Chapter Four.How Smith and I took a breath of Fresh Air and Paid for it.As “circumstances over which I had no control” prevented my joining my fellow troublesome and backward boys in their daily retreat to the playground for the next few days, I had only a limited opportunity of seeing how the new boy settled down to his new surroundings.Inside Stonebridge House we were all alike, all equally subdued and “Henpecked.” The playground was really the only place where any display of character could be made; and as for three days I was a prisoner, Smith remained as much a mystery to me at the end of the week as he had been on the day of his arrival.I could, however, guess from his looks and the looks of the others that he was having rather a bad time of it out there. Hawkesbury used to come in with such a gracious smile every afternoon that I was certain something was wrong; and Philpot’s flushed face, and Rathbone’s scowl, and Flanagan’s unusual gravity, all went to corroborate the suspicion. But Smith’s face and manner were the most tell-tale. The first day he had seemed a little doubtful, but gradually the lines of his mouth pulled tighter at the corners, and his eyes flashed oftener, and I could guess easily enough that he at least had not found his heart’s content at Stonebridge House.My term of penal servitude expired on Sunday; and in some respects I came out of it better than I had gone in. For Mr Hashford had the charge of all detained boys, and he, good-hearted, Henniker-dreading usher that he was, had spent the three days in drilling me hard in decimal fractions; and so well too, that I actually came to enjoy the exercise, and looked upon the “repeating dot” as a positive pastime. Even Miss Henniker could not rob me of that pleasure.“Batchelor,” whispered Flanagan to me, as we walked two and two to church behind the Henniker that Sunday, “that new fellow’s an awfully queer cove. I can’t make him out.”“Nor can I. But how’s he been getting on the last day or two?”“Getting on! You never knew such scenes as we’ve had. He’s afraid of nobody. He licked Philpot to fits on Thursday—smashed him, I tell you. You never saw such a demon as he is when his dander’s up. Then he walked into Rathbone; and if Rathbone hadn’t been a foot taller than him, with arms as long as windmills, he’d have smashed Rathbone.”“Did he try it on you?” I inquired.“No—why should he?” said the sturdy Flanagan; “time enough for that when I make a brute of myself to him. But I dare say he’d smash me too. It’s as good as a play, I tell you. That time he did for Philpot he was as quick with his right, and walked in under his man’s guard, and drove up at him, and took him on the flank just like—”“A bad mark to Flanagan for talking, and to Batchelor for listening,” rose the voice of Miss Henniker in the street.This public award made us both jump, and colour up too, for there were a lot of ladies and gentlemen and young ladies close at hand, all of whom must have distinctly heard the Henniker’s genial observation. However, I was most curious to hear more of Smith. Flanagan and I both had colds the rest of the way and finished our conversation behind our handkerchiefs.“Have you heard any more about him?” asked I. “Not a word. He’s as close as an owl. Hawkesbury says Hashford told him he came here straight from another school. By the way—keep your handkerchief up, man!—by the way, when I said he’s afraid of no one, heisafraid of Hawkesbury, I fancy. I don’t know why—”“I don’t think I like Hawkesbury, either. He’s got such an everlasting grin.”“So will you have if you don’t talk lower, you young idiot,” said Flanagan. “Yes, it’s the grin that fetches Smith, I fancy. I grinned at him one day, meaning to be friendly, but he didn’t half like it.”I laughed at this, greatly to Flanagan’s wrath. Luckily, however, no evil consequences happened, and we reached church without any more bad marks.Of all days, Sunday at Stonebridge House was the most miserable and desperate. We had not even the occupation of lessons, still less the escape to the playground. After church, we were marched back to the school, and there set to read some dry task book till dinner.And after dinner we were set to copy out a chapter of Jeremiah or some other equally suitable passage from beginning to end on ruled paper, getting bad marks as on week days for all faults. After this came tea, and after tea another dreary march forth to church. But the culminating horror of the day was yet to come. After evening church—and there really was a sense of escape and peace in the old church, even though we could not make out the sermon—after evening church, we were all taken up to Miss Henniker’s parlour, and there doomed to sit perfectly still for a whole hour, while she read aloud something by one of the very old masters. Oh, the agony of those Sunday evenings!I have sat fascinated by that awful voice, with a cramp in my leg that I dared not stir to relieve, or a tickling in the small of my back from which there was no escape, or a cobweb on my face I had not the courage to brush away. I have felt sleep taking possession of me, yet daring neither to yawn, nor nod my head, nor wink my eyes. I have stared fixedly at the gas, or the old china ornament on the mantelpiece, till my eyes became watery with the effort and I have suffered all the tortures of a cold in the head without the possibility either of sniffing or clearing my throat!It made no difference to Miss Henniker that she was reading aloud. She had her eye on every one of us the whole time, nay, more than ever; and many a bad mark was sprinkled up with her readings.“Once more, dearly beloved—Batchelor, a bad mark,” became to me quite a familiar sound before I had been many Sundays at Stonebridge House.This particular Sunday evening I thought I should go mad, at least, during the first part of the performance. Icouldn’tsit still, and the more I tried the more restless I became. At last, however, some chance directed my eyes to where the new boy was sitting in a distant corner of the room, and from that moment, I can’t tell why, I became a model of quiet sitting. I found myself forgetting all about the cobwebs, and Mrs Hudson, and the china ornament, and the small of my back, and thinking of nothing but this solemn, queer boy, with his big eyes, and black hair, and troubled face. The more I looked at him the more sorry I felt for him, and the more I wished to be his friend. I would—“Batchelor, repeat the last words I read,” broke in Miss Henniker.She thought she had me, but no! Far away as my thoughts had been, my ears had mechanically retained those last melodious strains, and I answered, promptly, “Latitudinarianism of an unintelligent emotionalism!”One to me! And I returned to my brown study triumphant, and pretty secure against further molestation.I made up my mind, come what would, I would speak to the new boy and let him seeIwas not against him.Some one will smile, of course, and say, sarcastically, “What a treat for the new boy!” But if he only knew with what fear and trembling I made that resolution, he would acquit Fred Batchelor of any very great self-importance in the matter.Bedtime came at last, and, thankful to have the day over, we crawled away to our roosts. The new boy’s bed, as I have said, was next mine, and I conceived the determination, if I could only keep awake, of speaking to him after every one was asleep.It was hard work that keeping awake; but I managed it. Gradually, one after another dropped off, and the padding footsteps overhead and the voices below died away till nothing was heard but the angry tick of the clock outside and the regular breathing of the sleepers on every hand.Then I softly slid out of bed and crawled on my hands and knees to Smith’s bed. It was an anxious moment for me. He might be asleep, and wake up in a fright to find some one near him; or he might be awake and resent my intrusion. Still I determined Iwouldgo to him, and I was rewarded.“Is that Batchelor?” I heard him whisper as I approached his bed.“Yes,” I answered, joyfully, and feeling half the battle over.“Come in,” said he, moving to make room for me.“Oh no!” I said, in terror at the very idea. “Suppose I fell asleep. I’ll kneel here, and then if any one comes I can crawl back.”“What is it?” Smith said, presently, after a long and awkward pause.I was thankful that he broke the ice.“Oh,” I whispered, “aren’t you jolly miserable here, I say?”“Pretty!” said he. “Aren’t you?”“Oh, yes! But the fellows are all so unkind to you.”Smith gave a little bitter laugh. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.“Doesn’t it? I wish I was bigger, I’d back you up—and so will Flanagan, if you let him.”“Thanks, old man!” said the new boy, putting his hand on my arm. “It’s not the fellows I mind, it’s—” and here he pulled up.“Old Henniker,” I put in, in accents of smothered rage.“Ugh!” said Smith; “she’s awful!”But somehow it occurred to me the Henniker was not what Smith was going to say when he pulled up so suddenly just before. I felt certain there was something mysterious about him, and of course, being a boy, I burned to know.However, he showed no signs of getting back to that subject, and we talked about a lot of things, thankful to have scope for once for our pent-up feelings. It was one of the happiest times I had known for years, as I knelt there on the hard carpetless floor and found my heart going out to the heart of a friend. What we talked about was of little moment; it was probably merely about boys’ trifles, such as any boy might tell another. What was of moment was that there, in dreary, cheerless Stonebridge House, we had found some interest in common, and some object for our spiritless lives.I told him all about home and my uncle, in hopes that he would be equally communicative, but here he disappointed me.“Are your father and mother dead too?” I said.“Not both,” he replied.It was spoken in a tone half nervous, half vexed, so I did not try to pursue the subject.Presently he changed the subject and said, “How do you like that fellow Hawkesbury?”“Not much; though I don’t know why.”Smith put out his hand and pulled my face close to his as he whispered, “I hate him!”“Has he been bullying you?” I inquired.“No,” said Smith. “But he’s—ugh—I don’t know any more than you do why I hate him. I say, shall you be out in the playground to-morrow?”“Yes, unless I get four bad marks before. I’ve two against me already.”“Oh, don’t get any more. I want to go for a walk.”“A walk!” I exclaimed. “You’ll never be allowed!”“But we might slip out just for a few minutes; it’s awful never to get out.”Itwasawful; but the risk. However, I had promised to back him up, and so I said where he went I would go.“If it was only to climb one tree, or see just one bird on the bushes,” he said, almost pathetically. “But I say, ain’t you getting cold?”I was not, I protested, and for a long time more we continued talking. Then at last the creaking of a board, or the noise of a mouse, startled us in earnest, and in a moment I had darted back to my bed. All was quiet again.“Good-night, old boy,” I whispered.“Good-night, old man. Awfully good of you,” he replied. “I’ll come to you to-morrow.”And not long after we were both sound asleep.I managed to keep down my bad marks below four next day, so that I was able once more to take my walks abroad in the playground.It was with a little feeling of misgiving that I sallied forth, for Smith was at my side, reminding me of our resolution to escape, if only for a few minutes, to the free country outside. I would greatly have preferred not trying it, but Smith was set on it, and I had not the face to leave him in the lurch.The far end of the playground, beyond the swings, broke into a patch of tangled thicket, beyond which again a little ditch separated the grounds of Stonebridge House from the country outside.To this thicket, therefore, we wandered, after “showing ourselves” on the swings for a few minutes, for the sake of allaying suspicions. The other fellows were most of them loafing about on the far side of the gravel yard, where the marble holes were; so we managed to make our escape pretty easily, and found ourselves at length standing on the breezy heath. Once there, Smith’s whole manner changed to one of wild delight. The sense of freedom seemed to intoxicate him, and the infection seized me too. We scampered about in a perfectly ridiculous manner; up hills and down hollows, leaping over bushes, chasing one another, and, in fact, behaving exactly like two kids (as we were), suddenly let loose from confinement.“I say,” said I, all out of breath, “suppose we run clean away, Smith?”Smith pulled up in the middle of a scamper, and looked up and down on every side. Then the old solemn look came as he replied, “Where to, that’s it?”“Oh, Brownstroke, if you like; or your home. Let’s turn up, you know, and give them a jolly surprise.”Smith’s face clouded over as he said, hurriedly, “I say, it’s time to be going back, or we shall get caught.”This was an effectual damper to any idea of flight, and we quickly turned back once more to Stonebridge House.We found our gap all right, and strolled back past the swings and up the gravel walk as unconcernedly as possible, fully believing no one had been witness of our escapade. We were wrong.Hawkesbury came up to us as we neared the house, with the usual smile on his face.“Didn’t you hear me calling?” he said. “You know it’s against rules to go out of bounds, and I thought—”“What! who’s been out of bounds?” said the voice of the Henniker at that moment.Hawkesbury looked dejected.