CHAPTER IX.

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.

"Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hairbreadth 'scapes."--_Shakspeare._

WHEN Tom came back into school after a couple of days in the sick-room,

he found matters much changed for the better, as East had led him to

expect. Flashman's brutality had disgusted most even of his intimate

friends, and his cowardice had once more been made plain to the House;

for Diggs had encountered him on the morning after the lottery, and

after high words on both sides had struck him, and the blow was not

returned. However, Flashey was not unused to this sort of thing, and had

lived through as awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had said, fed and

toadied himself back into favour again. Two or three of the boys who had

helped to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, and thanked him for

not telling anything. Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to take the

matter up warmly, but Tom begged him not to do it; to which he agreed,

on Tom's promising to come to him at once in future--a promise which I

regret to say he didn't keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and won

the second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and

East contrived to spend in about three days, in the purchase of pictures

for their study, two new bats and a cricket-ball, all the best that

could be got, and a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak pies to

all the rebels. Light come, light go; they wouldn't have been

comfortable with money in their pockets in the middle of the half.

The embers of Flashman's wrath, however, were still smouldering, and

burst out every now and then in sly blows and taunts, and they both felt

that they hadn't quite done with him yet. It wasn't long, however,

before the last act of that drama came, and with it, the end of bullying

for Tom and East at Rugby. They now often stole out into the Hall at

nights, incited thereto, partly by the hope of finding Diggs there and

having a talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing something

which was against rules; for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since

their loss of character for steadiness in their form, had got into the

habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure;

just in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall into smuggling, and

for the same sort of reasons. Thoughtlessness in the first place. It

never occurred to them to consider why such and such rules were laid

down; the reason was nothing to them; and they only looked upon rules as

a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad

pluck in them not to accept; and then again, in the lower parts of the

school they hadn't enough to do. The work of the form they could manage

to get through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place to get their

regular yearly remove; and not having much ambition beyond this, their

whole superfluous steam was available for games and scrapes. Now, one

rule of the House which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to

break, was that after supper all fags, except the three on duty in the

passages, should remain in their own studies until nine o'clock; and if

caught about the passages or Hall, or in one another's studies, they

were liable to punishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its

observance; for most of the sixth spent their evenings in the fifth-form

room, where the library was, and the lessons were learnt in common.

Every now and then, however, a præpostor would be seized with a fit of

district visiting, and would make a tour of the passages and Hall and

the fags' studies. Then, if the owner were entertaining a friend or two,

the first kick at the door and ominous "Open here," had the effect of

the shadow of a hawk over a chicken-yard; every one cut to cover--one

small boy diving under the sofa, another under the table, while the

owner would hastily pull down a book or two and open them, and cry out

in a meek voice, "Hullo, who's there?" casting an anxious eye round to

see that no protruding leg or elbow could betray the hidden boys. "Open,

sir, directly; it's Snooks." "Oh, I'm very sorry; I didn't know it was

you, Snooks;" and then, with well-feigned zeal, the door would be

opened, young hopeful praying that that beast Snooks mightn't have heard

the scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was empty, Snooks proceeded

to draw the passages and Hall to find the truants.

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East were in the Hall.

They occupied the seats before the fire nearest the door, while Diggs

sprawled as usual before the further fire. He was busy with a copy of

verses, and East and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the light

of the fire, and splicing a favourite old fives'-bat which had sprung.

Presently a step came down the bottom passage; they listened a moment,

assured themselves that it wasn't a præpostor, and then went on with

their work, and the door swung open, and in walked Flashman. He didn't

see Diggs, and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in; and as the

boys didn't move for him, struck one of them, to make them get out of

his way.

"What's that for?" growled the assaulted one.

"Because I choose. You've no business here; go to your study."

"You can't send us."

"Can't I? Then I'll thrash you if you stay," said Flashman, savagely.

"I say, you two," said Diggs, from the end of the Hall, rousing up and

resting himself on his elbow, "you'll never get rid of that fellow till

you lick him. Go in at him, both of you--I'll see fair play."

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. East looked at Tom.

"Shall we try?" said he. "Yes," said Tom, desperately. So the two

advanced on Flashman, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were

about up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, and in perfect

training: while he, though strong and big, was in poor condition, from

his monstrous habits of stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was,

however, Flashman couldn't swallow such an insult as this; besides, he

was confident of having easy work, and so faced the boys, saying, "You

impudent young blackguards!"--Before he could finish his abuse, they

rushed in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which they could

reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but the full force of his blows

didn't tell, they were too near him. It was long odds, though, in point

of strength, and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards over a

form, and Flashman turned to demolish East, with a savage grin. But now

Diggs jumped down from the table on which he had seated himself. "Stop

there," shouted he; "the round's over--half-minute time allowed."

