It was a half-holiday. One of our fellows who had lately taken his
degree and passed as Senior Wrangler had asked it for us. He had just
come down for a few hours to see the Doctor and the old place. How we
cheered him! How proudly the Doctor looked at him! What a great man we
thought him! He was a great man! for he had won a great victory,--not
only over his fellow-men, not only over his books, by compelling them to
give up the knowledge they contained,--but over his love of pleasure;
over a tendency to indolence; over his temper and passions; and now
Henry Martin was able to commence the earnest struggle of life with the
consciousness, which of itself gives strength, that he had obtained the
most important of all victories--that over self.
There he stood, surrounded by some of the bigger boys who had been at
school with him; a pleasant smile on his countenance as he looked about
him on the old familiar scenes. Then he shook hands with the fellows
standing near him, and we all cheered again louder than ever. He
thanked us, and said that he hoped he should often meet many of us in
the world, and that he should always look back with pleasure to the days
he had spent in that place. At last he once more waved his hand and
went back into the house.
The instant dinner was over, out we all rushed into the playground.
Those were happy times when, directly after it, we could stand on our
heads, play high-cock-o'lorum, or hang by our heels from the cross-bars
of our gymnastic poles without the slightest inconvenience.
Our school was a good one; I ought to speak well of it. I have, indeed,
a very small opinion of a boy who does not think highly and speak highly
of his own school, and feel thoroughly identified with it, provided it
is a good one. Our school, at all events, was first-rate, and so was
our master. We were proud of him, and believed firmly that there were
very few men in England, or in the world, for that matter, who were
equal to him. He won the affections of all of us, and as it seemed,
with wonderful ease. How he did it we did not trouble ourselves to
consider. I have since, however, often thought over the subject, and
have had no difficulty in guessing the cause of his influence. He was a
ripe scholar, and thoroughly understood what he professed to teach: then
he was always just, and although he was strict, and could be very severe
on occasions, he was one of the kindest-hearted men I ever met. We all
thought so; and boys are not bad judges of their elders. He was a tall,
fine man, with a florid complexion. His eyes were large and clear, and
full of intelligence and expression. And then his voice!--how rich and
mellow it sounded when he exerted it. His smile, too, was particularly
pleasing; and, old as he was, at least as we thought him, he entered
heartily into many of our games and amusements; and it was a fine thing
to see him stand up with a bat in his hand, and send the ball flying
over the hedge into the other field. He had been a great cricketer at
College, and had generally been one of the eleven when any University
match was played, so we heard; and that made him encourage all sorts of
sports and pastimes. He pulled a capital oar; and we heard that he had
been very great at football, though he had long since given up playing:
indeed, I doubt if there was any game which he had not played well, and
could not still play better than most people, had he chosen. Such was
Doctor Carr--the Doctor, as we called him--of Grafton Hall.
Grafton Hall was a fine old place, situated on a healthy spot, and
surrounded by good-sized grounds: indeed, no place could be more
admirably fitted for a first-rate gentleman's school.
The house was a large Elizabethan building, with a number of good-sized
airy rooms, and passages, and staircases. The hall served, for what it
was originally intended, as a dining-hall.
The Doctor had built a wing, in which was situated our school-room, and
a lofty, well-ventilated room it was. We had several lecture-rooms
besides; and then the large old courtyard served as a capital playground
in wet weather, as well as a racket-court; and in one corner of it we
had our gymnasium, which was one of the many capital things belonging to
the school.
A fine wide glade in the park, which had been thoroughly drained, served
us as a magnificent cricket-ground; and there was, not far from it, a
good-sized pond, through which ran a stream of clear water, where we
bathed in the summer. It was kept clean and free from weeds, and even
in the deepest parts we could, on a sunny day, see the bright pebbles
shining at the bottom.
I need not now give a further description of the dear old place. We
were most of us as fond of it as if it had been our father's property.
