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Rain, rain, rain, I think we are going to have a second deluge," said Arthur Hall, looking disconsolately out of one of the school-room windows.
"Yes, I think so, too," said Fred Moore, joining him.
"This makes the second week it has poured down, with not a single bright day all the time."
"It would not be a bad plan if it only rained at night, and not during the day, for play and work could go on quite nicely then," remarked Lynch, who was copying out his twenty lines.
"It is rather fortunate for you and Ross, that all this rain has come during your punishment month."
"Yes," chimed in Leslie, "with the exceptionof the daily task of twenty lines, our last fortnight has not been much of a punishment, for I assure you I have had no desire to go out."
"Always your fortune," said Hall, who was manifestly in an ill humour; "now, if I had been punished instead of you, the weather would have been a marvel of fineness, sunny all day and starry all night."
"Well, don't get cross, Hall, the holidays will soon be here; another ten days, and good-bye books, slates, and masters."
"Yes, there is some consolation in that," said Hall; "but you two, Ross and Lynch, just step here and see how it comes down."
"One moment," said Lynch, "I am finishing my last line; there, the doctor ought to give me three good marks, and set me up as an example of clever penmanship before the whole school."
"How quick you write, Johnnie," said Leslie, looking up from his task, as his friend waved his paper round his head, "here I have six more lines to copy."
"Courage, my dear fellow, courage; remember this is our last day, our punishment is now ended."
"Yes, I am happy to say."
"I already feel a new man," said Lynch, stretching himself; "no longer a slave, bound hand and foot in fetters, I am free as the winds."
"True," said Leslie, a minute after laying down his pen, "my punishment is over, Iamhappy."
"Yes, we have taken all our physic, and are now free from the doctor's rule. When will you have another lark, Leslie?"
"Never again," said Leslie, folding up his paper.
How confidently he spoke.
"Now, then, what is there to be seen," exclaimed Lynch, approaching the group at the window.
"Why, come and inform us what prospect we have of playing our game of cricket to-morrow," said Hall.
"Oh, my! how it rains!"
"Yes, it does come down," said Leslie.
"You will have to play out your game under umbrellas, I fear," said Lynch.
"Yes, and with pattens on the feet."
"Why, if it keeps on much longer, we shallbe able to bathe in the playground; just look at the pools," said one boy.
"Look at the river; how it has risen," said Leslie.
"It has, indeed," said Hall, "and the water is speeding along pretty fast, too."
"I say," exclaimed a boy, "you don't think there's any danger, do you?"
"Danger of what?" inquired Hall.
"Why, of Ascot House taking a fancy to sail down the stream."
"I should imagine not," said Hall, looking out at the waters.
"Here comes Arnold, I will ask him what he thinks," said Lynch, as he saw one of the elder boys approaching.
"Arnold, will you look here a minute."
"What is it you want?" said Arnold, stepping up to the window.
"Do you think there is any danger of the river overflowing?"
Arnold watched the turbulent flow of the waters for a few minutes in complete silence; the conversation we have reported had attracted several more of the boys to the window, so that quite a circle surrounded him, waiting anxiouslyfor his verdict. Arnold knew not what to think; he had never before seen the river in such a state as he now beheld it, so full or so rapid; he was half afraid therewasdanger, but did not care to give his fears expression, for fear of frightening the boys, but in his secret heart he determined to call the doctor's attention to its condition, and ask his opinion.
Turning to the group, he said, "Well, boys, I am not competent to give an opinion, but such a thing has never before occurred, to my recollection."
"But old Badger, up in the town, says he recollects a flood when he was a boy, which carried away a few cottages," said one of the group.
"Pooh! old Badger is in his second childhood," said Arnold, trying to make light of the affair; "he must mean the great deluge."
"Well, I only know what he told me," said the boy.
"Yes, but if you believe all you hear, you will gain some extraordinary knowledge in the course of your life," said Arnold, walking away in search of the doctor.
The doctor gave it as his opinion that therewas no possible danger of a flood; but, that all fears might be set at rest, he would give orders for a thorough examination of the banks of the river, so that whatever damage the continuous rains had done might at once be rectified, and all possible danger averted. But at night time, as the doctor gazed from his bedroom window at the turbulent stream, he could not but think that he had been somewhat too hasty in his conclusion regarding the possibility of a flood; but with the mental determination to order the examination the first thing in the morning, he closed his window and retired to bed.
The following morning, however, was bright and clear, the rain-clouds had all vanished away, while the glorious sun was flooding the earth with warmth and light. The doctor thought there was no immediate necessity to order the examination, and, receiving some rather important letters, the subject dropped from his mind.
Meanwhile, Leslie's month of punishment had passed away, and with the returning sunlight, returned his liberty. He awoke early on this bright morning, and lay awake for some time before either of the other inmates of theroom had unclosed their eyes. He lay thinking how he could best prevent himself falling again into that weakness which had already cost him so much sorrow and punishment. How ardently he wished he could always keep a strict guard and watch on his wayward fancy; he recollected reading of some prisoner who always had an eye watching him; through every hour of the day and night, that eye was ever watching his slightest movement, and noting his every gesture; Leslie wished that some such an eye could watch the secret promptings of his mind.
"Come what will," he murmured to himself, "I will try and cure myself of this fault," and then he lifted up his heart in prayer for strength to accomplish what he had determined in his own mind. There is always a refuge open from whence strength can be received.
