CHAPTER XI.
RAY IN HIS SCHOOL LIFE.
Away up at the extreme end of the Parade, and commanding an extensive view of the town and bay, stood the Afton Graded School building. Four stories high, solid, square, substantial was the structure, and through its spacious doors passed daily five or six hundred pupils. Eight departments occupied its pleasant rooms, ranging from primary up to senior, the latter department being a grade higher than the grammar, and yet hardly advanced enough to be called academic. The scholars ranged from the five-year-old beginners to youths of sixteen or seventeen, and were of both sexes.
Mr. Greenough, the principal, was a kind-hearted, just man, a good disciplinarian, and an excellent teacher. For some years now he had been in charge of the school, and under his management it had reached a degree of success never experienced before. Admission to the school, especially in the higher departments, had been eagerly sought for by scholars who lived far beyond the limits of the corporation; and the town authorities, under certain restrictions and for an ample tuition, had consented that a limited number of outsiders should be admitted. It was under this provision that Ray Branford had the September before entered the school.
But as soon as Mr. Greenough learned that the lad's residence at Long Point Farm was but a temporary one, and that his legal home was still that of his father at Black Forge, he had decided that he was within the corporation limits, and was therefore entitled to free tuition at the school, and to all of its privileges. In this opinion the school board of the town had concurred; and so, with that understanding among all the interested parties, his name had been put on the regular roll of the corporation scholars.
The room occupied by the senior department was on the second floor of the building, and on the south side. The next lower grade, the grammar, occupied the same room also, and the two departments came directly under the care of Mr. Greenough and his two assistants. Consequently, in this room alone, there were nearly one hundred pupils, whose ages ran from twelve to seventeen.
Into this room on the Monday morning after Thanksgiving Ray came for the first time as a scholar. There was a novelty to him in his surroundings, and for a time he felt that every pair of eyes in the room was turned curiously upon him. He could not appear at ease, and evinced an awkwardness quite contrary to his usual, calm self-possession. He also found it difficult at first to study among so many, and it was well for him that the lessons for the day had been already thoroughly prepared.
In his own immediate class he found some strangers, but the greater part were already old acquaintances; for it happened that Edward Lawton, the son of the president of the Forge Mills, John Bacon, the son of the superintendent, and all the other lads of Miss Squire's Sunday-school class were in the senior grade at the public school. For the most part, too, they gave Ray a cordial welcome—in fact, the only exception was Edward Lawton. He had never been quite reconciled to Ray's position in the class at the Bible school, and he now manifested a similar resentment at Ray's entrance to the senior grade. This resentment, for reasons which will soon appear, steadily increased, and became open dislike before the term closed.
Doubtless the first cause of his resentment had been simply Ray's humble position. He knew his own father was rich, and held a position of influence not only in the town, but throughout the State. This had led him to assume aristocratic airs toward Ray. He continually spoke of him as "one of my father's mill hands," or as "that fellow from the Forge," as though honest toil could belittle the man or his soul. After Ray's triumphant acquittal, he had seemed to accept the inevitable, and treated him with an air of sufferance, if not of courtesy. Possibly this would have continued to have been his attitude toward him in the school, had not a circumstance occurred soon after the opening of the term which brought Ray unconsciously into what Lawton called "a direct antagonism with himself," and thus the old feeling of resentment was not only re-aroused, but was intensified. At the close of school one day, Mr. Greenough detained the scholars for a few minutes to make, what he called, an important announcement.
"It is generally known to the scholars of the town," he said, "that at the end of the year the school board presents a silver medal to the scholar graduating with the highest rank. But it may not be as generally understood that this medal can be won only by a scholar belonging within the corporation limits, and even then it must be a scholar whose name has been on the school register for the entire school year. In other words, whatever rank an outside scholar may hold, or whatever the rank one may attain who has entered during the school year, the fact that one is without the corporation, and that the other has not been on the school roll for the whole year, will debar each from receiving this honor.
"But the school board, finding that so many have entered the school this term under one or the other of these restrictions, has decided to give them an opportunity to win at least one distinction, and has requested me to announce that a set of Shakespeare's works, bound in morocco and valued at ten dollars, will be given to that scholar of the senior class, without regard to the time he entered the school, or the place where he may reside, who, in the judgment of the examining committee, shall show the most marked improvement in his studies, the highest average scholarship, and the most perfect deportment. There is but one exception to this competition: the scholar on the corporation roll, who wins the silver medal, cannot also receive the second prize; that must go to the one who ranks next to him, if it should be found that he, in the judgment of the committee, would otherwise have been entitled to it. Here is now a chance for distinction open alike to all, and I trust that there will be such an incentive to all to try for it that a higher excellence will be manifest in our studies, and thus the wisdom of the board in offering the prize be completely vindicated."
