SCHOOL DAYS

The little Arkansas village of Omaha did not have any school of its own, for some reason or other, I suppose because it was too small; so those of us who desired to increase our store of knowledge must walk two miles to a one-room country school. There was quite a delegation who usually made the trip together, swinging books and tin dinner pails, and discussing such things as who ironed each others’ dresses or who “got licked” last night down in the “Holler.”

There was Rebecca whose father owned the saw-mill but could not write his own name. There were Ada and Addie, sisters, whose father own [text missing] ished plastered house, and was also post master, so his family was considered “the best” in town. Then there was another Addie with several younger brothers and sisters, whose father had the other store but whose family was more numerous and more “common.” However, I remember stopping for dinner or supper several times with the “numerous” families. Another member of our group was Alice, whose mother kept the hotel and who was my nearest neighbor. Of course there were several boys, including my brother, who spent most of the time teasing us girls. Then, too, there were some children who lived in the country, so altogether the room was well filled.

Our building was similar to any other rural school house except that the pupil’s benches were made by hand, unpainted, and long enough to seat four or five girls or boys, depending on where you sat, as the boys sat on one side of the room and the girls on the other, with only the one aisle down the middle of the room. We did have desks, though, built on the backs of the benches; but sometimes our belongings became woefully mixed up as there were no partitions. A newcomer was usually placed at the end of a bench near the aisle, and sometimes during the day he would find himself landing in the middle of the floor. All the other occupants of the bench would slide against him simultaneously and give him a very concentrated shove.

At recesses we had some glorious times as the whole woods were our playground and the equipment was all manufactured by nature. One popular amusement consisted of sitting on a board and sliding down a long, steep hill so thickly covered with pine needles that we coasted just as you would coast on a sled down a snow-covered hill.

When we wanted a new swing, we would find a black oak tree growing on the side of a hill, half break a lower limb so it would hang down but was still pretty well fastened, grasp it with both hands out toward the end, draw it around behind the tree, take two or three running steps, and swing out into space, arriving on the upper side of the tree, having described a complete circle, almost.

One noon, being tired of all these things, some of us girls decided to make a playhouse, a real playhouse with walls and a roof. First of all we had to find a group of trees the right size; then find some poles we could lay across from one tree to the other, two or three feet from the ground, all the way around the group. A second row was placed two or three feet higher, and a third still higher. Poles thrown over the third row formed the foundation for the roof. Now came the hard work, breaking small green branches from the pine trees and hanging them tip down from these horizontal rods, so they formed a solid wall. What a time we had, we skinned our hands and tore our finger nails until finally Rebecca decided that she was not afraid to ask the teacher for his hatchet. Thus armed we made more progress.

Just as we were tossing the pine boughs on the top, one of the boys, named Jimmy, walked up and stood watching us.

Digging a hole in the dirt with his big toe and holding to his one gallus with both hands, he blurted out: “You-all want a real playhouse?”

“A real playhouse?” we echoed. “What do you call this?”

“Well, it ain’t as good as ourn,” the lad replied. “There ain’t no door.”

Noticing this for the first time, we felt rather confused.

“Then this here place is flat,” Jimmy continued. “And when it rains the ground will stay wet.”

“That is so,” we agreed.

“You all come and see our house,” our visitor invited. “Hit’s a peach, and you kin have it, if you want it.”

After running down the road a piece, Jimmy turned to one side and there on a bit of gently sloping ground well sheltered by larger trees, stood a little green igloo. Crawling through the small opening, we found that we really could stand inside without pushing the roof out of place. Not only was the wall thickly covered with the fragrant pine boughs, but it was lined with pieces of burlap carefully sewed together. In the center stood a large flat stone for the table surrounded by several smaller stones for chairs. The chairs were covered with spongy white moss, to make them softer, I suppose, don’t you? What did we spy next? Why, between two trees which stood pretty close together, small pieces of boards had been wedged for shelves. On one shelf sat a little basket of chinkapins, and on another a basket of hickory nuts.