POLLY AT SCHOOL.
Ten days passed, and Alfred received another letter from his mother,
saying that his father was expected home in three days’ time.
Moreover, the lady he had met at the deanery had called again, this
time with her husband, Mr. Rogers, and they had promised to repeat the
visit when his father came home. “_Don’t forget, Alfie_,” wrote his
sister, “_that we hope next week to come and see you_.” Alfred was not
likely to forget that; he almost counted the hours and minutes to the
day when he should see his father again.
Steve met him as usual, as he was on his way to school, and as they
passed Mr. Cottenham’s shop, he called to them:
“Steve,” he said, “poor Polly’s gone!”
“Dead, sir?”
“No; Steve; at least I hope not. Last night a strange cat came into my
parlour, through the open window, and flew at Polly. I only heard a
noise, and when I came in I saw the parrot fly through the window, and
the cat after it. I rushed down the garden, but Poll, although one wing
has had a few feathers taken out to prevent it from flying away, can
still fly some yards at a time--farther than I thought it could. I have
been out half the night and early again this morning, but I cannot find
any trace of it. I hope I sha’n’t catch that cat until I am less angry,
or it will be a bad job for it.”
“We will look about, sir,” replied Steve, “and run back if we should
see it or hear anything about it. Everybody in the town knows it, I
should think, so I do hope you will get it back again.”
“I hope so too, Steve, I can assure you.”
The boys went on to school without seeing Polly, or meeting anyone who
had seen it. They told their school-fellows, and all of them determined
to join Mr. Cottenham in their spare time in hunting for the bird.
The dean still retained something of the schoolmaster about him, and
used twice a year to examine the choir-boys in the school for about
a couple of hours. His visit was always an unexpected one, and the
boys, when assembled after service, were surprised when he walked in,
accompanied by Mr. Young. All the boys were afraid of him, not that
they need have been, for although he was a firm believer in discipline,
he was very fond of young people, and boys had at various times
experienced many kindnesses at his hands. But still, he was the dean,
and because he was the dean, the choir-boys were always uneasy, to say
the least, when the surprise examination took place. Moreover, if a boy
were very bad and had to be expelled, he was taken before the dean,
and in that light, as a judge, he was always regarded.
“He will be sure to be down on me, worse luck,” exclaimed King, “on
account of that young sneak, Davidson!”
King had been often called “Onions” since the first of April incident,
and was always very angry when anyone used the nickname. He could not
see that side of the joke.
If the boys were anxious, the master was equally so, as he wished them
to show up well before the dean. This did not always happen, and work
which Mr. Harmer had been through time after time, they sometimes quite
forgot when they were questioned by the dean. The unlucky boy, who from
inattention had not learnt his work properly, or from nervousness was
unable to remember, would not only be reproved by the dean, but, after
he had gone, Mr. Harmer would give him some impositions in order to
help his memory.
Those boys who had been previously examined remembered this, and that
was one reason why they were always very glad when the dean’s visit was
over.
While the dean was talking to Mr. Harmer about the work the boys had
done during the past few months, the boys themselves were quietly
talking about their chances.
“I wish I had been unwell to-day,” said Harry Cox, “so that I should
not have been able to come. Frank Pitt, lucky beggar, is at home with a
bad cold. I wish I had twenty colds!”
“You’ll find it warm enough presently to cure all your colds, Harry,”
said Steve. “I hope the dean is in a good temper; he is sometimes.”
“He isn’t likely to be so with me, anyhow,” observed King, who was
trying to put on a bold face and tone; but it was rather a failure, for
he looked more nervous than anyone.
The dean took the master’s seat and glanced round the class. Not a
sound was heard.
“I have been reading the report on your conduct, boys, and on the whole
it is satisfactory, although I find some complaints. It appears that at
times some of you boys have not been quite so truthful as I should like
to see. All British boys like to be thought brave! Quite right, too. I
like to see brave boys, and so always remember this, that lying is the
refuge of cowards. Don’t forget what I say, boys. To be brave you must
be truthful. I am not going to preach to you.”
