THE REBEL RECLAIMED.
"'I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has
remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly
formed;' and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the
feathers."--_The Ugly Duckling_.
Towards the end of June, Queen Mab wrote asking the two boys to come
over for their usual half-term holiday.
"I'm not going," said Jack.
"Why not?" asked Valentine, astonished that any one should decline an
invitation to Brenlands. "Why ever not? You'd have a jolly time; Aunt
Mabel's awfully kind."
"I daresay she is, but I never go visiting. I hate all that sort of
thing."
It was no good trying to make Jack Fenleigh alter his mind; he stuck to
his resolution, and Valentine went to Brenlands alone.
"I'm sorry Jack wouldn't come with you," said Queen Mab on the Saturday
evening; "why was it? Aren't you and he on good terms with each other?"
"Oh, yes, aunt, we're friendly enough in one way, but we don't seem
able to hit it off very well together."
"How is that?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not his sort; I suppose I'm too quiet for him."
"I always thought you were noisy enough," answered Miss Fenleigh
laughing.
"You wouldn't, if you knew some of our fellows," returned the boy.
The weeks slipped by, the holidays were approaching, and the far-off
haven of home could almost, as it were, be seen with the naked eye.
Whether the disastrous termination to the dormitory sports had really
served as a warning to Jack to put some restraint upon his wayward
inclinations, it would be difficult to say; but certainly since the
affair of the obstacle race he had managed to keep clear of the
headmaster's study, and had only indulged in such minor acts of
disorder as were the natural consequences of his friendship with
Garston, Rosher, and Teal. It needed the firm hand of Mr. Rowlands to
hold in check the sporting element which at this period was,
unfortunately, rather strong in the Upper Fourth, and which, at certain
times--as for instance during the French lessons--attempted to turn the
very highroad to learning into a second playground.
Monsieur Durand, whose duty it was to instil a knowledge of his
graceful mother tongue into the minds of a score of restless and
unappreciative young Britons, found the facetious gentlemen of the
Upper Fourth a decided "handful." They seemed to regard instruction in
the Gallic language as an unending source of merriment. Garston threw
such an amount of eloquence into the reading of the sentence, "My
cousin has lost the hat of the gardener," that every one sighed to
think that a relative of one of their classmates should have brought
such sorrow on the head of the honest son of toil; and when Teal
announced joyfully that "His uncle had found the hat of the gardener,"
Rosher was obliged to slap the speaker on the back, and say, "Bravo!"
This being M. Durand's first term in an English school, that gentleman
could hardly have been expected, as the saying goes, to be up to all
the moves on the board; and certain of his pupils, sad to relate, were
only too ready to take advantage of his lack of experience. It was
discovered that it was comparatively easy to obtain permission to leave
the class. "Please, sir, may I go and get a drink of water?" or
"Please, sir, may I go and fetch my dictionary?" was sufficient to
obtain temporary leave of absence; nor did the French master seem to
take much notice as to the length of time which such errands should by
right have occupied. The consequence was that not unfrequently towards
the end of the hour a quarter of his pupils were gathered in what was
known as the playshed, drinking sherbet, or playing cricket with a
fives ball and a walking-stick.
One particular morning, when the Lower Fourth were struggling with the
parsing and analysis of a certain portion of Goldsmith's "Deserted
Village," a mysterious patch of light appeared dancing about on the
wall and ceiling, attracting the attention of the whole class, and
causing the boy just told to "go on" to describe "man" as a personal
pronoun, and to put a direct object after the verb "to be."
"Fenleigh," said Mr. Copland, "just see who that is outside."
Valentine, who was seated nearest the window, rose from his place, and
looking down into the yard beneath saw the incorrigible Jack amusing
himself by flashing sunbeams with the pocket-mirror which he had won in
the dormitory sports. The latter, who ought by rights to have been
transcribing a French exercise, grinned, and promptly bolted round the
corner.
"Who was it, Fenleigh?"
Valentine hesitated.
"Who was it? Did you see the boy?"
"Yes, sir; it was my cousin."
"What! J. Fenleigh in the Upper Fourth?"
"Yes, sir."
"Humph! very well," answered Mr. Copland, making a memorandum on a slip
of paper in front of him; "I'll seek an interview with that young
gentleman after school."
Valentine's heart sank, for he had in his pocket a letter from Queen
Mab saying that she was driving over in the pony carriage that very
afternoon, and inviting the two boys to spend their half-holiday with
her in Melchester. This significant remark of Mr. Copland's meant that
Jack would be prevented from going. Valentine felt that he was
indirectly the cause of the misfortune, and his wayward relative seemed
inclined to view the matter in the same light.
"I say," he exclaimed, "you were a sneak to tell Copland it was I who
was flashing that looking-glass."
"I couldn't help it," answered Valentine. "He told me to look out and
see who was there."
"Well, why didn't you say the fellow had run away, or something of that
sort?"
"Because it would have been a lie."
"Pooh! telling a cram like that to a master doesn't count. You are a
muff, Valentine," and the speaker turned on his heel with a
contemptuous shrug of his shoulders.
