"Crazy Colin strode up the road, bearing Bert high upon his shoulder."—Page 79."Crazy Colin strode up the road, bearing Bert high upon his shoulder."—Page79.
The light from the kitchen streamed out upon the road, making a broad luminous path, up which the next moment strode Crazy Colin, bearing Bert high upon his broad shoulders, while his swarthy countenance fairly shone with a smile of pride and satisfaction that clearly showed he did not need Uncle Alec's enthusiastic clappings on the back, and hearty "Well done, Colin! You're a trump!" to make him understand the importance of what he had done.
The two were at once surrounded by the overjoyed family. After giving her darling one passionate hug, Mrs. Lloyd took both of Crazy Colin's hands in hers, and, looking up into his beaming face, said, with a deep sincerity even his dull brain could not fail to appreciate: "God bless you, Colin. I cannot thank you enough, but I'll be your friend for life;" while the Squire, having blown his nose very vigorously on his red silk handkerchief, grasped Colin by the arm, dragged him into the house, and ordered that the best the larder could produce should be placed before him at once. It was a happy scene, and no one enjoyed it more than did Crazy Colin himself.
The exact details of the rescue of Bert were never fully ascertained; for, of course, poor Colin could not make them known, his range of expression being limited to his mere personal wants, and Bert himself being able to tell no more than that while lying at thefoot of the tree, and crying pretty vigorously, he heard a rustling among the trees that sent a chill of terror through him, and then the sound of Crazy Colin's talk with himself, which he recognised instantly. Forgetting all about the fright Colin had given him a few days before, he shouted out his name. Colin came to him at once, and seeming to understand the situation at a glance, picked him up in his strong arms, flung him over his shoulder, and strode off toward Maplebank with him as though he were a mere feather-weight and not a sturdy boy. Dark as it was, Colin never hesitated, nor paused, except now and then to rest a moment, until he reached the red gate where Uncle Alec met him, and welcomed him so warmly.
Mrs. Lloyd did not think it wise nor necessary to say very much to Bert about his disobedience. If ever there was a contrite, humbled boy, it was he. He had learned a lesson that he would be long in forgetting. As for his tempter, Charlie Chisholm, he did not turn up until the next morning, having lost himself completely in his endeavour to get home; and it was only after many hours of wandering he found his way to an outlying cabin of the backwoods settlement, where he was given shelter for the night.
With the waning of summer came the time for Mrs. Lloyd to return to the city. Both she and Bert felt very sorry to leave Maplebank, and the family there was unanimous in seeking to persuade her to allow Bert to remain for the winter. But this was not practicable, because, in the first place, Mr. Lloyd had been writing to say that he was quite tired of being without his boy, and would like to have him back again as soon as was convenient; and, in the second place, Bert had reached the age when he ought to begin his schooling, and must return home for that purpose.
So at length, after more than one postponement, the day of departure arrived. Grandmother and Aunt Martha, and Aunt Sarah, could not restrain their tears, and big, kind Kitty was among the mourners too, as Bert and his mother took their seat in the carriage beside the Squire and Uncle Alec, to drive in to the village where the coach would be met.
With many a promise to come back ere very long,and many a fond "Good-bye! God bless you, my darling!" the travellers started on their homeward journey. The village was reached in good time, the coach found awaiting its passengers, the trunks safely stowed behind, the last good-bye to grandfather and Uncle Alec said, and then, amid cracking of whips and waving of handkerchiefs, the big coach rolled grandly off, and Bert had really parted with dear, delightful Maplebank, where he had spent such a happy summer.
The homeward journey was a very pleasant one, and marked by no exciting incidents. Jack Davis was in his place on the box, and, recognising Bert when the passengers got out at the first change of horses, hailed him with a hearty: "Holloa, youngster! Are you on board? Would you like to come up on top with me again?"
It need hardly be said that Bert jumped at the invitation, and, his mother giving her consent, he rode on the box seat beside Davis the greater part of the day as happy as a bird. The weather was perfect, it being a cool, bright day in early September, and Bert enjoyed very much recognising and recalling the different things that had particularly interested him on the way down. "Black Rory" was as lively as ever, and seemed determined to run away and dash everything to pieces as they started out from his stable, but calmed down again after a mile or two, as usual, and trotted along amiably enough the rest of his distance.
It happened that Davis had no one on the outside with whom he cared to talk, so he gave a good deal of attention to Bert, telling him about the horses and their peculiarities, and how they were in so many ways just like people, and had to be humoured sometimes, and sometimes punished, and how it was, upon the whole, so much better to be kind than cruel to them.
"If your father ever lets you have a pony, Bert," said Davis, "take my word for it it'll pay you to treat that ere pony like a brother. Just let him know you're fond of him from the start; give him a lump of sugar or a crust of bread now and then—it's wonderful how fond horses are of such things—and he'll follow you about just like a dog. Horses have got a good deal more human nature in 'em than folks generally give 'em credit for, I can tell you, and I think I know what I am talking about, for I've had to do with them ever since I've been as big as you."
Bert listened to this lecture with very lively interest, for his father had more than once hinted at getting him a pony some day if he were a good boy, and showed he could be trusted with one. He confided his hopes to his friend, and received in return for the confidence a lot more of good advice, which need not be repeated here.