I do not mean to say that it was a perfect paradise. I do not fancy
such a place exists in the world; and if it did, I must own that
schoolboys are not, as a rule, much like angels. Still the Doctor did
_his_ best to make it a happy place, and an abode fit for boys of
refined minds and gentlemanly habits and ideas. It was generally our
own faults if anything went wrong.
When a new boy arrived, the Doctor took him into the school-room, and
lecture-rooms, and dining-hall, and through the sleeping-rooms, and
playground, and gardens; indeed, all round the place.
"Now, my lad," he used to say, "you will remark that everything is well
arranged, and clean, and neat. I trust to your honour to refrain from
injuring anything in any way, and to do your best to keep the place in
the good order in which you see it."
On no occasion had he ever to speak again on the subject; for we all
took a pride in the handsome, gentlemanly appearance of the house and
grounds, and effectually prevented any mischievously inclined boy from
injuring them. All the other arrangements of the establishment were
equally good with those I have described.
The Doctor's wife was a first-rate person; so kind, and gentle, and
considerate. We were all very fond of her; and so we were of the good
matron, Mrs Smith, who kept all the people under her in such excellent
order.
The ushers, too, were all very good in their way, for the Doctor seldom
made a mistake in selecting them. They were good scholars and
gentlemen, and generally entered with zest into most of our sports and
games. But it is time that I should return to that memorable
half-holiday.
The Doctor had not long before erected a gymnasium, which was at this
time all the rage among us. We never grew tired of practising on it.
The moment we came out of the dining-hall the greater number of us
assembled round it.
Some swarmed up the poles; others the ropes which hung from the bars
above; several performed various exercises on the parallel bars; while
four seized the ropes which hung from a long perpendicular pole, and
were soon seen, with giant strides, rotating round it, till they
scarcely touched the ground with their feet.
Numbers were likewise hanging on to the horizontal bar; sitting on it,
swinging by it, circling it, kicking it, hanging to it by the legs or
the feet, performing, indeed, more movements than I can well describe.
There were also several wooden horses, or rather logs of wood on legs,
on which the boys were mounting and dismounting, vaulting on to them,
leaping along them or over them, kneeling on them, jumping off them,
and, indeed, going through a variety of movements which might give them
confidence on horseback.
Several swings were in full action. Very few boys were sitting on them;
most of them were standing upright; some were holding on with two hands,
others only with one; some standing on one foot, and holding on by one
rope; others leaning with perfect composure against one rope; but all
were moving rapidly in one way or another; indeed, the effect to a
person unaccustomed to the scene must have been very curious.
One of the most active fellows we had at that time was Richard Blackall.
He was not quite the cock of the school, though, for his size, he was
very strong; but at all gymnastic feats he beat nearly everybody. His
chief rival was Miles Lemon, who could perform most of the exercises he
could, and did some of them better. Lemon was not so strong as
Blackall, but he had a more correct eye, and a calmer temper; both very
important qualifications, especially in most athletic exercises. He
was, in consequence, a better cricketer, and a still better fencer.
Even at the broadsword exercise, although at first it might appear that
Blackall was far superior to Miles, the latter had more than once given
proof that it was hard work for any one to gain a victory over him.
Blackall's great fault was a strong inclination to bully. He was a
tyrant, and utterly indifferent to the feelings of others. If he wanted
a thing done, he did not consider what trouble and annoyance it might
give others, but, confiding in his strength, he made all the smaller
boys do what he wanted. If they refused, he thrashed them till they
promised to obey him. He was a great talker, and a never-ceasing
boaster of what he had done, and of what he could do and would do. As
he certainly could do many of the things he talked about, it was
believed that he could do everything. Some believed in him, but others
did not. Such a person was, however, sure to have a number of followers
and ardent admirers, who quoted him on all occasions,--stuck by him
through thick or thin, right or wrong, and looked upon him as one of the
finest fellows in existence.
Among the most constant of his followers was Robert Dawson--Bobby Dawson
he was always called. He was not a badly inclined little fellow, but he
had no confidence in himself, and, consequently, wanted to lean on
somebody else. Unfortunately he chose Blackall as his supporter.