“Who did you say, Hawkesbury, had been out of bounds?”“I’d rather not tell tales,” said Hawkesbury, sweetly.“I’ve been out of bounds,” blurted out Smith, “and so has Batchelor. I asked him to come, and Hawkesbury has been spying and—”“Silence,” cried Miss Henniker. “Smith and Batchelor, follow me.”We followed duly to Mr Ladislaw’s study, where we were arraigned. Hawkesbury was sent for as evidence. He came smiling, and declared he may have been mistaken, perhaps it was two other boys; he hoped we should not be punished, etcetera. Smith was nearly breaking out once or twice during this, and it was all I could do to keep him in. Hawkesbury was thanked and dismissed, and then, with the assistance of Miss Henniker, Mr Hashford, and Mr Ladislaw, Smith and I were birched, and forbidden the playground for a fortnight, during which period we were required to observe absolute silence.So ended our little adventure out for a puff of free air! Among our fellows we gained little enough sympathy for our misfortunes. Flanagan was the only fellow who seemed really sorry. The rest of the ill-conditioned lot saw in the affair only a good opportunity of crowing over their ill-starred adversary, and telling me it served me right for chumming up to such a one.One day, greatly to my surprise, when the Henniker was away superintending the flogging of Flanagan for some offence or other, Hawkesbury came over and sat beside me.“Oh,” said he, softly, “Batchelor, I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am I helped get you into your scrape. I didn’t mean—I was only anxious for you to know the rule. I hope you’ll forgive me?” and he held out his hand.What could I do? Perhaps he was telling the truth after all, and we had thought too badly of him. And when a big boy comes and asks pardon of a small one, it is always embarrassing for the latter. So I gave him my hand, and told him I was sure he did not mean it, and that it did not matter at all.“Thanks, Batchelor,” he said, smiling quite gratefully. “It’s a relief to me.”Then I watched him go on what I knew was a similar errand to Smith, but, as I expected, his reception in that quarter was not quite so flattering as it had been in my case. I could see my chum’s eyes fire up as he saw the elder boy approach, and a flush come over his pale cheeks. I watched Hawkesbury blandly repeating his apology, and then suddenly, to my astonishment and consternation, I saw Smith rise in his seat and throw himself furiously upon his enemy. Hawkesbury was standing near a low form, and in the sudden surprise caused by this attack he tripped over it and fell prone on the floor, just as Miss Henniker re-entered.There was a brief pause of universal astonishment, then the Henniker demanded, “What is this? Tell me. What is all this, Hawkesbury?”Hawkesbury had risen to his feet, smiling as ever, and brushing the dust from his coat, replied softly, “Nothing, really nothing, ma’am. I fell down, that’s all.”“I knocked you down!” shouted Smith, panting like a steam-engine, and trembling with excitement.“Oh,” said Hawkesbury, kindly, though not quite liking the downright way in which the adventure had been summed up. “It was only play, Miss Henniker. My fault as much as Smith’s. He never meant to be so rough. Really.”“Silence, both!” said Miss Henniker. “Smith, follow me!”“Oh, Miss Henniker, please don’t punish him,” said Hawkesbury.“Silence,” replied the Henniker, icily. “Come, Smith.”Miss Henniker had the wonderful art of knowing by instinct who was the culprit in cases like this. She was never troubled with a doubt as to her verdict being a right one; and really it saved her a great deal of trouble.Smith was haled away to justice, where, in addition to a flogging and further term of imprisonment, he was reduced for a given period to a bread-and-water diet, and required publicly to beg Hawkesbury’s pardon.That there might be no delay about the execution of the last part of the sentence, the culprit was conducted back forthwith to the schoolroom, accompanied by Miss Henniker and Mr Ladislaw.“Hawkesbury,” said the latter, addressing the injured boy, “I have desired Smith to beg your pardon here and now for his conduct to you. Smith, do as you have been told.”Smith remained silent, and I who watched him could see that his mind was made up.“Do you hear Mr Ladislaw, Smith?” demanded the Henniker; “do as you are bid, at once.”“Please, sir,” began Hawkesbury, with his pleasant smile.“Silence, Hawkesbury,” said the Henniker. “Now, Smith.”But she might have been addressing a log of wood.“Do you hear what I say to you?” once more she exclaimed.Smith only glared at her with his big eyes, and resolutely held his tongue.“Then,” said Mr Ladislaw, “Smith must be publicly punished.”Smith was punished publicly; and a more repulsive spectacle I never wish to witness. A public punishment at Stonebridge House meant a flogging administered to one helpless boy by the whole body of his schoolfellows, two of whom firmly held the victim, while each of the others in turn flogged him. In the case of an unpopular boy like Smith, this punishment was specially severe, and I turned actually sick as each of the cowardly louts stepped up and vented their baffled wrath upon him. Hawkesbury, of course, only made the slightest pretence of touching him; but this of all his punishment seemed to be the part Smith could bear least. At last, when it was all over, the bruised boy slunk back to his desk, and class proceeded.That night, as I knelt beside my poor chum’s bed, he said, “We’ve paid pretty dear for our run on the heath, Fred.”“Youhave, old man,” I replied.Smith lay still for some time musing, then he said, “Whatever do they mean by forgiving enemies, Fred?”Smith didn’t often get on these topics, and I was a little nervous as I replied, “What it says, I suppose.”“Does it mean fellows like Hawkesbury?”“I should say so,” said I, almost doubtful, from the way in which he spoke, whether after all I might not be mistaken.“Queer,” was all he replied, musingly.I tried hard to change the subject.“Are you awfully sore, Jack?” I said. “Have one of my pillows.”“Oh no, thanks. But I say, Fred, don’t you think it’s queer?”“What, about forgiving your enemies? Well, yes it is, rather. But, I say, it’s time I cut back. Good-night, old man.”And I crept back to bed, and lay awake half the night listening to him as he turned from side to side in his sleep, and feeling that everything and everybody was queer, especially my friend Smith.
As “circumstances over which I had no control” prevented my joining my fellow troublesome and backward boys in their daily retreat to the playground for the next few days, I had only a limited opportunity of seeing how the new boy settled down to his new surroundings.
Inside Stonebridge House we were all alike, all equally subdued and “Henpecked.” The playground was really the only place where any display of character could be made; and as for three days I was a prisoner, Smith remained as much a mystery to me at the end of the week as he had been on the day of his arrival.
I could, however, guess from his looks and the looks of the others that he was having rather a bad time of it out there. Hawkesbury used to come in with such a gracious smile every afternoon that I was certain something was wrong; and Philpot’s flushed face, and Rathbone’s scowl, and Flanagan’s unusual gravity, all went to corroborate the suspicion. But Smith’s face and manner were the most tell-tale. The first day he had seemed a little doubtful, but gradually the lines of his mouth pulled tighter at the corners, and his eyes flashed oftener, and I could guess easily enough that he at least had not found his heart’s content at Stonebridge House.
My term of penal servitude expired on Sunday; and in some respects I came out of it better than I had gone in. For Mr Hashford had the charge of all detained boys, and he, good-hearted, Henniker-dreading usher that he was, had spent the three days in drilling me hard in decimal fractions; and so well too, that I actually came to enjoy the exercise, and looked upon the “repeating dot” as a positive pastime. Even Miss Henniker could not rob me of that pleasure.
“Batchelor,” whispered Flanagan to me, as we walked two and two to church behind the Henniker that Sunday, “that new fellow’s an awfully queer cove. I can’t make him out.”
“Nor can I. But how’s he been getting on the last day or two?”
“Getting on! You never knew such scenes as we’ve had. He’s afraid of nobody. He licked Philpot to fits on Thursday—smashed him, I tell you. You never saw such a demon as he is when his dander’s up. Then he walked into Rathbone; and if Rathbone hadn’t been a foot taller than him, with arms as long as windmills, he’d have smashed Rathbone.”
“Did he try it on you?” I inquired.
“No—why should he?” said the sturdy Flanagan; “time enough for that when I make a brute of myself to him. But I dare say he’d smash me too. It’s as good as a play, I tell you. That time he did for Philpot he was as quick with his right, and walked in under his man’s guard, and drove up at him, and took him on the flank just like—”
“A bad mark to Flanagan for talking, and to Batchelor for listening,” rose the voice of Miss Henniker in the street.
This public award made us both jump, and colour up too, for there were a lot of ladies and gentlemen and young ladies close at hand, all of whom must have distinctly heard the Henniker’s genial observation. However, I was most curious to hear more of Smith. Flanagan and I both had colds the rest of the way and finished our conversation behind our handkerchiefs.
“Have you heard any more about him?” asked I. “Not a word. He’s as close as an owl. Hawkesbury says Hashford told him he came here straight from another school. By the way—keep your handkerchief up, man!—by the way, when I said he’s afraid of no one, heisafraid of Hawkesbury, I fancy. I don’t know why—”
“I don’t think I like Hawkesbury, either. He’s got such an everlasting grin.”
“So will you have if you don’t talk lower, you young idiot,” said Flanagan. “Yes, it’s the grin that fetches Smith, I fancy. I grinned at him one day, meaning to be friendly, but he didn’t half like it.”
I laughed at this, greatly to Flanagan’s wrath. Luckily, however, no evil consequences happened, and we reached church without any more bad marks.
Of all days, Sunday at Stonebridge House was the most miserable and desperate. We had not even the occupation of lessons, still less the escape to the playground. After church, we were marched back to the school, and there set to read some dry task book till dinner.
And after dinner we were set to copy out a chapter of Jeremiah or some other equally suitable passage from beginning to end on ruled paper, getting bad marks as on week days for all faults. After this came tea, and after tea another dreary march forth to church. But the culminating horror of the day was yet to come. After evening church—and there really was a sense of escape and peace in the old church, even though we could not make out the sermon—after evening church, we were all taken up to Miss Henniker’s parlour, and there doomed to sit perfectly still for a whole hour, while she read aloud something by one of the very old masters. Oh, the agony of those Sunday evenings!
I have sat fascinated by that awful voice, with a cramp in my leg that I dared not stir to relieve, or a tickling in the small of my back from which there was no escape, or a cobweb on my face I had not the courage to brush away. I have felt sleep taking possession of me, yet daring neither to yawn, nor nod my head, nor wink my eyes. I have stared fixedly at the gas, or the old china ornament on the mantelpiece, till my eyes became watery with the effort and I have suffered all the tortures of a cold in the head without the possibility either of sniffing or clearing my throat!
It made no difference to Miss Henniker that she was reading aloud. She had her eye on every one of us the whole time, nay, more than ever; and many a bad mark was sprinkled up with her readings.
“Once more, dearly beloved—Batchelor, a bad mark,” became to me quite a familiar sound before I had been many Sundays at Stonebridge House.
This particular Sunday evening I thought I should go mad, at least, during the first part of the performance. Icouldn’tsit still, and the more I tried the more restless I became. At last, however, some chance directed my eyes to where the new boy was sitting in a distant corner of the room, and from that moment, I can’t tell why, I became a model of quiet sitting. I found myself forgetting all about the cobwebs, and Mrs Hudson, and the china ornament, and the small of my back, and thinking of nothing but this solemn, queer boy, with his big eyes, and black hair, and troubled face. The more I looked at him the more sorry I felt for him, and the more I wished to be his friend. I would—
“Batchelor, repeat the last words I read,” broke in Miss Henniker.
She thought she had me, but no! Far away as my thoughts had been, my ears had mechanically retained those last melodious strains, and I answered, promptly, “Latitudinarianism of an unintelligent emotionalism!”
One to me! And I returned to my brown study triumphant, and pretty secure against further molestation.
I made up my mind, come what would, I would speak to the new boy and let him seeIwas not against him.
Some one will smile, of course, and say, sarcastically, “What a treat for the new boy!” But if he only knew with what fear and trembling I made that resolution, he would acquit Fred Batchelor of any very great self-importance in the matter.
