"'Leave him to me,' said Warburton, a tall ungainly boy of fourteen, as boy after boy was eager to take the quarrel to himself."--WILTON SCHOOL, page 52."'Leave him to me,' said Warburton, a tall ungainly boy of fourteen, as boy after boy was eager to take the quarrel to himself."—WILTON SCHOOL, page 52.
"'Leave him to me,' said Warburton, a tall ungainly boy of fourteen, as boy after boy was eager to take the quarrel to himself."--WILTON SCHOOL, page 52."'Leave him to me,' said Warburton, a tall ungainly boy of fourteen, as boy after boy was eager to take the quarrel to himself."—WILTON SCHOOL, page 52.
"Yes, I do," persisted Harry, as Warburton came nearer, and shook his fist in his face. "It wasn't my crib; and you'd better not hit me!"
"Better not hityou," jeered Warburton; while the group echoed, "Better not hit him, indeed! Give him a good licking for his cheek, Warburton; I would if I were you!"
Warburton's jeer was very forced, but the voices of the rest gave him courage. So he rushed at Harry. The latter, however, seeing what to expect, threw away his books, and then flew at Warburton, who, from sheer astonishment at having actually to fight when he thought to administer an easy licking, began the combat at rather a disadvantage. Both hit very wildly at first, and not much damage was done. Of the two, Warburton was most out of breath, for he had been hitting furiously at Harry, who, not being strong enough to ward off the blows with his arms, had been forced to dodge and duck his head.
Presently they got into a corner close to the lobby-door, and Harry was beginning to flag. Not a word all this time had been uttered by the on-lookers. They would not back Harry; and to cheer on Warburton would be ridiculous. "Of course he would lick him all to pieces in a minute," they said.
But the minute had been a good long one, and all in their hearts were somewhat surprised. Just then Egerton came up; and Harry could scarcely believe his ears, when one voice alone came out of the crowd, cheering him on, and saying, "Go it, Campbell! Well fought! I'll back you, after all." And the voice was Egerton's.
At that moment Warburton was making a furious charge at him, when Harry stepped sharply aside, and gathering all his remaining force into one blow, hit his foe on the jaw: at the same instant Warburton slipped, and the blow and the false step terminated the fight, for he fell violently through the open lobby-door upon the stone floor.
"Well fought, Campbell! well fought!" cried Egerton.
No one else uttered a word.
Waiting till Warburton was on his feet again, his mouth bleeding, his face very crestfallen, Harry picked up his books, and shaking off Egerton's congratulations and friendly words, for he felt he was far more his enemy than Warburton, started home.
A good bathe in the lavatory set the mouth to rights; but Warburton was utterly cowed, and had learnt a lesson, which the rest had learnt too, that meek-hearted boys may bear a good deal of bullying, but that even to their endurance there is a certain limit.
Ominous words—A visitor—Harry breaks down—A confused story—What is to be done?—In good keeping.
Harry reached the farm about six o'clock—later than his usual time, and he knew his mother would be sure to inquire the reason; and, besides, his hair was very rough, and there was a suspicious-looking red mark on his left cheekbone. However, he was no sooner inside the house than he ran straight up-stairs to his mother. Her bedroom door was just ajar, and hearing a strange voice proceeding from the room. Harry knew some one was with her; so he sat down on the stairs, hoping that it would not be long before he might go in to see her. His heart was bursting to tell her all. He could keep it a secret no longer. To-morrow was the dreaded day when he was to be taken before Dr Palmer, and what the punishment might be, he dared not think. Expulsion, perhaps: certainly the loss of his place in his class, and nothing scarcely could be worse than that. Poor boy, he was in ignorance (and happily so) of the extent of the fault of cribbing. Most boys would have said: "I shall get a good caning, but I can get my crib again soon enough."
It was a lady who was with Mrs Campbell; so Harry knew from the voice, which was soft and sweet. She was talking quietly to his mother about her death; and as the words fell upon the silence. Harry listened eagerly for every syllable, nervous and trembling, and grew more miserable as each minute stole wearily by.
"It wouldn't have been so hard to die," Mrs Campbell was saying, "if he could only have been with me till the last. Dear Alan! I wonder where he is now?"
"Yet think, dear Mrs Campbell, how he is spared the pain of seeing you suffer," said the doctor's wife, for it was she. "You love him well enough, I know, to enable you to think this, don't you?"
