"Et nos ergo manum ferulæ subduximus."--Juv. i. 15.
It must not be thought that Eric's year as a home boarder was made up of dark experiences. Roslyn had a very bright as well as a dark side, and Eric enjoyed it "to the finger-tips." School-life, like all other life, is an April day of shower and sunshine. Its joys may be more childish, its sorrows more trifling than those of after years;--but they are more keenly felt.
And yet, although we know it to be a mere delusion, we all idealise and idolise our childhood. The memory of it makes pleasant purple in the distance, and as we look back on the sunlight of its blue far-off hills, we forget how steep we sometimes found them.
After Barker's discomfiture, which took place some three weeks after his arrival, Eric liked the school more and more, and got liked by it more and more. This might have been easily foreseen, for he was the type of a thoroughly boyish mind in its more genial and honorable characteristics, and his round of acquaintances daily increased. Among others, a few of the sixth, who were also day-scholars, began to notice and walk home with him. He looked on them as great heroes, and their condescension much increased his dignity both in his own estimation and that of his equals.
Now, too, he began to ask some of his most intimate acquaintances to spend an evening with him sometimes at home. This was a pleasure much coveted, for no boy ever saw Mrs. Williams without loving her, and they felt themselves humanised by the friendly interest of a lady who reminded every boy of his own mother. Vernon, too, now a lively and active child of nine, was a great pet among them, so that every one liked Eric who "knew him at home." A boy generally shows his best side at home; the softening shadows of a mother's tender influence play over him, and tone down the roughness of boyish character. Duncan, Montagu, and Owen were special favorites in the home circle, and Mrs. Williams felt truly glad that her son had singled out friends who seemed, on the whole, so desirable. But Montagu and Russell were the most frequent visitors, and the latter became almost like one of the family; he won so much on all their hearts that Mrs. Williams was not surprised when Eric confided to her one day that he loved Russell almost as well as be loved Vernon.
As Christmas approached, the boys began to take a lively interest in the half-year's prizes, and Eric was particularly eager about them. He had improved wonderfully, and as both his father and mother prevented him from being idle, even had he been so inclined, he had soon shown that he was one of the best in the form. Two prizes were given, half-yearly to each remove; one for "marks" indicating the boy who had generally been highest throughout the half year, and the other for the test proofs of proficiency in a special examination. It was commonly thought in the form that Owen would get the first of these prizes, and Eric the other; and towards the approach of the examination, he threw his whole energy into the desire to win. The desire was not selfish. Some ambition was of course natural; but he longed for the prize chiefly for the delight which he knew his success would cause at Fairholm, and still more to his own family.
During the last week, an untoward circumstance happened, which, while it increased his popularity, diminished a good deal (as he thought) his chance of success. The fourth form were learning a Homer lesson, and Barker, totally unable to do it by his own resources, was trying to borrow a crib. Eric, much to their mutual disgust, still sat next to him in school, and would have helped him if he had chosen to ask; but he never did choose, nor did Eric care to volunteer. The consequence was, that unless he could borrow a crib, he was invariably turned, and he was now particularly anxious to get one, because the time was nearly up.
There was a certain idle, good-natured boy, named Llewellyn, who had "cribs" to every book they did, and who, with a perniciousbonhommie,lent them promiscuously to the rest, all of whom were only too glad to avail themselves of the help, except the few at the top of the form, who found it a slovenly way of learning the lesson, which was sure to get them into worse difficulties than an honest attempt to master the meaning for themselves. Llewellyn sat at the farther end of the form in front, so Barker scribbled in the fly-leaf of his book, "Please send us your Homer crib," and got the book passed on to Llewellyn, who immediately shoved his crib in Barker's direction. The only danger of the transaction being noticed, was when the book was being handed from one bench to another, and as Eric unluckily had an end seat, he had got into trouble more than once.
On this occasion, just as Graham, the last boy on the form in front, handed Eric the crib, Mr. Gordon happened to look up, and Eric, very naturally anxious to screen another from trouble, popped the book under his own Homer.
"Williams, what are you doing?"
"Nothing, Sir," said Eric, looking up innocently.
"Bring me that book under your Homer."
Eric blushed, hesitated--but at last, amid a dead silence, took up the book. Mr. Gordon looked at it for a moment, let it fall on the ground, and then, with an unnecessary affectation of disgust, took it up with the tongs, and dropped it into the fire. There was a titter round the room.
"Silence," thundered the master; "this is no matter for laughing. So, sir,thisis the way you get up to the top of the form?"
