A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge Page #2

"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

								

were more or less nomads in instinct and circumstance. He was ushered
into a well-furnished sitting room, whose glaring freshness was subdued
and repressed by black-framed engravings of scriptural subjects. As Mr.
Brooks glanced at them and recalled the schoolrooms of the old missions,
with their monastic shadows which half hid the gaudy, tinseled saints
and flaming or ensanguined hearts upon the walls, he feared that the
little waif of Mother Church had not gained any cheerfulness in the
exchange.

As she entered the room with Mrs. Hoover, her large dark eyes--the most
notable feature in her small face--seemed to sustain the schoolmaster's
fanciful fear in their half-frightened wonder. She was clinging closely
to Mrs. Hoover's side, as if recognizing the good woman's maternal
kindness even while doubtful of her purpose; but on the schoolmaster
addressing her in Spanish, a singular change took place in their
relative positions. A quick look of intelligence came into her
melancholy eyes, and with it a slight consciousness of superiority to
her protectors that was embarrassing to him. For the rest he observed
merely that she was small and slightly built, although her figure was
hidden in a long "check apron" or calico pinafore with sleeves--a local
garment--which was utterly incongruous with her originality. Her skin
was olive, inclining to yellow, or rather to that exquisite shade of
buff to be seen in the new bark of the madrono. Her face was oval, and
her mouth small and childlike, with little to suggest the aboriginal
type in her other features.

The master's questions elicited from the child the fact that she could
read and write, that she knew her "Hail Mary" and creed (happily the
Protestant Mrs. Hoover was unable to follow this questioning), but he
also elicited the more disturbing fact that her replies and confidences
suggested a certain familiarity and equality of condition which he could
only set down to his own youthfulness of appearance. He was apprehensive
that she might even make some remark regarding Mrs. Hoover, and was not
sorry that the latter did not understand Spanish. But before he left he
managed to speak with Mrs. Hoover alone and suggested a change in
the costume of the pupil when she came to school. "The better she is
dressed," suggested the wily young diplomat, "the less likely is she to
awaken any suspicion of her race."

"Now that's jest what's botherin' me, Mr. Brooks," returned Mrs. Hoover,
with a troubled face, "for you see she is a growin' girl," and she
concluded, with some embarrassment, "I can't quite make up my mind how
to dress her."

"How old is she?" asked the master abruptly.

"Goin' on twelve, but,"--and Mrs. Hoover again hesitated.

"Why, two of my scholars, the Bromly girls, are over fourteen," said the
master, "and you know how they are dressed;" but here he hesitated in
his turn. It had just occurred to him that the little waif was from the
extreme South, and the precocious maturity of the mixed races there was
well known. He even remembered, to his alarm, to have seen brides of
twelve and mothers of fourteen among the native villagers. This might
also account for the suggestion of equality in her manner, and even for
a slight coquettishness which he thought he had noticed in her when
he had addressed her playfully as a muchacha. "I should dress her in
something Spanish," he said hurriedly, "something white, you know, with
plenty of flounces and a little black lace, or a black silk skirt and
a lace scarf, you know. She'll be all right if you don't make her look
like a servant or a dependent," he added, with a show of confidence he
was far from feeling. "But you haven't told me her name," he concluded.

"As we're reckonin' to adopt her," said Mrs. Hoover gravely, "you'll
give her ours."

"But I can't call her 'Miss Hoover,'" suggested the master; "what's her
first name?"

"We was thinkin' o' 'Serafina Ann,'" said Mrs. Hoover with more gravity.

"But what is her name?" persisted the master.

"Well," returned Mrs. Hoover, with a troubled look, "me and Hiram
consider it's a heathenish sort of name for a young gal, but you'll find
it in my brother's letter." She took a letter from under the lid of a
large Bible on the table and pointed to a passage in it.

"The child was christened 'Concepcion,'" read the master. "Why, that's
one of the Marys!"

"The which?" asked Mrs. Hoover severely.

"One of the titles of the Virgin Mary; 'Maria de la Concepcion,'" said
Mr. Brooks glibly.

"It don't sound much like anythin' so Christian and decent as 'Maria' or
'Mary,'" returned Mrs. Hoover suspiciously.

"But the abbreviation, 'Concha,' is very pretty. In fact it's just the
thing, it's so very Spanish," returned the master decisively. "And
you know that the squaw who hangs about the mining camp is called
'Reservation Ann,' and old Mrs. Parkins's negro cook is called 'Aunt
Serafina,' so 'Serafina Ann' is too suggestive. 'Concha Hoover' 's the
name."

"P'r'aps you're right," said Mrs. Hoover meditatively.

"And dress her so she'll look like her name and you'll be all right,"
said the master gayly as he took his departure.

Nevertheless, it was with some anxiety the next morning he heard the
sound of hoofs on the rocky bridle path leading to the schoolhouse. He
had already informed his little flock of the probable addition to their
numbers and their breathless curiosity now accented the appearance
of Mr. Hoover riding past the window, followed by a little figure on
horseback, half hidden in the graceful folds of a serape. The next
moment they dismounted at the porch, the serape was cast aside, and the
new scholar entered.

A little alarmed even in his admiration, the master nevertheless thought
he had never seen a more dainty figure. Her heavily flounced white skirt
stopped short just above her white-stockinged ankles and little
feet, hidden in white satin, low-quartered slippers. Her black silk,
shell-like jacket half clasped her stayless bust clad in an under-bodice
of soft muslin that faintly outlined a contour which struck him as
already womanly. A black lace veil which had protected her head, she
had on entering slipped down to her shoulders with a graceful gesture,
leaving one end of it pinned to her hair by a rose above her little
yellow ear. The whole figure was so inconsistent with its present
setting that the master inwardly resolved to suggest a modification of
it to Mrs. Hoover as he, with great gravity, however, led the girl to
the seat he had prepared for her. Mr. Hoover, who had been assisting
discipline as he conscientiously believed by gazing with hushed,
reverent reminiscence on the walls, here whispered behind his large
hand that he would call for her at "four o'clock" and tiptoed out of the
schoolroom. The master, who felt that everything would depend upon
his repressing the children's exuberant curiosity and maintaining the

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