Bedtime came at last, and, thankful to have the day over, we crawled away to our roosts. The new boy’s bed, as I have said, was next mine, and I conceived the determination, if I could only keep awake, of speaking to him after every one was asleep.
It was hard work that keeping awake; but I managed it. Gradually, one after another dropped off, and the padding footsteps overhead and the voices below died away till nothing was heard but the angry tick of the clock outside and the regular breathing of the sleepers on every hand.
Then I softly slid out of bed and crawled on my hands and knees to Smith’s bed. It was an anxious moment for me. He might be asleep, and wake up in a fright to find some one near him; or he might be awake and resent my intrusion. Still I determined Iwouldgo to him, and I was rewarded.
“Is that Batchelor?” I heard him whisper as I approached his bed.
“Yes,” I answered, joyfully, and feeling half the battle over.
“Come in,” said he, moving to make room for me.
“Oh no!” I said, in terror at the very idea. “Suppose I fell asleep. I’ll kneel here, and then if any one comes I can crawl back.”
“What is it?” Smith said, presently, after a long and awkward pause.
I was thankful that he broke the ice.
“Oh,” I whispered, “aren’t you jolly miserable here, I say?”
“Pretty!” said he. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes! But the fellows are all so unkind to you.”
Smith gave a little bitter laugh. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Doesn’t it? I wish I was bigger, I’d back you up—and so will Flanagan, if you let him.”
“Thanks, old man!” said the new boy, putting his hand on my arm. “It’s not the fellows I mind, it’s—” and here he pulled up.
“Old Henniker,” I put in, in accents of smothered rage.
“Ugh!” said Smith; “she’s awful!”
But somehow it occurred to me the Henniker was not what Smith was going to say when he pulled up so suddenly just before. I felt certain there was something mysterious about him, and of course, being a boy, I burned to know.
However, he showed no signs of getting back to that subject, and we talked about a lot of things, thankful to have scope for once for our pent-up feelings. It was one of the happiest times I had known for years, as I knelt there on the hard carpetless floor and found my heart going out to the heart of a friend. What we talked about was of little moment; it was probably merely about boys’ trifles, such as any boy might tell another. What was of moment was that there, in dreary, cheerless Stonebridge House, we had found some interest in common, and some object for our spiritless lives.
I told him all about home and my uncle, in hopes that he would be equally communicative, but here he disappointed me.
“Are your father and mother dead too?” I said.
“Not both,” he replied.
It was spoken in a tone half nervous, half vexed, so I did not try to pursue the subject.
Presently he changed the subject and said, “How do you like that fellow Hawkesbury?”
“Not much; though I don’t know why.”
Smith put out his hand and pulled my face close to his as he whispered, “I hate him!”
“Has he been bullying you?” I inquired.
“No,” said Smith. “But he’s—ugh—I don’t know any more than you do why I hate him. I say, shall you be out in the playground to-morrow?”
“Yes, unless I get four bad marks before. I’ve two against me already.”
“Oh, don’t get any more. I want to go for a walk.”
“A walk!” I exclaimed. “You’ll never be allowed!”
“But we might slip out just for a few minutes; it’s awful never to get out.”
Itwasawful; but the risk. However, I had promised to back him up, and so I said where he went I would go.
“If it was only to climb one tree, or see just one bird on the bushes,” he said, almost pathetically. “But I say, ain’t you getting cold?”
I was not, I protested, and for a long time more we continued talking. Then at last the creaking of a board, or the noise of a mouse, startled us in earnest, and in a moment I had darted back to my bed. All was quiet again.
“Good-night, old boy,” I whispered.
“Good-night, old man. Awfully good of you,” he replied. “I’ll come to you to-morrow.”
And not long after we were both sound asleep.
I managed to keep down my bad marks below four next day, so that I was able once more to take my walks abroad in the playground.
It was with a little feeling of misgiving that I sallied forth, for Smith was at my side, reminding me of our resolution to escape, if only for a few minutes, to the free country outside. I would greatly have preferred not trying it, but Smith was set on it, and I had not the face to leave him in the lurch.
The far end of the playground, beyond the swings, broke into a patch of tangled thicket, beyond which again a little ditch separated the grounds of Stonebridge House from the country outside.
To this thicket, therefore, we wandered, after “showing ourselves” on the swings for a few minutes, for the sake of allaying suspicions. The other fellows were most of them loafing about on the far side of the gravel yard, where the marble holes were; so we managed to make our escape pretty easily, and found ourselves at length standing on the breezy heath. Once there, Smith’s whole manner changed to one of wild delight. The sense of freedom seemed to intoxicate him, and the infection seized me too. We scampered about in a perfectly ridiculous manner; up hills and down hollows, leaping over bushes, chasing one another, and, in fact, behaving exactly like two kids (as we were), suddenly let loose from confinement.
“I say,” said I, all out of breath, “suppose we run clean away, Smith?”
Smith pulled up in the middle of a scamper, and looked up and down on every side. Then the old solemn look came as he replied, “Where to, that’s it?”
“Oh, Brownstroke, if you like; or your home. Let’s turn up, you know, and give them a jolly surprise.”
Smith’s face clouded over as he said, hurriedly, “I say, it’s time to be going back, or we shall get caught.”
This was an effectual damper to any idea of flight, and we quickly turned back once more to Stonebridge House.
We found our gap all right, and strolled back past the swings and up the gravel walk as unconcernedly as possible, fully believing no one had been witness of our escapade. We were wrong.
Hawkesbury came up to us as we neared the house, with the usual smile on his face.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?” he said. “You know it’s against rules to go out of bounds, and I thought—”
“What! who’s been out of bounds?” said the voice of the Henniker at that moment.
Hawkesbury looked dejected.
“Who did you say, Hawkesbury, had been out of bounds?”
“I’d rather not tell tales,” said Hawkesbury, sweetly.
“I’ve been out of bounds,” blurted out Smith, “and so has Batchelor. I asked him to come, and Hawkesbury has been spying and—”
“Silence,” cried Miss Henniker. “Smith and Batchelor, follow me.”
We followed duly to Mr Ladislaw’s study, where we were arraigned. Hawkesbury was sent for as evidence. He came smiling, and declared he may have been mistaken, perhaps it was two other boys; he hoped we should not be punished, etcetera. Smith was nearly breaking out once or twice during this, and it was all I could do to keep him in. Hawkesbury was thanked and dismissed, and then, with the assistance of Miss Henniker, Mr Hashford, and Mr Ladislaw, Smith and I were birched, and forbidden the playground for a fortnight, during which period we were required to observe absolute silence.
So ended our little adventure out for a puff of free air! Among our fellows we gained little enough sympathy for our misfortunes. Flanagan was the only fellow who seemed really sorry. The rest of the ill-conditioned lot saw in the affair only a good opportunity of crowing over their ill-starred adversary, and telling me it served me right for chumming up to such a one.
One day, greatly to my surprise, when the Henniker was away superintending the flogging of Flanagan for some offence or other, Hawkesbury came over and sat beside me.
“Oh,” said he, softly, “Batchelor, I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am I helped get you into your scrape. I didn’t mean—I was only anxious for you to know the rule. I hope you’ll forgive me?” and he held out his hand.
What could I do? Perhaps he was telling the truth after all, and we had thought too badly of him. And when a big boy comes and asks pardon of a small one, it is always embarrassing for the latter. So I gave him my hand, and told him I was sure he did not mean it, and that it did not matter at all.
“Thanks, Batchelor,” he said, smiling quite gratefully. “It’s a relief to me.”
Then I watched him go on what I knew was a similar errand to Smith, but, as I expected, his reception in that quarter was not quite so flattering as it had been in my case. I could see my chum’s eyes fire up as he saw the elder boy approach, and a flush come over his pale cheeks. I watched Hawkesbury blandly repeating his apology, and then suddenly, to my astonishment and consternation, I saw Smith rise in his seat and throw himself furiously upon his enemy. Hawkesbury was standing near a low form, and in the sudden surprise caused by this attack he tripped over it and fell prone on the floor, just as Miss Henniker re-entered.
There was a brief pause of universal astonishment, then the Henniker demanded, “What is this? Tell me. What is all this, Hawkesbury?”
Hawkesbury had risen to his feet, smiling as ever, and brushing the dust from his coat, replied softly, “Nothing, really nothing, ma’am. I fell down, that’s all.”
“I knocked you down!” shouted Smith, panting like a steam-engine, and trembling with excitement.
“Oh,” said Hawkesbury, kindly, though not quite liking the downright way in which the adventure had been summed up. “It was only play, Miss Henniker. My fault as much as Smith’s. He never meant to be so rough. Really.”
“Silence, both!” said Miss Henniker. “Smith, follow me!”
“Oh, Miss Henniker, please don’t punish him,” said Hawkesbury.
“Silence,” replied the Henniker, icily. “Come, Smith.”
Miss Henniker had the wonderful art of knowing by instinct who was the culprit in cases like this. She was never troubled with a doubt as to her verdict being a right one; and really it saved her a great deal of trouble.
Smith was haled away to justice, where, in addition to a flogging and further term of imprisonment, he was reduced for a given period to a bread-and-water diet, and required publicly to beg Hawkesbury’s pardon.
That there might be no delay about the execution of the last part of the sentence, the culprit was conducted back forthwith to the schoolroom, accompanied by Miss Henniker and Mr Ladislaw.
“Hawkesbury,” said the latter, addressing the injured boy, “I have desired Smith to beg your pardon here and now for his conduct to you. Smith, do as you have been told.”
Smith remained silent, and I who watched him could see that his mind was made up.
“Do you hear Mr Ladislaw, Smith?” demanded the Henniker; “do as you are bid, at once.”
“Please, sir,” began Hawkesbury, with his pleasant smile.
“Silence, Hawkesbury,” said the Henniker. “Now, Smith.”
But she might have been addressing a log of wood.
“Do you hear what I say to you?” once more she exclaimed.
Smith only glared at her with his big eyes, and resolutely held his tongue.
“Then,” said Mr Ladislaw, “Smith must be publicly punished.”
Smith was punished publicly; and a more repulsive spectacle I never wish to witness. A public punishment at Stonebridge House meant a flogging administered to one helpless boy by the whole body of his schoolfellows, two of whom firmly held the victim, while each of the others in turn flogged him. In the case of an unpopular boy like Smith, this punishment was specially severe, and I turned actually sick as each of the cowardly louts stepped up and vented their baffled wrath upon him. Hawkesbury, of course, only made the slightest pretence of touching him; but this of all his punishment seemed to be the part Smith could bear least. At last, when it was all over, the bruised boy slunk back to his desk, and class proceeded.
That night, as I knelt beside my poor chum’s bed, he said, “We’ve paid pretty dear for our run on the heath, Fred.”
“Youhave, old man,” I replied.
Smith lay still for some time musing, then he said, “Whatever do they mean by forgiving enemies, Fred?”
Smith didn’t often get on these topics, and I was a little nervous as I replied, “What it says, I suppose.”
“Does it mean fellows like Hawkesbury?”
“I should say so,” said I, almost doubtful, from the way in which he spoke, whether after all I might not be mistaken.
“Queer,” was all he replied, musingly.
I tried hard to change the subject.
“Are you awfully sore, Jack?” I said. “Have one of my pillows.”
“Oh no, thanks. But I say, Fred, don’t you think it’s queer?”
“What, about forgiving your enemies? Well, yes it is, rather. But, I say, it’s time I cut back. Good-night, old man.”
And I crept back to bed, and lay awake half the night listening to him as he turned from side to side in his sleep, and feeling that everything and everybody was queer, especially my friend Smith.