"Oh, yes! yes!" answered the dying wife. "God knows what is for our good. It may have saved him much pain and sorrow. Dear Alan!" and her voice grew very low. She was talking half to herself. Then, as the new thought flashed across, she said again aloud, "But what will become of Harry when I am gone, and Alan out at sea?"
And Harry, where he sat on the stairs in the deepening dusk, burst into tears. His mother's quick ears caught the sound of his sobs, and she exclaimed:
"Why, there is Harry crying on the stairs? Tell him to come in, will you, Mrs Bromley?"
Harry needed no telling. He was soon in the room, at his mother's bedside, and clasped in her arms.
"Don't cry, Harry, darling," the weak voice said. "Don't cry so!"
"You aren't really going to die, mamma? What shall I do without you?—all alone—and—and Dr Palmer won't believe me. I know he won't," sobbed Harry.
"Dr Palmer won't believe you? What is it, dear? and what is the matter with your face? Oh, Harry, you haven't been fighting, have you?" she added, and her voice bore shadow of reproach in it.
"Yes, mamma, I have," answered Harry, "but I didn't begin; they all set on me, and shied balls at me, and said I cribbed, and called me a liar and a coward, and I fought Warburton, and licked him," and then came the English schoolboy's triumphant glance, through his tearful eyes.
"Said you cribbed? When, dear? How?" asked Mrs Campbell. "Tell me all about it."
And, then, when the two had at length succeeded in quieting Harry, he began his story. Through excitement, it was naturally very confused at first, but, by degrees, he had made everything plain.
"But why don't you tell Dr Palmer that it was Egerton's crib? and all that you saw in morning school?" said Mrs Campbell.
"Yes," chimed in the doctor's wife, "you can tell him you distinctly saw Egerton using the book."
"That's no good, mamma," answered Harry, despondingly. "He wouldn't believe me. He'd say I put it off on Egerton, because he was next me in class."
"Whatisto be done?" said Mrs Bromley. "I quite see what the poor boy means."
"Never mind, Harry, dear, tell the truth, as I know you will," said Mrs Campbell, "and it will all go well with you. Egerton will be found out sooner or later, and Dr Palmer will be sorry if he has punished you for nothing."
"I shall tell Mr Bromley to go and speak to Dr Palmer. That horrid boy, Egerton! I could give him a good shaking!" said Mrs Bromley, excitedly. "And now, dear Mrs Campbell, I must go. I will try and send you round some grapes in the morning. They will be so good for your thirst. I shall come and see you again soon. Keep up," she added, in a whisper. "Think of what we have been saying. God is but calling you to a better country, and He will guard your motherless boy!"
"He will! He will, I know! Good-bye. You are so good and kind to me. Come again soon, won't you?"
"Come, Harry," said the doctor's wife, turning to him, "come down with me, and Mrs Valentine will give you your tea."
"And ask her to bathe your face, dear boy," added Mrs Campbell, "and put a vinegar pad on it."
And then Mrs Bromley, kissing her affectionately, led Harry from the room, looking wistfully at his mother as he went.
"Ah, Alan, darling Alan!" she sighed, when she was alone in the silent twilight of the room, "if you were only here, it would be so much easier to die! Just to say good-bye once more. And you'll only see my grave when you come home. Oh, God," she prayed, "forgive me, and take me to Thyself." And then her words grew wandering. "Scotland with uncle Robert—how rough the waves are!—when shall we get to Malta—Alan! Alan! when will Alan come?—Alan, darling, don't be long!—I am so tired!" and so she fell into a broken slumber.
The geography paper—Before Dr Palmer—The accusation—Sentenced—The doctor's study—William's reminiscences—The doctor—Enter Egerton—Punishment—A hasty summons—Heart-stricken.
Not a single word greeted Harry on his entering the playground the following morning; neither was there any symptom of the persecution of the previous evening. No murmured words flung at him; no hissing; but only a few stares of wonder, almost, at his recent achievement. He was treated as a mere cypher,—sent to Coventry in fact. But this he did not mind; it certainly was preferable to positive persecution; and as he wished to keep calm for his coming ordeal, he was glad that nothing ensued to cause another fight—a contingency he had been fully prepared to expect. Warburton scowled at him. Egerton turned his face away as they passed. This, however, did not make the slightest impression on Harry; he felt proud of his victory over the former, and despised the meanness of the latter.