"What the ---- is it to you?" faltered Flashman, who began to lose

heart.

"I'm going to see fair, I tell you," said Diggs with a grin, and

snapping his great red fingers; "'tain't fair for you to be fighting one

of them at a time. Are you ready, Brown? Time's up."

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw was their best chance,

and Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever: he caught East by

the throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table; Tom

grasped his waist, and, remembering the old throw he had learned in the

Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's, and threw

his whole weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and then over

they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in

the Hall.

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay there still. They

began to be frightened. Tom stooped down, and then cried out, scared out

of his wits. "He's bleeding awfully; come here, East, Diggs,--he's

dying!"

"Not he," said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; "it's all

sham--he's only afraid to fight it out."

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flashman's head, and he

groaned.

"What's the matter?" shouted Diggs.

"My skull's fractured," sobbed Flashman.

"Oh, let me run for the housekeeper," cried Tom. "What shall we do?"

"Fiddlesticks! it's nothing but the skin broken," said the relentless

Diggs, feeling his head. "Cold water and a bit of rag's all he'll want."

"Let me go," said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; "I don't want your

help."

"We're really very sorry," began East.

"Hang your sorrow," answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to the

place; "you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you." And he

walked out of the Hall.

"He can't be very bad," said Tom with a deep sigh, much relieved to see

his enemy march so well.

"Not he," said Diggs, "and you'll see you won't be troubled with him any

more. But, I say, your head's broken too--your collar is covered with

blood."

"Is it, though?" said Tom, putting up his hand; "I didn't know it."

"Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. And you have got a

nasty eye, Scud; you'd better go and bathe it well in cold water."

"Cheap enough too, if we've done with our old friend Flashey," said

East, as they made off up stairs to bathe their wounds.

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid finger on

either of them again; but whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous

tongue could do them he took care should be done. Only throw dirt

enough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifth

form and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more or

less, and they not at all. Flashman managed to get Tom and East into

disfavour, which did not wear off for some time after the author of it

had disappeared from the School world. This event, much prayed for by

the small fry in general, took place a few months after the above

encounter. One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on

gin-punch, at Brownsover; and having exceeded his usual limits, started

home uproarious. He fell in with a friend or two coming back from

bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather

being hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink

which Flashman had already on board. The short result was, that Flashey

became beastly drunk; they tried to get him along, but couldn't; so

they chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the masters

came upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest

raised the master's suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited

him to examine the freight, and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle

himself up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long had his eye

on Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal next morning.

The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after them: Flashman was

gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still felt the effects of his hate.

Besides, they had been the movers of the strike against unlawful

fagging. The cause was righteous--the result had been triumphant to a

great extent; but the best of the fifth, even those who had never fagged

the small boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully, couldn't help

feeling a small grudge against the first rebels. After all, their form

had been defied--on just grounds, no doubt; so just, indeed, that they

had at once acknowledged the wrong and remained passive in the strife:

had they sided with Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way

at once. They couldn't help, on the whole, being glad that they had so

acted, and that the resistance had been successful against such of their

own form as had shown fight; they felt that law and order had gained

thereby, but the ringleaders they couldn't quite pardon at once.

"Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if we don't mind," was

the general feeling.

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the Angel Gabriel were to

come down from heaven, and head a successful rise against the most

abominable and unrighteous vested interest, which this poor old world

groans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years,

probably for centuries, not only with upholders of said vested interest,

but with the respectable mass of the people whom he had delivered. They

wouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the

papers; they would be very careful how they spoke of him in the Palaver,

or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when we have only poor

gallant blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous

causes which do not triumph in their hands; men who have holes enough in

their armour, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in

their lounging chairs, and having large balances at their bankers? But

you are brave, gallant boys, who hate easy-chairs, and have no balances

or bankers. You only want to have your heads set straight to take the

right side: so bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable

ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong; and that if you see a man

or boy striving earnestly on the weak side, however wrong-headed or

blundering he may be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If

you can't join him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate

remember that he has found something in the world which he will fight

and suffer for, which is just what you have got to do for yourselves;

and so think and speak of him tenderly.

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, became a sort of

young Ishmaelites, their hands against every one, and every one's hand

against them. It has been already told how they got to war with the

masters and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the same.

They saw the præpostors cowed by or joining with the fifth, and

shirking their own duties; so they didn't respect them, and rendered no

willing obedience. It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons

of heroes like old Brooke, but quite another to do the like for Snooks

and Green, who had never faced a good scrummage at football, and

couldn't keep the passages in order at night. So they only slurred

through their fagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not

always that, and got the character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the

fifth-form room, after supper, when such matters were often discussed

and arranged, their names were for ever coming up.

"I say, Green," Snooks began one night, "isn't that new boy, Harrison,

your fag?"

"Yes; why?"