Among the smaller boys who aspired to be considered something above the
common was Tommy Bouldon. He was a determined, independent little
fellow. He was very active, and could perform more feats of activity
than any other boy of his size. He was a fair cricketer, and was
sometimes chosen by some of the bigger fellows to play in their matches.
This made Tommy rather cocky at times; but he was a good-natured chap,
and managed to live on good terms with everybody.
Tommy, like Blackall, was rather apt to boast of what he had done, or he
purposed doing; but in one respect he was different;--he never
exaggerated in his descriptions of his past exploits, and seldom failed
to perform whatever he undertook to do.
The boys I have described were among the many who were exercising away
with all their might and main on the gymnastic poles.
Blackall was going up a ladder hand over hand, without using his feet,
while Lemon was swarming up a pole. When they reached the top, giddy as
was the height, they crossed each other and descended, one by the pole
and the other by the rope, head foremost; then, without stopping, each
climbed on some horizontal bars.
Lemon first hung by his hands to the bar he had seized, and then he drew
himself up until his chest touched the bar; then, lowering himself, he
passed one of his feet through his hands, and hitched his knee over the
bar; then he swung backwards, and came up sitting on the bar with one
leg; it was easy enough to draw the other leg after him. Throwing
himself off, he caught the bar again by his hands, and curled his body
over it.
"That's all very fine," exclaimed Blackall, who had been sitting on a
bar observing him; "but, old fellow, can you do this?"
Blackall, as he spoke, threw himself off the bar, grasping it with both
hands; then he passed the left knee through the right arm, so as to let
the knee rest in the elbow; then he passed the right knee over the
instep of the left foot, and letting go his left hand, he grasped his
right foot with it. Thus he hung, suspended by his right hand, and
coiled up like a ball. After hanging thus for a couple of minutes, he
caught the bar by his other hand, and, uncoiling himself, brought his
feet between his arms and allowed them to drop till they nearly touched
the ground. Then he turned back the same way. Once more lifting
himself up, he threw his legs over the bar, and dropping straight down,
hung by his bent knees, with his head towards the ground. A little
fellow passing at the moment, he called him, and lifted him off the
ground; a feat which called forth the loud applause of all his admirers.
This excited him to further efforts, and he was induced to continue
still longer when he found that Lemon did not seem inclined to vie with
him.
While the exercises I have described were going forward, the Doctor made
his appearance at the door of the yard, accompanied by a boy who looked
curiously round at what was taking place. After waiting a minute or so,
the Doctor led him on through the grounds.
"I wonder who that chap is!" observed Tommy Bouldon. "He looks a
regular-built sawney."
"Oh, don't you know? He's the new fellow," answered Bobby Dawson. "I
heard something about him from Sandon, who lives in the same county, ten
or a dozen miles from his father's house. The families visit,--that is
to say, the elders go and stay at each other's houses,--but Sandon has
never met this fellow himself, so he could only tell me what he had
heard. One thing he knows for certain, that he has never been at school
before, so he must be a regular muff, don't you see. His father is a
sort of philosopher--brings up his children unlike anybody else; makes
them learn all about insects and flowers, and birds and beasts, and
astronomy, and teaches them to do all sorts of things besides, but
nothing that is of any use in the world that I know of. Now I'll wager
young Hopeful has never played football or cricket in his life, and
couldn't if he was to try. Those sort of fellows, in my opinion, are
only fit to keep tame rabbits and silkworms."
Master Bobby did not exactly define to what sort of character he
alluded; and it is possible he might have been mistaken as to his
opinion of the new boy.
"Well, I agree with you," observed Tommy Bouldon, drawing himself up to
his full height of three feet seven inches, and looking very
consequential. "I hate those home-bred, missy, milk-and-water chaps.
It is a pity they should ever come to school at all. They are more fit
to be turned into nursery-maids, and to look after their little brothers
and sisters."