The dean looked at Harry Cox and two other boys. They all felt and
looked very much ashamed.
Mr. Harmer and Mr. Young left the room, and the dean took his seat at
the masters desk.
He was glancing over the list of subjects which the boys had done, when
suddenly a voice exclaimed, “Come, Joe, hurry up!” Then there was a
quiet laugh.
“What boy has dared to make that impertinent remark?” exclaimed the
dean angrily.
No boy answered or moved.
“I will severely punish every boy, if necessary, to find out the guilty
one,” said the dean.
Still no boy answered.
“As you are all silent, I shall question each one of you separately,
and the boy who has been guilty of this insult shall be severely
punished.”
“Herbert King,” said the dean, “stand up. Did you speak, or do you know
who spoke?”
“No, sir,” replied King, pale with fear.
“Phew!” came the sound of a whistle.
“Who whistled?” exclaimed the dean. “It was one of you boys at the end
of the room. Do you suppose I cannot tell where the sound comes from?
Stand up, every one of you!”
As the boys rose a voice called out, “Wipe your boots!”
The dean looked at the boys in blank astonishment.
“One of you boys is trying to mock me by imitating a man’s voice. How
dare you? Which boy is it? It must be one of you who were sitting on
that end form. Unless you at once confess, I will send for Mr. Harmer
and have you all caned.”
“Look out!” said the voice.
The dean could see that none of the boys was speaking.
“Do you want a pill?” said the voice.
The dean and all the boys looked towards the end of the room. No one
was there.
“Where’s the bottle?” said the voice, and then there was a loud
whistle, followed by a sneeze.
“Please, sir,” said Steve, “there’s Mr. Cottenham’s parrot on that
beam. He lost it last night.”
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” said Polly, “where’s the sugar?”
Steve was right. There was the lost parrot eyeing the boys in a very
knowing manner. Had the dean been anyone else than a dean he must have
laughed; as it was, he smiled.
“You had better fetch Mr. Cottenham,” said the dean to Steve. “King,
close the window, so that the bird cannot fly away.”
Away ran Steve as fast as he could, and in less than five minutes he
was at Mr. Cottenham’s.
[Illustration]
“If you please, sir,” he exclaimed, breathless, “your parrot is in our
school-room!”
“What, Steve,” said Mr. Cottenham, “is my Polly up there? I will come
back with you at once and get it.”
As they walked to the school, Steve related the amusing little scene
with the dean. He could enjoy the joke now.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Mr. Cottenham to the dean, “for the had
behaviour of my parrot.”
“Don’t mention it, Mr. Cottenham,” replied the dean, laughing.
“Look out! Shop, you’re wanted!” said Poll, who flew on to its master’s
shoulder, and rubbed its head against him. “Good-bye!” shrieked the
bird, as Mr. Cottenham left the room with it.
Quiet and attention having been restored, the dean proceeded to test
the class, each boy in turn having to stand up and answer a number of
questions on various subjects. If a boy appeared nervous, he was told
to sit down again, and was examined later on. Alfred did very well,
and so did his friends; not so Cox, who was severely reproved for his
idleness and ignorance. King did well, for he was in some subjects at
the head of the school.
When Mr. Harmer returned, the dean said that he was much pleased with
the boys on the whole, but a few had done badly, and he named Cox in
particular.
“As you have done so well, boys,” said the dean, “except those three I
have named, I shall ask Mr. Harmer to excuse you any more work to-day.”
“Thank you, sir,” said most of the boys.
The dean left the school-room, and Mr. Harmer took his usual place.
“As the dean has given you a holiday,” he said, “I shall let you all go
at once, except those he has named.”
Away the boys ran, leaving their unfortunate, or perhaps it should be
said their idle, school-fellows to receive extra work for the rest of
the term.
Walter, Steve, and Alfred called on their way home to see that Mr.
Cottenham’s parrot was all right, and found it as talkative as ever,
being none the worse for the dean’s reproofs, or for its flight from
the cat.