, besides our own care, and we reckoned to bring
her here reg'lar to school."

Relieved and pleased to help the good-natured couple in the care of the
homeless waif, albeit somewhat doubtful of their religious methods, the
schoolmaster said he would be delighted to number her among his little
flock. Had she already received any tuition?

"Only from them padres, ye know, things about saints, Virgin Marys,
visions, and miracles," put in Mrs. Hoover; "and we kinder thought ez
you know Spanish you might be able to get rid o' them in exchange for
'conviction o' sins' and 'justification by faith,' ye know."

"I'm afraid," said Mr. Brooks, smiling at the thought of displacing the
Church's "mysteries" for certain corybantic displays and thaumaturgical
exhibitions he had witnessed at the Dissenters' camp meeting, "that I
must leave all that to you, and I must caution you to be careful
what you do lest you also shake her faith in the alphabet and the
multiplication table."

"Mebbee you're right," said Mrs. Hoover, mystified but good-natured;
"but thar's one thing more we oughter tell ye. She's--she's a trifle
dark complected."

The schoolmaster smiled. "Well?" he said patiently.

"She isn't a n*gger nor an Injin, ye know, but she's kinder a
half-Spanish, half-Mexican Injin, what they call 'mes--mes'"--

"Mestiza," suggested Mr. Brooks; "a half-breed or mongrel."

"I reckon. Now thar wouldn't be any objection to that, eh?" said Mr.
Hoover a little uneasily.

"Not by me," returned the schoolmaster cheerfully. "And although this
school is state-aided it's not a 'public school' in the eye of the law,
so you have only the foolish prejudices of your neighbors to deal with."
He had recognized the reason of their hesitation and knew the strong
racial antagonism held towards the negro and Indian by Mr. Hoover's
Southwestern compatriots, and he could not refrain from "rubbing it in."

"They kin see," interposed Mrs. Hoover, "that she's not a n*gger, for
her hair don't 'kink,' and a furrin Injin, of course, is different from
one o' our own."

"If they hear her speak Spanish, and you simply say she is a foreigner,
as she is, it will be all right," said the schoolmaster smilingly. "Let
her come, I'll look after her."

Much relieved, after a few more words the couple took their departure,
the schoolmaster promising to call the next afternoon at the Hoovers'
ranch and meet his new scholar. "Ye might give us a hint or two how she
oughter be fixed up afore she joins the school."

The ranch was about four miles from the schoolhouse, and as Mr. Brooks
drew rein before the Hoovers' gate he appreciated the devotion of the
couple who were willing to send the child that distance twice a day.
The house, with its outbuildings, was on a more liberal scale than its
neighbors, and showed few of the makeshifts and half-hearted advances
towards permanent occupation common to the Southwestern pioneers, who

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