This sally of wit drew forth a shout of laughter from Bobby Dawson, who
forthwith settled in his mind that he would precious soon take the shine
out of the new boy.
"But, I say, what is the fellow's name?" asked Tommy.
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" answered Bobby. "It's Bracebridge; his
Christian name is--let me see, I heard it, I know it's one of your fancy
romantic mamma's pet-boy names--just what young ladies put in little
children's story-books. Oh, I have it now--Ernest--Ernest Bracebridge."
"I don't see that that is so very much out of the way either," observed
Bouldon; "I've known two or three Ernests who were not bad sorts of
fellows. There was Ernest Hyde, who was a capital cricketer, and Ernest
Eastgate, who was one of the best runners I ever met; still from what
you tell me, I fully expect that this Ernest Bracebridge will turn out
no great shakes."
While the lads were speaking, the subject of their remarks returned to
the playground. An unprejudiced person would certainly not have
designated him as a muff. He was an active, well-built boy, of between
twelve and thirteen years old. He had light-brown hair, curling
slightly, with a fair complexion and a good colour. His mouth showed a
good deal of firmness, and he had clear honest eyes, with no little
amount of humour in them. He was dressed in a dark-blue jacket, white
trousers, and a cloth cap. Dawson and Bouldon eyed him narrowly. What
they thought of him, after a nearer scrutiny, they did not say. He
stood at a little distance from the gymnasium, watching with very
evident interest the exercises of the boys. He had, it seemed, when he
first came in with the Doctor, been attracted with what he had seen, and
had come back again as soon as he was at liberty. He drew nearer and
nearer as he gained more and more confidence, till he got close up to
where Dawson and Bouldon were swinging lazily on some cross-bars.
Blackall was at that moment playing off some of his most difficult
feats, such as I have already described.
"I say, young fellow, can you do anything like that?" said Tommy,
addressing Ernest, and pointing at Blackall. "Dawson here swears there
isn't another fellow in England who can come up to him."
"I beg your pardon, did you speak to me?" asked Ernest, looking at Tommy
as if he considered the question had not been put in the most civil way.
"Yes, of course, young one, I did. There's no one behind you, is
there?" answered Tommy. "What's more, too, I expect an answer."
"Perhaps I might, with a little practice," answered the new boy
carelessly. "I'm rather fond of athletic exercises."
"I'll be content to see you get up that pole, young 'un," observed
Tommy, putting his tongue in his cheek. "Take care you don't burn your
fingers as you come down."
"I'll try, if I may," replied the new boy quietly.
He advanced towards the pole, but another boy got hold of it--rather a
bungler he seemed; so Ernest left him to puff and blow by himself in his
vain efforts at getting up, and went on to one of the swinging ropes.
He seized it well above his head, and pressing his knees and feet
against it, steadily drew himself up, to the surprise of Bouldon and
Dawson and several other lookers-on, till he reached the lofty
cross-bar. Was he coming down again? No. He sprang up and ran along
the beam with fearless steps till he came to the part into which the top
of the pole was fixed. Most of the boys thought that he would come down
by the ladder; but, stooping down, he swung himself on to the pole and
slid down head first to the ground. There he stood, looking as cool and
unconcerned as if he had not moved from the spot. The feat he had
performed, though not difficult, was one which neither Dawson nor
Bouldon had yet attempted. It raised him wonderfully in the opinion of
those young gentlemen.
"Very well, young one," exclaimed Tommy in a patronising tone. "I did
not think you'd have done it half as well. However, I suppose it's
_the_ trick you have practised. You couldn't do, now, what that big
fellow there, Blackall, is about?"
"Oh, yes," said Ernest quietly. "I can kick the bar, or swing on it, or
circle it, or do the grasshopper, or hang by my legs, or make a true
lover's knot, or pass through my arms, or hang by my feet. You fancy
that I am boasting, but the fact is this, my father won't let us do
anything imperfectly. If we do it at all, he says, we must do it well."