The sun was setting as the coach drove up to the hotel at Thurso, where Mrs. Lloyd and Bert were toremain for the night, taking the train for Halifax the next morning. Bert felt quite sorry at parting with his big friend, the driver, and very gladly promised him that the next time he was going to Maplebank he would try to manage so as to be going down on Jack Davis' day that their friendship might be renewed.
Both Bert and his mother were very glad to get to bed that night. Coaching is fine fun in fine weather, but it is fatiguing, nevertheless. You cannot ride all day in a coach without more or less backache, and Bert was so sleepy that, but for his mother preventing him, he would have flung himself upon his bed without so much as taking off his boots. He managed to undress all right enough, however, and then slept like a top until next morning.
Bright and early they took the train, and by mid-day were at Halifax, where Mr. Lloyd and Mary received them with open arms and many a glad kiss.
After allowing him a few days to settle down to home life again, the question of Bert's going to school was raised. He was now full eight years of age, and quite old enough to make a beginning. His mother and sister had between them given him a good start in the "three R's" at home, for he was an apt pupil, and he was quite ready to enter a larger sphere.
At first his parents were somewhat undecided as to whether they would send him to a school presided over by a woman or a man. It was usual in Halifaxfor those who preferred the private to the public schools to send their boys for a year or two to a dame's school as a sort of easy introduction to school life; and in the very same street as that in which the Lloyds lived there was such a school where two rather gaunt and grim old-maid sisters aided one another in the application of primer and taws. To this institution Mrs. Lloyd thought it would be well for Bert to go. His father had no very decided views to the contrary, but on Bert himself being consulted, it became very clear that his mind was quite made up.
"Please don't send me to 'Old Goggles'' school, father," pleaded he, earnestly.
"'Old Goggles!' Why, Bert, what do you mean by calling Miss Poster by such a name as that?"
"It's most disrespectful," interrupted his mother, with a very much shocked expression, while Mr. Lloyd tried hard, but unsuccessfully, to conceal a smile beneath his moustache.
"Well, mother, that's what they all call her," explained Bert.
"Even though they do, Bert, you should not. Miss Poster is a lady, and you must act the gentleman toward her," replied Mrs. Lloyd. "But why don't you want to go to school there? Several boys about your own age are going."
"Oh, because a lot of girls go there, and I don't want to go to school with girls," was Master Bert's ungallant reply.
Mr. Lloyd, who had evidently been much amused at the conversation, now joined in it by drawing Bert toward him and asking, in a half-serious, half-humorous tone:
"Is my boy Bert afraid of little girls?"
Bert's face flushed till it was crimson, and dropping his head upon his breast, he muttered:
"I'm not afraid of them, but I don't like 'em, and I don't want to go to school with 'em."
The fact of the matter was that Bert not only had his full share of the repugnance to the other sex common to all boys of his age, but he had besides a strong notion that it was not a manly thing to go to school with girls, and if there was one thing more than another that he aspired after, it was manliness.
Mr. Lloyd thoroughly understood his son's feelings, and felt disposed to humour them. Accordingly, lifting up his head, he gave him a kiss on the forehead, saying:
"Very well, Bert; we'll see about it. Since you have such decided objections to Miss Goggles'—I beg her pardon, Miss Poster's—excellent establishment, I will make inquiry, and see if I cannot find something that will suit you better. I want you to like your school, and to take an interest in it."
Bert's face fairly beamed at these words, and he heaved a huge sigh of relief which brought another smile out on his father's countenance.
"You're such a good father," said Bert, hugginghis knees, and there the matter dropped for a few days.
When it came up again, Mr. Lloyd had a new proposition to make. In the interval he had been making some inquiries, and had been recommended to send his boy to a school just lately established by an accomplished young lawyer, who had adopted that method of earning an honest penny while waiting for his practice to become more lucrative. It was a good deal of an experiment, Mr. Lloyd thought but possibly worth trying.
Accordingly, one fine morning in October, behold Master Bert in a rather perturbed frame of mind trotting along beside his father, who pretended not to be aware of his son's feelings, although at the same time seeking in every way to divert him. But it was not with much success. Bert felt thoroughly nervous over the new experience that awaited him. He had never seen Mr. Garrison, who was to be his teacher, and imagined him as a tall, thin man with a long beard, a stern face, a harsh voice, and an ever-ready "cat-o'-nine tails." As for his future schoolmates, they were no doubt a lot of rough, noisy chaps, that would be certain to "put him through a course of sprouts" before they would make friends with him.
If, then, such thoughts as these filled Bert's mind, it must not be wondered at that he lagged a good deal both as to his talking and walking, although hewas always spry enough with both when out with his father. Much sooner than he wished they reached the building, a large rambling stone structure, only one room of which was occupied by the school; they climbed the broad free-stone staircase to the upper storey, knocked at a door from behind which came a confused hum of voices, and being bidden "Come in," entered a big room that at first seemed to Bert to be completely filled by a misty sea of faces with every eye turned right upon him. He cowered before this curious scrutiny, and but for his father's restraining grasp would probably have attempted a wild dash for the still unclosed door, when he heard his father saying:
"Good-morning, Mr. Garrison; I have brought my boy to place him in your care for a while, if you will have him as a pupil." Looking up, Bert beheld a person approaching very different from the schoolmaster of his gloomy anticipations.