Chapter Five.How a Chapter of Misfortunes befel My Friend Smith and Me.The summer wore on, and with it the gloom of Stonebridge House sunk deeper and deeper into our spirits. After a week or two even the sense of novelty wore off, and we settled down to our drudges’ doom as if we were destined all our lives never to see any place outside the Henniker’s domain.If it hadn’t been for Smith I don’t know how I should have endured it. Not that we ever had much chance of enjoying one another’s society. In school it was wholly impossible. In the playground (particularly after our recent escapade), we had very little opportunity given us; and at night, when secretly we did contrive to talk, it was with the constant dread of detection hanging over us.What concerned me most of all, though, was the bad way in which Smith seemed to get on with every one of his schoolfellows except me, and—perhaps Flanagan. With the bullies, like Philpot and Rathbone, he was at daggers drawn; towards the others he never took the trouble to conceal his dislike, while with Hawkesbury an explosion seemed always, imminent.I could not understand why he got on so badly, especially with Hawkesbury, who certainly never made himself disagreeable, but, on the contrary, always appeared desirous to be friendly. I sometimes thought Smith was unreasonable to foster his instinctive dislike as he did.“Jack,” said I one night as he was “paying a call” to my bedside—“Jack, I’m half beginning to think Hawkesbury isn’t so bad a fellow after all.”“Why?” demanded Smith.“Oh, I don’t know. He’s done me one or two good turns lately.”“What sort?”“Well, he helped me in the Latin the other day, of his own accord, and—”“Go on,” said Smith, impatiently.“And he gave me a knife to-day. You know I lost mine, and he said he’d got two.”Smith grunted.“I’d like to catch him doing a good turn to me, that’s all,” said he. “I’dcure him of that!”I didn’t like to hear Smith talk like this. For one thing, it sounded as if he must be a great deal less foolish than I was, which nobody likes to admit; and for another thing, it seemed wrong and unreasonable, unless for a very good cause, to persist in believing nothing good about anybody else.So I changed the subject.“I say,” said I, “what are you going to do these holidays?”“Stay here,” said he. “Are you going home?”“What!” I exclaimed. “Stay here for four weeks with the old Hen? Why ever, Jack?”“Don’t know—but that’s what I’ve got to do. Are you going home?”“I suppose so,” said I, with an inward groan. “But, Jack, whatwillyou do with yourself?”“Much as usual, I expect. Sha’n’t get much practice in talking till you come back!” added he, with a low laugh.“Jack, why don’t you go home?” I exclaimed. “Are you in a row there, or what? You never tell me a word about it.”“Look-out, I hear some one moving!” cried Smith, and next moment he was back in his bed.I was vexed. For I half guessed this alarm had been only an excuse for not talking about home, and I didn’t like being silenced in that way. Altogether that night I was a good deal put out with Smith, and when presently he whispered across “Good-night,” I pretended to be asleep, and did not answer.But I was not asleep, and could not sleep. I worked myself first into a rage, then into an injured state, and finally into a miserable condition over my friend Smith.Why should he keep secrets from me, when I kept none from him? No, when I came to think over it, I did not keep a single secret from him! Did he think I was not to be trusted, or was too selfish to care? He might have known me better by this time. It was true I had told him my secrets without his asking for them; in fact, all along he had not seemed nearly as anxious as I had been for this friendship of ours. My conscience stung me at this last reflection; and there came upon me all of a sudden a sense of the utter desolation of this awful place without a single friend! No, I determined it should take more than a little pique to make me cast away my only friend. And with the thought, though it must have been far on in the night, I slipped from my bed and crawled to his.He was fast asleep, but at the first touch of my hand he started up and said, “What’s the row?”“I’m sorry, Jack; but I was in a temper to-night, and couldn’t go to sleep till I made it up.”“A temper! what about?” said he. “I didn’t know you were.”“I fancied you wouldn’t—that is, that you thought—you didn’t trust me, Jack.”“You’re the only fellow I do trust, Fred, there,” said he, taking my arm. Then, with a sigh, he added, “Why shouldn’t I?”“What a beast I was, Jack!” cried I, quite repentant. “I don’t—”“Hush!” said Jack. Then, whispering very close to my ear, he added, “There are some things, you know, Ican’ttell even you—about home—”There was a sound in the room, as of a boy, suddenly aroused, starting up in his bed. Our blood turned cold, and we remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe, straining our ears in the darkness.Suddenly the boy, whoever he was, sprang from his bed, and seizing the lucifers, struck a light.It was Hawkesbury! I had almost guessed it. I felt Jack’s hand tighten on my arm as the sudden glare fell full upon us, and Hawkesbury’s voice cried, “Oh, you fellows, what a start you gave me! I couldn’t make out what the talking was. I thought it must be thieves!”At the same moment the dormitory door opened, and a new glare lit up the scene. It was Miss Henniker in her dressing-gown, with a candle.“What, talking? Who was talking?” she said, overhearing Hawkesbury’s last exclamation.It was a queer picture that moment, and I can recall it even now. Hawkesbury standing in his night-shirt in the middle of the room. I, as lightly clad, crouching transfixed beside my friend’s bed, who was sitting up with his hand on my arm. And the Henniker there at the door, in her yellow-and-black dressing-gown and curl-papers, holding her candle above her head, and looking from one to the other.“Who was talking?” she demanded again, turning to Hawkesbury.Hawkesbury, smiling, returned to his bed, as he replied, “Oh, nothing. I think I must have been dreaming, and woke in a fright.”But as he spoke his eyes turned to us two, and Miss Henniker’s followed naturally. Then the whole truth dawned upon her.I rose from my knees and walked sheepishly back to my bed.“What are you doing out of your bed, sir?” demanded she.It was little use delaying matters by a parley, so I replied, bluntly, “Talking to Smith.”“And I,” added the loyal Smith, “was talking to Batchelor!”“Silence!” cried the Griffin. “Batchelor, dress immediately, and follow me!”I did as I was bid, mechanically—that is, I slipped on my knickerbockers and slippers—and found myself in a couple of minutes, thus airily attired, following Miss Henniker, like a ghost, down the long passage. She led the way, not, as I expected, to the parlour, or to Mr Ladislaw’s room, but conducted me upstairs and ushered me into a small and perfectly empty garret.“Remain here, Batchelor!” said she, sternly.The next moment she was gone, locking the door behind her, and I was left shivering, and in total darkness, to spend the remainder of the night in these unexpected quarters.My first sensation was one of utter and uncontrollable rage. I was tempted to fling myself against the door, to shout, to roar until some one should come to release me. Then as suddenly came over me the miserable certainty that I was helpless, and that anything I did would be but labour lost, and injure no one but myself. And, Smith, too! It was all up with our precious secret parleys; perhaps we should not even be allowed to see one another any more. In my misery I sat down on the floor in a corner of my dungeon and felt as if I would not much care if the house were to fall about my ears and bury me in the ruins. Cheerful reflection this for a youth of my tender years!As I sat, shivering and brooding over my hard fate, I heard footsteps ascending the stairs. When you are sitting alone in an empty room, at the dead of night, this is never a very fascinating sound, and I did not much enjoy it.And as I listened I could make out that the footsteps belonged to two people. Perhaps I was going to be murdered, I reflected, like Prince Arthur, or the two boys in the Tower! At the same moment a streak of light glimmered through the crack of the door, and I heard a voice say, “Come this way, Smith.”So Smith, too, was going to be locked up for the night. My heart bounded as for an instant it occurred to me it would be in my dungeon! No such good fortune! They passed my door. At any rate, my chum should know where I was, so I proceeded to make a demonstration against my door and beseech, in the most piteous way, to be released. Of course, it was no use, but that did not matter; I never expected it would.I listened hard to the retreating footsteps, which stopped at the end of the passage. Then a door opened and shut again, a key turned, one pair of steps again returned past my door, and as I peeped through the keyhole I had a vague idea of a yellow-and-black gown, and knew that the Henniker had gone back to her place.If only Smith had been shut up next door to me I might have been able to shout to him so that he could hear, but what chance was there when three or four rooms at least divided us? After all, except that he was near me, and knew where I was, things were not much better than they had been before. So I sat down again in my corner and sulkily watched the first glimmers of dawn peep in at the little window. It must be about 3 a.m., I thought. And that meant four good hours before any chance of a release came. And as it was, my feet were pretty nearly dead with cold, and a thin nightgown is not much covering for a fellow’s body and arms. It rather pleased me to think the adventure might end fatally, and that at my inquest Miss Henniker might be brought in guilty of manslaughter.It must be breezy, for those leaves have been tapping away at my window the last minute or so pretty hard. Bother the leaves! And yet, when you come to think of it, you do not often hear leaves tap as hard as that! My window will be smashed in if they keep it up at that rate. So I get up lazily and approach the scene of action.I nearly screamed as I did so, for there, close up against the window, was a face! I was so taken aback that it took me a good minute to recover my wits and perceive that the apparition was none other than my faithful friend Jack Smith, and that the tapping I had been giving the leaves such credit for had been his eager attempts to attract my attention.I sprang to the window, jubilant, and opened it.“Oh, Jack! hurrah! However did you get here?”“Oh, you havespottedme at last, have you?” said he, with a grim smile. “I’ve been here five or ten minutes.”“You have!” exclaimed I.“Yes. My window opened on to this ledge, too; so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t come.”“You might have fallen and killed yourself. But I say, Jack, won’t you come in? Even if we do get caught things can’t be much worse than they are.”“I know that—so I think you’d better come out.”“What for?” exclaimed I, in astonishment.“To get away—anywhere,” said he.In a moment I was up on the window-sill, scrambling out on to the ledge beside him. The fresh morning breeze blew on my face as I did so, and a glorious sense of freedom took hold of both our drooping spirits. We needed no words. Only let us get free!“Come along,” said Jack, crawling along the narrow ledge which ran round the top of the house.“How shall we get down?” I asked.“That’s what I want to find out,” said Jack. “Isn’t there a water-pipe or something in front?”Carefully we made our perilous journey round the side of the house towards the front. Smith leaned over and peered down.“Yes,” said he, “there’s a water-pipe we could easily slide down, if we could only get at it. Look!”I looked over too. The ground seemed a long way below, and I felt a trifle nervous at the prospect of trying to reach it by such unorthodox means as a water-pipe, even could we get at that pipe. But the ledge on whichwe were overhung the side of the house, and the pipe began under it, just below where we stood.“We must try, anyhow,” said Jack, desperately. “I’ll go first; catch hold of my hands, Fred.”And he was actually going to attempt to scramble over and round under the ledge, when he suddenly paused, and cried, “Hold hard. I do believe this bit of ledge is loose!”So it was. It shook as we stood upon it.“We might be able to move it,” said Jack.So we knelt down and with all our might tugged away at the stone that divided us from our water-pipe. It was obstinate at first, but by dint of perseverance it yielded to pressure at last, and we were able triumphantly to lift it from its place.It was easy enough now reaching the pipe. But here a new peril arose. Sliding down water-pipes is an acquired art, and not nearly as easy as it seems. Jack, who volunteered to make the first descent, looked a little blue as he found the pipe was so close to the wall that he couldn’t get his hands round, much less his feet.“You’ll have to grip it hard with your ankles and elbows,” he said, beginning to slide down an inch or two; “and go slow, whatever you do.”It was nervous work watching him, and still more nervous work when at length I braced myself up to the effort and proceeded to embrace the slender pipe. How I ever managed to get to the bottom I can’t say. I remember reflecting about half way down that this would be good daily exercise for the Henniker, and the mere thought of her almost sent me headlong to the bottom.At last, however, I stood safe beside my chum on the gravel walk.“Now!” said he.“Now,” I replied, “where shall we go?”“London, I think,” said he, solemnly as ever, “All right—how many miles?”“Eighty or ninety, I fancy—but where’s your coat?”“In the dormitory. I was too much flurried to put it on.”“Never mind, we can use mine turn about. But I wish we’d got boots instead of slippers.”“So do I,” replied I, who even as I stood felt the sharp gravel cutting my feet; “ninety miles in slippers will be rather rough.”“Never mind,” said Jack, “come on.”“Come on,” said I.At that moment, to our dismay and misery, we heard a window above us stealthily opened, close to the water-pipe, and looking up beheld the Henniker’s head and yellow-and-black body suddenly thrust out.“Batchelor and Smith—Mr Ladislaw,” (here her voice rose to pretty nearly a shriek)—“Mr Ladislaw! come at once, please—Batchelor and Smith, running away. Mr Ladislaw, quick! Batchelor and Smith!”We stood motionless, with no spirit left to fly, until the door was opened, and Mr Ladislaw, Miss Henniker, and Mr Hashford, all three, sallied out to capture us.Among them we were dragged back, faint and exhausted, into Stonebridge House, all thoughts of freedom, and London, effectually banished from our heads, and still worse, with the bitter sense of disappointment added to our other miseries.Mr Hashford was set to watch us for the rest of the night in the empty schoolroom. And he had an easy task. For even though he fell asleep over it, we had no notion of returning to our old scheme. Indeed, I was shivering so, I had no notion of anything but the cold. Jack made me put on his coat, but it made very little difference. The form I was on actually shook with my shivering. Mr Hashford, good soul that he was, lent me his own waistcoat, and suggested that if we all three sat close together—I in the middle—I might get warmer. We tried it, and when at six o’clock that same eventful morning the servant came to sweep the room she found us all three huddled together—two of us asleep and one in a fever.I have only a dim recollection of what happened during the next week or so. I was during that time the most comfortable boy in all Stonebridge House. For the doctor came every day, ordered me all sorts of good things, and insisted on a fire being kept in my room, and no lessons. And if I wished to see any of my friends I might do so, and on no account was I to be allowed to fret or be disturbed in mind. I couldn’t help feeling half sorry for Miss Henniker being charged with all these uncongenial tasks; but Stonebridge House depended a great deal on what the doctor said of it, and so she had to obey his orders.I took advantage of the permission to see my friends by requesting the presence of Smith very frequently. But as the Henniker generally thought fit to sit in my room at the same time, I didn’t get as much good out of my chum as I might have done. I heard he had had a very smart flogging for his share of that eventful night’s proceedings, and that another was being saved up for me when I got well.It was quite a melancholy day for me when the doctor pronounced me convalescent, and said I might resume my ordinary duties. It was announced to me at my first appearance in school, that on account of my delinquencies I was on the “strict silence” rule for the rest of the term, that my bed was removed to the other dormitory, and that I was absolutely forbidden to hold any further communication, either by word or gesture, with my friend Smith.Thus cheerfully ended my first term at Stonebridge House.