"I wasn't using it, sir," said Eric.
"Not using it! Why, I saw you put it, open, under your Homer."
"It isn't mine, sir."
"Then whose is it?" Mr. Gordon looked at the fly leaf, but of course no name was there; in those days it was dangerous to write one's name in a translation.
Eric was silent.
"Under the circumstances, Williams, I must punish you," said Mr. Gordon. "Of course I amboundto believe you, but the circumstances are very suspicious. You had no business with such a book at all. Hold out your hand."
As yet, Eric had never been caned. It would have been easy for him in this case to clear himself without mentioning names, but (very rightly) he thought it unmanly to clamor about being punished, and he felt nettled at Mr. Gordon's merely official belief of his word. He knew that he had his faults, but certainly want of honor was not among them. Indeed, there were only three boys out of the twenty in the form, who did not resort to modes of unfairness far worse than the use of cribs, and those three were Russell, Owen, and himself; even Duncan, even Montagu, inured to it by custom, were not ashamed to read their lesson off a concealed book, or copy a date from a furtive piece of paper. They would have been ashamed of it before they came to Roslyn school, but the commonness of the habit had now made them blind or indifferent to its meanness. It was peculiarly bad in the fourth form, because the master treated them with implicit confidence, and being scrupulously honorable himself, was unsuspicious of others. He was therefore extremely indignant at this apparent discovery of an attempt to overreach him in a boy so promising and so much of a favorite as Eric Williams.
"Hold out your hand," he repeated.
Eric did so, and the cane tingled sharply across his palm. He could bear the pain well enough, but he was keenly alive to the disgrace; he, a boy at the head of his form, to be caned in this way by a man who didn't understand him, and unjustly too! He mustered up an indifferent air, closed his lips tight, and determined to give no further signs. The defiance of his look made Mr. Gordon angry, and he inflicted in succession five hard cuts on either hand, each one of which, was more excruciating than the last.
"Now, go to your seat."
Eric did go to his seat, with all his bad passions roused, and he walked in a jaunty and defiant kind of way that made the master really grieve at the disgrace into which he had fallen. But he instantly became a hero with the form, who unanimously called him a great brick for not telling, and admired him immensely for bearing up without crying under so severe a punishment. The punishmentwasmost severe, and for some weeks after there were dark weals visible across Eric's palm, which rendered the use of his hands painful.
"Poor Williams," said Duncan, as they went out of school, "how very plucky of you not to cry."
"Vengeance deep brooding o'er thecane,Had locked the source of softer woe;And burning pride, and high disdain,Forbade the gentler tear to flow,"
said Eric, with a smile.
But he only bore up until he got home, and there, while he was telling his father the occurrence, he burst into a storm of passionate tears, mingled with the fiercest invectives against Mr. Gordon for his injustice.
"Never mind, Eric," said his father; "only take care that you never get a punishmentjustly, and I shall always be as proud of you as I am now. And don't cherish this resentment, my boy; it will only do you harm. Try to forgive and forget."
"But, Papa, Mr. Gordon is so hasty. I have indeed been rather a favorite of his, yet now he shows that he has no confidence in me. It is a great shame that he shouldn't believe my word. I don't mind the pain; but I shan't like him any more, and I'm sure, now, I shan't get the examination prize."
"You don't mean, Eric, that he will be influenced by partiality in the matter?"
"No, Papa, not exactly; at least I dare say he won'tintendto be. But it is unlucky to be on bad terms with a master, and I know I shan't work so well."
On the whole, the boy was right in thinking this incident a misfortune. Although he had nothing particular for which to blame himself, yet the affair had increased his pride, while it lowered his self-respect; and he had an indistinct consciousness that the popularity in his form would do him as much harm as the change of feeling in his master. He grew careless and dispirited, nor was it till in the very heat of the final competition, that he felt his energies fully revived.
Half the form were as eager about the examination as the other half were indifferent; but none were more eager than Eric. He was much hindered by Barker's unceasing attempt to copy his papers surreptitiously; and very much disgusted at the shameless way in which many of the boys "cribbed" from books, and from each other, or used torn leaves concealed in their sleeves, or dates written on their wristbands, and on their nails. He saw how easily much of this might have been prevented; but Mr. Gordon was fresh at his work, and had not yet learnt the practical lesson, that to trust young boys to any great extent, is really to increase their temptations. Hedidlearn the lesson afterwards, and then almost entirely suppressed the practice, partly by increased vigilance, and partly by forbiddinganybook to be brought into the room during the time of examination. But meanwhile, much evil had been done by the habitual abuse of his former confidence.