Mr. Garrison was indeed tall, but there the similarity ended. He was youthful, slight, and very attractive in appearance, his manner being exceedingly graceful and easy, as he came forward with a winning smile upon his countenance, and extending his right hand to Mr. Lloyd, placed the other upon Bert's shoulder, and said, in a mellow, pleasant voice:
"Good-morning, Mr. Lloyd. I shall be very glad indeed to have your boy in my school, and if he isanything like as good a man as his father, he will make one of my very best pupils."
Mr. Lloyd laughed heartily at this flattering remark.
"Listen to that, Bert," said he. "When you are in any doubt just how to behave, you have only to ask yourself what I would do under the same circumstances, and act accordingly." Then, turning to Mr. Garrison, he said: "Perhaps you would like me to join your school, too, so as to set a good example to the other boys."
"Right glad would I be to have you, Mr. Lloyd," answered Mr. Garrison, with a cordial smile. "Many a time I find my boys almost too much for one man to handle."
Bert, clinging fast to his father's hand, and half-hoping he was in earnest, felt a pang of disappointment when he replied:
"I'm afraid it's too late, Mr. Garrison. My school-days are past; except so far as I may be able to live them over with this little chap here. I will leave him with you now; do your best with him. He can learn well enough when he likes, but he is just as fond of fun as any youngster of his age." Then giving Bert an affectionate pat on the shoulder, and whispering in his ear, "Now, be a man, Bert," Mr. Lloyd went away, and Bert followed Mr. Garrison up to the desk, where his name, age, and address were duly entered in the register book.
The next business was to assign him a seat. A fewquestions as to what he knew showed that his proper place was in the junior class of all, and there accordingly Mr. Garrison led him. A vacancy was found for him in a long range of seats, extending from the door almost up to the desk, and he was bidden sit down beside a boy who had been eyeing him with lively curiosity from the moment of his entrance into the room. So soon as Mr. Garrison went away, this boy opened fire upon the new-comer.
"Say, sonny, whats yer name?" he asked, with unhesitating abruptness.
Bert looked the questioner all over before replying. He was a short, stout, stubble-haired chap, evidently a year or two older than himself, with a broad, good-humoured face, and the inspection being, upon the whole, satisfactory, Bert replied, very pleasantly:
"Bert Lloyd—and what's yours?"
Ignoring the question put to him, the other boy gave a sort of grunt that might be taken as an expression of approval of his new schoolmate's name, and then said:
"Guess you don't live down our way; never seen you before, that I know of."
"I live in Fort Street. Where do you live?" replied Bert, giving question for question.
"I'm a West-ender," said the other, meaning that his home was in the western part of the city.
"But whats your name?" asked Bert again.
"Oh, my name's Frank Bowser," was the careless reply. "But everybody calls me 'Shorty,' and you may as well, too."
"All right," said Bert. And the two began to feel quite good friends at once.
As the morning passed, and Bert came to feel more at home, he took in the details of his surroundings. Mr. Garrison's school consisted of some fifty boys, ranging in age from sixteen downward, Bert being about the youngest of them all. They all belonged to the better class, and were, upon the whole, a very presentable lot of pupils. Scanning their countenances curiously as they sat at their desks or stood up in rows before the teacher to recite, Bert noticed more than one face that he instinctively liked, and, being charmed with Mr. Garrison, and well pleased with his new friend "Shorty," his first impressions were decidedly favourable.
He had, of course, nothing to do that morning, save to look about him, but Mr. Garrison gave him a list of books to be procured, and lessons to be learned in them before the school broke up for the day; and with this in his pocket he went home in excellent spirits, to tell them all there, how well he had got on his first day in school.
Bert had not been long at Mr. Garrison's school before he discovered that it was conducted on what might fairly be described as "go-as-you-please" principles. A sad lack of system was its chief characteristic. He meant well enough by his pupils, and was constantly making spurts in the direction of reform and improvement, but as often falling back into the old irregular ways.
The fact of the matter was that he not only was not a schoolmaster by instinct, but he had no intention of being one by profession. He had simply adopted teaching as a temporary expedient to tide over a financial emergency, and intended to drop it so soon as his object was accomplished. His heart was in his profession, not in his school, and the work of teaching was at best an irksome task, to be got through with each day as quickly as possible. Had Mr. Lloyd fully understood this, he would never have placed Bert there. But he did not; and, moreover, he was interested in young Mr. Garrison, who hadhad many difficulties to encounter in making his way, and he wished to help him.
In the first place, Mr. Garrison kept no record of attendance, either of the whole school, or of the different classes into which it was divided. A boy might come in an hour after the proper time, or be away for a whole day without either his lateness or his absence being observed. As a consequence "meeching"—that is, taking a holiday without leave from either parents or teachers—was shamefully common. Indeed, there was hardly a day that one or more boys did not "meech." If by any chance they were missed, it was easy to get out of the difficulty by making some excuse about having been sick, or mother having kept them at home to do some work, and so forth. Schoolboys are always fertile in excuses, and, only too often, indifferent as to the quantity of truth these may contain.