He was allowed to proceed with the examination; but his place had been changed, and he now sat close to Mr Prichard. The reason was evident, and he asked himself wearily, as he bent over his paper, when would he ever be set clear in the eyes of the masters and his schoolfellows?
Strangely enough, one of the questions (it was a geography paper) was, "What do you know of Malta?" Harry here felt at an advantage. He remembered, of course, nothing from his own experience; but he had heard his mother's description, and as his pen ran quickly, echoing in boyish language her words whom he loved so well, it is not much to be wondered that his interest almost banished from his mind the memory of his sorry plight.
But "like a dream, when one awaketh," he came back suddenly to a recollection of how he was situated. He was going to be put, as it were, on trial, and the charge against him was a difficult one to disprove.
Being a half-holiday, prayers were read at the end of morning-school. And now the time was come. Harry walked to Mr Prichard's desk, who conducted him at once across the room to Dr Palmer. The latter looked over his spectacles, surprised. Indeed, Harry had always been one of the "model boys."
"What is the matter, Mr Prichard?" he inquired. "Has Campbell been misbehaving himself?"
"Yesterday morning, sir," answered Mr Prichard, "during the examination, I detected Campbell deliberately looking over Egerton's paper, who you know at present stands next to him in class."
"No, sir, indeed I wasn't," burst in Harry.
"Silence, sir!" sharply said Dr Palmer.
"Had this been all," resumed Mr Prichard, "I should have punished him myself, severely, without troubling you; but, in the afternoon, as I was collecting the papers, and passing close by Campbell's desk, which was open at the time, I found this book in it," and he handed the delectus-crib. "And Campbell says—"
"It isn't mine, sir!" pleaded Harry. "Some one must have put it there!"
"Silence, sir!" said Dr Palmer, sharply again. "You will have to answer presently. Well, Mr Prichard?"
"Campbell makes the matter, as I told him, far worse by persistently denying that he is the owner of the book. And yet his name is in it."
"Campbell," said Dr Palmer, gravely, "this is a most serious charge against you. I had always thought you were an honourable boy. You always have been very industrious, and your work has been well done, as I hear; but this matter alters the whole case. It shows how one can be deceived in a boy."
As he paused a moment, Harry broke in with the same denials he had used before. He could not yet bring himself to try his last resource of affirming who was the rightful owner of the book, and he feared even that would but make his case worse.
"Go into my study, and wait till I come," added Dr Palmer.
And Harry, knowing what that meant, went away trembling; for no boy on the eve, or in the midst of, a caning, feels much consolation in a consciousness of his innocence.
How he got to Dr Palmer's study he knew not. The playground seemed so very long, and the boys who crowded to watch him pass, to have doubled or trebled their number. And he was almost glad, if such a feeling is compatible with his position, when he reached the room of horrors, as the Doctor's sanctum really was to the boys; for none set foot therein save those who were "in for a row."
Crossing the hall he met Dr Palmer's butler, an old man, most familiar to everybody, who never even said "Sir" to his master; but then he had known him from a boy. So it is no wonder his greeting to Harry was so blunt.
"What? 's that you, Campbell? Well, to be sure! In for a caning, I s'pose. What have you been and done now?"
"Nothing, William. I haven't done nothing," sobbed Harry, regardless of grammar. "I'm going to be caned for nothing."
"Oh no! nothing at all. That's what they all say, the young rascals," ejaculated William, half aloud, as he hurried away, partly about his business, but chiefly because he didn't like the sight of the boy's tears.
It made him think of the time when he used to steal apples (he would tell them in the kitchen), and his mother used to hold him up by his ears while his father thrashed him.
Harry had scarcely taken his seat upon the edge of one of Dr Palmer's crimson-morocco-covered chairs when he heard the fatal footstep in the hall, and the next moment the Doctor entered.
The first thing he did was to take down one of the canes that lay on the top of the bookshelves, Harry narrowly watching him the while, and then he said—
"Campbell, I am exceedingly sorry to be obliged to punish you."
Harry shivered; the doctor was a powerful man; and the cane looked very lithe and lissome.
"But I cannot pass over such a serious fault, even though you have always hitherto, so far as I have seen, conducted yourself well. There can be not the slightest doubt that the book is yours. It was found in your desk, and has your name in it."
"It isn't mine, sir. I declare it isn't. Some one must have put it there; and I saw,"—and here Harry paused.
Dr Palmer looked at him narrowly.
"Some one must have put it there? And do you mean to say, then, that you accuse one of your schoolfellows, not only of putting it there, but also of—"
Harry could endure no longer, and with excited and stammering tones, he told the whole tale.
"This is a most serious charge for you to bring," said Dr Palmer, laying down the cane and ringing the bell. "Send Master Egerton here," he said, when William appeared.
After a pause of about three minutes, which seemed like an hour to Harry, and during which not a word was uttered, Egerton entered, cool and collected, and said respectfully to Dr Palmer:
"William said I was wanted, sir."
"Campbell tells me he saw you using this book,"—holding out the delectus-crib—"in yesterday-morning school. The conclusion, therefore is, that it is yours, and that you put it into his desk. What have you to say to this, Egerton?"
"No, sir, I declare the book isn't mine," answered Egerton, positively, and still quite coolly. "I suppose Campbell's tried to put it off on me, because I'm next him in class."
"Oh, Egerton, how can you say so!" ejaculated Harry. "You know you were using it."
"Ask Evans, sir; he sat on the other side of me," said Egerton.
Evans was sent for.
"No, he never saw Egerton using the book. He sat close to him, and couldn't have helped seeing if he was cribbing."
Egerton again positively and solemnly declaring he knew nothing whatever of the matter, and Evans' evidence so far bearing him out, Dr Palmer dismissed them both, and then turned to Harry.
"Campbell, you have now had every chance. You have been detected in a most dishonourable act, and you have added to your fault by telling a lie. Bend down," he concluded, taking his cane.
In vain Harry protested his innocence. In vain he begged Dr Palmer to believe him. Twenty times the strong arm rose, twenty times the cane whished through the air, and twenty times Harry felt the sting. By the time it was all over, he was perfectly numbed and stiff with pain. But the bodily suffering was nothing when compared with the mental agony he felt at thus being punished when innocent. His whole frame was convulsed with sobs, and Dr Palmer was giving him a few words of concluding rebuke, when a hasty knock came at the door; and William, without waiting for the customary "Come in," hurried into the room, and said in his blunt way:
"Campbell's wanted home. His mother's bad."
Doctor Palmer's sternness and severity vanished in a moment. So it was always with him. Strict as he was, severe as he was, directly the punishment had been duly administered, he was kind-hearted and genial to the culprit long beforehehad recovered the effects of his punishment.
"Campbell, your mother is ill." He knew nothing more than that Mrs Campbell was a confirmed invalid. "Go and get your cap; I will come with you. Perhaps I can be of some use."
But Harry's heart was too stricken to accept those well-meant words; and the sudden change in the Doctor made Harry say what at another time he would never have dared to say.
"No," he sobbed. "I'll go alone. She doesn't want you. She believes me, and you don't. She won't speak toyou." And he rushed from the room, leaving the doctor far too affected and moved to attempt to stop him or call him back.
Ministering friends—Watching—Past all tears—Taken home—The dark valley.
The summer sunlight lay thick about the room where Mrs Campbell was dying. There was a square of deep blue sky, edged by the window frame, glistening before her eyes—eyes that now were lighted up with the fervour of a holy death—eyes that glowed in sweet anticipation of that pure light which shines forever on the hills of heaven.
The silence of the room was only broken now and then by the few soothing words the doctor's wife would say or read. Mrs Valentine sat on the farther side of the bed, her eyes red with weeping; and, from time to time, tried to get some nourishment into the poor weak lips, though she knew well the while that all these tender ministerings were in vain. It was a lonely death for the dying one, even though she had these two good friends with her. He who had loved, and loved her still, so well, could not be there to hear her last words on earth. She must lay her head in other arms than his, and give up her soul to God, without a farewell word from him, without one prayer together uttered, that God would hasten the time of their meeting in that land where partings are unknown. No! She must die without the presence of her nearest, dearest one on earth, while he was beating out upon the great waters of the ocean.
In the morning after Harry had started for school, Mrs Campbell, in a violent fit of coughing, had broken a blood-vessel. In her present state this meant speedy and certain death. And Dr Bromley, when he returned home, after having seen her, had told his wife that Mrs Campbell could not last more than two or three hours. So, sending at once to the Grammar-School to request Doctor Palmer to allow Harry to go home immediately, the tender-hearted Mrs Bromley started for the farm.
And there she sat reading and speaking words of comfort to the dying wife, watching and fearing each moment would be the last. She was Mrs Campbell's only friend save Mrs Valentine. It is true the vicar had been to visit her several times, but under such painful circumstances the absence of one so near and dear as her husband made her almost inconsolable. Her parents had both been dead some years, and she was their only child. And as it often happens, while so many people have relations in numbers almost too abundant, she had none. Her only great friends were in Malta, friends whom she had known in the dear old days, when all seemed so bright and hopeful before her. It was therefore but natural that she should cling to the doctor's good wife; and thus their friendship, born as it was of a time of sorrow and suffering, was one of pure and holy comfort to them both.
And the morning crept on, with words of heaven softly uttered by the living, and drunk in with eager ears by the dying; and outside the birds sang, and the green trees whispered, stretching out their tiny leaf-hands to the caressant breezes, and all was summery there without,—all was sunshine and gladness. And through the heedless village ran Harry, heart-broken and afraid, and entered, from the brightness, his mother's peaceful room of death. He was past all crying now. The tears seemed dried up in one great burning spot within his brain. He stood quietly by the bed, longing to hear that well-known voice, but not daring to speak; she lay so still he scarcely knew whether she were alive or really dead.
"Here is Harry, dear Mrs Campbell," said the doctor's wife; "he has come from school. Don't you know him? Here he is."
She turned her large grey eyes upon her boy for some time without recognising him. Then, at last, opening her arms, said:
"Harry, darling, is that you? I'm going away now—going to heaven. You'll always be a good boy, won't you?"
"Mamma, mamma, youdobelieve I'm innocent, don't you?" said Harry. He could not let her die without hearing once more from own lips her trustful confidence in him.
"Yes, darling boy, I know you have spoken the truth. Kiss me now," she whispered, her voice growing weaker. "Good-bye, darling Harry; God bless you! Good-bye, dear Mrs Bromley. Good-bye, Mrs Valentine. God will reward you!" And then her voice was hardly audible as she murmured to herself, "Buried at Wilton, and Alan will come and see my grave. Alan, darling Alan, God is taking me home." And then as a heavenly light shone through her eyes, her voice regained its strength. "Into thy hand, O Lord I commend my spirit!" and so she died.
Harry's face was pressed close to hers, and his burning tears now fell thick upon the lifeless cheek.
"Oh! mamma, mamma," he sobbed, "what shall I do? what shall I do?"
And, sinking on the floor, he wept as though his heart would break. Mrs Bromley and the farmer's wife were too much wrapt in their own grief to stir to comfort him. So the three wept there together, in the quiet little farm beside old Wilton church; while she, for whom they wept, now henceforth knew no more sorrow, no more pain, nor any tears; and still outside the birds sang on unwitting, and, from without, the summer brightness mocked the darkness that was within—the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death.
School again—Leaving the farm—Like father, like son—Tea for two—The doctor retires—Miss Parker's oration.
Clouds and sunshine, sunshine and clouds. So runs the world away. Equally necessary, sorrow and gladness are as the rains and sunbeams for the fruits of the earth. Were it all sadness the world would grow morose and torpid; were it all gladness men would be selfish and hard-hearted.
Four days had now elapsed since Mrs Campbell died; and it was the evening of the funeral-day, a sad, rainy evening, and Harry was waiting while Mrs Valentine packed his things, for that night he was to go to the Grammar-School to sleep; to be there as a boarder, at any rate till his father returned. He scarcely spoke a word, and what he did say seemed to choke him. His mother dead; his father away at sea; himself sent back to the school he had left but a few days since, smarting with the pain of his undeserved punishment and accusation; his plight was indeed a sad one. Mrs Valentine tried to cheer him as well as she might, but she felt the blow that left Harry motherless too bitterly herself to be of much comfort to him.
At half-past seven William appeared with a light cart of Dr Palmer's, to take Harry and his luggage to school. Perhaps the bluntness of the old butler was more opportune now than ever. It prevented the lengthening of a parting that could not be otherwise than utterly sad and wretched to Harry. There was the good kind Mrs Valentine to leave; and the dear old farm, where he had spent so many joyous days in happy ignorance of the blow which now had stricken him. And there was the churchyard to say good-bye to, which now he could see but seldom, and when he was near her grave, his mother did not seem to him to be so far away.
But William was not unkindly blunt. Yet the sight of him brought back to Harry's mind the recollection of all that had occurred at school on the last occasion he had seen William's obese person. The crib found in his desk, the fight, the caning, and then—then, back came the recollection that he was indeed alone.
"Good-bye, my dear, good-bye," said Mrs Valentine; "be sure you come and see me when you can. Papa'll be home soon, maybe," though she feared she was but holding out false hopes in this.
"There, that'll do, missis," said William, interrupting the moist embraces of the good farmer's wife; and he flicked the fat pony across his sleek shoulder; and, with Harry and his boxes, was soon away down the lane, Mrs Valentine gazing after them, her long print apron at her eyes.
"Just like his father, dear boy, as brave and composed like. But 'tis harder a'most for all that." And who would say that her moralising was wrong?
As a special favour, and "in consideration of his late deplorable affliction," as Miss Parker, the matron, phrased it, Harry was to have his tea in Doctor Palmer's study that night, a favour Harry by no means saw in the light intended. He would far rather have had his tea with the rest; though, for the matter of that, he didn't want any tea at all. He was too miserable to eat. But his face was quiet and composed when he reached Doctor Palmer's hall, and was ushered into the study.
The tea was all ready,—two cups, two saucers, two plates,—so Harry was prepared for atête-à-têtewith the Doctor. Everything looked very nice and tempting, at least, it would have looked so on any other occasion; but now there was that numerical horror staring him in the face; those two cups, those two saucers, those two plates! It must be for Doctor Palmer and himself that all the preparations were made. But he was not left long in doubt, for, at that moment, the Doctor entered. He greeted Harry most kindly, and told him to take a seat at the table, which Harry did in silence; and then the Doctor poured out a cup of tea for him, and helped him to some cold meat. Harry watching every motion the while; and then, taking a cup for himself, drank it standing.
Harry hated all this kindness. He would almost have preferred angry words; but he ate what he had, and enjoyed it, though he said nothing more than "yes," or "no, thank you," or "please," to the Doctor's various remarks.
It was becoming unbearable, and he longed for the distant etiquette which school-life sets between boys and masters. He was in no mood for a master to try to play the parent, especially when now the contrast seemed so great, and lying, as he was, under false imputations.
But he was soon relieved, for Doctor Palmer said:
"I have to go out now, Campbell. Don't hurry over your tea, but when you have quite finished you can go to bed. You need not wait up for prayers."
"Thank you, sir," answered Harry, brighter for the first time. Relief was come at last, and the study-door closing over the Doctor's portly form was the welcomest sight Harry had seen for many days.
Once alone, he lingered over his tea. He knew he wouldn't be interrupted, and the contents of the table seemed doubly good now. He even looked at some books, and at last became so absorbed in one, that he went on reading, regardless of time, till he heard the boarders' prayer-bell ringing, at the sound of which he hurried off to bed. On the stairs he met the matron.
"Oh, Master Campbell, I was looking for you. You're changed into No. 7 dormitory. I put your box by your bed, so you'll know where you're to sleep. How are you now, dear," she added, kindly, "have you heard from your papa? when's he coming home? You'll try and be a good boy, won't you? You must think how it would vex your dear ma; and you won't give Doctor Palmer cause to cane you again, I know," and Miss Parker smoothed her apron, and took breath after her long-winded oration.
There it was at last. Harry feared it would come sooner or later, this allusion to the crib. He burst out indignantly,—
"Mamma believed me, Miss Parker, if nobody else did. She knew I didn't crib; but I won't bear it, I won't," he cried passionately, as he ran up-stairs to his new destination.
"Gas out."—The new boy's turn—"To err is human"—Resistance—Persecution—I'll run away.
"Well, there now," ejaculated Miss Parker, "I never! That boy's not a bit brought down by his mother's death. He sticks to it, just as indignant as ever."
But Harry was out of hearing, and was sitting on his bed, staring into his box which he had just opened. Presently, there was a sound of footsteps scurrying up-stairs and along the passages, and the door of No. 7 dormitory burst open, and its sixteen boys rushed in one after another, huddling together like a flock of sheep.
The first thing that met their eyes was Harry, who didn't quite know whether they would speak to him or not. So he waited till one or two greeted him with a shake of the hand, and a "how-de-do, Campbell?" two or three more with a cold "hallo, Campbell!" and the rest with only a stare.
Amongst the latter were Egerton and Warburton. In about five minutes a step was heard on the landing-place below.
"Gas out," cried Egerton, "there's Lea coming."
"Lea" was a house-master.
No one moved to obey the order.