"Oh, I know something of him at home, and should like to excuse

him--will you swop?"

"Who will you give me?"

"Well, let's see; there's Willis, Johnson--No, that won't do. Yes, I

have it--there's young East, I'll give you him."

"Don't you wish you may get it?" replied Green. "I'll tell you what I'll

do--I'll give you two for Willis if you like."

"Who then?" asks Snooks.

"Hall and Brown."

"Wouldn't have 'em at a gift."

"Better than East, though; for they ain't quite so sharp," said Green,

getting up and leaning his back against the mantelpiece--he wasn't a bad

fellow, and couldn't help not being able to put down the unruly fifth

form. His eye twinkled as he went on, "Did I ever tell you how the

young vagabond sold me last half?"

"No; how?"

"Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just stuck the

candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the crumbs on to the floor. So

at last I was mortal angry, and had him up, made him go through the

whole performance under my eyes: the dust the young scamp made nearly

choked me, and showed that he hadn't swept the carpet before. Well, when

it was all finished, 'Now, young gentleman,' says I, 'mind, I expect

this to be done every morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken off and

shaken, and everything dusted.' 'Very well,' grunts he. Not a bit of it

though--I was quite sure in a day or two that he never took the

table-cloth off even. So I laid a trap for him: I tore up some paper and

put half-a-dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth over them as

usual. Next morning, after breakfast, up I came, pulled off the cloth,

and sure enough there was the paper, which fluttered down on to the

floor. I was in a towering rage. 'I've got you now,' thought I, and sent

for him, while I got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, with

his hands in his pockets 'Didn't I tell you to shake my table-cloth

every morning?' roared I. 'Yes,' says he. 'Did you do it this morning?'

'Yes.' 'You young liar! I put these pieces of paper on the table last

night, and if you'd taken the table-cloth off' you'd have seen them, so

I'm going to give you a good licking.' Then my youngster takes one hand

out of his pocket, and just stoops down and picks up two of the bits of

paper, and holds them out to me. There was written on each, in great

round text, 'Harry East, his mark.' The young rogue had found my trap

out, taken away my paper, and put some of his there, every bit

ear-marked. I'd a great mind to lick him for his impudence, but after

all one has no right to be laying traps, so I didn't. Of course I was at

his mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks my study was so

frowsy, I couldn't sit in it."

"They spoil one's things so, too," chimed in a third boy. "Hall and

Brown were night-fags last week: I called fag, and gave them my

candlesticks to clean; away they went, and didn't appear again. When

they'd had time enough to clean them three times over, I went out to

look after them. They weren't in the passages, so down I went into the

Hall, where I heard music, and there I found them sitting on the table,

listening to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks

stuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean-spoiled;

they've never stood straight since, and I must get some more. However, I

gave them both a good licking, that's one comfort."

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always getting into: and so,

partly by their own faults, partly from circumstances, partly from the

faults of others, they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or

what you will in that line: in short, dangerous parties, and lived the

sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such parties generally

have to put up with. Nevertheless, they never quite lost favour with

young Brooke, who was now the cock of the house, and just getting into

the sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave them store of

good advice, by which they never in the least profited.

And even after the house mended, and law and order had been restored,

which soon happened after young Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth,

they couldn't easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and

many of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as firmly as

ever. While they had been quite little boys, the scrapes they got into

in the School hadn't much mattered to anyone; but now they were in the

upper school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to the

Doctor at once: so they began to come under his notice; and as they were

a sort of leaders in a small way amongst their own contemporaries, his

eye, which was everywhere, was upon them.

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, and so they were

just the boys who caused most anxiety to such a master. You have been

told of the first occasion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and

the remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much less fear of

him than most boys of their standing had. "It's all his look," Tom used

to say to East, "that frightens fellows: don't you remember, he never

said anything to us my first half-year, for being an hour late for

locking up?"

The next time that Tom came before him, however, the interview was of a

very different kind. It happened just about the time at which we have

now arrived, and was the first of a series of scrapes into which our

hero managed now to tumble.

The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear stream, in which

chub, dace, roach, and other coarse fish are (or were) plentiful enough,

together with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worth

sixpence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital river for

bathing, as it has many nice small pools and several good reaches for

swimming, all within about a mile of one another, and at an easy twenty

minutes' walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, or used to

be rented, for bathing purposes, by the Trustees of the School, for the

boys. The footpath to Brownsover crosses the river by "the Planks," a

curious old single-plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into

the flat meadows on each side of the river,--for in the winter there are

frequent floods. Above the Planks were the bathing places for the

smaller boys; Sleath's, the first bathing place where all new boys had

to begin, until they had proved to the bathing men (three steady

individuals who were paid to attend daily through the summer to prevent

accidents) that they could swim pretty decently, when they were allowed

to go on to Anstey's, about one hundred and fifty yards below. Here

there was a hole about six feet deep and twelve feet across, over which

the puffing urchins struggled to the opposite side, and thought no small

beer of themselves for having been out of their depths. Below the Planks

came larger and deeper holes, the first of which was Wratislaw's, and

the last Swift's, a famous hole, ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and