I shall not linger over the examination. At its close, the day before the breaking-up, the list was posted on the door of the great school-room, and most boys made an impetuous rush to see the result. But Eric was too nervous to be present at the hour when this was usually done, and he had asked Russell to bring him the news.
He was walking up and down the garden, counting the number of steps he took, counting the number of shrubs along each path, and devising every sort of means to beguile the time, when he heard hasty steps, and Russell burst in at the back gate, breathless with haste, and bright with excitement.
"Hurrah! old fellow," he cried, seizing both Eric's hands; "I never felt so glad in my life;" and he shook his friend's arms up and down, laughing joyously.
"Well! tell me," said Eric.
"First, {Owen/Williams} Aequales," "you've got head remove you see, in spite of your forebodings, as I always said you would; and I congratulate you with all my heart."
"No?" said Eric, "have I really?--you're not joking? Oh! hurrah!--I must rush in and tell them;" and he bounded off.
In a second he was back at Russell's side. "What a selfish animal I am! Where are you placed, Russell?"
"Oh! magnificent; I'm third;--far higher than I expected."
"I'm so glad," said Eric. "Come in with me and tell them. I'm head remove, mother," he shouted, springing into the parlor where his father and mother sat.
In the lively joy that this announcement excited, Russell stood by for the moment unheeded; and when Eric took him by the hand to tell them that he was third, he hung his head, and a tear was in his eye.
"Poor boy! I'm afraid you're disappointed," said Mrs. Williams kindly, drawing him to her side.
"Oh no, no! it's notthat," said Russell, hastily, as he lifted his swimming eyes towards her face.
"Are you hurt, Russell?" asked Eric, surprised.
"Oh! no; don't ask me; I am only foolish to-day;" and with a burst of sorrow he flung his arms round Mrs. Williams' neck. She folded him to her heart, and kissed him tenderly; and when his sobs would let him speak, he whispered to her in a low tone, "It is but a year since I became an orphan."
"Dearest child," she said, "look on me as a mother; I love you very dearly for your own sake as well as Eric's."
Gradually he grew calmer. They made him stay to dinner and spend the rest of the day there, and by the evening he had recovered all his usual sprightliness. Towards sunset he and Eric went for a stroll down the bay, and talked over the term and the examination.
They sat down on a green bank just beyond the beach, and watched the tide come in, while the sea-distance was crimson with the glory of evening. The beauty and the murmur filled them with a quiet happiness, not untinged with the melancholy thought of parting the next day.
At last Eric broke the silence. "Russell, let me always call you Edwin, and call me Eric."
"Very gladly, Eric. Your coming here has made me so happy." And the two boys squeezed each other's hands, and looked into each other's faces, and silently promised that they would be loving friends for ever.
"Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil our vines; for ourvines have tender grapes."--CANT. ii. 15.
The second term at school is generally the great test of the strength of a boy's principles and resolutions. During the first term the novelty, the loneliness, the dread of unknown punishments, the respect for authorities, the desire to measure himself with his companions--all tend to keep him right and diligent. But many of these incentives are removed after the first brush of novelty, and many a lad who has given good promise at first, turns out, after a short probation, idle, or vicious, or indifferent.
But there was little comparative danger for Eric, so long as he continued to be a home boarder, which was for another half-year. On the contrary, he was anxious to support in his new remove the prestige of having been head boy; and as he still continued under Mr. Gordon, he really wished to turn over a new leaf in his conduct towards him, and recover, if possible, his lost esteem.
His popularity was a fatal snare. He enjoyed and was very proud of it, and was half inclined to be angry with Russell for not fully sharing his feelings; but Russell had a far larger experience of school life than his new friend, and dreaded with all his heart lest "he should follow a multitude to do evil."
The "cribbing," which had astonished and pained Eric at first, was more flagrant than even in the Upper Fourth, and assumed a chronic form. In all the repetition lessons one of the boys used to write out in a large hand the passage to be learnt by heart, and dexterously pin it to the front of Mr. Gordon's desk. There any boy who chose could read it off with little danger of detection, and, as before, the only boys who refused to avail themselves of this trickery were Eric, Russell, and Owen.
Eric didnotyield to it; never once did he suffer his eyes to glance at the paper when his turn to repeat came round. But although this was the case, he never spoke against the practice to the other boys, even when he lost places by it. Nay more, he would laugh when any one told him how he had escaped "skewing" (i.e.being turned) by reading it off; and he even went so far as to allow them to suppose that he wouldn't himself object to take advantage of the master's unsuspicious confidence.