After the school was out, John Bacon said to Edward Lawton: "Hey, Ned, it's lucky for you that Branford is an outsider, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" asked his companion, loftily.
"Because you might lose the silver medal that you are after," responded John.
"Bosh! You don't suppose that mill hand can win a prize, do you?" asked Lawton, with a sneer.
"His chances are good, you can bet!" exclaimed John Bacon, more forcibly than politely. "I only wish mine were as good."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Edward, angrily. "You, like every one else, seem to think Ray Branford is a prodigy. I tell you, he isn't half as smart as you think."
"Time will tell," remarked Bacon, dryly. "You know as well as I do that he entered the senior grade last September, and that at the end of the term he passed an examination that gave him a place next to you, and a dreadful small per cent. below you. And I have heard that Mr. Greenough said that had Branford been in the class room during the term he would easily have won the first place. Now he is in the class room, and my opinion is that, if he keeps on the whole term in his recitations as he has in the past week, nothing but the fact that he is an outsider will prevent him from taking the honors right away from Mr. Edward Lawton; and that's what the trouble is—hey, Ned?"
"I tell you he can't, and I don't fear him that much." And he snapped his fingers contemptuously; then he turned the corner of the street leading to his home, and hurried away from his tantalizing companion.
He was more annoyed, however, than he cared to show. All the week he had been forced to recognize the fact that Ray had ranked as high in his studies as he, and the fact irritated him. Up to Ray's coming he had easily led his class, and had already begun to look upon the graduating medal as his own. But he knew now, even if he were not prepared to acknowledge it, that if he continued to hold the first place in the class he must work for it as he never had before; and he resented the fact that it was one whom he so thoroughly disliked that forced him into such a situation. He still believed that the silver medal was his; but if Ray should win the set of books, and show a higher scholarship than himself, there would be little satisfaction in receiving the graduation honor. It would be well known that Ray's place of residence alone had prevented him from taking it.
He entered the house in a sullen and discontented mood, which was at once aggravated by overhearing his sister Daisy's remark to their mother. She was a year or two younger than he, but being in the grammar department was in the same room with him, and had, of course, heard Mr. Greenough's announcement.
"Yes," she was saying, "and a good many think Edward will have to study very hard to prevent Ray from getting the medal."
"He can't get it; he's an outsider," snapped out the discontented boy.
"No, he isn't!" said Daisy; "though he works for Mr. Woodhull, his real home is at his father's, of course, and he was admitted to the school without tuition or restriction. Sadye Greenough told me so."
"Well, he didn't enter until this term," said Edward, desperately.
"Why, Eddie, you know as well as I do, he was admitted in September, and recited every week of last term to Mr. Greenough. He also passed his examination at the end of the term, ranking next to you," said Daisy, with some show of indignation. "I surely want you to get the medal, but I don't think it is right to make out that things are different from what you know they really are. You ought, with hard work, to easily keep your lead, and I told Sadye Greenough so. But I do think it is remarkable how fast Ray has gained the position he occupies, and mamma thinks so too, don't you, mamma?"
"He certainly has shown rare perseverance, and is to be commended for it. I only hope my son will show a magnanimity and honorableness as great. He certainly is too honorable to want any position, or to win any position except by fair and open means. Much as your father and I want you to graduate at the head of the class, we would prefer that you should be at its foot, rather than have you exhibit a single dishonorable or unmanly trait." Then the subject was dropped.
That the lad had been uninfluenced by his mother's words, however, was manifest by his remarking to himself, as he went to his own room: "I'll win that medal by fair means if I can, but by foul if I must. No drunkard's son shall take an honor away from me."
Meanwhile, Ray, utterly unconscious of the resentment he had roused in Edward Lawton's breast, and with no thought of taking the honors of his class, went quietly forward with his studies. On the principle he had adopted months before, to do whatever he had to do with all his might, he learned each lesson conscientiously and well. He frequently studied until midnight, and even then rose early enough in the morning to give his lessons a careful review before the time for doing the morning chores. He applied himself to his studies so assiduously, that Mr. Woodhull grew anxious, lest he should impair his health, and one morning as they sat at the breakfast table he spoke to the lad about it. Ray laughingly replied: "One good look at me and the breakfast I am eating would send that anxiety to the four winds; and really, as long as I take the daily exercise I now do, I scarcely see how ill-health can get the slightest hold," a remark that his robust frame and enormous appetite fully justified.
Nor did Ray, in his school life, forget for a moment that other principle he had adopted—that he would ever remember "whose he was and whom he served." He manifested his Christian faith everywhere, not obtrusively or in a sanctimonious way, but so as to command the respect of all. He found time to be often in the prayer room; he occasionally led the Sunday afternoon service at the Forge, with growing unction and power; and he exhibited such a manly Christian spirit and courtesy in his school duties and toward his school associates, that he fast became a favorite with both teachers and scholars, and witnessed among them all silently but powerfully for Christ. The very positiveness of his own Christian character and faith influenced many a more timid disciple in that schoolroom to a greater boldness and a more efficient service for the Master. He scorned all meanness, he refused to stoop to any dishonorable act, he regarded no school rule or duty as of too little consequence to be strictly obeyed or thoroughly performed. He was full of life, ever ready for any harmless sport or innocent amusement. No one could call his a gloomy Christianity. He made mistakes;—living men always do; it is only dead men who make no mistakes;—but he freely confessed his wrong when it was pointed out to him, nor was he ashamed to ask for forgiveness. So thoroughly marked was his spiritual progress, as well as his intellectual, that Mr. Greenough remarked to his pastor one day:
"That boy constantly calls to my mind the Scripture declaration: 'Even for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my power in thee, and that my name might be declared throughout all the earth.' Just think of what he was, how he was saved, and what he now is. If I mistake not, God has some great work for him to do. I never saw a more striking illustration of divine election, nor did I ever so fully believe in the doctrine as I have since I knew him."
But during the weeks that Ray had been growing in favor with his teachers and the majority of his schoolmates, there was one who steadily refused to like him. Edward Lawton at first treated Ray with a cool indifference, while he tried, by hard study, to keep the lead over him. Had he studied as conscientiously as Ray, and with the same desire to thoroughly master each lesson, he might easily have kept the supremacy he already held; for he was naturally a talented and gifted boy. But he cared nothing for knowledge in itself, and studied only for the honor of leading his class. Even then he might have succeeded, had he not formed a habit of passing lightly over, or entirely neglecting any point of his lessons that seemed to him insignificant, or likely to pass unnoticed. This superficialness soon manifested itself, as it always will, and in a moment when it was least expected, as it often does. The class was reciting in Latin; and in the passage that Edward Lawton was rendering, an allusion was made to the "swift-footed Camilla."
"Who was she?" Mr. Greenough asked.
The lad stammered and hesitated for a while, but finally confessed that he did not know. The question passed down the class unanswered until it came to Ray, who replied:
"She was the daughter of King Metabus, of the Volscian town of Privernum, and was one of the swift-footed messengers of Diana, accustomed to the chase and to war."
A few days later, a similar incident occurred in the geometry class. Edward again stumbled over some question he ought to have known, and Ray without hesitation gave the correct answer. Slight as these circumstances were, and free as Ray's heart was from any intentional reflection upon Edward's superficialness, the latter chose to so regard his answers, and talked out of school hours in no gentle terms of "the Black Forge Mill hand who was putting on airs over him."
His ill feeling toward Ray was soon apparent, but only reacted upon himself. Boys love fair play, and they know when one of their number is ill-treated; and whatever popularity Edward had possessed, gradually waned as his attitude toward Ray became known.
No one had been quicker to discern his ill-treatment of Ray than his own sister Daisy, and espousing Ray's cause, she both at home and at school freely denounced what she called "my brother's contemptibleness." Nor had Edward's ill-will for Ray escaped the notice of Mr. Greenough. He at once divined the cause, but as there had been no serious rupture between the boys, and as Ray's bearing toward Edward was ever one of uniform courtesy, he let the affair go unnoticed, hoping that some circumstance would occur that would show the offended boy the unreasonableness of his position, and lead him to change his course.
Affairs were in this condition as the winter term drew to a close. The examinations revealed what was generally expected, that Ray by a handsome percentage had led the class. When the announcement was made, Edward Lawton went sullenly out from the schoolroom, muttering to himself: "I have led one term, and that Branford one. If I can now lead the other, the medal is mine. Fair means have failed; I'll now try the foul." And allowing every good feeling and noble principle to drop out of sight, he suffered his secret resentment to grow into an open jealousy, and his open dislike into a hateful spite. For early the next term the contemptuous indifference he had at first manifested toward Ray gave place to one of the most persistent systems of petty annoyance one lad ever perpetrated upon another. Well was it for Ray that he had not only read the divine words: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city," but had also by God's grace wrought them into his heart, and made them a part of his daily life.