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Cressy
Bret Harte

Page 1 of 308


CRESSY 

by Bret Harte 

CRESSY 

CHAPTER I. 

As the master of the Indian Spring school emerged from the pine
woods into the little clearing before the schoolhouse, he stopped
whistling, put his hat less jauntily on his head, threw away some
wild flowers he had gathered on his way, and otherwise assumed the
severe demeanor of his profession and his mature age--which was at
least twenty.  Not that he usually felt this an assumption; it was
a firm conviction of his serious nature that he impressed others,
as he did himself, with the blended austerity and ennui of deep and
exhausted experience. 

The building which was assigned to him and his flock by the Board

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