It was market-day in the little town close to Ascot House, and half-holiday with the boys, many of whom took pleasure in sauntering into the market place to view the noisy and exciting scenes; to pull the ears of the pigs, and feel the wool of the sheep; to watch the farmers and higglers making their bargains, or to joinin the chase after a refractory bullock, which would run pell-mell through the busy throng, scattering both buyer and seller, master and man.
Leslie found great pleasure in all this; at his home by the sea-side he had seen nothing of the kind, it was all fresh and novel, and highly exciting as well as amusing. He never lost an opportunity of enjoying this pleasure.
He had wandered about the market all the afternoon; visited every sheep-pen, pig-pen, and cattle-stall; watched the racing up and down of sundry horses; seen the transfer of several baskets of fowl, and peeped into the corn exchange, when he thought it was about time to return home; but as he passed an inn-yard he lingered to see a farmer commence his homeward journey. He was making preparations to start, at the same time boasting how far his horse could trot.
While the man was in the act of mounting, Leslie stood close to one of the wheels of the cart; he noticed the linchpin was nearly half out; "What a lark," he thought, "if I were to take the pin wholly out, the farmer's horse would not trot so very far to-day."
Without another moment's consideration Leslie extracted the pin; but no sooner was it safe in his hand than he repented the action. Was this following out his morning's resolution? Was this turning over a new leaf? He attempted to replace the pin again in its proper position; the farmer, however, had now gathered the reins into his hand, and shouted to him to stand clear.
"You young monkey," he cried, "do you wish to be run over," and with that the horse started. Leslie set off in chase, shouting for the man to stop; but the farmer, paying no heed to his cries, soon left him far behind with the abstracted linchpin in his hand. He sat down on a bank by the road side and burst into tears. What should he do? How could he remedy what he had done? What would the consequences be? The wheel might come off, the farmer be thrown out and seriously hurt, or perhaps killed, and he, Leslie, would then be a murderer.
It was some time before Leslie could make up his mind to return back to school, he thought it would be best to run away and hide himself somewhere, in some secret place whereno one could find him, or would ever dream of searching for him. Then he thought he had better go directly to the doctor and confess what he had done; but this, his wisest plan, was overruled by the lingering hope in his heart that perhaps after all the farmer might reach home in safety.
When any one does wrong, it is always best to confess it at once; concealing the wrong makes it more, adds to the offence, and to the restless unhappiness of him who committed it. If Leslie had done this,—fully and frankly confessed his fault—perhaps the result of his mischief might not have fallen so heavily upon himself.
Two days of wretched anxiety passed. Leslie heard that a farmer returning home from market had been thrown from his cart and severely injured, but he could gain no particulars of the accident, how it had occurred, or who had been the victim. He most fervently trusted that it was not the consequences of his thoughtlessness; but it was almost like hoping against hope to believe this.
On the third day, as he was leaving the school grounds in company with Lynch, Hall,and Moore, he felt a rough hand laid on the collar of his jacket, while a harsh voice fell upon his ear, exclaiming,
"You be the young dog that took out my linchpin."
"Hallo! what's this?" shouted Hall, trying to pull Leslie free from the man's grasp.
The man carried one arm in a sling.
"Just you leave him alone, young sir," said the man, "I have nothing to say to you, but to this young dog I have."
"But what is it all about, man?" enquired Hall; "you must not seize the pupils of Ascot House in this way."
"Pupil or no pupil," said the man, doggedly, "this 'ere one goes along with me to the doctor."
"Don't parley, Hall," said Lynch; "can't you see the man's mad; waste no words, but rescue Ross."
"Yes, come on," cried Moore, seizing one arm, while Lynch hauled at the man's coat behind.
"Hear me a minute," said Leslie, as his friends thus proceeded to active measures; "I had better go with this man to thedoctor, for I fear I am only too much in the wrong."
"Ah! now you speak sensible; so come along," and without removing his hand from his collar he led Leslie up to the doctor's private door, and asked permission to speak with him for a few minutes. They were shown into the library, where the doctor soon made his appearance.
"Good morning, Farmer West, what has this young gentleman done that you should hold him by the collar like a prisoner?"
"Why, sir, I can't positively say this young gentleman did it, but I strongly suspect he took one of the linchpins out of my cart last market day, so that a wheel came off and I was thrown out and broke an arm."
The doctor looked earnestly at Leslie, who had fixed his eyes upon the carpet, too much ashamed to raise them to his master's face.
"Is this true, Ross?"
"Yes, sir, but I did not mean to do it."
"Mean to!" broke in the farmer, "but you did it; look at my arm!"
"I assure you, sir," said Leslie, earnestly, "that I repented the action the moment I haddone it, and tried to replace the pin, but the horse started before I was able."
"Your repentance will not mend this gentleman's arm," said the doctor.
"I know it will not, sir, but believe me I am sorry," said Leslie, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
"How can I place confidence in what you say," said the doctor, "when the very day after your punishment had expired for your former act of folly, you commit a far more serious one?"
Leslie could make no reply, his tears showed his distress.
"Leave me for the present, while I say a few words to Mr West; I must write to your father and consult with him as to what course I shall pursue."
Leslie left the library with a very heavy heart.
Two days after, the doctor sent for him, and informed him that he had written to his father, and that in his reply his father had desired him to keep his son at school during the holidays as a punishment for his fault; at the same time Leslie received this unwelcomeintelligence, the doctor handed him a note which had been enclosed in that he himself received.