The summer wore on, and with it the gloom of Stonebridge House sunk deeper and deeper into our spirits. After a week or two even the sense of novelty wore off, and we settled down to our drudges’ doom as if we were destined all our lives never to see any place outside the Henniker’s domain.
If it hadn’t been for Smith I don’t know how I should have endured it. Not that we ever had much chance of enjoying one another’s society. In school it was wholly impossible. In the playground (particularly after our recent escapade), we had very little opportunity given us; and at night, when secretly we did contrive to talk, it was with the constant dread of detection hanging over us.
What concerned me most of all, though, was the bad way in which Smith seemed to get on with every one of his schoolfellows except me, and—perhaps Flanagan. With the bullies, like Philpot and Rathbone, he was at daggers drawn; towards the others he never took the trouble to conceal his dislike, while with Hawkesbury an explosion seemed always, imminent.
I could not understand why he got on so badly, especially with Hawkesbury, who certainly never made himself disagreeable, but, on the contrary, always appeared desirous to be friendly. I sometimes thought Smith was unreasonable to foster his instinctive dislike as he did.
“Jack,” said I one night as he was “paying a call” to my bedside—“Jack, I’m half beginning to think Hawkesbury isn’t so bad a fellow after all.”
“Why?” demanded Smith.
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s done me one or two good turns lately.”
“What sort?”
“Well, he helped me in the Latin the other day, of his own accord, and—”
“Go on,” said Smith, impatiently.
“And he gave me a knife to-day. You know I lost mine, and he said he’d got two.”
Smith grunted.
“I’d like to catch him doing a good turn to me, that’s all,” said he. “I’dcure him of that!”
I didn’t like to hear Smith talk like this. For one thing, it sounded as if he must be a great deal less foolish than I was, which nobody likes to admit; and for another thing, it seemed wrong and unreasonable, unless for a very good cause, to persist in believing nothing good about anybody else.
So I changed the subject.
“I say,” said I, “what are you going to do these holidays?”
“Stay here,” said he. “Are you going home?”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Stay here for four weeks with the old Hen? Why ever, Jack?”
“Don’t know—but that’s what I’ve got to do. Are you going home?”
“I suppose so,” said I, with an inward groan. “But, Jack, whatwillyou do with yourself?”
“Much as usual, I expect. Sha’n’t get much practice in talking till you come back!” added he, with a low laugh.
“Jack, why don’t you go home?” I exclaimed. “Are you in a row there, or what? You never tell me a word about it.”
“Look-out, I hear some one moving!” cried Smith, and next moment he was back in his bed.
I was vexed. For I half guessed this alarm had been only an excuse for not talking about home, and I didn’t like being silenced in that way. Altogether that night I was a good deal put out with Smith, and when presently he whispered across “Good-night,” I pretended to be asleep, and did not answer.
But I was not asleep, and could not sleep. I worked myself first into a rage, then into an injured state, and finally into a miserable condition over my friend Smith.
Why should he keep secrets from me, when I kept none from him? No, when I came to think over it, I did not keep a single secret from him! Did he think I was not to be trusted, or was too selfish to care? He might have known me better by this time. It was true I had told him my secrets without his asking for them; in fact, all along he had not seemed nearly as anxious as I had been for this friendship of ours. My conscience stung me at this last reflection; and there came upon me all of a sudden a sense of the utter desolation of this awful place without a single friend! No, I determined it should take more than a little pique to make me cast away my only friend. And with the thought, though it must have been far on in the night, I slipped from my bed and crawled to his.
He was fast asleep, but at the first touch of my hand he started up and said, “What’s the row?”
“I’m sorry, Jack; but I was in a temper to-night, and couldn’t go to sleep till I made it up.”
“A temper! what about?” said he. “I didn’t know you were.”
“I fancied you wouldn’t—that is, that you thought—you didn’t trust me, Jack.”
“You’re the only fellow I do trust, Fred, there,” said he, taking my arm. Then, with a sigh, he added, “Why shouldn’t I?”
“What a beast I was, Jack!” cried I, quite repentant. “I don’t—”
“Hush!” said Jack. Then, whispering very close to my ear, he added, “There are some things, you know, Ican’ttell even you—about home—”
There was a sound in the room, as of a boy, suddenly aroused, starting up in his bed. Our blood turned cold, and we remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe, straining our ears in the darkness.
Suddenly the boy, whoever he was, sprang from his bed, and seizing the lucifers, struck a light.
It was Hawkesbury! I had almost guessed it. I felt Jack’s hand tighten on my arm as the sudden glare fell full upon us, and Hawkesbury’s voice cried, “Oh, you fellows, what a start you gave me! I couldn’t make out what the talking was. I thought it must be thieves!”
At the same moment the dormitory door opened, and a new glare lit up the scene. It was Miss Henniker in her dressing-gown, with a candle.
“What, talking? Who was talking?” she said, overhearing Hawkesbury’s last exclamation.
It was a queer picture that moment, and I can recall it even now. Hawkesbury standing in his night-shirt in the middle of the room. I, as lightly clad, crouching transfixed beside my friend’s bed, who was sitting up with his hand on my arm. And the Henniker there at the door, in her yellow-and-black dressing-gown and curl-papers, holding her candle above her head, and looking from one to the other.
“Who was talking?” she demanded again, turning to Hawkesbury.
Hawkesbury, smiling, returned to his bed, as he replied, “Oh, nothing. I think I must have been dreaming, and woke in a fright.”
But as he spoke his eyes turned to us two, and Miss Henniker’s followed naturally. Then the whole truth dawned upon her.
I rose from my knees and walked sheepishly back to my bed.
“What are you doing out of your bed, sir?” demanded she.
It was little use delaying matters by a parley, so I replied, bluntly, “Talking to Smith.”
“And I,” added the loyal Smith, “was talking to Batchelor!”
“Silence!” cried the Griffin. “Batchelor, dress immediately, and follow me!”
I did as I was bid, mechanically—that is, I slipped on my knickerbockers and slippers—and found myself in a couple of minutes, thus airily attired, following Miss Henniker, like a ghost, down the long passage. She led the way, not, as I expected, to the parlour, or to Mr Ladislaw’s room, but conducted me upstairs and ushered me into a small and perfectly empty garret.
“Remain here, Batchelor!” said she, sternly.
The next moment she was gone, locking the door behind her, and I was left shivering, and in total darkness, to spend the remainder of the night in these unexpected quarters.
My first sensation was one of utter and uncontrollable rage. I was tempted to fling myself against the door, to shout, to roar until some one should come to release me. Then as suddenly came over me the miserable certainty that I was helpless, and that anything I did would be but labour lost, and injure no one but myself. And, Smith, too! It was all up with our precious secret parleys; perhaps we should not even be allowed to see one another any more. In my misery I sat down on the floor in a corner of my dungeon and felt as if I would not much care if the house were to fall about my ears and bury me in the ruins. Cheerful reflection this for a youth of my tender years!
As I sat, shivering and brooding over my hard fate, I heard footsteps ascending the stairs. When you are sitting alone in an empty room, at the dead of night, this is never a very fascinating sound, and I did not much enjoy it.
And as I listened I could make out that the footsteps belonged to two people. Perhaps I was going to be murdered, I reflected, like Prince Arthur, or the two boys in the Tower! At the same moment a streak of light glimmered through the crack of the door, and I heard a voice say, “Come this way, Smith.”
So Smith, too, was going to be locked up for the night. My heart bounded as for an instant it occurred to me it would be in my dungeon! No such good fortune! They passed my door. At any rate, my chum should know where I was, so I proceeded to make a demonstration against my door and beseech, in the most piteous way, to be released. Of course, it was no use, but that did not matter; I never expected it would.
I listened hard to the retreating footsteps, which stopped at the end of the passage. Then a door opened and shut again, a key turned, one pair of steps again returned past my door, and as I peeped through the keyhole I had a vague idea of a yellow-and-black gown, and knew that the Henniker had gone back to her place.
If only Smith had been shut up next door to me I might have been able to shout to him so that he could hear, but what chance was there when three or four rooms at least divided us? After all, except that he was near me, and knew where I was, things were not much better than they had been before. So I sat down again in my corner and sulkily watched the first glimmers of dawn peep in at the little window. It must be about 3 a.m., I thought. And that meant four good hours before any chance of a release came. And as it was, my feet were pretty nearly dead with cold, and a thin nightgown is not much covering for a fellow’s body and arms. It rather pleased me to think the adventure might end fatally, and that at my inquest Miss Henniker might be brought in guilty of manslaughter.
It must be breezy, for those leaves have been tapping away at my window the last minute or so pretty hard. Bother the leaves! And yet, when you come to think of it, you do not often hear leaves tap as hard as that! My window will be smashed in if they keep it up at that rate. So I get up lazily and approach the scene of action.