thirty yards across, from which there was a fine swimming reach right

down to the Mill. Swift's was reserved for the sixth and fifth forms,

and had a spring board and two sets of steps: the others had one set of

steps each, and were used indifferently by all the lower boys, though

each house addicted itself more to one hole than to another. The

School-house at this time affected Wratislaw's hole, and Tom and East,

who had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there as regular as

the clock through the summer, always twice, and often three times a day.

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right also to fish at

their pleasure over the whole of this part of the river, and would not

understand that the right (if any) only extended to the Rugby side. As

ill luck would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, after

allowing it for some time without interference, had ordered his keepers

not to let the boys fish on his side; the consequence of which had been,

that there had been first wranglings and then fights between the keepers

and boys; and so keen had the quarrel become, that the landlord and his

keepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one of the latter, and a

fierce fight ensued thereon, had been up to the great School at

calling-over to identify the delinquents, and it was all the Doctor

himself and five or six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his

authority could prevent the hissing; and so strong was the feeling, that

the four præpostors of the week walked up the school with their canes,

shouting S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e at the top of their voices. However, the

chief offenders for the time were flogged and kept in bounds, but the

victorious party had brought a nice hornets' nest about their ears. The

landlord was hissed at the School gates as he rode past, and when he

charged his horse at the mob of boys, and tried to thrash them with his

whip, was driven back by cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued with

pebbles and fives'-balls; while the wretched keepers' lives were a

burthen to them, from having to watch the waters so closely.

The School-house boys of Tom's standing, one and all, as a protest

against this tyranny and cutting short of their lawful amusements, took

to fishing in all ways and especially by means of night-lines. The

little tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made his

fortune had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began to lay in

fishing-tackle. The boys had this great advantage over their enemies,

that they spent a large portion of the day in nature's garb by the river

side, and so, when tired of swimming, would get out on the other side

and fish, or set night-lines till the keeper hove in sight, and then

plunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, and the keepers

were too wise to follow across the stream.

While things were in this state, one day Tom and three or four others

were bathing at Wratislaw's, and had, as a matter of course, been taking

up and resetting night-lines. They had all left the water, and were

sitting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes from a shirt

upwards, when they were aware of a man in a velveteen shooting-coat

approaching from the other side. He was a new keeper, so they didn't

recognise or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite, and began:--

"I see'd some of you young gentlemen over this side a fishing just now."

"Hullo, who are you? what business is that of yours, old Velveteens?"

"I'm the new under-keeper, and master's told me to keep a sharp look-out

on all o' you young chaps. And I tells 'ee I means business, and you'd

better keep on your own side, or we shall fall out."

"Well, that's right, Velveteens--speak out, and let's know your mind at

once."

"Look here, old boy," cried East, holding up a miserable coarse fish or

two and a small jack, "would you like to smell 'em and see which bank

they lived under?"

"I'll give you a bit of advice, keeper," shouted Tom, who was sitting in

his shirt paddling with his feet in the river; "you'd better go down

there to Swift's, where the big boys are, they're beggars at setting

lines, and'll put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the

five-pounders." Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, who was

getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, as if to take a

note of him for future use. Tom returned his gaze with a steady stare,

and then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a favourite

School-house song--

As I and my companions

Were setting of a snare,

The gamekeeper was watching us,

For him we did not care:

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys,

And jump out anywhere.

For it's my delight of a likely night,

In the season of the year.

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with shouts of laughter, and

the keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The

boys thought no more of the matter.

But now came on the may-fly season; the soft hazy summer weather lay

sleepily along the rich meadows by Avon side, and the green and grey

flies flickered with their graceful lazy up and down flight over the

reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The

may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemeræ; the

happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and dreams out his few

hours of sunshiny life by English rivers.

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the alert for the

flies, and gorging his wretched carcase with hundreds daily, the

gluttonous rogues! and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge

the poor may-flies.

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having borrowed East's new rod,

started by himself to the river. He fished for some time with small

success, not a fish would rise at him; but, as he prowled along the

bank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the

opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was

deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made

off hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of

the Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across,

and in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump

of willows.

[Illustration: TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS. P. 199.]

It isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish are in earnest

about anything, but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and

in half-an-hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the

foot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and

just going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the

bank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was the

under-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying

his rod. Nothing for it but the tree: so Tom laid his bones to it,

shinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. He

had just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet

up, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at the

clump. Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more

and he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on

the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at

the foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye and

touch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tom

crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump.