Leslie found the note was from his mother; he could scarcely read it, tears blinded his eyes. "Do not think," ran the words of the note, "that we at home are not grieved and sorry because our son is not to be with us; we were looking forward to the pleasure of seeing you and clasping you once again in our arms; but we think it our duty to forego all this for your sake. We want our little boy to grow up into a brave and good man, and this he will never do unless he learns to govern well his own nature, repress with a strong hand that which is evil, and foster that which is good. You often used to wonder, when we read thePilgrim's Progresstogether, what could be meant by the 'arrow sharpened by love;' now you will learn it by experience,your punishment is an 'arrow sharpened by love.'"
All Leslie's companions were sorry when they heard what his punishment was to be, and manifested their sympathy in various ways, and by many words of condolence.
"I pity you, old boy," said Hall, one night when they were all in bed, "I pity you, for Iknow what it is to be at school during the holidays; I must not grumble, however, for the latter part of the time was passed pleasantly enough."
"What, were you ever at school during holiday time?" inquired Leslie.
"Yes, and at Ascot House, too."
"Tell us all about it, Hall," said Lynch, sitting up in bed.
"Yes, do, Hall!" said the rest of the boys.
"All right, I'm agreeable; so here goes:" and Hall told the story of his holiday passed at school.
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Provided a school-boy is blessed with a happy home and kind friends," commenced Hall, "there is no one in the world who looks forward to a holiday with so much pleasure, or enjoys it so thoroughly. When the time draws near that he is to leave school-life for a season, how old Father Time seems to lag on his journey, as if he had grown tired, or lame, or had met with an accident and was delayed on the way, so slowly does the wished-for day come. And when at length the happy morn arrives, who so joyous as the school-boy as he jumps out of bed and wakes his next bedfellow by throwing his pillow at him, or by the summary process of stripping the clothes from the sleeping form? Too happy and excited to eat his last breakfast in the old dining-hall, whattricks he plays with his schoolmates, who are equally excited as himself! Now he boasts what he will do during the holidays, where he will go, whom he shall see, and what things he will eat. And with what a shout he waves a farewell, as the carriage, or the coach, or the dog-cart rolls out of the school-grounds, and conveys him away out of sight of the old school-house and its master, sounding as he goes, it may be, a tin horn or a brass bugle he had bought for the occasion.
"Imagination follows the boy to his happy home, where his father welcomes him with a hearty shake of the hand, his mother with a fond clinging embrace, and his sisters with smiles and kisses; while his younger brothers, who have been on the watch for hours, greet him with shouts of delight, and hurry him away to see their favourite rabbits, and pet guinea-pigs, and mice. Who so happy as a school-boy home for the holidays!
"But amid all the excitement, and hurry, and joy, and noise, and confusion, how unutterably miserable is that boy who has no home to go to, and is to remain at school during the holidays; his face is like a cloud amid thesunshine, a frown amid smiles; he views the preparations of each departing boy with envy, and, try all he can, he cannot assume anonchalantor I-don't-care kind of air, nor prevent a lump rising in his throat, and an occasional dimness gathering over his eyes. May be he hides himself away that he may not see the general departure of all his school-fellows, and as their joyous shouts reach him in his hiding-place, he puts his fingers in his ears to shut out the noise which means such loneliness for himself.
"It so chanced that one Michaelmas I was the one unfortunate boy who was left 'sole monarch of all I surveyed.' My parents were away on the Continent, and, unable to reach home in time, had requested the master, as a favour, to allow me to remain at Ascot House during the holidays. I was anything but pleased myself at the arrangement, but was compelled to grin and bear it.
"I will not betoosure, but I think I hid myself and cried, after Willie Wilcox, the last boy to leave, had shaken me by the hand, saying, 'Cheer up, old fellow; I'm sorry for you, but I suppose it can't be helped. I'llwrite you a line while I am away.' It was all very well to say 'Cheer up,' but my spirits had gradually sunk at each boy's departure, until they were far below zero when I found myself alone. I wandered aimlessly about the playground, which had never before appeared so deserted or silent, kicking stones about with my feet, and making holes in the ground with the heels of my boots. I sauntered up to the school-room windows, and stared in at the empty room, and at the long desks, which looked strange and unfamiliar. Even the doctor's wife did not raise my spirits when she kindly said, 'You may go into the garden, Hall, whenever you like, and pick some fruit, but be sure you do not eat too much, so as to make yourself unwell.' I availed myself of the privilege, and ate more fruit than I have ever done since. No, nothing could banish the cloud from my face, nor the gloom from my heart. I never knew what loneliness was before. Even night did not wrap me in forgetfulness, for although by way of variety I lay in a different bed each night, sleep seemed to have gone home for a holiday as well as the boys, for it would seldom visit my couch.
"This state of things went on for a week. I took long walks, but the zest seemed to have gone out of them since I was alone, for they were nothing like so pleasant as when my companions were with me. A change came, however, which made the remaining days a little more bright and cheery.
"On the first day of the second week of the holidays, I had sauntered away from the house, and was hunting for nuts in a little wood or plantation, not far from the grounds of Squire Aveling. I was absorbed in my occupation until I heard a scream in the adjoining lane, and the terrified voice of a girl exclaim, 'Oh! papa! papa! do come!' and then another scream, followed by the deep bay of a dog. I bounded from the wood, cleared the old palings which separated it from the lane with one jump, and was just in time to throttle a big brute of a dog round the neck, as it was in the very act of springing upon a little girl, who, in terror, was crouching down in the road.