I nearly screamed as I did so, for there, close up against the window, was a face! I was so taken aback that it took me a good minute to recover my wits and perceive that the apparition was none other than my faithful friend Jack Smith, and that the tapping I had been giving the leaves such credit for had been his eager attempts to attract my attention.
I sprang to the window, jubilant, and opened it.
“Oh, Jack! hurrah! However did you get here?”
“Oh, you havespottedme at last, have you?” said he, with a grim smile. “I’ve been here five or ten minutes.”
“You have!” exclaimed I.
“Yes. My window opened on to this ledge, too; so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t come.”
“You might have fallen and killed yourself. But I say, Jack, won’t you come in? Even if we do get caught things can’t be much worse than they are.”
“I know that—so I think you’d better come out.”
“What for?” exclaimed I, in astonishment.
“To get away—anywhere,” said he.
In a moment I was up on the window-sill, scrambling out on to the ledge beside him. The fresh morning breeze blew on my face as I did so, and a glorious sense of freedom took hold of both our drooping spirits. We needed no words. Only let us get free!
“Come along,” said Jack, crawling along the narrow ledge which ran round the top of the house.
“How shall we get down?” I asked.
“That’s what I want to find out,” said Jack. “Isn’t there a water-pipe or something in front?”
Carefully we made our perilous journey round the side of the house towards the front. Smith leaned over and peered down.
“Yes,” said he, “there’s a water-pipe we could easily slide down, if we could only get at it. Look!”
I looked over too. The ground seemed a long way below, and I felt a trifle nervous at the prospect of trying to reach it by such unorthodox means as a water-pipe, even could we get at that pipe. But the ledge on whichwe were overhung the side of the house, and the pipe began under it, just below where we stood.
“We must try, anyhow,” said Jack, desperately. “I’ll go first; catch hold of my hands, Fred.”
And he was actually going to attempt to scramble over and round under the ledge, when he suddenly paused, and cried, “Hold hard. I do believe this bit of ledge is loose!”
So it was. It shook as we stood upon it.
“We might be able to move it,” said Jack.
So we knelt down and with all our might tugged away at the stone that divided us from our water-pipe. It was obstinate at first, but by dint of perseverance it yielded to pressure at last, and we were able triumphantly to lift it from its place.
It was easy enough now reaching the pipe. But here a new peril arose. Sliding down water-pipes is an acquired art, and not nearly as easy as it seems. Jack, who volunteered to make the first descent, looked a little blue as he found the pipe was so close to the wall that he couldn’t get his hands round, much less his feet.
“You’ll have to grip it hard with your ankles and elbows,” he said, beginning to slide down an inch or two; “and go slow, whatever you do.”
It was nervous work watching him, and still more nervous work when at length I braced myself up to the effort and proceeded to embrace the slender pipe. How I ever managed to get to the bottom I can’t say. I remember reflecting about half way down that this would be good daily exercise for the Henniker, and the mere thought of her almost sent me headlong to the bottom.
At last, however, I stood safe beside my chum on the gravel walk.
“Now!” said he.
“Now,” I replied, “where shall we go?”
“London, I think,” said he, solemnly as ever, “All right—how many miles?”
“Eighty or ninety, I fancy—but where’s your coat?”
“In the dormitory. I was too much flurried to put it on.”
“Never mind, we can use mine turn about. But I wish we’d got boots instead of slippers.”
“So do I,” replied I, who even as I stood felt the sharp gravel cutting my feet; “ninety miles in slippers will be rather rough.”
“Never mind,” said Jack, “come on.”
“Come on,” said I.
At that moment, to our dismay and misery, we heard a window above us stealthily opened, close to the water-pipe, and looking up beheld the Henniker’s head and yellow-and-black body suddenly thrust out.
“Batchelor and Smith—Mr Ladislaw,” (here her voice rose to pretty nearly a shriek)—“Mr Ladislaw! come at once, please—Batchelor and Smith, running away. Mr Ladislaw, quick! Batchelor and Smith!”
We stood motionless, with no spirit left to fly, until the door was opened, and Mr Ladislaw, Miss Henniker, and Mr Hashford, all three, sallied out to capture us.
Among them we were dragged back, faint and exhausted, into Stonebridge House, all thoughts of freedom, and London, effectually banished from our heads, and still worse, with the bitter sense of disappointment added to our other miseries.
Mr Hashford was set to watch us for the rest of the night in the empty schoolroom. And he had an easy task. For even though he fell asleep over it, we had no notion of returning to our old scheme. Indeed, I was shivering so, I had no notion of anything but the cold. Jack made me put on his coat, but it made very little difference. The form I was on actually shook with my shivering. Mr Hashford, good soul that he was, lent me his own waistcoat, and suggested that if we all three sat close together—I in the middle—I might get warmer. We tried it, and when at six o’clock that same eventful morning the servant came to sweep the room she found us all three huddled together—two of us asleep and one in a fever.
I have only a dim recollection of what happened during the next week or so. I was during that time the most comfortable boy in all Stonebridge House. For the doctor came every day, ordered me all sorts of good things, and insisted on a fire being kept in my room, and no lessons. And if I wished to see any of my friends I might do so, and on no account was I to be allowed to fret or be disturbed in mind. I couldn’t help feeling half sorry for Miss Henniker being charged with all these uncongenial tasks; but Stonebridge House depended a great deal on what the doctor said of it, and so she had to obey his orders.
I took advantage of the permission to see my friends by requesting the presence of Smith very frequently. But as the Henniker generally thought fit to sit in my room at the same time, I didn’t get as much good out of my chum as I might have done. I heard he had had a very smart flogging for his share of that eventful night’s proceedings, and that another was being saved up for me when I got well.
It was quite a melancholy day for me when the doctor pronounced me convalescent, and said I might resume my ordinary duties. It was announced to me at my first appearance in school, that on account of my delinquencies I was on the “strict silence” rule for the rest of the term, that my bed was removed to the other dormitory, and that I was absolutely forbidden to hold any further communication, either by word or gesture, with my friend Smith.
Thus cheerfully ended my first term at Stonebridge House.
Chapter Six.How things came to a Crisis at Stonebridge House.A year passed, and found us at the end of it the same wretched, spiritless boys as ever. Stonebridge House had become no more tolerable, the Henniker had grown no less terrible, and our fellow “backward and troublesome boys” were just as unpleasant as they had been. No new boys had come to give us a variety, and no old boys had left. Except for the one fact that we were all of us a year older, everything was precisely the same as it had been at the time of the adventure related in my last chapter. But that one year makes a good deal of difference. When Smith and I slid down the water-pipe a year ago we were comparatively new friends, now we had grown to love one another like brothers. When the Henniker, on the same occasion, put an end to our scheme of escape, we had endured her persecutions but three months, now we had endured them for fifteen. A great deal of secret working may go on in a fellow’s mind during a year, and in that way the intervalhadwrought a change, for we were a good deal more to one another, Smith and I, and a good deal more desperate at our hard lot, both of us, than we had been a year ago.It had been a miserable time. My holidays alone with my uncle had been almost as cheerless as my schooldays at Stonebridge House with Miss Henniker. If it hadn’t been for Smith I do believe I should have lost every vestige of spirit. But happily he gave me no chance of falling into that condition. He seemed always on the verge of some explosion. Now it was against Hawkesbury, now against the Henniker, now against Mr Ladislaw, and now against the whole world generally, myself included. I had a busy time of it holding him in.He still showed aversion to Hawkesbury, although I differed from him on this point, and insisted that Hawkesbury was not such a bad fellow. Luckily, however, no outbreak happened. How could it, when Hawkesbury was always so amiable and forgiving and friendly? It was a wonder to me how Jackwouldpersist in disliking this fellow. Sometimes I used to be quite ashamed to see the scornful way in which he repulsed his favours and offers of friendship. On the whole I rather liked Hawkesbury.The summer term was again drawing to a close, and for fear, I suppose, lest the fact should convey any idea of pleasure to our minds, the Henniker was down on us more than ever. The cane was in constant requisition, and Mr Ladislaw was always being summoned up to administer chastisement.Even Hawkesbury, who generally managed to escape reproach, came in for her persecution now and then.One day, I remember, we were all in class, and she for some reason quitted the room, leaving Mr Hashford in charge.Now, no one minded Mr Hashford very much. He was a good-natured fellow, who did his best to please both us and his mistress; but he was “Henpecked,” we could see, like all the rest of us, and we looked upon him more as a big schoolfellow than as a master, and minded him accordingly. We therefore accepted the Henniker’s departure as a signal for leaving off work and seizing the opportunity to loosen our tongues and look about us. Hawkesbury happened to be sitting next to me. He put down his pen, and, leaning back against the desk behind him, yawned and said, “I say, Batchelor, I hope you and Smith haven’t been quarrelling?”“Quarrelling!” exclaimed I, astounded at the bare notion. “Why, whatever puts that into your head?”“Oh,” said he, with his usual smile, “only fancy. But I’m glad it isn’t the case.”“Of course it isn’t,” said I, warmly.“I haven’t seen you talking to him so often lately; that’s why,” said Hawkesbury; “and it always seems a pity when good friends fall out.”I smiled and said, “How can I talk to him, except on the sly, in this place? Never fear, Jack Smith and I know one another too well to fall out.”“Ah, he is a mysterious fellow, and he lets so few people into his secrets.”“Yes,” said I, colouring a little. “He doesn’t even let me into them.”Hawkesbury looked surprised. “Of course you know where he came from first of all, and all that?”“No, I don’t,” I said.“What, not know about— But I’d better not talk about it. It’s not honourable to talk about another boy’s affairs.”“Hawkesbury,” said Mr Hashford at this moment, “don’t talk.”This was quite a remarkable utterance for the meek and mild Mr Hashford to make in the Henniker’s absence, and we all started and looked up in a concerned way, as if he must be unwell.But no, he seemed all right, and having said what he had to say, went on with his work.Hawkesbury took no notice of the interruption, and went on. “And, on the whole, I think it would be kinder not to say anything about it, as he has kept it a secret himself. You see—”“Hawkesbury,” again said Mr Hashford, “you must not talk.”Hawkesbury smiled in a pitiful sort of way at Mr Hashford, and again turned towards me to resume the conversation. “You see—” began he.“Hawkesbury,” again said Mr Hashford, “this is the third time I have told you not to talk.”“Who was talking?” cried the Henniker, entering at that moment.“Hawkesbury, I’m sorry to say, Miss Henniker.”“Hawkesbury—a bad mark for—”“Oh!” said I, starting up, “I was talking—”“A bad mark to you, Batchelor, for interrupting me, and another for talking. Hawkesbury, a bad mark for talking in class.”We were all astonished. We had hitherto looked upon Hawkesbury as a privileged person who might do as he liked, and upon Mr Hashford as a person who had not a soul of his own. Here was the phenomenon not only of our schoolfellow getting publicly censured, but of Mr Hashford backing up Miss Henniker, and Miss Henniker backing up Mr Hashford.Flanagan afterwards confided to me his theory of this unwonted event. “I expect,” said he, “Hashford’s just got his screw raised, and wants to show off a bit before the Hen, and she wants to encourage him to be rather more down on us, you know. She’s got the toothache, too, I know, and that accounts for her not being particular who she drops on, though I am surprised she pitched on Hawkesbury. How pleased your chum Smith will be!”But my friend Smith, when I had a chance of speaking to him, seemed indifferent about the whole affair, being taken up with troubles of his own. A letter had come for him that day, he told me, in tones of fierce anger. It had been opened and read as usual, before being handed to him. He did not complain of that; that was an indignity we had to submit to every time we received a letter. But what he did complain of, and what had roused his temper, was that the last half-sheet of the letter had been deliberately torn off and not given to him.Directly after class he had marched boldly to the Henniker’s parlour and knocked at the door.“Come in!” snapped she.Smith did come in, and proceeded to business at once.