"Now, then," cried Warburton, "who's new boy?" Harry, where he knelt at his bedside saying his prayers, knew he was meant; but he had not jumped up from his knees to obey the order, when a slipper came hard at him. He, however, first put out the gas, and was on his knees again, finishing his prayers, when Mr Lea entered. All being quiet, and the light out, he retired. As soon as his last step was heard below, one or two voices exclaimed—
"I say, Jackson, go on with your story, where you left off last night."
"Oh, no," answered Jackson, the boy appealed to, "I ain't new boy now. I've done my turn."
The majority of the boys did not quite like to tell Harry plainly it was his turn to provide the usual nightly amusement of a story, for they felt some sort of compunction towards him, because of his mother's death, even though they had not spoken to him; but they did not hesitate to talk pointedly about its being the new boy's turn; that Jackson had done his turn;hewas the last new boy, and so on.
But as Harry took no notice of these remarks, Egerton solved the difficulty by saying curtly,—
"Campbell, it's your turn to tell a story, so look sharp, and begin."
"I haven't got one to tell," answered Harry, as he sat, still undressed, on his bed, unlacing his boots.
"Can't help that," said Egerton, "you must make up one. You're a good hand at that, aren't you?" he sneered, brutally.
Those few words clenched the feeling of hatred that had been gradually growing in Harry's breast towards Egerton. Then first sprang up within him a great desire of revenge, which in after years increased with Harry's growth—of revenge on one who had thus blasted his reputation, it seemed for ever. It is true, he had but shortly risen from his knees. But do not call his prayers hypocritical, because these angry, revengeful thoughts had taken such root in him so soon. If we had not these passions we should be divine. The only strange thing is, he was so young; for "vengeance" is usually only the cry of those of mature age. But a consideration of the circumstances in which he was placed, and the advanced temperament of his mind, will make the wonder vanish.
Harry took no notice of Egerton's speech as far as an answer was concerned. He went on unlacing his boots in silence; but he felt his face burn white with anger.
"Now then, Campbell," cried Egerton, "none of your sulks; it won't do. Are you going to tell a story or not?"
"No," answered Harry, bluntly and firmly.
"But it's your turn, Campbell," expostulated some of the others, wanting the story, but yet not wanting a row.
"I'd have tried to, if Egerton hadn't said that," answered Harry to the last speakers, whose tone seemed somewhat consolatory to him.
"Hadn't said what?" they asked.
"Why, said that I knew how to tell stories. You know what he meant, and it's beastly bullying, it is," went on Harry, impetuously and indignantly, "and he knows he's the liar, and not me," waxing bold from the apparent sympathy the silence of the room seemed to augur. But in that silence the anger of Egerton, and of a number of his special friends, was gathering; and the words were scarcely out of Harry's mouth, when a boot came through the darkness, hitting him on the shoulder, and then another, and another.
Harry sat on his bed, boiling with rage. He did not feel in the mood for fighting, and besides, in the dark it was impossible.
Then came another ominous silence; and suddenly a scuffle of feet sounded near his bed, and before he knew where he was, his bed was suddenly dragged out into the middle of the room, turned over, and clothes, boots, sponges, wet towels, and pillows heaped upon him.
Harry was maddened: he longed to find some one to hit, but the darkness prevented that. He heard suppressed voices laughing at him, but could see not a sign of any one; the bedclothes entangled his movements; he was wet with the sponges and bruised from the boots. What could he do? Where could he find help? "Not at school, not at school," he said to himself. "If I tell, I shan't be believed;" and then the idea came across him—"I'll run away." The thought was no sooner in his head, than his mind was firmly resolved. Yes, he would run away from this horrid place; anywhere, anywhere, rather than stay here.
In the passage—Past the last door—Somebody coming—Across the lawn—A footstep—The doctor!
As luck would have it, Harry's bed was near the door. If he could but get out of the dormitory unobserved by the boys, that would be at least one rung mounted on the ladder of escape. He was fully dressed, his boots only being unlaced. So taking them off, he crept towards the door, and waiting cautiously, hidden by the now-welcome darkness, till a fresh noisy onset was made by his assailants on the bed where they supposed him to be, he stealthily lifted the latch and stood on the stairs. He was not long creeping down to the first landing—a narrow carpeted passage, full of numerous doors, and terminating in a window which looked over a shed where the boots and knives, etc., were cleaned. The stairs which led below, joined those of No. 7 dormitory at one end of the passage, exactly opposite to the window, the distance from the window to the stairs being about ten yards. When Harry left his room he had not the least notion how he was going to accomplish his purpose. He had only a vague idea that he was running away; and it was not till he alighted at the end of the passage mentioned, and saw from the other end the moonlight streaming in through the curtainless window, that it entered his head that there he might find means of escape.