"If I could only get the rod hidden," thought he, and began gently

shifting it to get it alongside him; "willow-trees don't throw out

straight hickory shoots twelve feet along, with no leaves, worse luck."

Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and

then of Tom's hand and arm.

"Oh, be up ther' be 'ee?" says he, running under the tree. "Now you come

down this minute."

"Tree'd at last," thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close as

possible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces: "I'm in

for it, unless I can starve him out." And then he begins to meditate

getting along the branch for a plunge and scramble to the other side;

but the small branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult,

that the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford before

he can get out, so he gives that up. And now he hears the keeper

beginning to scramble up the trunk. That will never do; so he scrambles

himself back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted

rod.

"Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any higher."

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says, "Oh! be you,

be it, young measter? Well, here's luck. Now I tells 'ee to come down at

once, and 't'll be best for 'ee."

"Thank 'ee, Velveteens, I'm very comfortable," said Tom, shortening the

rod in his hand, and preparing for battle.

"Werry well, please yourself," says the keeper, descending however to

the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank; "I bean't in no

hurry, so you med take your time. I'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk names

afore I've done with 'ee."

"My luck as usual," thinks Tom; "what a fool I was to give him a black.

If I'd called him 'keeper' now I might get off. The return match is all

his way."

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it,

keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch,

looking at keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he

thought of it the less he liked it. "It must be getting near second

calling-over," thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. "If he takes me up,

I shall be flogged safe enough. I can't sit here all night. Wonder if

he'll rise at silver.

"I say, keeper," said he meekly, "let me go for two bob?"

"Not for twenty neither," grunts his persecutor.

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, and the sun came

slanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up near

at hand.

"I'm coming down, keeper," said Tom at last with a sigh, fairly tired

out. "Now what are you going to do?"

"Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to the Doctor; them's my

orders," says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and

standing up and shaking himself.

"Very good," said Tom; "but hands off, you know. I'll go with you

quietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing."

Keeper looked at him a minute--"Werry good," said he at last; and so Tom

descended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to

the School-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed

the School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who were standing there

caught the state of things, and rushed out, crying "Rescue!" but Tom

shook his head, so they only followed to the Doctor's gate, and went

back sorely puzzled.

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom was

up there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tom

had called him blackguard names. "Indeed, sir," broke in the culprit,

"it was only Velveteens." The Doctor only asked one question.

"You know the rule about the banks, Brown?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson."

"I thought so," muttered Tom.

"And about the rod, sir?" went on the keeper; "Master's told we as we

might have all the rods--"

"Oh, please, sir," broke in Tom, "the rod isn't mine." The Doctor looked

puzzled, but the keeper, who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at

Tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next

morning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, and presented him

with half-a-crown for giving up the rod claim, and they became sworn

friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more fish from under the

willow that may-fly season, and was never caught again by Velveteens.

It wasn't three weeks before Tom, and now East by his side, were again

in the awful presence. This time, however, the Doctor was not so

terrible. A few days before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the

balls that went off the court. While standing watching the game, they

saw five or six nearly new balls hit on the top of the School. "I say,

Tom," said East, when they were dismissed, "couldn't we get those balls

somehow?"

"Let's try, anyhow."

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed a coal-hammer from

old Stumps, bought some big nails, and after one or two attempts, scaled

the Schools, and possessed themselves of huge quantities of

fives'-balls. The place pleased them so much that they spent all their

spare time there, scratching and cutting their names on the top of every

tower; and at last, having exhausted all other places, finished up with

inscribing H. EAST, T. BROWN, on the minute-hand of the great clock. In

the doing of which they held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock's

economy. So next morning, when masters and boys came trooping down to

prayers, and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute-hand was

indicating three minutes to the hour. They all pulled up, and took their

time. When the hour struck, doors were closed, and half the school late.

Thomas being sent to make inquiry, discovers their names on the

minute-hand, and reports accordingly; and they are sent for, a knot of

their friends making derisive and pantomimic allusions to what their

fate will be, as they walk off.

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn't make much of it, and

only gives them thirty lines of Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture

on the likelihood of such exploits ending in broken bones.

Alas! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in the town; and as

several rows and other disagreeable accidents had of late taken place on

these occasions, the Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning,

that no boy is to go down into the town. Wherefore East and Tom, for no

earthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told not to do,

start away, after second lesson, and making a short circuit through the

fields, strike a back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and

run plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into the High Street.

The master in question, though a very clever, is not a righteous man: he

has already caught several of his own pupils, and gives them lines to

learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, up to the

Doctor; who, on learning that they had been at prayers in the morning,

flogs them soundly.