"The dog was strong, and I found it no easy matter to hold the brute, and restrain its savage attempts to catch some part of my personbetween its jaws. But just at the moment when I thought I could hold on no longer, and should be compelled to relinquish my grasp, and while tumbling over and over in the dust, a voice cried out—while I could hear rapid steps approaching,—'Hold on; I'll be with you in a minute;' and almost at the same instant the dog was pulled from my grasp, and a heavy whip descended upon its back and flanks, causing it to yell out so lustily that the wood echoed again.
"By the time I had risen to my feet, and shaken some of the dust from my clothes, the dog had run howling away, while as pretty a looking little girl as ever I saw was clinging round the neck of a tall gentleman, who was endeavouring to hush her terrified sobs. This was soon accomplished, for what child does not feel safe in its father's arms? and the gentleman, turning to me, held out his hand, and, with a smile, said,—
"'Let me thank you heartily and warmly for saving my little girl from that savage dog.'
"'Oh, sir,' I replied, blushing up to the roots of my hair, 'it was not much; I shouldhave been a coward had I not done as I did.'
"'My little maid here does not think it was a mere nothing, neither do I. I don't think many boys would have had the courage to do what you did.'
"'I think, sir, that you can't know much about boys to say that, for I could bring no end of a number who would have done the same thing; aye, and better than I did.'
"'Well, I won't contradict you; but what is your name? and where do you come from?'
"'My name, sir,' I replied, 'is Hall—Arthur Hall, and I am one of the boys from Ascot House.'
"'But how is it you are here—I thought it was holiday-time?'
"'So it is, sir; but my friends are away on the Continent, and I am staying at the school through the holidays.'
"How do you like it?'
"'Not at all; I am as lonely and miserable as a rat that has lost its hole.'
"'Well, come up to the house and give your clothes a brush. I suppose you know who I am?'
"'Yes, sir; you are Squire Aveling.'
"When we arrived at the house, Squire Aveling introduced me to his wife, as beautiful and kind a lady as I have ever known, who, when she heard what I had done, fairly kissed me as if I had been her own son. Both the squire and his wife would not hear of my going away until evening; so I stayed and had dinner with them, while their little girl—Alice, they called her—took me round the gardens and grounds to show me all the beauties of the place. Some preparations were going on at the end of the lawn, which was opposite the front of the house; a marquee was being erected, several swings were being put up, while the lawn itself was being mowed. My conductress informed me these preparations were to celebrate her birthday, which was the day after.
"In the evening, the squire himself walked to Ascot House with me, where he saw the doctor's wife, and asked her to allow me to visit them on the morrow, as his little girl was going to entertain a host of young friends, the number of which would not be complete unless I made one of them. Permission was given,and I went to bed to dream of the pleasures the morrow was to bring.
"I was up early enough on the following morning, no such thing as oversleeping one's-self when there was a prospect of pleasure in view. (How well it would be if we—you and I, young reader—could be as active when duty and not pleasure calls!) I oiled and scented my hair to perfection, put on my best frilled shirt, made Jim, our odd boy, polish my boots until he could see his face in them; discarded my straw hat and took to the chimney-pot (i.e.my best beaver), saw that there was not a speck of dirt on my clothes, viewed myself all over in the glass, nearly dislocated my neck in trying to get a glimpse of my back, but found my efforts fruitless; and finally put on my best kid gloves, after which I found I had still two hours to spare, and dinner to eat in the meantime.
"The time went by, and at length I set out for my destination, with both a bounding heart and a bounding step, the one keeping pace with the other, as though there existed some private agreement by which they acted in unison, and fulfilled the requirements of the old proverb, 'A light heart, a light step.'
"I was kindly welcomed by the squire and his lady, and by them introduced to their two sons, who had returned the same day from visiting friends; they both thanked me heartily for the service I had rendered to their sister, whom, they said, they 'would not have had hurt for the world.' This I could well believe, as I watched her darting hither and thither, like a good little fairy, in and out among her friends, with a word for one, a kiss for another, and a caress for a third.
"'I am so glad you are come,' said the fairy Allie, taking me by the hand; 'come and be introduced to all my friends.'
"I thought the introducing would never come to an end, so many were the friends with whom I had to shake hands; there were boys from school, and boys who never had been to school; there were short boys and tall boys, fat boys and lean boys; square boys and round boys; in fact, there were boys of all sorts and sizes; some who said very languidly, 'Ah! how d'ye doo?' and others who seized me by the hand and vowed I was a 'brick.'
"But the girls!—I beg their pardon, I mean young ladies!—how shall I describe them inall their loveliness and witchery! I never saw any like them before, with their long golden, or black, or silken curls, their white dresses and blue sashes, their bright faces and rosy lips! and their eyes! how can I describe them? I have seen a few diamonds in my time, but never any that sparkled so brightly as the eyes that flashed on me on this memorable day; indeed to compare them to diamonds was to offer them an insult. On early summer mornings, when the sun was shining over land and sea, I have seen the dew sparkling on every blade of grass, or in the cup or bell of every flower, with a whole rainbow of colours mirrored in their tiny globes, and such were the eyes that beamed on me each time that Allie said, 'Flo,' or 'Clara,' or 'Kate,' as the name chanced to be, 'this is the gentleman who saved me from the dog.'