So he stole cautiously along the passage, nervous, excited, fearing lest he should disturb any of the sleepers in the various rooms he passed. The whole place was so still, he could almost hear his heart thumping. The only thing besides that stirred the silence was the subdued monotonous snoring from the rooms. A waft of fresh summer night-air made his heart leap with delight and eagerness. The window was open. The rest seemed easy.
The last door was passed, and he stood at the ledge looking out into the moonlight. How quiet everything was! Far off, across the playground, he saw a few lights burning in the different masters' houses; but the Doctor's, in a wing of which he was, was quite dark. Of course, he remembered, the Doctor was out. How fortunate! and the kitchen-windows looked the other way. The roof of the boot-house was about six feet below the window-ledge. At the corner stood a water-butt, and, against that, a large empty box turned up on end. Everything appeared to be put there to further his escape. The boot-house stood in a yard, which opened into Dr Palmer's garden, and from that he knew escape would be easy enough.
He had just tied his boots together, and by the aid of his pocket-handkerchief dropped them on the roof. His hands were already on the window-ledge, and one leg over, when he heard a footstep on the stairs below. What should he do? To stay as he was, motionless, would be fatal. He was full in the moonlight. To crouch down in the corner, where the moonlight did not shine, might possibly screen him. Not a second was to be lost. His resolution was formed. Over went the other leg; and, hanging with his fingers to the outside of the window-ledge, afraid to drop to the roof lest the noise should be heard, he clung trembling, while he heard the step ascending to the top dormitory. He must be off,—right away, in a few minutes; for it would not now be long before he was missed. Down he dropped the remaining distance, picked up his boots, scrambled down the water-butt, on to the box, and there he was safe on the ground at last. The gate from the yard into the doctor's garden was always open. He ran noiselessly through, on his bootless feet, into the garden, and across the lawn; and, skirting along where the laurels cast a dark pathway of shadow over the moonlit grass, he made for a corner of the garden-wall, near which the high road ran, and which some few days ago he had noticed was either lower than elsewhere, or somewhat tumbled down. Into the laurels he darted, and soon found the spot he wished; and, then knowing he was quite hidden, and, moreover, in a place where no one would dream of searching for him, he sat down to regain his breath; and, as he put on his boots, listened eagerly to catch the slightest sound that might warn him that his absence was discovered. Nor was it more than two or three minutes before he heard voices in the playground, and the unlocking of various doors, and lights shone suddenly in several windows.
"There he was, safe on the ground at last."--WILTON SCHOOL, page 98"There he was, safe on the ground at last."—WILTON SCHOOL, page 98
"There he was, safe on the ground at last."--WILTON SCHOOL, page 98"There he was, safe on the ground at last."—WILTON SCHOOL, page 98
No more waiting was to be thought of. He must go on, if he meant really to escape; or be caught, and so have all the trouble and fright for nothing, or at least not for nothing. He knew if he were caught, his stay at school would only be a very short one; and better anything than be caned, and afterwards expelled.
So he scrambled up the garden-wall, and his eyes brightened as he saw the hard, highroad that would lead him away from this place of torture.
To right the road ran down towards the village: to left it led to the school, and to the entrance of Doctor Palmer's house; and, further on, to the neighbouring town.
He was preparing to jump down, when again the sound of a footstep checked and terrified him. If it were coming up from the village, the passer-by would of course see him. If it were coming from the school, the same result would be fatal to him. The only hope was, that it was a retreating step of some one who had passed while his attention was drawn off by the noise of those who were searching for him.
He stretched out his head and looked down the road. No one there. So far he was safe. He looked up the road; and there was a well-known figure, magnified and looking very gaunt in the moonlight. It was the Doctor. But—and Harry could scarcely believe his eyes for joy—he was going away from where his runaway pupil crouched trembling on the wall. He must have passed just before he climbed up. The Doctor seemed to be walking so perversely slow, actually strolling, Harry thought. When would he turn the corner?
Fainter, however, grew the footsteps, and at length the portly figure disappeared. And then, jumping hastily from the wall, with a slip on to the road, and scrambling to pick himself up, Harry ran as hard as his legs would carry him down towards Wilton village.