"I say, Williams," said Duncan, one morning as they strolled into the school-yard, "do you know your Rep.?"
"No," said Eric, "not very well; I haven't given more than ten minutes to it."
"Oh, well, never mind it now; come and have a game at racquets? Russel and Montagu have taken the court."
"But I shall skew."
"Oh no, you needn't, you know. I'll take care to pin it up on the desk near you."
"Well, I don't much care. At any rate I'll chance it." And off the boys ran to the racquet-court, Eric intending to occupy the last quarter of an hour before school-time in learning his lesson. Russell and he stood the other two, and they were very well matched. They had finished two splendid games, and each side had been victorious in turn, when Duncan, in the highest spirits, shouted, "Now, Russell, for the conqueror."
"Get some one else in my place," said Russell; "I don't know my Rep., and must cut and learn it."
"O bother the Rep.," said Montagu; "somebody's sure to write it out in school, and old Gordon'll never see."
"You forget, Montagu, I never condescend to that."
"O ay, I forgot. Well, after all, you're quite right; I only wish I was as good."
"What a capital fellow he is," continued Montagu, leaning on his racquet and looking after him, as Russell left the court; "but I say, Williams, you're not going too, are you?"
"I think I must, I don't know half my lesson."
"O no! don't go; there's Llewellyn; he'll take Russell's place, and wemusthave the conquering game."
Again Eric yielded; and when the clock struck he ran into school, hot, vexed with himself, and certain to break down, just as Russell strolled in, whispering, "I've had lots of time to get up the Horace, and know it pat."
Still he clung to the little thistledown of hope that he should have plenty of time to cram it before the form were called up. But another temptation awaited him. No sooner was he seated than Graham whispered, "Williams, it's your turn to write out the Horace; I did last time, you know."
Poor Eric. He was reaping the fruits of his desire to keep up popularity, by never denying his complicity in the general cheating. Everybody seemed to assume now thatheat any rate didn't think much of it, and he had never claimed his real right up to that time of asserting his innocence. But this was a step further than he had ever gone before. He drew back--
"Myturn, what do you mean?"
"Why, you know as well as I do that we all write it out by turns."
"Do you mean to say that Owen or Russell ever wrote it out?"
"Of course not; you wouldn't expect the saints to be guilty of such a thing, would you?"
"I'd rather not, Graham," he said, getting very red.
"Well, thatiscowardly," answered Graham, angrily; "then I suppose I must do it myself."
"Here, I'll do it," said Eric suddenly; "shy us the paper."
His conscience smote him bitterly. In his silly dread of giving offence, he was doing what he heartily despised, and he felt most uncomfortable.
"There," he said, pushing the paper from him in a pet; "I've written it, and I'll have nothing more to do with it."
Just as he finished they were called up, and Barker, taking the paper, succeeded in pinning it as usual on the front of the desk. Eric had never seen it done so carelessly and clumsily before, and firmly believed, what was indeed a fact, that Barker had done it badly on purpose, in the hope that it might be discovered, and so Eric be got once more into a scrape. He was in an agony of apprehension, and when put on, was totally unable to say a word of his Rep. But low as he had fallen, he would not cheat like the rest; he kept his eyes resolutely turned away from the guilty paper, and even refused to repeat the words which were prompted in his ear by the boys on each side. Mr. Gordon, after waiting a moment, said--
"Why, Sir, you know nothing about it; you can't have looked at it. Go to the bottom and write it out five times."
"Write it out" thought Eric; "this is retribution, I suppose;" and covered with shame and vexation, he took his place below the malicious Barker at the bottom of the form.
It happened that during the lesson the fire began to smoke, and Mr. Gordon told Owen to open the window for a moment. No sooner was this done than the mischievous whiff of sea air which entered the room began to trifle and coquet with the perdulous half sheet pinned in front of the desk, causing thereby an unwonted little pattering crepitation. In alarm, Duncan thoughtlessly pulled out the pin, and immediately the paper floated gracefully over Russell's head, as he sat at the top of the form, and, after one or two gyrations, fluttered down in the centre of the room.
"Bring me that piece of paper," said Mr. Gordon, full of vague suspicion.
Several boys moved uneasily, and Eric looked nervously around.
"Did you hear? fetch me that half sheet of paper."
A boy picked it up and handed it to him. He held it for a full minute in his hands without a word, while vexation, deep disgust, and rising anger struggled in his countenance. At last, he suddenly turned full on Eric, whose writing he recognized, and broke out,
"So, Sir! a second time caught in gross deceit. I should not have thought it possible. Your face and manners belie you. You have lost my confidence forever. Idespiseyou."