"I may say I felt extremely uncomfortable during the process of introduction, and was glad when it all ended; for what with eyes, and the being called 'quite a hero,' and 'a darling brave boy,' and so onad infinitum, I experienced as queer sensations, as if I had been birched by Price, or one of the under-masters.
"But it came to an end at last, and the eldest young Aveling invited me to see his live creatures. I never knew a boy so well off for pets as I found him to be; fine lop-eared rabbits that nibbled out of the palm of his hand, guinea-pigs, white mice, a large Newfoundland dog, which would carry anything he wanted it to carry, or go any where, or fetch anything from a distance; a pony came trotting out of the stable, as soon as it heard his voice, neighing with pleasure. There were plenty of pigeons flying about, and I inquired whether he also claimed them, in reply to which he said,—
"'No, they are my sister Allie's; you should see her come into the yard; they fly round her, perch on her shoulders, pick food from between her lips, and coo with delight. Indeed, every live thing about the place knows and loves Allie. But come, let us be off, and give some of the girls a swing.'
"It was rare fun swinging the girls; the hesitation with which each one seated herself, the injunction not to be sent 'too high;' the terrified scream given when sent off, the flutter of the light dress and the streaming of the curls in the wind, were things worth remembering.When tired with swinging, we started a game of kiss-in-the-ring, in which all heartily joined, except a few languid, swellish-looking fellows who thought it beneath their dignity, and begged to be excused, saying the game was 'too vulgar.'
"'Don't think of those noodles,' said the elder Aveling; 'it is not because the game is "too vulgar," but because they have tight boots, and can't run. Come along, it's rare fun!'
"We had tea in the marquee; no end of cake and fruit, and jam and preserves. It looked, and was, a little different to school-fare: no one was stinted, and the good things disappeared like magic; indeed he must have been a clever magician who could have made them vanish as quickly. Two or three of the youngsters had smothered their faces all over with marmalade and jam, and were sights to behold. One cried because he could not eat any more of the nice things.
"'It strikes me very forcibly,' whispered the younger Aveling, 'that that youngster over there will find himself under the necessity of having an additional spoonful of jam with a powder in it to-morrow.'
"After tea, when it was dark, there was a dance on the lawn by torchlight, the torches being held by the servants; the music consisted of a flute, cornet, and violin, but the cornet proved of no use, as some urchin had bunged it up with a cork before the dance commenced. No particular dances were called for; the musicians played just what they chose, the dancers danced whatever they knew best. Some, and these were the majority, knew nothing of dancing whatever, but threw their legs about just as fancy suggested; nevertheless the pleasure derived from this singular and altogether unique method of performing, was as intense as if done in the most scientific and approved manner.
"We had supper in the large dining-hall. Such a spread! It did one's heart good merely to see it. The pyramids of tarts! the mountains of jelly, shaking their sides like so many jolly, fat old men! the chickens, and ducks, and game, each one of which appeared to be saying, 'Yes, come and eat me, I am willing to sacrifice myself for your pleasure!' I need not say what terrific inroads we made into such eatables, how we piled our fair partners' plateswith the good things, until we were obliged to help eat them (the good things I mean, not the partners, although some of them looked good enough to eat).
"Squire Aveling sat at the head of the long dining-table, and his fair lady at the bottom, each pressing their guests to make a good supper. No pressing was needed. When all had eaten as much as was possible, and nuts, oranges, and grapes and bon-bons took the places of the already vanished delicacies, Squire Aveling rose from his chair, and with the rap of a knife upon a plate commanded silence. He then, much to my discomfiture, spoke as follows:—
"'With the exception of one, all now present are old friends of my darling Allie, and this is not the first time I have seen you seated at this table, and I hope it will not be the last. ('Hear, hear!') I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves. ('We have!' from all assembled.) I am glad to think so, and so is Mrs Aveling. But there is one here to-day whom most of you have never seen before—Arthur Hall. (Here all eyes were directed to me.) Yesterday, by his bravery and courage, he saved my darlingAllie from a great danger, of which you have all heard. I cannot thank him sufficiently for what he has done. I want you all to help me. Now, each of you fill your glass. Now stand up. Let us drink to Arthur Hall with a three times three!'
"I did not know whether I was on my head or my heels; I am sure I blushed, and must have looked anything but heroic. When the cheers were ended, the elder Herbert Aveling whispered that I must make a speech. I stood on my feet, and tried to say something in reply, but what I said I never could remember; all I know is that my health was again drunk in lemonade, which some imbibed so hurriedly that it went down the wrong way, and a chorus of coughing followed, under cover of which I resumed my seat.
"And so the party ended. I assisted several fair ladies to their hats and shawls, and then went back to Ascot House to enact all the scenes over again in my dreams."
As Hall finished his story, the room door opened and one of the under-masters entered to ascertain if the boys were in bed and the lights out. "What! not asleep yet, boys?" heexclaimed, as he heard some one commenting on the story.
"No, sir," one replied, "we are story-telling, and don't feel much inclined for sleep."
"Story-telling, eh!" said the master, who was a general favourite with the boys; "suppose I were to tell you a story, what would you say?"
"Say? why, say it would be first-class," exclaimed Hall, jumping out of bed.
"Yes, yes, do Mr Arnold," echoed the rest. Mr Arnold entered, and, closing the door, seated himself on Leslie's bed, while all the boys crowded round him, dressed in nothing but their night-shirts.
"Well, now for a start," said Mr Arnold; "you may call it, 'Our Ned'."