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the injustice of their

captor was rankling in their minds; but it was just at the end of the

half, and on the next evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and

says the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another in silent

dismay. What can it be now? Which of their countless wrong-doings can he

have heard of officially? However, it is no use delaying, so up they go

to the study. There they find the Doctor not angry, but very grave. "He

has sent for them to speak very seriously before they go home. They have

each been flogged several times in the half-year for direct and wilful

breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing no good to

themselves or others, and now they are getting up in the School, and

have influence. They seem to think that rules are made capriciously, and

for the pleasure of the masters; but this is not so, they are made for

the good of the whole School, and must and shall be obeyed. Those who

thoughtlessly or wilfully break them will not be allowed to stay at the

School. He should be sorry if they had to leave, as the School might do

them both much good, and wishes them to think very seriously in the

holidays over what he has said. Good night."

And so the two hurry off horribly scared: the idea of having to leave

has never crossed their minds, and is quite unbearable.

As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, a sturdy cheery

præpostor of another house, who goes in to the Doctor; and they hear his

genial hearty greeting of the new-comer, so different to their own

reception, as the door closes, and return to their study with heavy

hearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more rules.

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, a late arrival and a

model young master, knocks at the Doctor's study-door. "Come in!" and as

he enters the Doctor goes on, to Holmes--"you see I do not know anything

of the case officially, and if I take any notice of it at all, I must

publicly expel the boy. I don't wish to do that, for I think there is

some good in him. There's nothing for it but a good sound thrashing." He

paused to shake hands with the master, which Holmes does also, and then

prepares to leave.

"I understand. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Holmes. And remember," added the Doctor, emphasizing the

words, "a good sound thrashing before the whole house."

The door closed on Holmes; and the Doctor, in answer to the puzzled look

of his lieutenant, explained shortly. "A gross case of bullying.

Wharton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and

weak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal with such a case;

so I have asked Holmes to take it up. He is very careful and

trustworthy, and has plenty of strength. I wish all the sixth had as

much. We must have it here, if we are to keep order at all."

Now I don't want any wiseacres to read this book; but if they should, of

course they will prick up their long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at

the above story. Very good, I don't object; but what I have to add for

you boys is this: that Holmes called a levy of his house after breakfast

next morning, made them a speech on the case of bullying in question,

and then gave the bully a "good sound thrashing;" and that years

afterwards, that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying it had

been the kindest act which had ever been done upon him, and the

turning-point in his character; and a very good fellow he became, and a

credit to his School.

After some other talk between them, the Doctor said, "I want to speak

to you about two boys in your form, East and Brown: I have just been

speaking to them. What do you think of them?"

"Well, they are not hard workers, and very thoughtless and full of

spirits--but I can't help liking them. I think they are sound good

fellows at the bottom."

"I'm glad of it. I think so too. But they make me very uneasy. They are

taking the lead a good deal amongst the fags in my house, for they are

very active, bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I shan't

let them stay if I don't see them gaining character and manliness. In

another year they may do great harm to all the younger boys."

"Oh, I hope you won't send them away," pleaded their master.

"Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, after any

half-holiday, that I shan't have to flog one of them next morning, for

some foolish, thoughtless scrape. I quite dread seeing either of them."

They were both silent for a minute. Presently the Doctor began again:--

"They don't feel that they have any duty or work to do in the School,

and how is one to make them feel it?"

"I think if either of them had some little boy to take care of, it would

steady them. Brown is the most reckless of the two, I should say; East

wouldn't get into so many scrapes without him."

"Well," said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, "I'll think of it."

And they went on to talk of other subjects.

TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE TIDE TURNED.

"Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide,

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side:

* * * * *

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified."

LOWELL.

THE turning-point in our hero's school career had now come, and the

manner of it was as follows. On the evening of the first day of the next

half-year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who had just been

dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into the

matron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when they

first get back, however fond they may be of home.

"Well, Mrs. Wixie," shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active

little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linen of the boys

who had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, "here we are

again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away."

"And, Mary," cried another (she was called indifferently by either

name), "who's come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How many

new boys are there?"

"Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know you promised to get it for

us if you could," shouted Tom.

"And am I to sleep in Number 4?" roared East.

"How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?"

"Bless the boys!" cries Mary, at last getting in a word, "why, you'll

shake me to death. There now, do go away up to the housekeeper's room

and get your suppers; you know I haven't time to talk--you'll find

plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let those things

alone--you're mixing up three new boys' things." And she rushed at East,

who escaped round the open trunks holding up a prize.

"Hullo, look here, Tommy," shouted he, "here's fun!" and he brandished

above his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and

marked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. The

kind mother and sisters, who sewed that delicate stitching with aching

hearts, little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the

young head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and

snatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them.

"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go," said she;

"there's some capital cold beef and pickles up-stairs, and I won't have

you old boys in my room first night."

"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy; come along, Smith. We shall

find out who the young Count is, I'll be bound: I hope he'll sleep in my

room. Mary's always vicious first week."