“You haven’t given me all my letter, ma’am,” he said.Miss Henniker looked at him with some of the same astonishment with which she had regarded me when I once told her she was to see my socks were regularly darned.Then she pulled herself up, in her usual chilly manner, and replied, “I am aware of that, Smith.”“I want it, please, ma’am,” said Smith.Again the Henniker glared at this audacious youth, and again she replied, “You will not have it, Smith!”“Why not?”“Leave the room instantly, sir, for daring to speak like that to me, and write out one hundred lines of Caesar before you get your dinner!” cried the Henniker, indignantly. “You’ve no right to keep—”“Smith, follow me!” interrupted Miss Henniker, in her most irresistible voice, as she led the way to Mr Ladislaw’s study.Smith did follow her, and was flogged, of course.I was as indignant as he was at this tale of injustice; it reminded me of my box of sweets last year, which I had never seen back.Smith’s rage was beyond all bounds. “I won’t stand it!” said he; “that’s all about it, Fred!”“What can we do?” asked I.That was the question. And there was no answering it. So we slunk back to our places, nursing our wrath in our bosoms, and vowing all sorts of vengeance on the Henniker.Nor were we the only boys in this condition of mind. Whether it was the Henniker was thoroughly upset by her toothache, or by Hawkesbury’s bad conduct and Smith’s impertinence, I cannot say, but for the next day or two she even excelled herself in the way she went on.There was nothing we could do, or think, or devise, that she did not pounce upon and punish us for. Some were detained, some were set to impositions, some were flogged, some were reduced to bread and water, some had most if not all of their worldly goods confiscated. Even Hawkesbury shared the general fate, and for a whole week all Stonebridge House groaned as it had never groaned before.Then we could stand it no longer. We all felt that; and we all found out that everybody else felt it. But as usual the question was, what to do?It was almost impossible to speak to one another, so closely were we watched, and even when we did, we discovered that we were all at sixes and sevens, and agreed only on one thing, which was that wecould notstand it.At length one day, to our infinite jubilation, as we were dismally walking from the schoolroom to the parlour, we saw the front door open. A fly was standing at it, and as we passed, the Henniker in her Sunday get-up was stepping into it!What had we done to deserve such a mercy? She was going to pay a state call somewhere, and for one blessed hour at any rate we should be at peace!A council of war was immediately held. For once in a way Stonebridge House was unanimous. We sunk all minor differences for a time in the grand question, what should we do?A great many wild suggestions were immediately made.Rathbone undertook, with the aid of any two other fellows, to inflict personal chastisement on the public enemy.This was rejected peremptorily. It would be no use, we should catch it all the worse afterwards; besides, bad as she was, the Henniker was a woman, and it would be cowardly to thrash her.“Tie up her hands and feet and gag her,” suggested Philpot.Wouldn’t do again. She’d get Ladislaw to help her out.“Tie up Ladislaw and Hashford too.”We weren’t numerous or strong enough to do it.“Let’s all bolt,” suggested Flanagan.They’d send the police after us. Or if they didn’t, how were we to get on, without money or shelter or anywhere to go?“Suppose,” said I, “we shut them out of the schoolroom and barricade the door, and don’t let them in till they accept our terms.”“That’s more like it,” said some one; “but then what about food? We can’t store enough, even if we emptied the larder, to stand a long siege.”“Well, then,” said Smith, “suppose we screw them up, and don’t let them out till they give in.”“That’s it,” said every one, “the very thing.”“What do you say, Hawkesbury?” inquired I.“Well,” said he, smiling pleasantly, “it’s not a nice thing to turn against one’s master and mistress; but really Miss Henniker has been very vexing lately.”“Hurrah! then you agree?” And the question was put all round, every one assenting. At least so I thought. But Smith as usual was doubtful of Hawkesbury.“You agree, Hawkesbury?” said he.“Really,” said the other, with a smile, “it isn’t nice to be suspected, Smith. Isn’t it enough to say a thing once?”“Oh yes, yes,” cried out every one, impatiently, and most anxious to keep the meeting harmonious. “He said he did, Smith; what more do you want? Do let’s pull all together.”“Just what I want,” said Smith.“Well,” said Philpot, “I propose we lock them up in the big schoolroom.”“Wouldn’t it be better,” said Flanagan, “to lock the Henniker up in her own room, and let Ladislaw and Hashford have the parlour? It will be more comfortable for them. There’s a sofa there and a carpet. Besides, the window’s a worse one to get out of.”“How about feeding them?” some one asked.“That’ll be easy enough,” said Smith. “There’s a ventilator over all the doors, you know. We can hand the things in there.”“I vote the old Hen gets precious little,” interposed Rathbone. “I wouldn’t give her any.”This idea was scouted, and it was resolved that all the prisoners should have a sufficient, though, at the same time, a limited amount of provisions. That being arranged, the next question was, when should we begin? We had to take a good many things into account in fixing the important date. To-day was Friday. The butcher, some one said, always brought the meat for the week on Monday; but the baker never came till the Wednesday. So if we began operations on Monday we should have a good supply of meat but very little bread to start with; and it was possible, of course, the baker might smell a rat, and get up a rescue. It would be better, on that account, to defer action till after the baker’s visit on Wednesday. But then the washerwoman generally came on the Thursday. We all voted the washerwoman a nuisance. We must either take her a prisoner and keep her in the house, or run the risk of her finding out that something was wrong and going back to the village and telling of us.“If we could only keep it up a week,” said Smith, “I think we could bring them to terms.”“Suppose we drop a line to the washerwoman the day before not to call,” suggested I.The motion met with universal applause, and I was deputed to carry it out at the proper time. The good lady’s address I knew was on a slate in Miss Henniker’s pantry.“And I tell you what,” said Smith, starting up with the brilliancy of the suggestion; “let’s hide away all the bread we can find, except just what will last over to-morrow. Then most likely she’ll tell the baker to call on Monday, and we can begin then!”It was a brilliant suggestion. Two of the company departed forthwith to the larder, and unobserved hid away a few loaves in one of the empty trunks in the box-room.Our plans were ripening wonderfully. But the most difficult business was yet to come. What terms should we require of our prisoners as the price of their release? And on this point, after long discussion, we found we could not agree. Some were for the immediate dismissal of the Henniker; others demanded that she should not be allowed to speak without special permission; and others that she should remain in her parlour all day long, and come out only for prayers and to give orders to the tradesmen.These proposals were too absurd to take seriously; and as presently the company began to grow a little quarrelsome over the matter, it was decided for peace’ sake that the question should be deferred, and terms arranged when the prisoners themselves offered to give in.“If I may make a suggestion,” said Hawkesbury, who had taken no part in the previous discussion, “it is that you should appoint one fellow captain, and agree to obey his orders. You’ll never manage it if you don’t.”“Not at all a bad idea,” said one or two. “You be the captain, Hawkesbury.”“No, thank you,” said he, smiling gratefully. “I really am not used to this sort of thing; but I think Smith, now, would be just the fellow.”I considered this beautiful of Hawkesbury, coming so soon after Smith’s rather uncomplimentary behaviour to him.The proposition was generally approved. Smith was not a favourite, but he had made the only suggestions of any real use in the present case, and appeared to have entered into the scheme so warmly that it was evident no one would make a better captain.He received his new dignity with great complacency.“I’ll do my best,” said he, “if you fellows will back me up and stick to the engagement.”Our time was now getting brief, so after a few more hurried suggestions and discussions we separated and returned to our ordinary duties.That evening the Henniker was no better than she had been during the day. Her brief sojourn in society that afternoon had not improved her a bit, Flanagan, as usual, suggested a plausible reason.“I expect,” whispered he, “she went after a new pupil and didn’t hook him; that’s why she’s in such a precious tantrum.”“Flanagan!” cried the well-known voice—“Flanagan, come here!”Flanagan obeyed, and stood meekly before the tyrant.“This is the eighth time to-day, Flanagan, I have rebuked you for talking. You are detained for the rest of the term. Hold out your hand, Flanagan!”It was not often the Henniker inflicted corporal punishment herself; when she did it was pretty smart, as Flanagan found. In the absence of a cane she had used the ruler, and as Flanagan—who unsuspectingly supposed she was merely seized with a desire to inspect his nails—held out his hand knuckles upwards, the ruler descended on his knuckles with such force that the luckless youth howled for astonishment, and performed a dancesoloin the middle of the floor.We were sorry for him, yet we inwardly smiled to think how soon the tables would be turned.That night, just before we went to bed, as I was in the shoe-room looking for my slippers, I had the satisfaction of hearing the Henniker say to the kitchen-maid, “Matilda, we’re getting short of bread. Let the baker know to call on Monday next week.”Things could not have promised better for our desperate scheme!
A year passed, and found us at the end of it the same wretched, spiritless boys as ever. Stonebridge House had become no more tolerable, the Henniker had grown no less terrible, and our fellow “backward and troublesome boys” were just as unpleasant as they had been. No new boys had come to give us a variety, and no old boys had left. Except for the one fact that we were all of us a year older, everything was precisely the same as it had been at the time of the adventure related in my last chapter. But that one year makes a good deal of difference. When Smith and I slid down the water-pipe a year ago we were comparatively new friends, now we had grown to love one another like brothers. When the Henniker, on the same occasion, put an end to our scheme of escape, we had endured her persecutions but three months, now we had endured them for fifteen. A great deal of secret working may go on in a fellow’s mind during a year, and in that way the intervalhadwrought a change, for we were a good deal more to one another, Smith and I, and a good deal more desperate at our hard lot, both of us, than we had been a year ago.
It had been a miserable time. My holidays alone with my uncle had been almost as cheerless as my schooldays at Stonebridge House with Miss Henniker. If it hadn’t been for Smith I do believe I should have lost every vestige of spirit. But happily he gave me no chance of falling into that condition. He seemed always on the verge of some explosion. Now it was against Hawkesbury, now against the Henniker, now against Mr Ladislaw, and now against the whole world generally, myself included. I had a busy time of it holding him in.
He still showed aversion to Hawkesbury, although I differed from him on this point, and insisted that Hawkesbury was not such a bad fellow. Luckily, however, no outbreak happened. How could it, when Hawkesbury was always so amiable and forgiving and friendly? It was a wonder to me how Jackwouldpersist in disliking this fellow. Sometimes I used to be quite ashamed to see the scornful way in which he repulsed his favours and offers of friendship. On the whole I rather liked Hawkesbury.
The summer term was again drawing to a close, and for fear, I suppose, lest the fact should convey any idea of pleasure to our minds, the Henniker was down on us more than ever. The cane was in constant requisition, and Mr Ladislaw was always being summoned up to administer chastisement.
Even Hawkesbury, who generally managed to escape reproach, came in for her persecution now and then.
One day, I remember, we were all in class, and she for some reason quitted the room, leaving Mr Hashford in charge.
Now, no one minded Mr Hashford very much. He was a good-natured fellow, who did his best to please both us and his mistress; but he was “Henpecked,” we could see, like all the rest of us, and we looked upon him more as a big schoolfellow than as a master, and minded him accordingly. We therefore accepted the Henniker’s departure as a signal for leaving off work and seizing the opportunity to loosen our tongues and look about us. Hawkesbury happened to be sitting next to me. He put down his pen, and, leaning back against the desk behind him, yawned and said, “I say, Batchelor, I hope you and Smith haven’t been quarrelling?”
“Quarrelling!” exclaimed I, astounded at the bare notion. “Why, whatever puts that into your head?”
“Oh,” said he, with his usual smile, “only fancy. But I’m glad it isn’t the case.”
“Of course it isn’t,” said I, warmly.