"All right, sir, go a-head," was the general cry.
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Ialways feel inclined," began Mr Arnold, "to pity a boy who has no friend or companion to whom he can look up with admiration and love, and whom he regards as quite a hero. It is a good thing ever to have something or some one above us, at whom we can gaze, and after whom we can strive. It should be our aim through life to look up, and not down; men do not climb to great heights by keeping their eyes intently fixed on the ground, but, on the contrary, by looking forward and upward. And no one can say he is in want of a hero to imitate and love, when the greatest hero of all the world is perpetually before him.
"'Our Ned' was my hero, and though some people would have it he was a trifle wild, Inever found him so, and certainly, after all these years, cannot bring my mind to think so now. He was the boldest, bravest, kindest, most true-hearted and generous boy, that man, woman, or child ever set eyes on. True, he loved a bit of harmless mischief for the fun of the thing, but was far too noble-spirited to do a mean or cowardly action, and would scorn to take an unjust and bullying advantage over a boy who was weaker or younger than himself. Some boys think they are exhibiting a manliness of character if they tease and torment those who are unable to protect themselves, instead of which they are doing just about as mean a thing as boys can do. What is the use of possessing strength if we exercise it in oppressing others? A true boy, or man, should reserve his strength to protect those who are unable to take care of themselves; and as you go through the world, you will find plenty of that sort.
"I loved our Ned second only to my mother, and I know he loved me in return. We did not express the love we cherished for each other like girls at a boarding-school, by hugging and kissing, and 'dearing' and 'ducking'at every spare moment; no, boys show their love after a different fashion, and kisses with them go for very little, and are considered rather a nuisance than otherwise. If he had a shilling, half of it was mine; I might use his books, pencils, marbles, bat, ball, or, for that matter, anything that was his, and he in his turn was welcome to anything I possessed. If he saw a big boy bullying me, he wasted no words in useless remonstrances, but instead, off with his jacket and fought him at once. You must not think him a quarrelsome boy, who always wanted to be fighting; nothing of the sort, but he cherished a firm conviction—and I don't think he was far wrong—that big, hulking bullies deserved no better treatment than that contained in good, hard, knockdown blows, and these he never hesitated to give, did the occasion warrant it. Of course, he sometimes got the worst of it, but he never minded an atom, not he; he would pick himself up on such occasions, spitting the blood and dirt from his mouth, and cheerily say, as he saw my look of concern: 'All right, Archie, not dead yet; better luck next time!' And his jacket would be on, and he walking by my side ascalmly as possible, without once alluding to his wounds and bruises.
"Yes, Ned was a brave fellow. I remember his coming home one afternoon with a fearfully nasty bite in his left arm, some stingy, big brute of a cur had given him, because he would not let it worry a little girl carrying a big basket, whom it was terrifying into convulsions with yelping and snarling, and making sudden and ferocious grabs at her bare little legs. He gave the beast a kick, and it turned and fastened its long yellow-looking teeth in his arm, and almost bit it through. Our mother was in a terrible way, and wanted to have the dog killed, but nobody knew whose it was, or where it had gone. The doctor burned the wound; and although he turned pale, our Ned did not cry out, but stood it, as the doctor admiringly said, 'like a hero.' When it was bandaged up he put on his jacket, saying, 'Well, that's over.' Mother did not appear to think so; she looked troubled and anxious, shook her head doubtfully, and said, 'I am afraid not.' Then brushing back his hair caressingly with her hand, kissing his forehead, and looking into his dark brown,honest, and fearless eyes, added, half chidingly, half admiringly, 'Ned, my boy, though I would not for the world that you should be different from what you are, a brave, true-hearted lad, yet I sadly fear your high spirit will get you into many a trouble.'
"'Never mind the trouble, mamma,' replied our Ned, 'so long as it keeps me from doing a mean or cowardly action.'
"He was very nearly getting into trouble once, however, for interfering between a brutal tramp and his wife. There was no principle our Ned adhered to so firmly, as that no provocation, however great, justified a boy in striking a girl, or a man a woman; he held to this as staunchly as kings to the doctrine of divine right. 'Depend upon it, Archie,' he would say, 'a boy who would strike a girl is a mean-spirited puppy, and a man who would strike a woman is a cowardly cur, and one deserves drowning, and the other hanging! Why, I read that even dogs respect the sex, and no respectable dog would so far forget himself as to attack his female companion. I can't say whether the feminines are quite so particular; I am not so certain on that point,but then you must make every allowance, they have a deal to put up with. No, no, Archie; rest assured there is nothing so mean and cowardly as striking women and girls.'
"Thinking thus, boys, it will not surprise you to learn that 'our Ned' was in continual hot water by making himself the champion of every girl he saw ill-treated. Was some little girl having her hair pulled, or her arms pinched, by a thoughtless or cruel urchin, directly she caught sight of my brother, she ran to him for protection, while her tormentor scuttled away equally fast in an opposite direction, his ears tingling in anticipation of the coming correction. Was a larger and older girl threatened by some ill-natured brother, or brother's chum, she felt herself safe if our Ned made his appearance. In short, he was always ready, at whatever odds, to do battle for the 'weaker sex,' as he jestingly called them. This trait in his character procured for him the name of the 'Young Don Quixote,' and he was as frequently called the 'young Don' as he was by his baptismal name.