"Indeed, Sir," said the penitent Eric, "I never meant--"
"Silence--you are detected, as cheats always will be. I shall report you to Dr. Rowlands."
The next boy was put on, and broke down. The same with the next, and the next, and the next; Montagu, Graham, Llewellyn, Duncan, Barker, all hopeless failures; only two boys had said it right--Russell and Owen.
Mr. Gordon's face grew blacker and blacker. The deep undisguised pain which the discovery caused him was swallowed up in unbounded indignation. "False-hearted, dishonorable boys," he exclaimed, "henceforth my treatment of you shall be very different. The whole form, except Russell and Owen, shall have an extra lesson every half-holiday; not one of the rest of you will I trust again. I took you for gentlemen. I was mistaken. Go." And so saying, he waved them to their seats with imperious disdain.
They went, looking sheepish, and ashamed. Eric, deeply vexed, kept twisting and untwisting a bit of paper, without raising his eyes, and even Barker thoroughly repented his short-sighted treachery; the rest were silent and miserable.
At twelve o'clock two boys lingered in the room to speak to Mr. Gordon; they were Eric Williams and Edwin Russell, but they were full of very different feelings.
Eric stepped to the desk first. Mr. Gordon looked up.
"You! Williams, I wonder that you have the audacity to speak to me. Go--I have nothing to say to you!"
"But, sir, I want to tell you that--"
"Your guilt is only too clear, Williams. You will hear more of this. Go, I tell you."
Eric's passion overcame him; he stamped furiously on the ground, and burst out, "Iwillspeak, sir; you have been unjust to me for a long time, but I willnotbe--"
Mr. Gordon's cane fell sharply across the boy's back; he stopped, glared for a moment; and then saying:
"Very well, sir! I shall tell Dr. Rowlands that you strike before you hear me," he angrily left the room, and slammed the door violently behind him.
Before Mr. Gordon had time to recover from his astonishment, Russell stood by him.
"Well, my boy," said the master, softening in a moment, and laying his hand gently on Russell's head, "what have you to say? You cannot tell how I rejoice, amid the deep sorrow that this has caused me, to find thatyouat least are uncontaminated. But Iknew, Edwin, that I could trust you."
"O sir, I come to speak for Eric--for Williams." Mr. Gordon's brow darkened again, and the storm gathered, as he interrupted vehemently, "Not a word, Russell; not a word. This is thesecondtime that he has wilfully deceived me; and this time he has involved others too in his base deceit."
"Indeed, sir, you wrong him. I can't think how he came to write the paper, but Iknowthat he did not and would not use it. Didn't you see yourself, sir, how he turned his head quite another way when he broke down."
"It is very kind of you, Edwin, to defend him," said Mr. Gordon coldly, "but at present, at any rate, I must not hear you. Leave me; I feel very sad, and must have time to think over this disgraceful affair."
Russell went away disconsolate, and met his friend striding up and down, the passage, waiting for Dr. Rowlands to come out of the library.
"O Eric," he said, "how came you to write that paper?"
"Why, Russell, I did feel very much ashamed, and I would have explained it, and said so; but that Gordon spites me so. It is such a shame; I don't feel now as if I cared one bit."
"I am sorry you don't get on with him; but remember you have given him in this case good cause to suspect. You never crib, Eric, I know, but I can't help being sorry that you wrote the paper."
"But then Graham asked me to do it, and called me cowardly because I refused at first."
"Ah, Eric," said Russell, "they will ask you to do worse things if you yield so easily. I wouldn't say anything to Dr. Rowlands about it, if I were you."
Eric took the advice, and, full of mortification, went home. He gave his father a true and manly account of the whole occurrence, and that afternoon Mr. Williams wrote a note of apology and explanation to Mr. Gordon. Next time the form went up, Mr. Gordon said, in his most freezing tones, "Williams, at present I shall take no further notice of your offence beyond including you in the extra lesson every half-holiday."
From that day forward Eric felt that he was marked and suspected, and the feeling worked on him with the worst effects. He grew more careless in work, and more trifling and indifferent in manner. Several boys now beat him whom he had easily surpassed before, and his energies were for a time entirely directed to keeping that supremacy in the games which he had won by his activity and strength.