The little fat pony, the low basket-carriage, Jakes the gardener
driving, and last and best of all Queen Mab herself, arrived at the
time appointed; but only one of her nephews was waiting at the
rendezvous.
"Why, where's Jack?"
"He got into a scrape this morning, and is kept in. What's more, he
says it's my fault, and we've had a row about it. I don't think we
ever shall be friends, aunt."
"Oh, you mustn't say that. In a fortnight's time we shall all be at
Brenlands together, and then we must try to rub some of the sharp
corners off this perverse young gentleman. I must come back with you
to the school and try to see him before I drive home."
In the quiet retirement of Mr. Copland's classroom, Jack was writing
lines when a messenger came to inform him that some one wished to see
him in the visitors' room.
"Bother it! Aunt Mabel," he said to himself. "I suppose I must go,"
he added, swishing the ink from his pen and throwing it down on the
desk. "What a bore relations are! I wish they'd let me alone."
From their one brief meeting years before, neither aunt nor nephew
would have recognized each other now had they met in the streets, and
so this was like making a fresh acquaintance. Jack had heard only one
half of a very lopsided story, and though he took no interest in the
family disagreement, yet he was inclined to be suspicious of his
grown-up relations. He marched down the passage, jingling his keys
with an air of defiance; but when he entered the visitors' room, and
saw the bright smile with which his aunt greeted his appearance, he
dropped the swagger and became stolidly polite. She, for her part, had
come prepared for the conquest which she always made; his awkward,
boyish manner and uncared-for appearance, the dissatisfied look upon
his face, and the ink stains on his collar, all were noticed in one
loving glance, and touched her warm heart.
"Well, Jack," she said, "you see Mahomet has come to the mountain. How
are you, dear?"
Jack muttered that he was quite well. It was rather embarrassing to be
called "dear." He attempted to hide his confusion by wiping his nose;
but in producing his handkerchief, he pulled out with it a forked
catapult stick and a broken metal pen-holder, which clattered to the
ground and had to be picked up again.
"How you've grown!" said Queen Mab, "and--my senses! what muscles
you've got," she added, feeling his arm.
Jack grinned and bent his elbow, the next moment he straightened it
again.
"Go on!" he said; "you're chaffing me."
"I'm not. I wish you'd been at Brenlands at Easter, and I'd have set
you to beat carpets. Never mind, I shall have you with me in a
fortnight."
"I don't think I shall come," he began.
"Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted the aunt. "I say you _are_ coming.
Valentine never makes excuses when I send him an invitation. Don't you
think I know how to amuse young people?"
"Oh, yes; it's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know," answered the boy, grinning, and kicking the leg of the
table.
"Of course you don't; so you've got to come. Valentine's sisters will
be there; you'd like to meet the two girls?"
"No, I shouldn't."
"Oh, shocking! you rude boy."
Jack stood on one leg and laughed; this was like talking to a fellow in
the Upper Fourth, and his tongue was loosed.
"They'd hate me," he said; "I don't know anything about girls."
"I should think you didn't. Wait till you see Helen and Barbara."
"But there's another thing. I haven't got any clothes."
"My dear boy, how dreadful! Whose are those you are wearing now?"
"Oh, go on, aunt; what a chaff you are! I don't mean that--I--"
"No, you evidently don't know what you mean. Well, one thing's
settled, you're coming to Brenlands for the summer holidays."
The battle was won, and Queen Mab had gained her usual victory.
"How is your father? Didn't he send me any message?"
"Yes, I think he told me to give you his love."
"Is that all?"
"Well, that's a jolly sight more than what he sends to most people,"
answered the boy.
He would have been surprised to have seen that there were tears in her
eyes when she walked out of the school gates, and still more astonished
to know that it was love for his unworthy self which brought them
there; for little did Fenleigh J. of the Upper Fourth imagine that any
one would come so near to crying on his account.
That evening, just before supper, Valentine felt some one touch him on
the shoulder, and turning round saw that it was his cousin.
"I've seen Queen Mab, as you call her," remarked the latter, "and, I
say--I like her--rather."
"I knew you would. She's an angel--only jollier."
"She made me promise I'd go there for the holidays."
"Oh, that's fine!" cried Valentine. "I thought she would; she's got
such a way of making people do what she wants. I am glad you are
going; you'll enjoy it awfully."
Fenleigh J. regarded the speaker for a moment with rather a curious
glance. In view of the events of the morning he rather expected that
his cousin would not be overpleased to hear that he had been asked to
spend the holidays at Brenlands; and that Valentine should rejoice at
his having accepted the invitation, struck him as being rather odd.
"Look here, Val," he blurted out, "I'm sorry I called you a sneak this
morning. It was my fault, and you're a good sort after all."
"Oh, stop it!" answered the other. "I'll forgive you now that you've
promised to go to Brenlands."
Queen Mab was at home, miles away by this time; yet, as a result of her
flying visit, some of the softening influence of her presence and
kindly usages of her court seemed to linger even amid the rougher and
more turbulent atmosphere of Melchester School.