"But to return to the tramp. We werewalking home one afternoon from school, when, just as we turned a bend in the road, we came close upon a man and woman quarrelling; the man was in the act of striking the woman with a stick as we hove in sight. Our Ned's face flushed up as he saw the man's action, and clenching his hands, he was rushing forward, when I caught him by the jacket, imploring him to stay. He flashed a look, half indignant, half surprised, back at me, exclaiming, 'What, Archie?' and was off. The stick had descended before he reached the scene of contention, but he thrust himself between the victim and her tyrant, who was preparing for a repetition of the blow. 'You big, cowardly brute!' he cried; 'haven't you manhood enough left in you not to strike a woman?'
"The fellow seemed actually paralysed with surprise at Ned's audacity; he gazed at him for a moment or two with amazement, while the stick which had been in the act of descending remained suspended in the air. The man, however, soon recovered himself, and looked so fierce and brutal that I trembled with apprehension for Ned's safety.
"'Get out of the way, you young fool, orI'll be the death of you,' said the man, trying to thrust him on one side.
"'Not unless you promise not to strike the woman,' replied Ned, undauntedly.
"'What?' roared the infuriated fellow; 'why, she's my own wife!'
"'More shame, then, for you to touch her.'
"The man swore a terrible oath, seized Ned by the throat, struck fiercly at him with the stick, and finally threw him to the other side of the road, where he fell all in a heap, after which the fellow walked off in the direction of the town we had just left. I hastened to my brother, and seeing him lie there so still, and with his face discoloured, I concluded he was dead, and cried out with a great burst of grief, 'He's killed, he's killed!'
"'Hush! laddie, he's not done for,' said a rough but kindly voice, and looking up I saw the woman, on whose behalf he had done battle, bending over him. 'He's not dead; untie his neckerchief, and give him some air; he's only dazed a bit; he's a brave laddie though. There, see, he's coming round! But I must be off. A brave laddie that!'
"Ned was soon able to rise to his feet andresume his walk homeward; he was a little shaky on the legs, and was compelled to lean heavily on my shoulder as he limped along.
"'You see, Archie,' he said, 'it was such a choker; the beast griped so hard, I couldn't get a chance to kick his shins; it was all grip and tumble. I think he must have hit me on the head, it feels rather sore.' Brave old Ned, throat and head both bore marks of the fellow's violence for more than a week after.
"Such was 'our Ned.' He was always doing something to make my heart throb with pride, and a look of pleasure kindled in our mother's eyes. He was a brother to be proud of, I can tell you.
"Once every year we shut up house and paid a visit to a brother of my father's, who resided by the sea shore, on the eastern coast of our island. This visit was always a source of pleasure to Ned and myself. Living inland, the sight of Old Father Ocean, in calm or in storm, was like the face of a dear old friend which we hail with delight. We usually contrived to make the best of our six weeks' stay, and would crowd as much pleasure as it was possible into every day; no moment hungheavily on our hands, the time passed only too rapidly, so that at the end of each visit we appeared to have been there but three, instead of six weeks.
"Our Uncle was an uncle that would gladden any boy's heart; he delighted to have us staying in the house; he said it made the old place cheery and pleasant, for he had the misfortune to be a bachelor; and with the exception of his old housekeeper—whom we boys half worried to death—and his female servants, he saw no 'women folk,' all the year round, but our mother. He was one of the right sort, always planning pic-nics, fishing and rowing excursions; and kept his purse continually in his hand, ready to tip us handsomely, for he appeared to have an instinct that money burnt a hole in our pockets.
"But it was seldom we were in the house, except at meals and to sleep; the cliffs and beach proved too attractive, and we were soon 'hail well met!' with all the fishermen, and speedily became acquainted with the inside of each cottage, and the respective qualities of each boat, as we were with the humours and dispositions of their several owners. Many werethe rows, and sails the fishermen gave us; morning, noon, and night, we were ever welcome.
"One of our chief pleasures was to go out fishing with them in the early mornings. Provided the weather was fine, we would be up, and out, and down on the beach long before any of our uncle's domestics were astir, and as soon as the boatmen appeared with whom we were going, it was in boat, out oars, and away we went, skimming joyously over the waters, which already sparkled with the beams of the rising sun.
"Ah, what happy mornings those were. How joyously we laughed, and joked, and shouted; how full of life and health we were; no sorrow as yet had chilled our hearts, wrinkled our brows, or made our spirits look sadly from out our eyes; no, everything was bright, and tipped with the golden light of the morning of life. All the world lay before us, and the unknown and untried future seemed to beckon us onward, and we were only too eager to follow and see what it had in store.
"It was during one of these visits paid to our uncle, and near to its close, that we lost 'our Ned.' The weather had been unusuallyfine for September, the sun had been hot and bright, and the sky cloudless. Week after week had glided by, and there had been no rain, or cloud; things inland began to look brown and scorched, while the ground showed great gaps and fissures, as though the earth were thirsty, and was opening its mouth for water. But for a visit to the sea coast the weather could not have been more suitable, at least so Ned and I thought. We had but a week longer to stay, when, one evening, the weather gave unmistakable signs of a change. 'There will be a storm to-night,' said the fishermen, as they hauled their boats up high and dry upon the beach beyond reach of the sea. The sea-gulls flew screaming hither and thither; the wind began a low moaning wail, as of pain, because of the fury gathering within its bosom, and the sea fell with a sullen kind of roar upon the sands, while the clouds gathered darker and blacker along the horizon, presently spreading in thick heavy masses over the face of the sky.