It was a Sunday afternoon, towards the end of the summer term, and the boys were sauntering about in the green playground, or lying on the banks reading and chatting. Eric was with a little knot of his chief friends, enjoying the sea breeze as they sat on the grass. At last the bell of the school chapel began to ring, and they went in to the afternoon service. Eric usually sat with Duncan and Llewellyn, immediately behind the benches allotted to chance visitors. The bench in front of them happened on this afternoon to be occupied by some rather odd people, viz., an old man with long white hair, and two ladies remarkably stout, who were dressed with much juvenility, although past middle age. Their appearance immediately attracted notice, and no sooner had they taken their seats than Duncan and Llewellyn began to titter. The ladies' bonnets, which were of white, trimmed with long green leaves and flowers, just peered over the top of the boys' pew, and excited much amusement. But Eric had not yet learnt to disregard the solemnity of the place, and the sacred act in which they were engaged. He tried to look away, and attend to the service, and for a time he partially succeeded, although, seated as he was between the two triflers, who were perpetually telegraphing to each other their jokes, he found it a difficult task, and secretly he began to be much tickled.
At last the sermon commenced, and Llewellyn, who had imprisoned a grasshopper in a paper cage, suddenly let it hop out. The first hop took it to the top of the pew; the second perched it on the shoulder of the stoutest lady. Duncan and Llewellyn tittered louder, and even Eric could not resist a smile. But when the lady, feeling some irritation on her shoulder, raised her hand, and the grasshopper took a frightened leap into the centre of the green foliage which enwreathed her bonnet, none of the three could stand it, and they burst into fits of laughter, which they tried in vain to conceal by bending down their heads and cramming their handkerchiefs into their mouths. Eric, having once given way, enjoyed the joke uncontrollably, and the lady made matters worse by her uneasy attempts to dislodge the unknown intruder, and discover the cause of the tittering, which she could not help hearing. At last all three began to laugh so violently that several heads were turned in their direction, and Dr. Rowlands' stern eye caught sight of their levity. He stopped short in his sermon, and for one instant transfixed them with his indignant glance. Quiet was instantly restored, and alarm reduced them to the most perfect order, although the grasshopper still sat imperturbable among the artificial flowers. Meanwhile the stout lady had discovered that for some unknown reason she had been causing considerable amusement, and, attributing it to intentional ridicule, looked round, justly hurt. Eric, with real shame, observed the deep vexation of her manner, and bitterly repented his share in the transaction.
Next morning Dr. Rowlands, in full academicals, sailed into the fourth-form room. His entrance was the signal for every boy to rise, and after a word or two to Mr. Gordon, he motioned them to be seated. Eric's heart sank within him.
"Williams, Duncan, and Llewellyn, stand out!" said the Doctor. The boys, with downcast eyes and burning cheeks, stood before him.
"I was sorry to notice," said he, "your shameful conduct in chapel yesterday afternoon. As far as I could observe, you were making yourselves merry in that sacred place with the personal defects of others. The lessons you receive here must be futile indeed, if they do not teach you the duty of reverence to God, and courtesy to man. It gives me special pain, Williams, to have observed that you, too, a boy high in your remove, were guilty of this most culpable levity. You will all come to me at twelve o'clock in the library."
At twelve o'clock they each received a flogging. The pain inflicted was not great, and Duncan and Llewellyn, who had got into similar trouble before, cared very little for it, and went out laughing to tell the number of swishes they had received, to a little crowd of boys who were lingering outside the library door. But not so Eric. It was hisfirstflogging, and he felt it deeply. To his proud spirit the disgrace was intolerable. At that moment he hated Dr. Rowlands, he hated Mr. Gordon, he hated his schoolfellows, he hated everybody. He had been flogged; the thought haunted him; he, Eric Williams, had been forced to receive this most degrading corporal punishment. He pushed fiercely through the knot of boys, and strode as quick as he could along the playground, angry and impenitent.
At the gate Russell met him. Eric felt the meeting inopportune; he was ashamed to meet his friend, ashamed to speak to him, envious of him, and jealous of his better reputation. He wanted to pass him by without notice, but Russell would not suffer this. He came up to him and took his arm affectionately. The slightest allusion to his late disgrace would have made Eric flame out into passion; but Russell was too kind to allude to it then. He talked as if nothing had happened, and tried to turn his friend's thoughts to more pleasant subjects. Eric appreciated his kindness, but he was still sullen and fretful, and it was not until they parted that his better feelings won the day. But when Russell said to him "Good bye, Eric," it was too much for him, and seizing Edwin's hand, he wrung it hard, and tears rushed to his eyes.