"Oh, I dare say that's all right, young one," observed Tommy, turning
away with Dawson. "I see how it is. He has been coached well up in
gymnastics, but when he comes to play cricket or football it will be a
very different affair. A fellow may learn one thing or so at home very
well, but he soon breaks down when he comes to practice work."
A few only of the boys had remarked Ernest's performances. Most of them
were too much engaged in their own exercises to think of him. He felt
rather solitary when left to himself, and wished that Dawson and Bouldon
would have stopped to talk to him, not that he particularly admired
their manners. He was well prepared, however, to meet all sorts of
characters. School and its inner life had been described to him by his
father with faithful accuracy.
Although at the time few, if any, private schools were to be found
superior to Grafton Hall, Ernest did not expect to find it as happy a
place as his own home, much less a paradise. A number of little boys
were playing a game of ring-taw in a corner of the yard. Ernest walked
up to them. No one took any notice of him, but went on with their game.
"Knuckle down," was the cry. A sturdy little fellow, with a
well-bronzed hand, was peppering away, knocking marble after marble out
of the ring with his taw, and bid fair to win all that remained. Ernest
had long ago given up marbles himself, but he did not pretend to forget
how to play with them. He thought that if he offered to join them it
might serve as an introduction.
"If you will let me, I shall like to play with you," he said quietly,
catching the eye of the sturdy player.
"With all my heart," was the answer.
"Thank you. But I must buy a taw and some marbles," said Ernest. "I
did not think of bringing any."
"Oh, I will lend you some," answered the boy. "Here, this taw is a
prime one; it will win you half the marbles in the ring if you play
well."
Ernest thanked his new friend, and took the taw and a dozen marbles with
a smile. He was amused at finding himself about to play marbles with
some boys most of whom were so much younger than himself. His new
friend had cleared the ring, and a fresh game was about to begin. He
put down eight of his marbles, and, as there were several players, a
large number were collected. The first player had shot out four or five
marbles, when his taw remaining in the ring, he had to put them all back
and go out. Ernest was kneeling down to take his turn, when Blackall,
tired of his gymnastic exercises, came sauntering by.
"What are you about there, you fellows? I'll join you," he exclaimed.
"How many down? Eight. Oh, very well."
Without more ado he was stooping down to shooting from the offing, when
Ernest observed that he had taken his turn.
"Who are you, I should like to know, you little upstart?" cried
Blackall, eyeing the new-comer with great disdain. "Get out of my way,
or I will kick you over."
"Indeed I shall not," exclaimed Ernest, who had never been spoken to in
that style before, but whose whole spirit rose instantly in rebellion
against anything like tyranny or injustice. Without speaking further,
he stooped down and shot his taw with considerable effect along the
edges of the ring of marbles. It knocked out several, and stopped a
little way outside.
"Didn't you hear me?" exclaimed Blackall furiously. "Get out of my way,
I say."
Ernest did not move, but took his taw and again fired, with the same
effect as before. Blackall's fury was now at its highest pitch. He
rushed at Ernest, and lifting him with his foot sent him spinning along
the ground. Ernest was not hurt, so he got up and said, "I wonder you
can treat a stranger so. However, the time will come when you will not
dare to do it."
"Shame! shame!" shouted several of the little fellows, snatching up
their marbles and running away, for they were accustomed to be treated
in that way by Blackall.
Ernest was left with his first acquaintance standing by his side, while
the bully walked on, observing--
"Very well; you'll catch it another time, let me promise you."
"That's right!" exclaimed Ernest's companion. "I'm glad you treated him
so. It's the only way. If I was bigger I would, but he thrashes me so
unmercifully whenever I stick up against him that I've got rather sick
of opposing him."
"Help me," said Ernest, "and we'll see what can be done."
The other boy put out his hand, and pressing that of the new-comer,
said, "I will." The compact was then and there sealed, not to be
broken; and the boys felt that they understood each other.
"What is your name?" said Ernest. "It is curious that I should not know
it, and yet I feel as if I was a friend of yours."