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and

said, "Master Brown, please stop a minute, I want to speak to you."

"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute: East, don't finish the

pickles--"

"Oh, Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone,

"you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to

take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old,

though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from

home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and

see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and

I've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep

there this half."

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study

which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly

moderated his joy He looked across the room, and in the far corner of

the sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light

fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a

glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year

at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or

constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles.

Tom was too honest to take in the youngster and then let him shift for

himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all

his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and

making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover

Mills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to

get this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they would

be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat's

novels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never

go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting

laughed at and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine

nickname.

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his

mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm

heart. "Poor little fellow," said she in almost a whisper, "his father's

dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind sweet lady,

almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she said one of

his sisters was like to die of decline, and so----"

"Well, well," burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort, "I

suppose I must give up East. Come along, young un. What's your name?

We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study."

"His name's George Arthur," said the matron, walking up to him with Tom,

who grasped his little delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making

a chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. "I've had

his books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had new

papered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the

door" (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was

contributing largely to the partnership comforts). "And Mrs. Arnold told

me to say," she added, "that she should like you both to come up to tea

with her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things are just gone

up, I know."

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to go up to tea the

first night, just as if he were a sixth or fifth-form boy, and of

importance in the school world, instead of the most reckless young

scapegrace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher

social and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he couldn't give up

without a sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper's room

with East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studies of his

friends afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the holidays,

to plot fifty plans for the coming half-year, and to gather news of who

had left, and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and where

the new præpostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinking

that he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and

so marched off along the passages to the Doctor's private house with his

young charge in tow, in monstrous good humour with himself and all the

world.

It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys

were received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still

living, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the North the

respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and

high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now doing its work

and bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under the

Indian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with

fond and grateful memory to that School-house drawing-room, and dates

much of its highest and best training to the lessons learnt there.

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder children, there were one

of the younger masters, young Brooke--who was now in the sixth, and had

succeeded to his brother's position and influence--and another

sixth-form boy there, talking together before the fire. The master and

young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen years

old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense

glory, and then went on talking; the other did not notice them. The

hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once and

insensibly to feel at their ease, and to begin talking to one another,

left them with her own children while she finished a letter. The young

ones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he

had been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the winter glories

of the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the Doctor

himself.

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to the party by the

fire! It did Tom's heart good to see him and young Brooke shake hands,

and look one another in the face; and he didn't fail to remark, that

Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad as the Doctor. And his cup

was full, when in another moment his master turned to him with another

warm shake of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the late

scrapes which he had been getting into, said, "Ah, Brown, you here! I

hope you left your father and all well at home?"

"Yes, sir, quite well."

"And this is the little fellow who is to share your study. Well, he

doesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air, and

cricket. And you must take him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange

and Caldecott's Spinney, and show him what a little pretty country we

have about here."

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were

for the purpose of taking rooks' nests (a proceeding strongly

discountenanced by the owner thereof), and those to Caldecott's Spinney

were prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What

didn't the Doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it! He

almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines for ever. The tea

went merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of

the prospects of the half-year, what chance there was for the Balliol

scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Every body was at

his ease, and every body felt that he, young as he might be, was of some

use in the little school world, and had a work to do there.

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a

few minutes afterwards took their leave, and went out of the private

door which led from the Doctor's house into the middle passage.

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd of boys in

loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened,

and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognised marching down

the passage.

"Hullo, Brown, where do you come from?"

"Oh, I've been to tea with the Doctor," says Tom, with great dignity.

"My eye!" cried East. "Oh! so that's why Mary called you back, and you

didn't come to supper. You lost something--that beef and pickles was no

end good."

"I say, young fellow," cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and catching him by

the collar, "what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all the group turned to

him, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by his side to

support in case of need.

"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire."

"Don't call me 'sir,' you young muff. How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Can you sing?"

The poor boy, was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in--"You be

hanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday

twelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet."

"Do you know him at home, Brown?"

"No; but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer time,

and I haven't had a look at it yet. Come along, Arthur."

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, where

he might advise him on his deportment.

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the comment at the fire; and it

must be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and

surveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with much

satisfaction.

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cosy. But look

here now, you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, and

don't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say

you can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother and

sisters."

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry.

"But please," said he, "mayn't I talk about--about home to you?"

"Oh yes, I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know, or they'll

call you home-sick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly

desk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! why, your school-books

look like novels!"

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good

enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside,

till the prayer-bell rung.