"Dear, good Edwin! how I wish I was like you. If all my friends were like you, I should never get into these troubles."
"Nay, Eric," said Russell, "you may be far better than I. You have far batter gifts, if you will only do yourself justice."
They parted by Mr. Williams' door, and Russell walked home sad and thoughtful; but Eric, barely answering his brother's greeting, rushed up to his room, and, flinging himself on his bed, sobbed like a child at the remembrance of his disgrace. They were not refreshing tears; he felt something hard at his heart, and, as he prayed neither for help nor forgiveness, it was pride and rebellion, not penitence, that made him miserable.
"Keep the spell of home affection.Still alive in every heart;May its power, with mild direction,Draw our love from self apart,Till thy childrenFeel that thou their Father art."SCHOOL HYMN.
"I have caught such a lot of pretty sea anemones, Eric," said little Vernon Williams, as his brother strolled in after morning school; "I wish you would come and look at them."
"O, I can't come now, Verny; I am going out to play cricket with some fellows directly."
"But it won't take you a minute; do come."
"What a little bore you are. Where are the things?"
"O, never mind, Eric, if you don't want to look at them," said Vernon, hurt at his brother's rough manner.
"First you ask me to look, and then say 'never mind,'" said Eric impatiently; "here, show me them."
The little boy brought a large saucer, round which the crimson sea-flowers were waving their long tentacula in the salt water.
"Oh, ay; very pretty indeed. But I must be off to cricket."
Vernon looked up at his brother sadly.
"You aren't so kind to me, Eric, as you used to be."
"What nonsense! and all because I don't admire those nasty red-jelly things, which one may see on the shore by thousands any day. What a little goose you are, Vernon!"
Vernon made no reply, but was putting away his sea-anemones with a sigh, when in came Russell to fetch Eric to the cricket.
"Well, Verny," he said, "have you been getting those pretty sea-anemones? come here and show me them. Ah, I declare you've got one of those famous white plumosa fellows among them. What a lucky little chap you are!"
Vernon was delighted.
"Mind you take care of them," said Russell. "Where did you find them?"
"I have been down the shore getting them."
"And have you had a pleasant morning?"
"Yes, Russell, thank you. Only it is rather dull being always by myself, and Eric never comes with me now."
"Naughty Eric," said Russell, playfully. "Never mind, Verny; you and I will cut him, and go by ourselves."
Eric had stood by during the conversation, and the contrast of Russel's unselfish kindness with his own harsh want of sympathy, struck him. He threw his arms round his brother's neck, and said, "We will both go with you, Verny, next half holiday."
"O, thank you, Eric," said his brother; and the two schoolboys ran out. But when the next half holiday came, warm and bright, with the promise of a good match that afternoon, Eric repented his promise, and left Russell to amuse his little brother, while he went off, as usual, to the playground.
There was one silent witness of scenes like these, who laid them up deeply in her heart. Mrs. Williams was not unobservant of the gradual but steady falling off in Eric's character, and the first thing she noticed was the blunting of his home affections. When they first came to Roslyn, the boy used constantly to join his father and mother in their walks; but now he went seldom or never; and even if he did go, he seemed ashamed, while with them, to meet any of his schoolfellows. The spirit of false independence was awake and growing in her darling son. The bright afternoons they had spent together on the sunny shore, or seeking for sea-flowers among the lonely rocks of the neighboring headlands,--the walks at evening and sunset among the hills, and the sweet counsel they had together, when the boy's character opened like a flower in the light and warmth of his mother's love,--the long twilights when he would sit on a stool with his young head resting on her knees, and her loving hand among his fair hair,--all these things were becoming to Mrs. Williams memories, and nothing more.
It was the trial of her life, and very sad to bear; the more so because they were soon to be parted, certainly for years, perhaps for ever. The time was drawing nearer and nearer; it was now June, and Mr. Williams' term of furlough ended in two months. The holidays at Roslyn were the months of July and August, and towards their close Mr. and Mrs. Williams intended to leave Vernon at Fairholm, and start for India--sending back Eric by himself as a boarder in Dr. Rowlands' house.
After morning school, on fine days, the boys used to run straight down to the shore and bathe. A bright and joyous scene it was. They stripped off their clothes on the shingle that adjoined the beach, and then running along the sands, would swim out far into the bay till their heads looked like small dots glancing in the sunshine. This year Eric had learned to swim, and he enjoyed the bathing more than any other pleasure.
One day after they had dressed, Russell and he began to amuse themselves on the sea-shore. The little translucent pools left on the sands by the ebbing tide always swarm with life, and the two boys found great fun in hunting audacious little crabs, or catching the shrimps that shuffled about in the shallow water. At last Eric picked up a piece of wood which he found lying on the beach, and said, "What do you say to coming crabfishing, Edwin? this bit of stick will do capitally to thrust between the rocks in the holes where they lie?"
Russell agreed, and they started to the rocks of the Ness to seek a likely place for their purpose. The Ness was a mile off, but in the excitement of their pleasure they were oblivious of time.
The Williams', for the boys' convenience, usually dined at one, but on this day they waited half an hour for Eric. Since, however, he didn't appear, they dined without him, supposing that he was accidentally detained, and expecting him to come in every minute. But two o'clock came, and no Eric; half-past two, and no Eric; three, but still no Eric. Mrs. Williams became seriously alarmed, and even her husband grew uneasy.
Vernon was watching for his brother at the window, and seeing Duncan pass by, ran down to ask him, "If he knew where Eric was?"
"No," said Duncan; "last time I saw him was on the shore. We bathed together, and I remember his clothes were lying by mine when I dressed. But I hav'n't seen him since. If you like we'll go and look for him. I daresay he's on the beach somewhere."
But they found no traces of him there; and when they returned with this intelligence, his mother got so agitated that it required all her husband's firm gentleness to support her sinking spirits. There was enough to cause anxiety, for Vernon repeatedly ran out to ask the boys who were passing if they had seen his brother, and the answer always was, that they had left him bathing in the sea.
Meanwhile our young friends, having caught several crabs, suddenly noticed by the sun that it was getting late.
"Good gracious, Edwin," said Eric, pulling out his watch, "it's half-past three; what have we been thinking of? How frightened they'll be at home;" and running back as fast as they could, they reached the house at five o'clock, and rushed into the room.
"Eric, Eric," said Mrs. Williams faintly, "where have you been? has anything happened to you, my child?"
"No, mother, nothing. I've only been crabfishing with Russell, and we forgot the time."
"Thoughtless boy," said his father, "your mother has been in an agony about you."
Eric saw her pale face and tearful eyes, and flung himself in her arms, and mother and son wept in a long embrace. "Only two months," whispered Mrs. Williams, "and we shall leave you, dear boy, perhaps forever. O do not forget your love for us in the midst of new companions."
The end of term arrived; this time Eric came out eighth only instead of first, and, therefore, on the prize day, was obliged to sit among the crowd of undistinguished boys. He saw that his parents were disappointed, and his own ambition was grievously mortified. But he had full confidence in his own powers, and made the strongest resolutions to work hard the next half-year, when he had got out of "that Gordon's" clutches.
The Williams' spent the holidays at Fairholm, and now, indeed, in the prospect of losing them, Eric's feelings to his parents came out in all their strength. Most happily the days glided by, and the father and mother used them wisely. All their gentle influence, all their deep affection, were employed in leaving on the boy's heart lasting impressions of godliness and truth. He learnt to feel that their love would encircle him for ever with its heavenly tenderness, and their pure prayers rise for him night and day to the throne of God.
The day of parting came, and most bitter and heartrending it was. In the wildness of their passionate sorrow, Eric and Vernon seemed to hear the sound of everlasting farewells. It is God's mercy that ordains how seldom young hearts have to endure such misery.
At length it was over. The last sound of wheels had died away; and during those hours the hearts of parents and children felt the bitterness of death. Mrs. Trevor and Fanny, themselves filled with grief, still used all their unselfish endeavors to comfort their dear boys. Vernon, weary of crying, soon sank to sleep; but not so Eric. He sat on a low stool, his face buried in his hands, breaking the stillness every now and then with his convulsive sobs.
"O Aunty," he cried, "do you think I shall ever see them again? I have been so wicked, and so little grateful for all their love. O, I wish I had thought at Roslyn how soon I was to lose them."
"Yes, dearest," said Mrs. Trevor, "I have no doubt we shall all meet again soon. Your father is only going for five years, you know, and that will not seem very long. And then they will be writing continually to us, and we to them. Think, Eric, how gladdened their hearts will be to hear that you and Vernon are good boys, and getting on well."
"O, Iwillbe a better boy, Iwillindeed," said Eric; "I mean to do great things, and they shall have nothing but good reports of me."
"God helping you, dear," said his aunt, pushing back his hair from his forehead, and kissing it softly; "without his help, Eric, we are all weak indeed."
She sighed. But how far deeper her sigh would have been had she known the future. Merciful is the darkness that shrouds it from human eyes!