"My name is John Buttar," answered the boy. "I have heard yours. You
are to be in our room, for the matron told me a new boy was coming
to-day, though I little thought what sort of a fellow he was to be. But
come along, I'll show you round the bounds. We may not go outside for
the next three weeks, for some of the big fellows got into a row, and we
have been kept in ever since."
So Johnny Butter, as he was called, ran on. He let Ernest into the
politics of the school, and gave him a great deal of valuable
information.
Ernest listened attentively, and asked several questions on important
points, all of which Buttar answered in a satisfactory way.
"This is a very jolly place altogether, you see," he remarked; "what is
wrong is generally owing to our own faults, or rather to that of the big
fellows. For instance, the Doctor knows nothing of the bullying which
goes forward; if he knew what sort of a fellow Blackall is he would very
soon send him to the right-about, I suspect. We might tell of him, of
course, but that would never do, so he goes on and gets worse and worse.
The only way is to set up against him as you did to-day. If everybody
did that we should soon put him down."
Ernest was very much interested in all he saw. Notwithstanding the
example he had just had, he thought that it might be a very good sort of
place. Buttar introduced him to several boys, who, he said, were very
nice fellows; so that before many hours had passed Ernest found himself
with a considerable number of acquaintances, and even Dawson and Bouldon
condescended to speak rationally to him.
A number of boys having collected, a game of Prisoners' Base was
proposed. Ernest did not know the rules of the game, but he quickly
learnt them, and soon got as much excited as any one. His new friend
John Buttar was captain on one side, while Tommy Bouldon was leader of
the opposite party. Each chose ten followers. A hedge formed their
base, two plots being marked out close to it, one of which was occupied
by each party. Two circles were formed, about a hundred yards off, for
prisons.
"Chevy, chevy, chevy!" shouted Buttar, rushing out.
Bouldon gave chase after him. They were looked upon as cocks of their
set, and the chase was exciting. Bouldon was very nearly catching
Buttar, when Ernest darted out to his rescue. Now, Tommy, you must put
your best leg foremost or you will be caught to a certainty. What
twisting and turning, what dodging there was. Now Bouldon had almost
caught up Buttar, but the latter, stooping down, was off again under his
very hands, and turning suddenly, was off once more behind his back.
"'Ware the new boy; 'ware young Bracebridge," was the shout from
Bouldon's side.
Tommy was in hot chase after Buttar, and there seemed every probability
of his catching him. On hearing the cry, he looked over his shoulder
and saw Ernest close to him. He had now to think of his own safety.
From what he had observed of the new boy, he saw, that though he was a
new boy, and had never been at school before, he was not to be despised.
He had therefore to imitate Buttar's tactics, and to dodge away from
his pursuer.
Ernest had evidently been accustomed chiefly to run straight forward; he
was very fleet of foot, but had not practised the art of twisting and
turning. Another boy of Bouldon's side now ran out in pursuit of
Ernest, who, having executed his purpose of rescuing Buttar, returned in
triumph to his base, while one of his side ran out, and, touching the
boy who had gone out against him, carried him off to the prison.
Several others were taken; Bouldon at length was caught, so was Buttar,
but he was quickly rescued by Ernest, whose side was at length
victorious, having committed every one of the others to prison.
Ernest, who had contributed very largely to this success, pronounced it
a capital game. He gained also a good deal of credit by the way he had
played it, especially when it was known that it was for the first time,
and that he had never been at school before. The way in which his
companions treated him put him in very good spirits, and he became
sufficiently satisfied with himself and with everything around him. He
felt that he could do a number of things, but he was diffident from not
knowing of what value they might be considered by other boys. He had
heard that some savages despised the purest pearls, while they set a
high value on bits of glittering glass, and so he thought that some of
his accomplishments might be very little thought of by other boys.
However, by the time the tea-bell rang, he had fully established himself
in the good opinions of most of the younger boys; even two or three of
the elder ones pronounced him to be a plucky little chap.