Another curious feature of Mr. Garrison's system, or rather lack of system, was that he kept no record of the order of standing in the classes; and so, when the class in geography, for instance, was called to recite, the boys would come tumbling pell-mell out of their seats, and crowd tumultuously to the space in front of the desk, with the invariable result that the smaller boys would be sent to the bottom of the class, whether they deserved to be there or not. Then as to the hearing of the lesson, there was absolutely no rule about it. Sometimes the questions would bedivided impartially among the whole class. Sometimes they would all be asked of a single boy, and if he happened to answer correctly,—which, however, was an extremely rare occurrence,—the class would be dismissed without one of the others being questioned.
Another peculiarity of Mr. Garrison's was his going out on business for an hour or more at a time, and leaving the school in charge of one of the older boys, who would exercise the authority thus conferred upon him in a lax and kindly, or severe and cruel manner, according to his disposition. One of the boys generally chosen for this duty was a big, good-hearted fellow named Munro; another was an equally big, but sour-dispositioned chap named Siteman; and whenever Mr. Garrison showed signs of going out, there was always intense excitement among the boys, to see who would be appointed monitor, and lively satisfaction, or deep disappointment, according to the choice made.
It was a little while, of course, before Bert found all this out, and in the meantime he made good headway in the school, because his father took care that his lessons were well learned every evening before he went to bed; and Mr. Garrison soon discovered that whoever else might fail, there was one boy in Bert's classes that could be depended upon for a right answer, and that was Bert himself.
There was another person who noticed Bert's ready accuracy, and that was "Shorty" Bowser.
"Say, Bert," said he one day, "how is that you always have your lessons down so fine? You never seem to trip up at all."
"Because father always sees that I learn 'em," answered Bert. "If I don't learn 'em in the evening, I've got to do it before breakfast in the morning."
"I wish my dad 'ud do as much for me; but he don't seem to care a cent whether I ever learn 'em or not," said poor Shorty, ruefully. For he was pretty sure to miss two out of every three questions asked him, and Mr. Garrison thought him one of his worst scholars.
"Won't your mother help you, then?" asked Bert, with interest.
"Got no mother," was the reply, while Shorty's eyes shone suspiciously. "Mother's been dead this good while."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Bert, in tones of genuine sympathy that went right to Frank Bowser's heart, and greatly strengthened the liking he had felt from the first for his new schoolmate.
It was not long before he gave proof of what he thought of Bert in a very practical way. They were for the most part in the same classes, and it soon became evident that Shorty felt very proud of his friend's accuracy at recitation. That he should remain at the foot while Bert worked his way up steadily toward the head of the class, did not arouse the slightest feeling of jealousy in his honest heart;but, on the contrary, a frank admiration that did him infinite credit.
But it was just the other way with Bob Brandon, an overgrown, lanky boy, who seemed to have taken a dislike to Bert from the first, and seized every opportunity of acting disagreeably toward him. Being so much smaller, Bert had to endure his slights as best he could, but he found it very hard, and particularly so that Bob should prevent him from getting his proper place in his class. Again and again would Bert pass Bob, who, indeed, rarely knew his lessons; but so sure as the class reassembled, Bob would roughly shoulder his way toward the top and Bert would have to take a lower position, unless Mr. Garrison happened to notice what was taking place and readjusted matters, which, however, did not often occur.
This sort of thing had been going on for some time, until at last one day Bert felt so badly over it that when he went back to his seat he buried his head in his hands and burst out crying, much to the surprise of Shorty, who at once leaned over and asked, with much concern:
"What's the matter, Bert? Missed your lesson?"
Bert checked his tears and told his trouble.
"Sho! that's what's the matter, hey? I guess I'll fix Bob as sure as my name's Bowser."
"What'll you do?" asked Bert. "Tell the master?"
"No, sir. No tattling for me," replied Shorty,vigorously. "I'll just punch his head for him, see if I don't."
And he was as good as his word. Immediately after the dismissal of the school, while the boys still lingered on the playground, Shorty stalked up to Bob Brandon, and told him if he didn't stop shoving Bert Lloyd out of his proper place in the classes he would punch his head. Whereat Bob Brandon laughed contemptuously, and was rewarded with a blow on the face that fairly made him stagger. Then, of course, there was a fight, the boys forming a ring around the combatants, and Bert holding his champion's coat and hat, and hardly knowing whether to cry or to cheer. The fight did not last long. Bob was the taller, but Frank the stouter of the two. Bob, like most bullies, was a coward, but Frank was as plucky as he was strong. Burning with righteous wrath, Frank went at his opponent hammer and tongs, and after a few minutes' ineffective parrying and dodging, the latter actually ran out of the ring, thoroughly beaten, leaving Frank in possession of the field, to receive the applause of his companions, and particularly of Bert, who gave him a warm hug, saying gratefully:
"Dear, good Shorty. I'm so glad you beat him."