“I haven’t seen you talking to him so often lately; that’s why,” said Hawkesbury; “and it always seems a pity when good friends fall out.”
I smiled and said, “How can I talk to him, except on the sly, in this place? Never fear, Jack Smith and I know one another too well to fall out.”
“Ah, he is a mysterious fellow, and he lets so few people into his secrets.”
“Yes,” said I, colouring a little. “He doesn’t even let me into them.”
Hawkesbury looked surprised. “Of course you know where he came from first of all, and all that?”
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“What, not know about— But I’d better not talk about it. It’s not honourable to talk about another boy’s affairs.”
“Hawkesbury,” said Mr Hashford at this moment, “don’t talk.”
This was quite a remarkable utterance for the meek and mild Mr Hashford to make in the Henniker’s absence, and we all started and looked up in a concerned way, as if he must be unwell.
But no, he seemed all right, and having said what he had to say, went on with his work.
Hawkesbury took no notice of the interruption, and went on. “And, on the whole, I think it would be kinder not to say anything about it, as he has kept it a secret himself. You see—”
“Hawkesbury,” again said Mr Hashford, “you must not talk.”
Hawkesbury smiled in a pitiful sort of way at Mr Hashford, and again turned towards me to resume the conversation. “You see—” began he.
“Hawkesbury,” again said Mr Hashford, “this is the third time I have told you not to talk.”
“Who was talking?” cried the Henniker, entering at that moment.
“Hawkesbury, I’m sorry to say, Miss Henniker.”
“Hawkesbury—a bad mark for—”
“Oh!” said I, starting up, “I was talking—”
“A bad mark to you, Batchelor, for interrupting me, and another for talking. Hawkesbury, a bad mark for talking in class.”
We were all astonished. We had hitherto looked upon Hawkesbury as a privileged person who might do as he liked, and upon Mr Hashford as a person who had not a soul of his own. Here was the phenomenon not only of our schoolfellow getting publicly censured, but of Mr Hashford backing up Miss Henniker, and Miss Henniker backing up Mr Hashford.
Flanagan afterwards confided to me his theory of this unwonted event. “I expect,” said he, “Hashford’s just got his screw raised, and wants to show off a bit before the Hen, and she wants to encourage him to be rather more down on us, you know. She’s got the toothache, too, I know, and that accounts for her not being particular who she drops on, though I am surprised she pitched on Hawkesbury. How pleased your chum Smith will be!”
But my friend Smith, when I had a chance of speaking to him, seemed indifferent about the whole affair, being taken up with troubles of his own. A letter had come for him that day, he told me, in tones of fierce anger. It had been opened and read as usual, before being handed to him. He did not complain of that; that was an indignity we had to submit to every time we received a letter. But what he did complain of, and what had roused his temper, was that the last half-sheet of the letter had been deliberately torn off and not given to him.
Directly after class he had marched boldly to the Henniker’s parlour and knocked at the door.
“Come in!” snapped she.
Smith did come in, and proceeded to business at once.
“You haven’t given me all my letter, ma’am,” he said.
Miss Henniker looked at him with some of the same astonishment with which she had regarded me when I once told her she was to see my socks were regularly darned.
Then she pulled herself up, in her usual chilly manner, and replied, “I am aware of that, Smith.”
“I want it, please, ma’am,” said Smith.
Again the Henniker glared at this audacious youth, and again she replied, “You will not have it, Smith!”
“Why not?”
“Leave the room instantly, sir, for daring to speak like that to me, and write out one hundred lines of Caesar before you get your dinner!” cried the Henniker, indignantly. “You’ve no right to keep—”
“Smith, follow me!” interrupted Miss Henniker, in her most irresistible voice, as she led the way to Mr Ladislaw’s study.
Smith did follow her, and was flogged, of course.
I was as indignant as he was at this tale of injustice; it reminded me of my box of sweets last year, which I had never seen back.
Smith’s rage was beyond all bounds. “I won’t stand it!” said he; “that’s all about it, Fred!”
“What can we do?” asked I.
That was the question. And there was no answering it. So we slunk back to our places, nursing our wrath in our bosoms, and vowing all sorts of vengeance on the Henniker.
Nor were we the only boys in this condition of mind. Whether it was the Henniker was thoroughly upset by her toothache, or by Hawkesbury’s bad conduct and Smith’s impertinence, I cannot say, but for the next day or two she even excelled herself in the way she went on.
There was nothing we could do, or think, or devise, that she did not pounce upon and punish us for. Some were detained, some were set to impositions, some were flogged, some were reduced to bread and water, some had most if not all of their worldly goods confiscated. Even Hawkesbury shared the general fate, and for a whole week all Stonebridge House groaned as it had never groaned before.
Then we could stand it no longer. We all felt that; and we all found out that everybody else felt it. But as usual the question was, what to do?
It was almost impossible to speak to one another, so closely were we watched, and even when we did, we discovered that we were all at sixes and sevens, and agreed only on one thing, which was that wecould notstand it.
At length one day, to our infinite jubilation, as we were dismally walking from the schoolroom to the parlour, we saw the front door open. A fly was standing at it, and as we passed, the Henniker in her Sunday get-up was stepping into it!
What had we done to deserve such a mercy? She was going to pay a state call somewhere, and for one blessed hour at any rate we should be at peace!
A council of war was immediately held. For once in a way Stonebridge House was unanimous. We sunk all minor differences for a time in the grand question, what should we do?
A great many wild suggestions were immediately made.
Rathbone undertook, with the aid of any two other fellows, to inflict personal chastisement on the public enemy.
This was rejected peremptorily. It would be no use, we should catch it all the worse afterwards; besides, bad as she was, the Henniker was a woman, and it would be cowardly to thrash her.
“Tie up her hands and feet and gag her,” suggested Philpot.
Wouldn’t do again. She’d get Ladislaw to help her out.
“Tie up Ladislaw and Hashford too.”
We weren’t numerous or strong enough to do it.
“Let’s all bolt,” suggested Flanagan.
They’d send the police after us. Or if they didn’t, how were we to get on, without money or shelter or anywhere to go?
“Suppose,” said I, “we shut them out of the schoolroom and barricade the door, and don’t let them in till they accept our terms.”
“That’s more like it,” said some one; “but then what about food? We can’t store enough, even if we emptied the larder, to stand a long siege.”
“Well, then,” said Smith, “suppose we screw them up, and don’t let them out till they give in.”
“That’s it,” said every one, “the very thing.”
“What do you say, Hawkesbury?” inquired I.
“Well,” said he, smiling pleasantly, “it’s not a nice thing to turn against one’s master and mistress; but really Miss Henniker has been very vexing lately.”
“Hurrah! then you agree?” And the question was put all round, every one assenting. At least so I thought. But Smith as usual was doubtful of Hawkesbury.
“You agree, Hawkesbury?” said he.
“Really,” said the other, with a smile, “it isn’t nice to be suspected, Smith. Isn’t it enough to say a thing once?”
“Oh yes, yes,” cried out every one, impatiently, and most anxious to keep the meeting harmonious. “He said he did, Smith; what more do you want? Do let’s pull all together.”
“Just what I want,” said Smith.
“Well,” said Philpot, “I propose we lock them up in the big schoolroom.”
“Wouldn’t it be better,” said Flanagan, “to lock the Henniker up in her own room, and let Ladislaw and Hashford have the parlour? It will be more comfortable for them. There’s a sofa there and a carpet. Besides, the window’s a worse one to get out of.”
“How about feeding them?” some one asked.
“That’ll be easy enough,” said Smith. “There’s a ventilator over all the doors, you know. We can hand the things in there.”
“I vote the old Hen gets precious little,” interposed Rathbone. “I wouldn’t give her any.”
This idea was scouted, and it was resolved that all the prisoners should have a sufficient, though, at the same time, a limited amount of provisions. That being arranged, the next question was, when should we begin? We had to take a good many things into account in fixing the important date. To-day was Friday. The butcher, some one said, always brought the meat for the week on Monday; but the baker never came till the Wednesday. So if we began operations on Monday we should have a good supply of meat but very little bread to start with; and it was possible, of course, the baker might smell a rat, and get up a rescue. It would be better, on that account, to defer action till after the baker’s visit on Wednesday. But then the washerwoman generally came on the Thursday. We all voted the washerwoman a nuisance. We must either take her a prisoner and keep her in the house, or run the risk of her finding out that something was wrong and going back to the village and telling of us.
“If we could only keep it up a week,” said Smith, “I think we could bring them to terms.”
“Suppose we drop a line to the washerwoman the day before not to call,” suggested I.
The motion met with universal applause, and I was deputed to carry it out at the proper time. The good lady’s address I knew was on a slate in Miss Henniker’s pantry.
“And I tell you what,” said Smith, starting up with the brilliancy of the suggestion; “let’s hide away all the bread we can find, except just what will last over to-morrow. Then most likely she’ll tell the baker to call on Monday, and we can begin then!”
It was a brilliant suggestion. Two of the company departed forthwith to the larder, and unobserved hid away a few loaves in one of the empty trunks in the box-room.
Our plans were ripening wonderfully. But the most difficult business was yet to come. What terms should we require of our prisoners as the price of their release? And on this point, after long discussion, we found we could not agree. Some were for the immediate dismissal of the Henniker; others demanded that she should not be allowed to speak without special permission; and others that she should remain in her parlour all day long, and come out only for prayers and to give orders to the tradesmen.
These proposals were too absurd to take seriously; and as presently the company began to grow a little quarrelsome over the matter, it was decided for peace’ sake that the question should be deferred, and terms arranged when the prisoners themselves offered to give in.
“If I may make a suggestion,” said Hawkesbury, who had taken no part in the previous discussion, “it is that you should appoint one fellow captain, and agree to obey his orders. You’ll never manage it if you don’t.”
“Not at all a bad idea,” said one or two. “You be the captain, Hawkesbury.”
“No, thank you,” said he, smiling gratefully. “I really am not used to this sort of thing; but I think Smith, now, would be just the fellow.”
I considered this beautiful of Hawkesbury, coming so soon after Smith’s rather uncomplimentary behaviour to him.
The proposition was generally approved. Smith was not a favourite, but he had made the only suggestions of any real use in the present case, and appeared to have entered into the scheme so warmly that it was evident no one would make a better captain.
He received his new dignity with great complacency.
“I’ll do my best,” said he, “if you fellows will back me up and stick to the engagement.”
Our time was now getting brief, so after a few more hurried suggestions and discussions we separated and returned to our ordinary duties.
That evening the Henniker was no better than she had been during the day. Her brief sojourn in society that afternoon had not improved her a bit, Flanagan, as usual, suggested a plausible reason.
“I expect,” whispered he, “she went after a new pupil and didn’t hook him; that’s why she’s in such a precious tantrum.”
“Flanagan!” cried the well-known voice—“Flanagan, come here!”
Flanagan obeyed, and stood meekly before the tyrant.
“This is the eighth time to-day, Flanagan, I have rebuked you for talking. You are detained for the rest of the term. Hold out your hand, Flanagan!”
It was not often the Henniker inflicted corporal punishment herself; when she did it was pretty smart, as Flanagan found. In the absence of a cane she had used the ruler, and as Flanagan—who unsuspectingly supposed she was merely seized with a desire to inspect his nails—held out his hand knuckles upwards, the ruler descended on his knuckles with such force that the luckless youth howled for astonishment, and performed a dancesoloin the middle of the floor.
We were sorry for him, yet we inwardly smiled to think how soon the tables would be turned.
That night, just before we went to bed, as I was in the shoe-room looking for my slippers, I had the satisfaction of hearing the Henniker say to the kitchen-maid, “Matilda, we’re getting short of bread. Let the baker know to call on Monday next week.”
Things could not have promised better for our desperate scheme!