The evening was spent in a fine large hall which had been fitted up for
playing. Before each breaking-up a platform was raised at one end, and
speeches were delivered from it, and more than once it had been fitted
up as a theatre, and the boys had got up, with some effect, some
well-selected plays. There were some tables and desks at one end, and
rows of shelves on which were placed boxes and baskets, and cages with
birds and tame mice, and indeed all sorts of small pets. A few of the
quieter boys went in that direction, but the greater number began to
play a variety of noisy games.
"I say, who's for a game of high-cock-o'lorum?" exclaimed Bouldon.
"I, I, I," answered several voices.
"Come along, Bracebridge, try your hand at it."
Ernest declined at first, for he did not much admire having a number of
fellows jumping over his head and sitting on his shoulders, but Tommy
pressed him so hard that at last he consented to try. His side was to
leap.
"Go on, go on!" shouted Buttar.
Ernest had for some time practised vaulting; he ran, measuring his
distance, and sprang over the heads of all the boys right up to the
wall.
"Bravo!" cried Buttar, delighted, "you'll do, I see; there's no fear of
you now."
Ernest felt much pleased by the praise bestowed on him by his new
friend, and turning round he waved to the other boys to come on. The
last boy failed, and his side had to go under. He proved as staunch,
however, with two heavy boys on his shoulders, as any of the most
practised players, and his side were much oftener riders than horses.
"I say, though, you don't mean to say, Bracebridge, that you have never
been to school before?" said Buttar, as they were summoned away to their
bedrooms. "I should have thought, from the way you do things, that you
were an old boy."
Ernest assured him that he had never been in any school whatever, and
that he had associated very little with any boys, except his own
brothers.
"I'll tell you how it is," he continued; "my father says we should do
everything on principle. He has made us practise all sorts of athletic
exercises, and shown us how we can make the best use of our muscles and
bones. The balls of the foot and toes are given us, for instance, as
pads from which we may spring, and on which we may alight, but clumsy
fellows will attempt to leap from their heels or jump down on them;
however, I'll tell you what I know about the matter another time. He
has us taught to row and swim, and climb and ride. He says that they
are essential accomplishments for people who have to knock about the
world, as all of us will have to do. He has always told us that we must
labour before we can be fed; it is the lot of humanity. If we by any
chance neglected to do what he ordered, we had to go without our dinner
or breakfast, as the case might be; so you see we have learned to depend
a good deal upon ourselves, and to feel that if we do not try our best
to get on, no one else will help us."
"Oh, yes! I understand now why you are so different to most new boys,"
answered Buttar. "Well, your father is a sensible man, there's no doubt
of it. I got on pretty well when I first came, much from the same
reason. My mother never let us have our own way, always gave us plenty
to do, and taught us to take care of ourselves without our nurses
continually running after us. Now I have seen big fellows come here,
who cried if they were hit, were always eating cakes and sweet things,
and sung out when they went to bed for the maid-servant to put on their
night-caps; these sort of fellows are seldom worth much, either in
school or out of it. They fudge their lessons and shirk their work at
play; regular do-nothing Molly Milksops, I call them."
And the two boys laughed heartily at the picture Buttar had so well
drawn.
Off each room was a washing-place, well supplied with running water, and
a bath for those boys who could not bathe in the pond. Ernest's bed was
pointed out to him. Approaching it, he knelt down, and while most of
the boys were washing, said his prayers. Only one boy in a shrill voice
cried out in the middle of them, Amen. When Ernest rose up he looked
round to try and discover who had used the expression. All were silent,
and pretended to be busily employed in getting into bed; two or three
were chuckling as if something witty had been said.
"I will not ask who said, Amen," remarked Ernest in a serious voice.
"But remember, school-fellows, you are mocking, not a poor worm like me,
but God Almighty, our Maker." Saying this, he placed his head on his
pillow.
"A very odd fellow," observed two or three of the boys; "I wonder how he
will turn out."