That fight united the two boys in firmer bonds of friendship than ever, especially as it proved quite effective so far as Bob Brandon was concerned, as he needed no other lesson. It was curious how Bertand Frank reacted upon one another. At first the influence proceeded mainly from Bert to Frank, the latter being much impressed by his friend's attention to his lessons and good behaviour in school, and somewhat stirred up to emulate these virtues. But after Bert had been going to the school for some little time, and the novelty had all worn off, he began to lose some of his ardour and to imitate Frank's happy-go-lucky carelessness. Instead of being one of the first boys in the school of a morning, he would linger and loiter on the playground until he would be among those who were the last to take their places. He also began to take less interest in his lessons, and in his standing in the classes, and but for the care exercised at home would have gone to school very ill prepared.
Frank Bowser was not by any means a bad boy. He had been carelessly brought up, and was by nature of rather a reckless disposition, but he generally preferred right to wrong, and could, upon the whole, be trusted to behave himself under ordinary circumstances, at all events. His influence upon Bert, while it certainly would not help him much, would not harm him seriously. He did get him into trouble one day, however, in a way that Bert was long in forgetting.
The winter had come, and over in one corner of the playground was a slide of unusual length and excellence, upon which the Garrison boys had fine times every day before and after school. Coming upone morning early, on purpose to enjoy this slide, Bert was greatly disappointed to find it in possession of a crowd of roughs from the upper streets, who clearly intended to keep it all to themselves so long as they pleased. While Bert, standing at a safe distance, was watching the usurpers with longing eyes, Shorty came up, and, taking in the situation, said:
"Let 'em alone, Bert; I know of another slide just as good, a couple of squares off. Let's go over there."
"But, isn't it most school time?" objected Bert.
"Why, no," replied Shorty. "There's ten minutes yet. Come along." And thus assured, Bert complied.
The slide was farther away than Shorty had said, but proved to be very good when they did reach it, and they enjoyed it so much that the time slipped away unheeded, until presently the town clock on the hill above them boomed out ten, in notes of solemn warning.
"My sakes!" exclaimed Bert, in alarm. "There's ten o'clock. What will we do?"
"Guess we'd better not go to school at all. Mr. Garrison will never miss us," suggested Shorty.
"Do you mean to meech?" asked Bert, with some indignation.
"That's about it," was the reply. "What's the harm?"
"Why, you know it ain't right; I'm not going to do it if you are." And Bert really meant what he said.
But, as luck would have it, on their way back to the school, what should they meet but that spectacle, one of the most attractive of the winter's sights in the eyes of a Halifax schoolboy, a fireman's sleigh drive. Driving gaily along the street, between lines of spectators, came sleigh after sleigh, drawn by four, six, or even eight carefully matched and brightly decked horses, and filled to overflowing with the firemen and their fair friends, while bands of music played merry tunes, to which the horses seemed to step in time.
Bert and Shorty had of course to stop and see this fine sight, and it chanced that when it was about one-half passed, one of the big eight horse teams got tangled up with a passing sleigh, and a scene of confusion ensued that took a good while to set right. When at length all was straightened out, and the procession of sleighs had passed, Shorty asked a gentleman to tell him the time.
"Five minutes to eleven, my lad," was the startling reply.
Shorty looked significantly at Bert. "Most too late now, don't you think?"
Bert hesitated. He shrank from the ordeal of entering the crowded schoolroom, and being detected and punished by Mr. Garrison, in the presence of allthe others. Yet he felt that it would be better to do that than not go to school at all—in other words, meech.
"Oh, come along, Bert," said Shorty; "old Garrison can do without us to-day."
Still Bert stood irresolute.
"Let's go down and see the big steamer that came in last night," persisted Shorty, who was determined not to go to school, and to keep Bert from going too.
Yielding more to Shorty's influence than to the attraction of the steamer, Bert gave way, and spent the rest of the morning playing about, until it was the usual time for going home.
He said nothing at home about what he had done, and the next morning went back to school, hoping, with all his heart, that his absence had not been noted, and that no questions would be asked.
But it was not to be.
Soon after the opening of the school when all were assembled and quiet obtained, Mr. Garrison sent a thrill of expectation through the boys by calling out, in severe tones, while his face was clouded with anger:
"Frank Bowser and Cuthbert Lloyd come to the desk."
With pale faces and drooping heads the boys obeyed, Frank whispering in Bert's ear as they went up:
"Tell him you were kept at home."
Trembling in every nerve, the two culprits stood before their teacher. Mr. Garrison was evidently much incensed. A spasm of reform had seized him. His eyes had been opened to the prevalence of "meeching," and he determined to put a stop to it by making an example of the present offenders. He had missed them both from school the day before, and suspected the cause.
"Young gentlemen," said he, in his most chilling tones, "you were absent yesterday. Have you any reason to give?"
Frank without answering looked at Bert, while the whole school held their breath in suspense. Bert remained silent. It was evident that a sharp struggle was going on within. Becoming impatient, Mr. Garrison struck the desk with his hands, and said, sternly:
"Answer me this moment. Have you any excuse?"
With a quick, decided movement, Bert lifted his head, and looking straight into Mr. Garrison's face with his big brown eyes, said, clearly:
"No, sir. I meeched."
Quite taken aback by this frank confession, Mr. Garrison paused a moment, and then, turning to Frank, asked:
"And how about you, sir?"
Without lifting his head, Frank muttered, "I meeched, too," in tones audible only to his questioner.
So pleased was Mr. Garrison with Bert's honesty, that he would have been glad to let him off with a reprimand; but the interests of good discipline demanded sterner measures. Accordingly, he called to one of his monitors:
"Munro, will you please go over to the Acadian School and get the strap?"
For be it known that Mr. Garrison shared the ownership of a strap with his brother, who taught a school in an adjoining block, and had to send for it when a boy was to be punished.
While Munro was gone, Bert and Frank stood before the desk, both feeling deeply their position, and dreading what was yet to come. When Munro returned, bearing the strap—a business-like looking affair, about two feet in length—Mr. Garrison laid it on the desk, and seemed very reluctant to put it in use. At length, overcoming his disinclination, he rose to his feet, and, taking it up, said:
"Cuthbert Lloyd, come forward!"
Bert, his head drooping upon his breast, and his face flushed and pale by turns, moved slowly forward. Grasping the strap, Mr. Garrison raised it to bring it down upon Bert's outstretched hand, when suddenly a thought struck him that brought a look of immense relief to his countenance, and he arrested the movement. Turning to the boys, who were watching him with wondering eyes, he said:
"Boys, I ask for your judgment. If Bert andFrank say, before you all, that they are sorry for what they have done, and will promise never to do it again, may I not relieve them of the whipping?"
A hearty and unanimous chorus of "Yes, sir," "Yes, sir," came from the school at once.
"Now, my lads, do you hear that?" continued Mr. Garrison in a kindly tone, turning to the two offenders. "Will you not say you are sorry, and will never meech again."
"I am sorry, and promise never to do so again," said Bert, in a clear distinct voice, as the tears gathered in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, and won't do it again," echoed Frank, in a lower tone.
"That's right, boys," said Mr. Garrison, his face full of pleasure. "I am sure you mean every word of it. Go to your seats now, and we will resume work."
It took the school some little time to settle down again after this unusual and moving episode, the effect of which was to raise both Mr. Garrison and Bert a good deal higher in the estimation of every one present, and to put a check upon the practice of "meeching" that went far toward effecting a complete cure.
Although the result had been so much better than he expected, Bert felt his disgrace keenly, and so soon as he got home from school he told the whole story from the start to his mother, making no excuses for himself, but simply telling the truth.
His mother, of course, was very much surprised and pained, but knew well that her boy needed no further reproaches or censure to realise the full extent of his wrong-doing. Bidding him, therefore, seek forgiveness of God as well as of her, she said that she would tell his father all about it, which was a great relief to Bert, who dreaded lest he should have to perform this trying task himself; and so the matter rested for the time.
When Mr. Lloyd heard the story of Bert's "meeching," it was evident that it hurt him sorely. He was quite prepared for a reasonable amount of waywardness in his boy, but this seriously exceeded his expectations. He could not, of course, put himself exactly in Bert's place, and he was inclined to think him guilty of far more deliberate wrong than poor Bert had for a moment contemplated.
Then, again, he was much puzzled as to what should be done with reference to Frank Bowser. He had evidently been Bert's tempter, and Bert ought, perhaps, to be forbidden to have any more to do with him than he could possibly help. On the other hand, if Bert were to be interdicted from the companionship of his schoolmates, how would he ever learn to take care of himself among other dangerous associations? This was a lesson he must learn some day. Should he not begin now?
So Mr. Lloyd was not a little bewildered, and histalk with Bert did not give him much light; for while Bert, of course, was thoroughly penitent and ready to promise anything, what he had to tell about Frank was simply how good-natured and generous and plucky he was, and so forth.
The three of them, father, mother, and sister, held a consultation over the matter that night after Bert had gone to bed.
"I wish I felt more sure as to what is the wisest thing to do," said Mr. Lloyd. "We can't keep Bert in a glass case, and yet it seems as if we should do our best to protect him from every evil influence. I would like to know more about that Bowser boy."
"Bert tells me he has no mother," said Mrs. Lloyd, in sympathetic tones, "and from what he says himself, his father does not seem to take much interest in him. Poor boy! he cannot have much to help him at that rate."
"He's a good, sturdy little chap," put in Mary. "He came down from school with Bert one day. He seems very fond of him."
"Well, what had we better do?" asked Mr. Lloyd. "Forbid Bert to make a companion of him, or say nothing about it, and trust Bert to come out all right?"
"I feel as though we ought to forbid Bert," answered Mrs. Lloyd. "Frank Bowser's influence cannot help him much, and it may harm him a good deal."
"Suppose you put that the other way, mother,"spoke up Mary, her face flushing under the inspiration of the thought that had just occurred to her. "Frank Bowser has no help at home, and Bert has. Why, then, not say that Bert's influence cannot harm Frank, and it may help him a good deal?"
"Mary, my dear," exclaimed Mr. Lloyd, bending over to pat her affectionately on the shoulder, "that's a brilliant idea of yours. You're right. Bert should help Frank, and not let Frank harm him. We must make Bert understand that clearly, and then there will be nothing to fear."
And so the consultation closed, with Mary bearing off the honours of having made the best suggestion.
It was acted upon without delay. Calling Bert to him next morning while they were awaiting breakfast, Mr. Lloyd laid the matter before him:
"Bert," said he, kindly, "we were talking about you last night, and wondering whether we ought to forbid your making a companion of Frank Bowser. What do you think?"
"Oh, father, don't do that," answered Bert, looking up with a startled expression. "He's been so good to me. You remember how he served Bob Brandon for shoving me down in class?"
"Yes, Bert; but I'm afraid he's leading you into mischief, and that is not the sort of companion I want for you."
Bert dropped his head again. He had no answer ready this time.
"But then there are always two sides to a question, Bert," continued Mr. Lloyd, while Bert pricked up his ears hopefully. "Why should you not help Frank to keep out of mischief, instead of his leading you into it? What do you say to that?"
Bert did not seem quite to understand, so his father went on:
"Don't you see, Bert? You must either help Frank to be better, or he will cause you to be worse. Now, which is it to be?"
Bert saw it clearly now.
"Why, father," he cried, his face beaming with gladness at this new turn to the situation, "I'll do my best to be a good boy, and I know Shorty will, too, for he always likes to do what I do."
"Very well then, Bert," said Mr. Lloyd, "that's a bargain. And now, suppose you invite Frank, or 'Shorty,' as you call him, to spend next Saturday afternoon with you, and take tea with us."
"Oh, father, that will be splendid," cried Bert, delightedly. "We can coast in the fort all the afternoon and have fun in the evening. I'm sure Shorty will be so glad to come."
The question thus satisfactorily settled, Bert took his breakfast, and went off to school in high glee and great impatience to see Frank, for the invitation he bore for him fairly burned in his mouth, so to speak.
As he expected, Frank needed no pressing to accept it. He did not get many invitations, poorchap! and the prospect of an afternoon at Bert's home seemed very attractive to him. He did enjoy himself thoroughly, too, even if he was so shy and awkward that Mrs. Lloyd and Mary were afraid to say very much to him; he seemed to find it so hard to answer them.
But Mr. Lloyd got on much better with him. Although his boyhood was a good way in the past, he kept its memories fresh, and could enter heartily into the discussion of any of the sports the younger generation delighted in. He knew all the phrases peculiar to baseball, cricket, marbles, and so forth, and fairly astonished Frank by his intimate knowledge of those amusements, so that ere long Frank, without knowing just how it happened, was chatting away as freely as though he were out on the Garrison playground instead of being in Mr. Lloyd's parlour.
Having once got him well started, Mr. Lloyd led him on to talk about himself and his home, and his way of spending his time, and thus learned a great deal more about him than he had yet known. One fact that he learned pointed out a way in which Bert's influence could be exerted for good at once. Frank attended no Sunday school. He went to church sometimes, but not very often, as his father took little interest in church-going, but he never went to Sunday school; in fact, he had not been there for years. Mr. Lloyd said nothing himself on the subject to Frank. He thought it better to leave it all to Bert.
After Frank had gone, leaving behind him a very good impression upon the whole, Mr. Lloyd told Bert of the opportunity awaiting him.
"Wouldn't you like to ask Frank to go with you to Sunday school, Bert?" he inquired.
"Of course, I would, father," replied Bert, promptly; "and I'm sure he'd go, too, and that Mr. Silver would be very glad to have him in our class."
When Bert, however, came to talk to Frank about it, he found him not quite so willing to go as he had been to accept the invitation for Saturday.
"I'm not anxious to go to Sunday school, Bert," said he. "I shan't know anybody there but you, and it'll be awfully slow."
"But you'll soon get to know plenty of people," urged Bert; "and Mr. Silver is so nice."
And so they argued, Frank holding back, partly because his shyness made him shrink from going into a strange place, and partly because, having been accustomed to spend his Sunday afternoons pretty much as he pleased, he did not like the idea of giving up his liberty. But Bert was too much in earnest to be put off. The suggestion of his father that he should try to do Frank some good had taken strong hold upon his mind, and he urged, and pleaded, and argued until, at last, Frank gave way, and promised to try the Sunday school for a while, at any rate.
Bert reported the decision at home with much pride and satisfaction. He had no doubt that whenonce Frank found out what a pleasant place the Sunday school was, and how kind and nice Mr. Silver—his teacher there—was, he would want to go every Sunday.
The Sunday school of Calvary Baptist Church certainly had about as pleasant and cheery quarters as could be desired. For one thing, it was not held in a damp, dark, unventilated basement as so many Sunday schools are.
And, oh, what a shame—what an extraordinary perversion of sense this condemning of the children to the cellars of the churches is! Just as though anything were good enough for them, when in them lies the hope of the Church, and every possible means should be employed to twine their young affections about it! But these words do not apply to the Calvary Sunday School, for it was not held in a dingy basement, but in a separate building that united in itself nearly every good quality such an edifice should possess. It was of ample size, full of light and air, had free exposure to the sunshine, and was so arranged that every convenience was offered for the work of the school. Around the central hall were arranged rooms for the Bible classes, the infant class, and the library, so planned that by throwing up sliding doors they became part of the large room. The walls were hung with pictures illustrating Bible scenes, and with mottoes founded upon Bible texts; and finally, the benches were of a special make that was particularly comfortable.
All this was quite a revelation to Frank when, after some little coaxing, Bert brought him to the school. His conception of a Sunday school was of going down into a gloomy basement, and being lectured about the Bible by a severe old man with a long grey beard. Instead of that, he found himself in one of the brightest rooms he had ever seen, and receiving a cordial welcome from a handsome young gentleman, to whom Bert had just said:
"This is my friend Frank, Mr. Silver. He's going to come to school with me after this."
"Very glad indeed to have you, Frank," said Mr. Silver, giving him a warm grasp of the hand. "Sit right down with Bert, and make yourself at home."
And Frank sat down, so surprised and pleased with everything as to be half inclined to wonder if he was not dreaming. Then the fine singing, as the whole school, led by an organ and choir, burst forth into song, the bright pleasant remarks of the superintendent, Mr. Hamilton, Bert's ideal of a "Christian soldier," and the simple earnest prayer offered,—all impressed Frank deeply.
No less interesting did he find Mr. Silver's teaching of the lesson. Mr. Silver attached great importance to his work in the Sunday school. Nothing was permitted to interfere with thorough preparation for it, and he always met his class brimful of information, illustration, and application, bearing upon the passage appointed for the day. And not only so, but byshrewd questioning and personal appeal he sent the precious words home to his young hearers and fixed them deep in their memories. He was a rare teacher in many respects, and Bert was very fond of him. Frank did not fail to be attracted by him. As he and Bert left the school together, Bert asked:
"Well, Frank, how do you like my Sunday school?"
"First rate," replied Frank, heartily. "Say, but isn't Mr. Silver nice? Seems as though I'd known him for ever so long instead of just to-day."
"Guess he is nice," said Bert. "He's just the best teacher in the school. You'll come every Sunday now, won't you, Frank?"
"I think so," answered Frank; "I might just as well be going there as loafing about on Sunday afternoon doing nothing."
Mr. Lloyd was very much pleased when he heard of Bert's success in getting Frank to the Sunday school. He recognised in Bert many of those qualities which make a boy a leader among his companions, and his desire was that his son's influence should always tell for that which was manly, pure, and upright. To get him interested in recruiting for the Sunday school was a very good beginning in church work, and Mr. Lloyd felt thankful accordingly.
Neither was he alone in feeling pleased and thankful. Mr. John Bowser, Frank's father, although he showed great indifference to both the intellectual andmoral welfare of his boy, was, nevertheless, not opposed to others taking an interest in him. He cared too little about either church or Sunday school to see that Frank was a regular attendant. But he was very willing that somebody else should take an interest in the matter. Moreover, he felt not a little complacency over the fact that his son was chosen as a companion by Lawyer Lloyd's son. Engrossed as he was in the making of money, a big, burly, gruff, uncultured contractor, he found time somehow to acquire a great respect for Mr. Lloyd. He thought him rather too scrupulous and straightforward a man to behislawyer, but he admired him greatly, nevertheless; and, although he said nothing about it, secretly congratulated himself upon the way things were going. He had little idea that the circle of influence Bert had unconsciously started would come to include him before its force would be spent.
It was an article of faith in the Lloyd family that there was not a house in Halifax having a pleasanter situation than theirs, and they certainly had very good grounds for their belief. Something has already been told about its splendid view of the broad harbour, furrowed with white-capped waves, when of an afternoon the breeze blew in smartly from the great ocean beyond; of its snug security from northern blasts; of the cosy nook it had to itself in a quiet street; and of its ample exposure to the sunshine. But, perhaps, the chief charm of all was the old fort whose grass-grown casemates came so close to the foot of the garden, that ever since Bert was big enough to jump, he had cherished a wild ambition to leap from the top of the garden fence to the level top of the nearest casemate.
This old fort, with its long, obsolete, muzzle-loading thirty-two pounders, was associated with Bert's earliest recollection. His nurse had carried him there to play about in the long, rank grass underneaththe shade of the wide-spreading willows that crested the seaward slope before he was able to walk; and ever since, summer and winter, he had found it his favourite playground.
The cannons were an unfailing source of delight to him. Mounted high upon their cumbrous carriages, with little pyramids of round iron balls that would never have any other use than that of ornament lying beside them, they made famous playthings. He delighted in clambering up and sitting astride their smooth, round bodies as though they were horses; or in peering into the mysterious depths of their muzzles. Indeed, once when he was about five years old he did more than peer in. He tried to crawl in, and thereby ran some risk of injury.
He had been playing ball with some of the soldier's children, and seemed so engrossed in the amusement that his mother, who had taken him into the fort, thought he might very well be left for a while, and so she went off some little distance to rest in quiet, in a shady corner. She had not been there more than a quarter of an hour, when she was startled by the cries of the children, who seemed much alarmed over something; and hastening back to where she had left Bert, she beheld a sight that would have been most ludicrous if it had not been so terrifying.
Protruding from the mouth of one of the cannons, and kicking very vigorously, were two sturdy, mottled legs that she instantly recognised as belonging to herson, while from the interior came strange muffled sounds that showed the poor little fellow was screaming in dire affright, as well he might in so distressing a situation. Too young to be of any help, Bert's playmates were gathered about him crying lustily, only one of them having had the sense to run off to the carpenter's shop near by to secure assistance.