"About six the storm burst in all its fury. I had never witnessed such an one before, and trembled with apprehension as I heard thefrantic howling of the wind, and the fearful roaring of the sea, which gathered itself up in mighty waves and dashed against the tall cliffs as if with the intention of washing the whole earth away, added to which the thunder pealed over head, and the livid lightning gleamed and flashed round the sky. 'What a night!' cried our mother. 'God have mercy on our poor men at sea!'
"Ned and myself could not rest in the house; we felt we must be out battling with the storm, and out we accordingly went. It was hard work to keep our feet, the force of the wind was such that, two or three times we were compelled to hold by each other to prevent ourselves from being blown down. As we made our way slowly to the beach, we became aware that something of interest was occurring, for we noticed a cluster of men making frantic gestures, and pointing eagerly seaward. Following with our eyes the direction their hands indicated, we were startled by seeing a large vessel driving rapidly on shore. She was in evident and imminent peril, the wind had torn what canvass she carried into ribbons, while the crew appeared to have lost all control over her movements, the vessel not answering toher helm. We could see some of them cutting away at one of the masts, and others employed in loading a gun, which was presently fired as a signal of distress. We took all this in at a glance, yet not very distinctly, as darkness was settling down over sea and land; but the vivid flashing of the lightning enabled us to obtain glimpses of the state of affairs on board the doomed ship.
"We soon joined the group of fishermen on the beach—among whom were several women with cheeks blanched to a deadly whiteness, and a kind of wild light glowing in their eyes—who were discussing the propriety of launching a boat to aid in rescuing those who, if no help speedily reached them, would in all certainty find a watery grave. The men were divided among themselves, some being for, and some against making the attempt; and words ran high, while gun after gun came booming across the water, each sounding nearer than its predecessor. At length one old boatman shouted: 'It shall never be said I stood by and saw my fellow-creatures drown before my eyes without making an effort to save them. Those who are for trying, follow me!' Andaway he ran, followed by some three or four others, who with much difficulty launched a boat on the troubled waters, into which they sprang; and seating themselves, each man seized his oar, while the old boatman took the helm, and with a shout from those on the beach, they commenced their dangerous task.
"In the excitement of the moment I had forgotten Ned, and was greatly terrified by seeing him jump into the boat after the men. I shouted to him to come back, but I doubt whether he heard my voice, so fearfully loud roared both wind and sea. Just at that moment my uncle came up and inquired for Ned. I could make no answer, but pointed to the fast receding boat, which at one moment could be discerned riding on the top of a huge wave, and the next hid from sight in its hollow.
"'You don't mean to say,' shouted my uncle, frantically, 'that Ned's in that boat?'
"'What's that you say?' screamed a voice behind us.
"We turned hastily round, and there stood my mother, without bonnet or shawl, her long hair loose, and streaming in the wind, and both hands clasped tightly over her bosom.Boys, I shall never forget that face. Years and years have gone by since then, but that white face, so full of horror, haunts me still. We tried to get her to go back home, but we might as well have tried to move a mountain; she would not stir from the beach, and all we could do was to try and infuse into her hope which, alas! we did not ourselves possess.
"Meanwhile the boat was steadily approaching the doomed vessel, which had struck, and over which the waves dashed; a flash of lightning for an instant revealed one of the men standing in the bows of the boat in the act of throwing a rope to those on board, and another showed that some were being transported from the vessel into the boat; then the rope was seen to be cast off and the men commenced rowing back to shore. Would they ever reach it in safety? How long the time appeared. At length the boat was discerned nearing the beach, and men had already rushed breast high into the sea in readiness to seize it and aid in drawing it safely to shore, when a huge wave was seen to overwhelm and swamp it in an instant.
"A cry of horror rose high above the noiseof the tempest; and men and women ran frantically hither and thither, unable to lend a helping hand to those drowning close to land. A rope was tied round the body of one, who, rushing into the boiling surf, firmly clasped one poor wretch in his arms, and both were drawn safely to shore. Again, and yet again, did the noble fellow rush into the angry sea, each time rescuing one from death. How eagerly we bent over each, as they were brought to shore, to see if our Ned was the fortunate one, and how heavy grew our hearts as each inspection proved fruitless. Seven had been thus rescued from a watery grave—a woman among the number—ere our Ned was brought to shore, and then the sea had beaten the brave life out of him, and it was only the senseless body we received, while in his arms, and held so tightly in his death grip, that she could not be removed, was a little three-year-old girl. We afterwards learnt that when the heavy sea struck the boat, Ned was seen to snatch up the child and clasp it firmly in his arms. And now both were dead. Ours was a sorrowful home that night; my mother's grief was something awful to see, and such asI never wish to witness again, and over which I will draw a veil of silence.
"Our Ned was buried in a little churchyard not far from the sea, and all the fishermen along the coast turned out and followed the coffin to the grave, and stood reverently round, with their caps in their hand, and their weather-beaten features working convulsively, while the clergyman read the burial service. The little child was laid in the same grave; she was the daughter of the rescued woman, and the master of the ill-fated ship—who with many another went to his long home on that awful night.
"My mother, boys, never recovered from the shock poor Ned's death gave her: she drooped and drooped, until God's messenger came to lead her to her lost son.
"One of my companions, who had a turn for verse-making, put into my hand a few lines which he said were suggested by poor Ned's death. They were not of much account, but I learnt them, and sometimes even now repeat them as a trifling memento of a lost brother: