"Fortunately, a big soldier came along, and, slipping both hands as far up on Bert's body as he could reach, with a strong, steady pull drew him out of the cannon."—Page 119."Fortunately, a big soldier came along, and, slipping both hands as far up on Bert's body as he could reach, with a strong, steady pull drew him out of the cannon."—Page119.
Mrs. Lloyd at once grasped Bert's feet and strove to pull him out, but found it no easy matter. In his efforts to free himself he had only stuck the more firmly, and was now too securely fastened for Mrs. Lloyd to extricate him. Fortunately, however, a big soldier came along at this juncture, and, slipping both hands as far up on Bert's body as he could reach, grasped him firmly, and with one strong, steady pull, drew him out of the cannon.
When he got him out, Bert presented so comical a spectacle that his stalwart rescuer had to lay him down and laugh until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Mrs. Lloyd, too, relieved from all anxiety, and feeling a reaction from her first fright, could not help following his example. His face, black with grime, which was furrowed with tears, his hands even blacker, his nice clothes smutched and soiled, and indeed, his whole appearance suggested a little chimney-sweep that had forgotten to put on his working clothes before going to business. Bert certainly was enough to make even the gravest laugh.
Beyond a bruise or two, he was, however, not awhit the worse for his curious experience, which had come about in this way:—While they were playing with the ball, one of the children had, out of mischief, picked it up and thrown it into the cannon, where it had stayed. They tried to get it out by means of sticks, but could not reach it. Then Bert, always plucky and enterprising to the verge of rashness, undertook to go after the ball himself. The other boys at once joined forces to lift him up and push him into the dark cavern, and then alarmed by his cries and unavailing struggles to get out again, began to cry themselves, and thus brought Mrs. Lloyd to the scene.
Mr. Lloyd was very much amused when he heard about Bert's adventure.
"You've beaten Shakespeare, Bert," said he, after a hearty laugh, as Mrs. Lloyd graphically described the occurrence. "For Shakespeare says a man does not seek the bubble reputation in the cannon's mouth, until he becomes a soldier, but you have found it, unless I am much mistaken, before you have fairly begun being a schoolboy."
Bert did not understand the reference to Shakespeare, but he did understand that his father was not displeased with him, and that was a much more important matter. The next Sunday afternoon, when they went for their accustomed stroll in the fort, Bert showed his father the big gun whose dark interior he had attempted to explore.
"Oh, but father, wasn't I frightened when I got in there and couldn't get out again!" said he earnestly, clasping his father's hand tightly, as the horror of the situation came back to him.
"You were certainly in a tight place, little man," answered Mr. Lloyd, "and the next time your ball gets into one of the cannons you had better ask one of the artillerymen to get it out for you. He will find it a much easier job than getting you out."
Bert loved the old fort and its cannons none the less because of his adventure, and as he grew older he learned to drop down into it from the garden fence, and climb back again, with the agility of a monkey. The garden itself was not very extensive, but Bert took a great deal of pleasure in it, too, for he was fond of flowers—what true boy, indeed, is not?—and it contained a large number within its narrow limits, there being no less than two score rose bushes of different varieties, for instance. The roses were very plenteous and beautiful when in their prime, but at opposite corners of the little garden stood two trees that had far more interest for Bert than all the rose trees put together. These were two apple trees, planted, no one knew just how or when, which had been allowed to grow up at their own will, without pruning or grafting, and, as a consequence, were never known to produce fruit that was worth eating. Every spring they put forth a brave show of pink and white blossoms, as though this year, at all events,they were going to do themselves credit, and every autumn the result appeared in half-a-dozen hard, small, sour, withered-up apples that hardly deserved the name. And yet, although these trees showed no signs of repentance and amendment, Bert, with the quenchless hopefulness of boyhood, never quite despaired of their bringing forth an apple that he could eat without having his mouth drawn up into one tight pucker. Autumn after autumn he would watch the slowly developing fruit, trusting for the best. It always abused his confidence, however, but it was a long time before he finally gave it up in despair.
At one side of the garden stood a neat little barn that was also of special interest to Bert, for, besides the stall for the cow, there was another, still vacant, which Mr. Lloyd had promised should have a pony for its tenant so soon as Bert was old enough to be trusted with such a playmate.
Hardly a day passed that Bert did not go into the stable, and, standing by the little stall, wonder to himself how it would look with a pretty pony in it. Of course, he felt very impatient to have the pony, but Mr. Lloyd had his own ideas upon that point, and was not to be moved from them. He thought that when Bert was ten years old would be quite time enough, and so there was nothing to do but to wait, which Bert did, with as much fortitude as he could command.
Whatever might be the weather outside, it seemed always warm and sunny indoors at Bert's home. The Lloyds lived in an atmosphere of love, both human and Divine. They loved one another dearly, but they loved God still more, and lived close to Him. Religion was not so much expressed as implied in their life. It was not in the least obtrusive, yet one could never mistake their point of view. Next to its sincerity, the strongest characteristic of their religion was its cheeriness. They saw no reason why the children of the King should go mourning all their days; on the contrary, was it not rather their duty, as well as their privilege, to establish the joy of service?
Brought up amid such influences, Bert was, as a natural consequence, entirely free from those strange misconceptions of the true character of religion which keep so many of the young out of the kingdom. He saw nothing gloomy or repellent in religion. That he should love and serve God seemed as natural to him as that he should love and serve his parents. Of their love and care he had a thousand tokens daily. Of the Divine love and care he learned from them, and that they should believe in it was all the reason he required for his doing the same. He asked no further evidence.
There were, of course, times when the spirit of evil stirred within him, and moved him to rebel against authority, and to wish, as he put it himself one daywhen reminded of the text, "Thou God seest me," that "God would let him alone for a while, and not be always looking at him." But then he wasn't an angel by any means, but simply a hearty, healthy, happy boy, with a fair share of temper, and as much fondness for having his own way as the average boy of his age.
His parents were very proud of him. They would have been queer parents if they were not. Yet they were careful to disguise it from him as far as possible. If there was one thing more than another that Mr. Lloyd disliked in children, and, therefore, dreaded for his boy, it was that forward, conscious air which comes of too much attention being paid them in the presence of their elders. "Little folks should be seen and not heard," he would say kindly but firmly to Bert, when that young person was disposed to unduly assert himself, and Bert rarely failed to take the hint.
One trait of Bert's nature which gave his father great gratification was his fondness for reading. He never had to be taught to read. He learned, himself. That is, he was so eager to learn that so soon as he had mastered the alphabet, he was always taking his picture books to his mother or sister, and getting them to spell the words for him. In this way he got over all his difficulties with surprising rapidity, and at five years of age could read quite easily. As he grew older, he showed rather an odd taste in his choice of books. One volume that he read from cover to coverbefore he was eight years old was Layard's "Nineveh." Just why this portly sombre-hued volume, with its winged lion stamped in gold upon its back, attracted him so strongly, it would not be easy to say. The illustrations, of course, had something to do with it, and then the fascination of digging down deep into the earth and bringing forth all sorts of strange things no doubt influenced him.
Another book that held a wonderful charm for him was the Book of Revelation. So carefully did he con this, which he thought the most glorious of all writings, that at one time he could recite many chapters of it word for word. Its marvellous imagery appealed to his imagination if it did nothing more, and took such hold upon his mind that no part of the Bible, not even the stories that shine like stars through the first books of the Old Testament, was more interesting to him.
Not only was Bert's imagination vivid, but his sympathies were also very quick and easily aroused. It was scarcely safe to read to him a pathetic tale, his tears were so certain to flow. The story of Gellert's hound, faithful unto death, well-nigh broke his heart, and that perfect pearl, "Rab and His Friends," bedewed his cheeks, although he read it again and again until he knew it almost by heart.
No one ever laughed at his tenderness of heart. He was not taught that it was unmanly for a boy to weep. It is an easy thing to chill and harden animpressionable nature. It is not so easy to soften it again, or to bring softness to one that is too hard for its own good.
With such a home, Bert Lloyd could hardly fail to be a happy boy, and no one that knew him would ever have thought of him as being anything else. He had his dull times, of course. What boy with all his faculties has not? And he had his cranky spells, too. But neither the one nor the other lasted very long, and the sunshine soon not only broke through the clouds, but scattered them altogether. Happy are those natures not given to brooding over real or fancied troubles. Gloom never mends matters: it can only make them worse.
Bert was not learning very much at Mr. Garrison's school. He had some glimmering of this himself, for he said to Frank one day, after they had returned to their seats from having gone through the form—for really it was nothing more—of saying one of their lessons:
"It's mighty easy work getting through lessons at this school, isn't it, Shorty?" And Shorty, being of the same opinion, as he had happened not to be asked any questions, and, therefore, had not made any mistakes, promptly assented.
"That's so, Bert," said he, "and the oftener he asks Munro and you to say the whole lesson, and just gives me the go-by, the better I like it."
But Bert was not the only one who noticed that his education was not making due progress. His father observed it too, and, after some thinking on the subject, made up his mind that he would allow Bert to finish the spring term at Mr. Garrison's, and then, after the summer holidays, send him to some other school.
The winter passed away and spring drew near. Spring is the most dilatory and provoking of all the seasons at Halifax. It advances and retreats, pauses and progresses, promises and fails to perform, until it really seems, sometimes, as though mid-summer would be at hand and no spring at all. With the boys it is a particularly trying time of the year. The daily increasing heat of the sun has played havoc with the snow and ice, and winter sports are out of the question. Yet the snow and ice—or rather the slush they make—still lingers on, and renders any kind of summer sport impossible. For nearly a month this unsatisfactory state of affairs continues, and then, at length, the wet dries up, the frost comes out of the ground, the chill leaves the air, and marbles, rounders, baseball, and, later on, cricket make glad the hearts and tire the legs of the eager boys.
This spring was made memorable for Bert by an occurrence that left its mark upon him, lest, perhaps, he might be in danger of forgetting it. In front of the large building, in one room of which Mr. Garrison's school was held, there was a large open square, known as the Parade. It was a bare, stony place kept in order by nobody, and a great resort for the roughs of the city, who could there do pretty much what they pleased without fear of interruption from the police. On the upper side of this square, and over toward the opposite end from Mr. Garrison's, was another school, called the National, and having alarge number of scholars, of a somewhat commoner class than those which attended Mr. Garrison's. It need hardly be said that the relations between the two schools were, to use a diplomatic phrase, "chronically strained." They were always at loggerheads. A Garrison boy could hardly encounter a National boy without giving or getting a cuff, a matter determined by his size, and riots, on a more or less extensive scale, were continually taking place when groups of boys representing the two schools would happen to meet.
Bert was neither quarrelsome nor pugnacious by nature. He disliked very much being on bad terms with anyone, and could not understand why he should regard another boy as his natural enemy simply because he happened to go to a different school. More than once he had quite an argument with Frank Bowser about it. Frank was always full of fight. He hated every National boy as vigorously as though each one had individually done him some cruel injury. As sure as a collision took place, and Frank was present, he was in the thick of it at once, dealing blows right and left with all his might.
In obedience to the dictation of his own nature, strengthened by his father's advice, Bert kept out of these squabbles so far as he possibly could, and as a natural consequence fell under suspicion of being a coward. Even Frank began to wonder if he were not afraid, and if it were not this which kept himback from active participation in the rows. He said something about it to Bert one day, and it hurt Bert very much.
"I'm not afraid, Shorty; you know well enough I'm not," said he, indignantly. "But I'm not going to fight with fellows who never did me any harm. It's wrong, that's what it is, and I'm not going to do it. I don't care what you say."
"But you ought to chip in sometimes, Bert, or the boys will think that you're a coward," urged Frank.
"I can't help it if they do, Shorty," was Bert's unshaken reply. "I don't feel like it myself, and, what's more, father doesn't want me to."
The very next day there was a row of unusual dimensions, brought about by one of the Garrison boys at the noon recess having started a fight with one of the National boys, which almost in a twinkling of an eye involved all the boys belonging to both schools then in the Parade. It was a lively scene, that would have gladdened the heart of an Irishman homesick for the excitement of Donnybrook Fair. There were at least one hundred boys engaged, the sides being pretty evenly matched, and the battle ground was the centre of the Parade. To drive the other school in ignominious flight from this spot was the object of each boyish regiment, and locked in hostile embrace, like the players in a football match when a "maul" has been formed, they swayed to and fro, now one side gaining, now the other, while shoutsof "Go in, Nationals!" "Give it to them, Garrisons!" mingling with exclamations of anger or pain, filled the air.
Bert was not present when the struggle began. In fact, it was well under way before he knew anything about it, as he had lingered in the schoolroom to ask Mr. Garrison some question after the other boys had run out. On going out upon the Parade, he was at first startled by the uproar, and then filled with an intense desire to be in the midst of the battle. But, remembering his father's injunctions, he paused for a moment irresolute. Then he noticed that the National boys were gaining the advantage, and the Garrison boys retreating before them. The next instant he caught sight of Frank Bowser, who had, of course, been in the forefront of the fight, left unsupported by his comrades, and surrounded by a circle of threatening opponents. Bert hesitated no longer. With a shout of "Come on, boys!" he sprang down the steps, rushed across the intervening space, and flung himself into the group around Frank with such force that two of the Nationals were hurled to the ground, and Frank set at liberty. Inspirited by Bert's gallant onset, the Garrisons returned to the charge, the Nationals gave way before them, and Bert was just about to raise the shout of victory when a big hulk of a boy who had been hovering on the outskirts of the Nationals, too cowardly to come to any closer quarter, picked up a stone and threw itwith wicked force straight at Bert's face. His aim was only too good. With a sharp thud, the stone struck Bert on his left temple, just behind the eye, and the poor boy fell to the ground insensible.
Instantly the struggle and confusion ceased, but not before Frank, in a passion of fury, had dealt Bert's cowardly assailant a blow that sent him reeling to the ground, and had then sprung to his friend's side.
"Get a doctor, some fellow," he shouted, holding up the pale, calm face, down which the blood was trickling from an ugly wound. "Let's carry him into the school!"
A dozen eager volunteers came forward. Carefully and tenderly Bert was lifted up, and carried into the schoolroom, which, fortunately, Mr. Garrison had not yet left. Placed upon one of the benches, with Frank's coat for a pillow, his head was bathed with cold water, and presently he revived, much to the relief and delight of the anxious boys standing round. A few minutes later the doctor arrived. With quick, deft fingers he stanched the wound, covered it with plaster, enveloped it with bandages, and then gave directions that Bert should be sent home in a cab without delay.
"Why, Bert darling, what does this mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd, as she opened the door for him.
"Ask Frank, mother; my head's aching too badto tell you," replied Bert, putting up his hand with a gesture of pain. And so, while Bert lay on the sofa, with his mother close beside him, and Mary preparing him a refreshing drink, Frank told the story in his own, rough, straightforward fashion, making it all so clear, with the help of a word now and then from Bert, that when he ended, Mrs. Lloyd, bending over her son, kissed him tenderly on the forehead, saying:
"You know, Bert, how I dislike fighting, but I cannot find it in my heart to blame you this time. You acted like a hero."
In this opinion Mr. Lloyd, when he came home, fully concurred. He had not a word of blame for Bert, but made the boy's heart glad by telling him to always stand by his friends when they were in trouble, and then he would never be without friends who would stand by him.
Bert's wound took some time to heal, and when it did heal, a scar remained that kept its place for many years after. But he did not suffer for nought. The incident was productive of good in two directions. It established Bert's character for courage beyond all cavil, and it put an end to the unseemly rows between the schools. The two masters held a consultation, as a result of which they announced to their schools that any boys found taking part in such disturbances in future would be first publicly whipped, and then expelled; and this threat put an effectual stop to the practice.
The days and weeks slipped by, and the summer vacation, so eagerly looked forward to by all schoolboys, arrived. None were more delighted at its arrival than Bert and Frank. Their friendship had grown steadily stronger from the day of their first acquaintance. They had few disagreements. Frank, although the older and larger of the two, let Bert take the lead in almost all cases, for Bert had the more active mind, and his plans were generally the better. Happily for the serenity of their relations, Bert, while he was fond enough of being the leader, never undertook to "boss" his companions. If they did not readily fall into line with him, why he simply fell into line with them, and that was an end of it. His idea of fun did not consist in being an autocrat, and ordering others about. He very much preferred that all should work together for whatever common purpose happened to be in their minds at the time; and thus it was, that of the boys who played together in the old fort, and waded in the shallow water that rippled along the sand beach at its foot, no one was more popular than Bert Lloyd.
They had fine fun during this summer vacation. Neither Frank nor Bert went out of the city, and they played together every day, generally in the fort; but sometimes Bert would go with Frank to the Horticultural Gardens, where a number of swings made a great attraction for the young folk, or down to the point where they would ramble through the woods,imagining themselves brave hunters in search of bears, and carrying bows and arrows to help out the illusion.
The greatest enjoyment of all, however, was to go out upon the water. Of course, they were not allowed to do this by themselves. They were too young for that yet, but very often Mr. Lloyd would leave his office early in the afternoon in order to take them out in the pretty skiff he kept at the fort, or the whole family would spend the long summer evenings together on the water.
Bert was at his happiest then. Under his father's directions he was vigorously learning to row, and it was very stimulating to have his mother and sister as spectators. They took such a lively interest in his progress, that he did not mind if they did laugh heartily, but of course not unkindly, when sometimes in his eagerness to take an extra big stroke he would "catch a crab," and roll over on his back in the bottom of the boat, with his feet stuck up like two signals of distress. Bert accomplished this a good many times, but it did not discourage him. He was up and at it again immediately.
"Don't look at your oar, boys! Don't look at your oar! Keep your faces toward the stern," Mr. Lloyd would call out as Bert and Frank tugged away manfully, and they, who had been watching their oars to make sure that they went into the water just right, would answer "Ay, ay, sir!"in true sailor fashion; and then for the next few moments they would keep their eyes fixed straight astern, only to bring them back again soon to those dripping blades that had such a saucy way of getting crooked unless they were well watched.
A more delightful place than Halifax harbour of a fine summer evening could hardly be desired. The wind, which had been busy making "white caps" all the afternoon, went to rest at sundown. The ruffled waters sank into a glassy calm, the broad harbour becoming one vast mirror in which the rich hues of the sunset, the long dark lines of the wharves, and the tall masts of the ships sleeping at their moorings were reflected with many a quaint curve and curious involution. Boats of every kind, the broad-bottomed dory, the sharp-bowed flat, the trim keel-boat, the long low whaler, with their jolly companies, dotted the placid surface, while here and there a noisy steam launch saucily puffed its way along, the incessant throb of its engine giving warning of its approach. Far up the harbour at their moorings off the dockyard, the huge men-of-war formed centres around which the boats gathered in numerous squads, for every evening the band would play on board these floating castles, and the music never seemed more sweet than when it floated out over the still waters. Sometimes, too, after the band had ceased, the sailors would gather on the forecastle and sing their songs, as only sailors can sing, winning round after roundof applause from their appreciative audience in the boats.
All of this was very delightful to Bert. So, too, was the paddling about on the beach that fringed the bottom of the fort's grassy slope, and the making of miniature forts out of the warm, dry sand, only to have them dissolve again before the advancing tide. Just as delightful, too, was the clambering over the boulders that marked the ruins of an old pier, searching for periwinkles, star-fish, and limpets, with never-ceasing wonder at the tenacity with which they held on to the rocks. Playing thus in the sunshine almost from dawn to dark, Bert grew visibly bigger and browner and sturdier, as the days slipped swiftly by.
With the coming of September the holidays ended, and the question of schools once more was earnestly discussed in the Lloyd household.
"I have quite made up my mind not to send Bert back to Mr. Garrison," said Mr. Lloyd. "He seems to be learning little or nothing there. The fact of the matter is, what he does learn, he learns at home, and Mr. Garrison simply hears him recite his lessons."
"That's very true," assented Mrs. Lloyd. "I am only too glad to help Bert all I can in his studies, but I do not see the propriety of our having the greater part of the work of teaching him ourselves when we are at the same time paying some one else to do it. Do you, Mary?" she added, turning to her daughter.
"No, mother," replied Mary. "I suppose it is not quite fair. Yet I would feel sorry if Bert went to a school where everything was done for him, and nothing left for us to do. I like to help him. He gets hold of an idea so quickly; it is a pleasure to explain anything to him."
"It seems to me that a school where there is a good deal of healthful rivalry among the boys would be the best place for Bert. He is very ambitious, and eager to be at the top, and in a school of that kind his energies would be constantly stimulated," said Mr. Lloyd. "What do you think, Kate?" addressing his wife.
"I think that would be very good, indeed," answered Mrs. Lloyd. "But do you know of any such school?"
"I have been hearing good accounts of Dr. Johnston's school, and he certainly seems to have a great deal of system in his methods, so that I am inclined to give him a trial."
"Oh, Dr. Johnston's is a splendid school," spoke up Mary, with enthusiasm. "Both of Edie Strong's brothers go there, and I have often heard them tell about it. But isn't Bert too young for it yet? He's only nine, you know, and they are mostly big boys who go to Dr. Johnston's."
"Not a bit!" said Mr. Lloyd, emphatically. "Not a bit! True, Bert is only nine, but he looks more like twelve, and thinks and acts like it, too. It will be all the better for him to be with boys a little older than himself. He will find it hard to hold his own among them, and that will serve to strengthen and develop him."
"Poor little chap!" said Mrs. Lloyd, tenderly. "I expect he will have a pretty hard time of it atfirst. I wish Frank were going with him, for he thinks all the world of Bert, and is so much older and bigger that he could be a sort of protector for him."
"I'm glad you mentioned Frank, Kate," exclaimed Mr. Lloyd. "You've given me an idea. If I decide to send Bert to Dr. Johnston's, I will make a point of seeing Mr. Bowser, to ask him if he will not consent to send Frank, too. I hardly expect he will make any objection, as it is not likely there will be any difference in the expense."
"Oh, I do hope Frank will go, too," cried Mary, clapping her hands. "If he does, I shall feel ever so much easier about Bert. Frank is so fond of him that he won't let him be abused, if he can help it."
"Very well, then," said Mr. Lloyd, bringing the conversation to a close. "I will make some further inquiries about Dr. Johnston's, and if the results are satisfactory I will see Mr. Bowser, and do what I can to persuade him to let Frank accompany Bert."
A few days after, Mr. Lloyd called Bert to him, while they were all sitting in the parlour, just after dinner.
"Come here, Bert," said he. "I want to have a talk with you about going to school. You know I don't intend you to go back to Mr. Garrison's. Now, where would you like to go yourself?"
"Oh, I don't know, father," replied Bert. "I don't want to go to the Acadian or National school anyway."
"You need not feel troubled on that score. So far as I can learn, they are no better than the one you have been going to. But what do you think of Dr. Johnston's school? How would you like to become a pupil there?"
"Oh, father," exclaimed Bert, looking up, with a face expressive of both surprise and concern, "I'm not big enough for that school. They're all big boys that go there."
"But you're a big boy,—for your age, at all events,—Bert," returned Mr. Lloyd, with a reassuring smile, "and you'll soon grow to be as big as any of them."
"But, father," objected Bert, "they're awfully rough there, and so hard on the new fellows. They always hoist them."
"Hoist them?" inquired Mr. Lloyd. "What do you mean?"
"Why, they hang them up on the fence, and then pound them. It hurts awfully. Robbie Simpson told me about it. They hoisted him the first day."
"Humph!" said Mr. Lloyd. "I must say I don't like that, but at the worst I suppose you can survive it, just as the others have done. Is there any other reason why you wouldn't like to go to Dr. Johnston's?"
"Well, father, you know he has a dreadful strap, most a yard long, and he gives the boys dreadful whippings with it."
"Suppose he has, Bert; does he whip the boys who know their lessons, and behave properly in school?"asked Mr. Lloyd, with a quizzical glance at his son.
Bert laughed. "Of course not, father," said he. "He only whips the bad boys."
"Then why should his long strap be an objection, Bert? You don't propose to be one of the bad boys, do you?"
"Of course not, father; but I might get a whipping, all the same."
"We'll hope not, Bert; we'll hope not. And now, look here. Would you like it any better going to Dr. Johnston's if Frank were to go with you?"
"Oh, yes indeed, father," exclaimed Bert, his face lighting up. "If Frank goes too, I won't mind it."
"All right then, Bert; I am glad to say that Frank is going, too. I went to see his father to-day, and he agreed to let him go, so I suppose we may consider the matter settled, and next Monday you two boys will go with me to the school." And Mr. Lloyd, evidently well-pleased at having reconciled Bert to the idea of the new school, took up his paper, while Bert went over to his mother's side to have a talk with her about it.
Mrs. Lloyd felt all a mother's anxiety regarding this new phase of life upon which her boy was about to enter. Dr. Johnston's was the largest and most renowned school in the city. It was also in a certain sense the most aristocratic. Its master charged highrates, which only well-to-do people could afford, and as a consequence the sons of the wealthiest citizens attended his school. Because of this, it was what would be called select; and just in that very fact lay one of the dangers Mrs. Lloyd most dreaded. Rich men's sons may be select from a social point of view, but they are apt to be quite the reverse from the moral standpoint. Frank Bowser, with all his clumsiness and lack of good manners, would be a far safer companion than Dick Wilding, the graceful, easy-mannered heir of the prosperous bank president.
On the other hand, the school was undoubtedly the best in the city. A long line of masters had handed down from one to the other its fame as a home of the classics and mathematics with unimpaired lustre. At no other school could such excellent preparation for the university be obtained, and Bert in due time was to go to the university. Many a long and serious talk had Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd over the matter. True, they had great confidence in their boy, and in the principles according to which they had sought to bring him up. But then he was their only boy, and if their confidence should perchance be found to have been misplaced, how could the damage be repaired? Ah! well, they could, after all, only do their best, and leave the issue with God. They could not always be Bert's shields. He must learn to fight his own battles, and it was as well for him to begin now, and at Dr. Johnston's school.
Bert himself took quite a serious view of the matter, too. He was a more than ordinarily thoughtful boy, and the prospect of going to Dr. Johnston's made his brain very busy. While the school was not without its attractions for him, there were many reasons why he shrank from going to it. The most of the boys were, as he knew from often seeing them when on his way to and from Mr. Garrison's, older and bigger than himself, and, still worse, they were strangers to him with one or two exceptions. Of course, since Frank was to go with him, he would not mind that so much, but it counted for a good deal, notwithstanding.
Then he had heard startling stories of Dr. Johnston's severity; of his keeping boys in after school for a whole afternoon; of the tremendous whippings he gave with that terrible strap of his, the tails of which had, according to popular rumour, been first soaked in vinegar, and then studded with small shot; of the rigorous care with which the lessons were heard, every boy in the class having to show that he was well prepared, or to take the consequences. These, and other stories which had reached Bert's ears, now perturbed him greatly.
At the same time, he had no idea of drawing back, and pleading with his father to send him somewhere else. He saw clearly enough that both his father and mother had quite made up their minds that it would be the best thing for him, and he knew better than totrouble them with vain protests. He found his sister an inexpressible comfort at this time. He confided in her unreservedly, and her sweet, serene, trustful way of looking at things cleared away many a difficulty for him. It was easy to look at the bright side of affairs with Mary as an adviser, and the more Bert talked with her, the more encouraged he became. It was a happy coincidence, that on the Sunday preceding Bert's entrance into Dr. Johnston's school, the lesson for the Sabbath school should contain these ringing words: "Quit you like men; be strong." Mr. Silver had much to say about them to his class:
"Only six simple words of one syllable each, boys," said he, as he gathered his scholars close about his chair, "but they mean a great deal. And yet, we do not need to look into some wise old commentator to tell us just what they do mean, for we can all understand them ourselves. They are not intended solely for grown-up people, either. They are for boys just like you. Now, let us look into them a bit. 'Quit you like men.' What kind of men, Bert? Any kind at all, or some particular kind?"
"Like good men, of course," replied Bert, promptly.
"Yes, Bert, that's right. And what does it mean to quit yourself like a good man?" asked Mr. Silver, again.
"To be always manly, and not be a baby," answered Walter Thomson, with a vigour that brought a smile to Mr. Silver's face.
"Right you are, Walter; but is that all?"
"No," said Will Murray, "it means to do only what is right."
"That's it, Will. To be always manly, and to do only what is right. Now, boys, do you know that you are very apt to confuse these two things, and by forming mistaken notions as to what constitutes the first, you fail to do the second? Many boys think that it is manly to swear, to use tobacco, to be out late at night hanging round the street corners, and so they do all these things, although they are not right things to do. Have they the right ideas of manliness, boys?"
"No, sir; no, sir," answered the thoroughly interested class, in full chorus.
"No, indeed, boys, they have not," continued Mr. Silver. "There is over a hundred times more manliness in refusing to form those bad habits than in yielding to them. And that is just the kind of manliness I want all the boys of my class to have. 'Quit you like men,' boys, and then, 'be strong.' What does that mean?"
"To keep up your muscle," spoke out Frank, much to the surprise of everybody, for, although he listened attentively enough, he very rarely opened his mouth in the class.
Mr. Silver smiled. It was not just the answer he wanted, but he would not discourage Frank by saying so.
"That's part of the answer, but not quite the whole of it," he said, after a pause. "It's a good thing for boys to keep up their muscle. God wants what is best in this world, and we can often serve Him with our muscle as well as with our minds. If Samson and Gideon and David had not been men of muscle, they could not have done such grand work for God as they did. I like to see a boy with legs and arms 'as hard as nails,' as they say. But the words 'be strong' here mean more than that, don't they, Bert?"
"They mean to be strong in resisting temptation, don't they, Mr. Silver?" replied Bert.
"Yes; that's just it. Quit you like men—be manly, and be strong to resist temptation. Now, boys, some people think that young chaps like you don't have many temptations. That you have to wait until you grow up for that. But it's a tremendous mistake, isn't it? You all have your temptations, and lots of them, too. And they are not all alike, by any means, either. Every boy has his own peculiar difficulties, and finds his own obstacles in the way of right doing. But the cure is the same in all cases. It is to be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might. That is the best way of all in which to be strong, boys. When the Philistines were hard pressed by the Israelites, they said one to another, 'Be strong and quit yourselves like men ... quit yourselves like men, and fight.' And they fought so well that Israel was smitten before them, and theark of God was taken. And so, boys, whenever, at home, at school, or at play, you feel tempted to do what is wrong, I ask you to remember these words, 'Quit yourselves like men, be strong, and fight.' If you do, so sure as there is a God in heaven who loves you all, you will come off conquerors."
Mr. Silver's words made a deep impression upon Bert. The great ambition of his boyish heart was to be esteemed manly. Nor was he entirely free from the mistaken notions about manliness to which his teacher had referred. He had more than once been sneered at, by some of the boys at Mr. Garrison's, for refusing to do what seemed to him wrong. They had called him "Softy," and hinted at his being tied to his mother's apron-strings. Then, big, coarse Bob Brandon, always on the look-out to vent his spite, had nicknamed him "Sugar-mouth" one day, because he had exclaimed to one of the boys who was pouring out oaths:
"Oh, Tom! how can you swear so? Don't you know how wicked it is to take God's name in vain?"
These and other incidents like them had troubled Bert a good deal. He dreaded being thought a "softy," and had even at times felt a kind of envy of the boys whose consciences did not trouble them if they swore, or indulged in sly smokes, or defiled their mouths with filthy quids. Mr. Silver's words now came in good time to give a changed current tothese thoughts. They presented to his mind a very different idea of manliness from the confused conception which had been his hitherto.
"That's a good motto for a fellow, Shorty," said he, as the two friends walked home together from the school. "Mother asked me the other day to take a text for a motto. I think I'll take 'Quit you like men, be strong.'"
"I think I will, too, Bert," said Frank. "It's no harm if we have the same one, is it?"
"Why no, of course not," answered Bert. "We'll both have the same, and then we'll help one another all we can to do what it says."
It was a fine, bright September morning when Mr. Lloyd, with Bert on one side of him and Frank on the other—for Frank had come down, so that he might go with Bert—made his way to Dr. Johnston's school. The school occupied a historic old building, whose weather-beaten front faced one of the principal streets of the city. This building had in times long past been the abode of the governor of the province, and sadly as it had degenerated in appearance, it still retained a certain dignity, and air of faded grandeur, that strongly suggested its having once been applied to a more exalted use than the housing of a hundred boys for certain hours of the day. So spacious was it, that Dr. Johnston found ample room for his family in one half, while the other half was devoted to the purposes of the school. At the rear, a cluster of shabby outbuildings led to a long narrow yard where tufts of rank, coarse grass, and bunches of burdocks struggled hard to maintain their existence in spite of fearful odds.
The boys' hearts were throbbing violently as Mr. Lloyd rang the bell. The door was opened readily by a boy, who was glad of the excuse to leave his seat, and he entered the schoolroom, followed by his charges. The room was long, narrow, and low-ceilinged, and was divided into two unequal portions by a great chimney, on either side of which a passage had been left. At the farther end, occupying the central space between two windows, was the doctor's desk, or throne it might more properly be called; for never did autocrat wield more unquestioned authority over his subjects than did Dr. Johnston over the hundred and odd scholars who composed his school. In front of him, running down the centre of the room, and on either hand, following the walls, were long lines of desks, at which sat boys of all sorts, and of all ages, from ten to eighteen. As Mr. Lloyd entered, those nearest the door looked up, and seeing the new-comers, proceeded to stare at them with a frank curiosity that made Bert feel as though he would like to hide in one of his father's coat-tail pockets.
They turned away pretty quickly, however, when Dr. Johnston, leaving his desk, came down to meet Mr. Lloyd, and as he passed between the lines, every head was bent as busily over the book or slate before it, as though its attention had never been distracted.
Considering that Dr. Johnston was really a small, slight man, it was surprising what an idea of stately dignity his appearance conveyed. He could hardlyhave impressed Bert with a deeper feeling of respect from the outset, if he had been seven feet high, instead of only a little more than five. He was a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, and wore at all times a long black gown, reaching nearly to his ankles, which set off to the best advantage the spare, straight figure, and strong dark face. The habitual expression of that face when in repose was of thoughtful severity, and yet if one did but scan it closely enough, the stern mouth was seen to have a downward turn at its corners that hinted at a vein of humour lying hid somewhere. The hint was well-sustained, for underneath all his sternness and severity the doctor concealed a playful humour, that at times came to the surface, and gratefully relieved his ordinary grimness.
As he walked down from his desk to meet Mr. Lloyd, he looked very pleasant indeed; and Bert felt his nervousness a little calmed as, holding out his thin, white and yet muscular hand, Dr. Johnston said, cordially:
"Good-morning, Mr. Lloyd. I presume these are the two boys you spoke to me about."
"They are, Dr. Johnston," Mr. Lloyd replied. "I brought them in good time so that they might learn as much as possible about the ways of the school the first day."
"You did well, Mr. Lloyd. It is important to have a good beginning in everything that is worth doing,"said the doctor; then, turning to Bert, he slipped his hand under his chin, and lifting his head so that he might look him full in the face, added, with a smile, "I need hardly ask which of these boys is yours, for this one betrays his paternity in every feature."
"You have hit the mark, doctor," said Mr. Lloyd, smiling in his turn. "This is my son Cuthbert, at your service, and this is Frank Bowser, his inseparable companion."
"Quite a case of Damon and Pythias, eh?" said the doctor, whose devotion to the classics was such that his one great regret was that he had not lived in the time of Horace.
"Yes, something of the kind," rejoined Mr. Lloyd; "and I would be very glad if you could manage to let them sit together so long as they behave themselves."
"We'll see, we'll see," was the doctor's non-committal response.
"Very well, then, doctor," said Mr. Lloyd, turning to leave. "I'll hand them over to you now. I am sure you will make the best of them, and that I am leaving them in very good hands. Good-bye, boys." And then, bending down, he whispered in Bert's ear, "Remember—quit you like men—be strong," and then left them.
As Mr. Lloyd disappeared through the door, the air of geniality the doctor had been wearing during the brief interview vanished from his countenance,and it relapsed into its wonted look of resigned severity.
"Lloyd and Bowser, come with me to my desk," said he, turning his back upon them, and walking down the room. The boys followed very meekly, and on arriving at the desk the doctor entered their names in a huge book that lay open before him, using an old-fashioned quill pen that scratched so harshly as to send a shudder through Bert, who was very sensitive to such things.
"We will now see about seats for you both," continued the doctor. Then, raising his voice, he called out, "Mr. Snelling, will you please come here," and from the far end of the room a respectful voice responded "Yes, sir."
Looking in the direction whence the voice came, Bert saw an odd-looking man approaching, who, of course, was Mr. Snelling. He was of medium height, but quite as slight as the doctor himself. Many years at the schoolmaster's desk had given a stoop to his shoulders and a pallor to his face, that were in marked contrast to his chief's erect figure and swarthy countenance. But if his face was pale, his hair made a brave attempt to atone for this lack of colour, for it was the richest, most uncompromising red; and as though he delighted in its warm tints, Mr. Snelling allowed it to grow in uncropped abundance, and his favourite gesture was to thrust his fingers through its tangled mass. Beneath a white and narrow foreheadwere two small sharp eyes, that peered out keenly through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles, and were ever on the watch to detect the slightest misbehaviour among the urchins gathered around him.
Bert's first impression of Mr. Snelling was not a favourable one, and as he stood by and heard Dr. Johnston say: "Mr. Snelling, here are two more pupils. This is Lloyd, and this is Bowser. They will go into your room for the present. Will you please see that desks are assigned them?"—he thought to himself that in spite of the doctor's grim appearance he would rather stay in his room than be handed over to Mr. Snelling.
However, he was not to be consulted in the matter, so he followed in the wake of Mr. Snelling, who, by the way, it should be explained, was the assistant master, having special charge of all the younger scholars, and the drilling of them in the English branches of learning. The classics and mathematics the doctor reserved for himself, and a better teacher of the former particularly there was not in all Halifax.
Mr. Snelling's portion of the room differed from the doctor's only in that it was not so well lighted and the seats were not quite so comfortable. The school being pretty full at the time, the securing of seats for the two new-comers required some rearranging, in the course of which changes had to be made that evidently did not by any means meet with the approbation of those who were immediately concerned; and Bert's spirits, already at a low ebb, were not much elevated by sundry scowling looks directed at him, and by one red-faced, irritable-looking chap seizing the opportunity when Mr. Snelling's back was turned to shake his fist at Bert and Frank, and mutter loudly enough for them to hear:
"I'll punch the heads of you both at recess, see if I don't."
At length, with some little difficulty, Mr. Snelling got matters arranged, and the two boys were placed in the farthest corner of the room, and, to their profound delight, side by side. Their accommodations were the reverse of luxurious. A wooden bench, destitute of back, and shiny from the friction of dear knows how many restless sitters; a sloping desk, cut and carved by careless knives, and having underneath an open shelf upon which the books, slate, cap, and lunch might be put—that was the sum total. Yet, after all, what more do schoolboys really need, or can be safely intrusted with?
Feeling very strange and nervous, Bert and Frank took their seats, and slipping their caps under the desk—they were both wearing that serviceable form of headgear known as the Glengarry—they did their best to seem composed, and to take in their surroundings. The gaunt, unlovely room was soon inspected, and from it they turned their attention to its occupants. Mr. Snelling has already been described. To the left of his desk, and extending row upon row, one behindthe other, were desks filled with boys of different ages and sizes. In front of him was an open space, in which the classes stood when reciting lessons to him, and across this space was another line of desks placed close to the wall, which were assigned to the oldest boys in the room.
Not a familiar or friendly face could the new-comers find, but instead, they saw many that seemed to take pleasure in making them feel, if possible, still more ill at ease, by fixing upon them a cold, indifferent stare, or even an ugly grimace. The only ray of light was that which came from the sweet countenance of a blue-eyed, fair-haired boy, who, catching Bert's eye, nodded pleasantly at him, as though to say, "I'm glad you've come; make yourself at home." And Bert resolved that he would make his acquaintance at the very first opportunity.
Having nothing to do but watch the other boys as they studied and recited, the morning dragged along very slowly for Bert and Frank, and they were immensely relieved when the noon recess was announced, and the whole school poured tumultuously out into either the yard or the street, according to their preference. The majority of the boys went into the street, and the two friends followed them, feeling not a little anxious as to what sort of treatment they might expect at the hands of their new companions. As it proved, however, they had nothing to fear, for it was an unwritten law of the Johnston school, that newboys should be left in peace for the first day; and accordingly Frank and Bert were permitted to stand about and watch the others enjoying themselves without interruption. No one asked them to join in the games, although, no doubt, had they done so of their own accord, no one would have objected. After they had been there a few minutes, Bert heard a soft voice behind him saying:
"It's horrid to be a new boy, isn't it? When I was a new boy I felt so frightened. Do you feel frightened?" And turning round he saw beside him the blue-eyed, fair-haired boy whose pleasant face had attracted his attention in the school.
"I don't think I feel just frightened," he answered, with a smile. "But I can't say I feel very much at home yet."
"Oh, my! But it will be very much worse to-morrow," said the new acquaintance.
"And why will it be worse?" inquired Bert, eagerly.
"Because they'll hoist you," said the other, with a nervous glance around, as though he feared being overheard.
"Does it hurt dreadfully to be hoisted?" asked Bert, while Frank drew near, awaiting the reply with intense interest.
"Oh, yes; it does hurt dreadfully! But"—with a more cheerful air—"you get over it after a little while, you know."
"Well, then, I guess I can stand it. If you got over it all right, so can I," spoke up Bert, manfully; then, turning to Frank, "And you can, too, can't you, Shorty?"
Frank shook his head doubtfully. "Icanall right enough, but I don't know that Iwill. I've a mind to give them a fight for it, anyhow."
"Not a bit of use," said the blue-eyed boy, whose name, by the way, as he presently told the others, was Ernest Linton. "Not a bit of use. They'll only beat you the harder if you fight."
"We'll see," said Frank, with a determined air. "We'll see when the time comes."
Bert and Frank found Ernest a very bright and useful friend, and they had so many questions to ask him that they were very sorry when the ringing of a bell summoned them back to their seats, where they were kept until three o'clock in the afternoon, when school was over for the day.
At home that evening Bert recounted his experiences to three very attentive listeners, and his face grew very grave when he came to tell what Ernest had said about the "hoisting." Having never witnessed a performance of this peculiar rite by which for many years it had been the custom of the school to initiate new members, Bert had no very clear ideas about it, and, of course, thought it all the more dreadful on that account. But his father cheered him a great deal by the view he took of it.
"See, now, Bert," said he. "It's just this way. Every boy in Dr. Johnston's school has been hoisted, and none of them, I suppose, are any the worse for it. Neither will you be. Take my advice and don't resist. Let the boys have it all their own way, and they'll like you all the better, and let you off all the easier."
"Very well, father, I'll do just as you say," responded Bert. "And when I come home to-morrow afternoon I'll tell you all about it." And feeling in much better spirits than he had been in all day, Bert went off to bed, and to sleep, as only a tired schoolboy in sturdy health can sleep.
Mrs. Lloyd gave Bert a more than usually affectionate kiss as he started off for school next morning, and his father called after him:
"Remember, Bert, quit you like a man."
Yet who could blame the little fellow if his heart throbbed with unwonted vigour all that morning, and that he watched the clock's hands anxiously as they crept slowly, but steadily, round the dial, yellow with age and service.
Frank had adopted an unconcerned, if not defiant air, which told plainly enough that he had no idea of submitting quietly to the inevitable ordeal. He was a born fighter. Strength, endurance, courage were expressed in every line of his body. Indeed, as was seen in the matter of the rows between the Garrison and the National boys, he thought a good lively tussle to be fine fun, and never missed a chance of having one.
The two boys were carefully examined by both Dr. Johnston and Mr. Snelling as to the extent of theirlearning in the course of the morning, and assigned to classes accordingly. They were given the same work: English grammar and history, arithmetic, geography, Latin grammar, &c., and a list given them of the books they would need to procure. They were glad to find themselves in the same classes with Ernest Linton, who had been only half-a-year at the school before them, for he seemed such a kind, willing, obliging little chap that they both became fond of him at once.
When recess came he slipped up to Bert and whispered in his ear:
"Stay in school, and then they can't get at you. Mr. Snelling always stays, and they daren't come in for you."
"Not a bit of it," said Bert, emphatically. "The sooner it's over the better. Come along, Shorty." And they marched bravely out, with Ernest following closely behind.
As they stepped into the street, they found fifty or more of the boys gathered about the door, evidently awaiting them. Instantly the cry was raised, "The new boys—hoist them! hoist them!" And half-a-dozen hands were laid upon Bert, who led the van, while others seized Frank to prevent his running away. Bert made no resistance. Neither did Frank, when he saw that his time had not yet come, as they were going to hoist Bert first. Clinching his fists, and hunching his shoulders in readiness for astruggle, he stood in silence watching Bert's fate.
What that would be was not long a matter of uncertainty. In the midst of a noisy rabble of boys, many of whom were larger, and all older than himself, he was borne along to the foot of the high fence that shut in the yard which, as already described, was at the back of the school building. Perched on top of this fence, and leaning down with outstretched arms, were four of the largest lads, shouting at the top of their voices, "Bring him along; hoist him up, hoist him!" The unresisting Bert was brought underneath this quartette, and then his hands were lifted up until they could grasp them in their own. So soon as this was done, a pull all together on their part hoisted him up from the ground, three feet at least, and then his legs were seized, lest he should be tempted to kick. The next moment, as perfectly helpless, and looking not unlike a hawk nailed to a barn-door by way of warning to kindred robbers, Bert hung there, doing his best to keep a smile on his face, but in reality half frightened to death. The whole crowd then precipitated themselves upon him, and with tight-shut fists proceeded to pummel any part of his body they could reach. Their blows were dealt in good earnest, and not merely for fun, and they hurt just as much as one might expect. Poor Bert winced, and quivered, and squirmed, but not a cry escaped from his close-set lips. The one thoughtin his mind was, "Quit you like men," and so buoyed up by it was he, that had the blows been as hard again as they were, it is doubtful if his resolution to bear them in silence would have faltered.
He did not know how long he hung there. It seemed to him like hours. It probably was not longer than a minute. But, oh! the glad relief with which he heard one of the leaders call out:
"That's enough, fellows; let him down. He stood it like a brick."
The blows ceased at once; those holding his hands swung him a couple of times along the fence after the manner of a pendulum, and then dropped him to the ground, where he was surrounded by his late persecutors, who now, looking pleasant enough, proceeded to clap him on the back, and tell him very emphatically that he was "a plucky little chap"; "one of the right sort"; "true grit," and so forth.
Feeling sore and strained, from his neck to his heels, Bert would have been glad to slip away into some corner and have a good cry, just to relieve his suppressed emotions; but as he tried to separate himself from the throng about him, he heard the shout of "Hoist him! Hoist him!" again raised, and saw the leaders in this strange sport bear down upon Frank Bowser, who, still in the hands of his first captors had looked on at Bert's ordeal with rapidly rising anger.
The instant Frank heard the shout, he broke loosefrom those who held him, and springing up a flight of steps near by, stood facing his pursuers with an expression upon his countenance that looked ill for the first that should attempt to touch him. A little daunted by his unexpected action, the boys paused for a moment, and then swarmed about the steps. One of the largest rushed forward to seize Frank, but with a quick movement the latter dodged him, and then by a sudden charge sent him tumbling down the steps into the arms of the others. But the advantage was only momentary. In another minute he was surrounded and borne down the steps despite his resistance.
The struggle that ensued was really heroic—on Frank's part, at all events. Although so absurdly outnumbered, he fought desperately, not with blows, but with sheer strength of arm and leg, straining to the utmost every muscle in his sturdy frame. Indeed, so tremendous were his efforts, that for a time it seemed as if they would succeed in freeing him. But the might of numbers prevailed at length, and, after some minutes' further struggling, he was hoisted in due form, and pounded until the boys were fairly weary.
When they let him go, Frank adjusted his clothes, which had been much disordered in the conflict, took his cap from the hands of a little chap, by whom it had thoughtfully been picked up for him, and with furious flaming face went over to Bert, who had been a spectator of his friend's gallant struggle with mingled feelings of admiration for his courage and regret at his obstinacy.
"They beat me, but I made them sweat for it," said he. "I wasn't going to let them have their own way with me, even if you did."
"You might just as well have given in first as last," replied Bert.
"But I didn't give in," asserted Frank. "That's just the point. They were too many for me, of course, and I couldn't help myself at last, but I held out as long as I could."
"Anyway, it's over now," said Bert, "and it won't bother us any more. But there's one thing I've made up my mind to: I'm not going to have anything to do with hoisting other new boys. I don't like it, and I won't do it."
"No more will I, Bert," said Frank. "It's a mean business; a whole crowd of fellows turning on one and beating him like that."
Just then the bell rang, and all the boys poured back into the schoolroom for the afternoon session.
Each in his own way, Bert and Frank had made a decidedly favourable impression upon their schoolmates. No one mistook Bert's passive endurance for cowardice. His bearing had been too brave and bright for that. Neither did Frank's vigorous resistance arouse any ill-feeling against him. Boys are odd creatures. They heartily admire and applaud the fiery, reckless fellow, who takes no thought for the consequences, and yet they thoroughly appreciate the quiet, cool self-command of the one who does not move until he knows just what he is going to do. And so they were well pleased with both the friends, and quite ready to admit them into the full fellowship of the school.
The Lloyds were greatly interested by Bert's account of the hoisting. They praised him for his self-control, and Frank for his plucky fight against such odds, and they fully agreed with Bert that hoisting was a poor business at best, and that he would be doing right to have nothing to do with it.
"Perhaps some day or other you'll be able to have it put a stop to, Bert," said his mother, patting his head fondly. "It would make me very proud if my boy were to become a reformer before he leaves school."
"I'm afraid there's not much chance of that, mother," answered Bert. "The boys have been hoisting the new chaps for ever so many years, and Dr. Johnston has never stopped them."
That was true. Although he feigned to know nothing about it, the doctor was well aware of the existence of this practice peculiar to his school, but he never thought of interfering with the boys. It was a cardinal principle with him that the boys should be left pretty much to themselves at recess. So long as they did their duty during the school hours, they could do as they pleased during the play hour. Moreover, hewas a great admirer of manliness in his boys. He would have been glad to find in everyone of them the stoical indifference to pain of the traditional Indian. Consequently, fair stand-up fights were winked at, and anything like tattling or tale-bearing sternly discouraged. He had an original method of expressing his disapprobation of the latter, which will be illustrated further on. Holding those views, therefore, he was not likely to put his veto upon "hoisting."
As the days went by, Bert rapidly mastered the ways of the school, and made many friends among his schoolmates. He found the lessons a good deal harder than they had been at Mr. Garrison's. And not only so, but the method of hearing them was so thorough that it was next to impossible for a boy who had come ill-prepared to escape detection. Dr. Johnston did not simply hear the lesson; he examined his scholars upon it, and nothing short of full acquaintance with it would content him. He had an original system of keeping the school record, which puzzled Bert very much, and took him a good while to understand.
On the doctor's desk lay a large book, something like a business ledger. One page was devoted to each day. At the left side of the page was the column containing the boys' names, arranged in order of seniority, the boy who had been longest in the school being at the head, and the last new boy at the foot.Each boy had a line to himself, running out to the end of the page, and these parallel lines were crossed by vertical ones, ruled from the top to the bottom of the page, and having at the top the names of all the different classes; so that the page when ready for its entries resembled very much a checker board, only that the squares were very small, and exceedingly numerous. Just how these squares, thus standing opposite each name, should be filled, depended upon the behaviour of the owner of that name, and his knowledge of his lessons.
If Bert, for instance, recited his grammar lesson without a slip, the letter B—standing forbene, well—was put in the grammar column. If he made one mistake, the entry was V B,vix bene—scarcely well; if two mistakes, Med,mediocriter—middling; and if three, M,male—badly, equivalent to not knowing it at all. The same system prevailed for all the lessons, and in a modified form for the behaviour or deportment also. As regards behaviour, the arrangement was one bad mark for each offence, the first constituting a V B, the second a Med, the third an M, and the fourth a P, the most ominous letter of all, standing, as it did, forpessime—as bad as possible—and one might also say for punishment also; as whoever got a P thereby earned a whipping with that long strap, concerning which Bert had heard such alarming stories.
It will be seen that, by following out the line uponwhich each boy's name stood, his complete record as a scholar could be seen, and upon this record the doctor based the award of prizes at the close of the term. For he was a firm believer in the benefits of prize-giving, and every half-year, on the day before the holidays, a bookcase full of fine books, each duly inscribed, was distributed among those who had come out at the head in the different classes, or distinguished themselves by constant good behaviour.
Once that Bert fully understood the purpose of this daily record, and the principle upon which the prize-giving was based, he determined to be among the prize winners at the end of the term. His ambition was fired by what the older boys told him of the beautiful books awarded, and the honour it was to get one of them. He knew that he could not please his father or mother better than by being on the prize list, and so he applied himself to his lessons with a vigour and fidelity that soon brought him to the notice of the observant doctor.