I have already described the School-house prayers; they were the same on

the first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by the

absence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood

all together at the farther table--of all sorts and sizes, like young

bears with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to him

when he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at the

line, and poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he was

leading him up-stairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showing

him his bed. It was a huge high airy room, with two large windows

looking on to the School close. There were twelve beds in the room. The

one in the furthest corner by the fireplace, occupied by the sixth-form

boy who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by

boys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags (for the

fifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms by themselves). Being

fags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen years old, and

were all bound to be up and in bed by ten; the sixth-form boys came to

bed from ten to a quarter-past (at which time the old verger came round

to put the candles out), except when they sat up to read.

Within a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the other boys who

slept in Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their

own beds, and began undressing and talking to each other in whispers;

while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one

another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little

Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of

sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his

mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could

hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort,

off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at

the bottom of his bed talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your

washhand-stand, under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to

go down for more water in the morning if you use it all." And on he went

with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to

his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a

moment on himself the attention of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and

undressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round more

nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in

bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear,

the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely

boy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do,

but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from

his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth

the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his

back was towards Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked

up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and

sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing in the middle of the

room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him

a snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment

the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully,

who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.

"Confound you, Brown, what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain.

"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping on to the floor, every

drop of blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants the other boot,

he knows how to get it."

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the

sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the

rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, and the old

verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another

minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with his

usual "Good night, genl'm'n."

There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to

heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of

poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which

chased one another through his brain, kept him from thinking or

resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep

himself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the

thought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made

at her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and

give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow,

from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried as if

his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little

fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later,

when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the School the tables

turned; before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe in

the other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to

school in other times. The first few nights after he came he did not

kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was

out, and then stole out and said his prayers in fear, lest some one

should find him out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then he

began to think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and

then that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying

down. And so it had come to pass with Tom as with all who will not

confess their Lord before men: and for the last year he had probably not

said his prayers in earnest a dozen times.

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break his

heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which

he loathed was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to

his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And

then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for

his weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.

The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that he

would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help

him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he

resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a

coward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved,

lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder

than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to

let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed

him, first, all his old friends calling him "Saint" and "Square-toes,"

and a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be

misunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereas

it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to

the largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation, "Shall I

not be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right

to begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting

other boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in

public at least I should go on as I have done?" However, his good angel

was too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of

trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been so

strong, and in which he had found peace.

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and

waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the

face of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he

say--the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the

room--what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on

kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his

inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of

the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over

and over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees

comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not

needed: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example,

and he went down to the great School with a glimmering of another lesson

in his heart--the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit

has conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which the old

prophet learnt in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the

still small voice asked, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" that however we

may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of men

is nowhere without His witnesses; for in every society, however

seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed the

knee to Baal.

He found too how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by

his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt

down, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but

three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measure

owing to the fact, that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in the

room except the præpostor; at any rate, every boy knew that he would try

upon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a

hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some

of the small boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of things to

their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows tried it

on; in one instance or so where the præpostor heard of it and interfered

very decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, after a short

struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state

of things went on for some time longer. Before either Tom Brown or

Arthur left the School-house, there was no room in which it had not

become the regular custom. I trust it is so still, and that the old

heathen state of things has gone out for ever.

CHAPTER II.

THE NEW BOY.

"And Heaven's rich instincts in him grew,

As effortless as woodland nooks

Send violets up and paint them blue."--LOWELL.

I DO not mean to recount all the little troubles and annoyances which

thronged upon Tom at the beginning of this half-year, in his new

character of bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. He

seemed to himself to have become a new boy again, without any of the

long-suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that character

with moderate success. From morning till night he had the feeling of

responsibility on his mind; and even if he left Arthur in their study

or in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had him in sight

again. He waited for him at the doors of the school after every lesson

and every calling-over; watched that no tricks were played him, and none

but the regulation questions asked; kept his eye on his plate at dinner

and breakfast, to see that no unfair depredations were made upon his

viands; in short, as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen with

one chick.

Arthur took a long time thawing too, which made it all the harder work;

was sadly timid; scarcely ever spoke unless Tom spoke to him first; and,

worst of all, would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing in

the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry sometimes, as they sat

together of a night in their study, at this provoking habit of

agreement, and was on the point of breaking out a dozen times with a

lecture upon the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and

speaking out; but managed to restrain himself by the thought that it

might only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he had

learnt from him on his first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve to

sit still, and not say a word till Arthur began; but he was always beat

at that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing

lest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, and

dog-tired of sitting tongue-tied.

It was hard work! But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and

go through with it, so as to satisfy himself; in which resolution he was

much assisted by the chaffing of East and his other old friends, who

began to call him "dry-nurse," and otherwise to break their small wit on

him. But when they took other ground, as they did every now and then,

Tom was sorely puzzled.

"Tell you what, Tommy," East would say, "you'll spoil young Hopeful with

too much coddling. Why can't you let him go about by himself and find

his own level? He'll never be worth a button, if you go on keeping him

under your skirts."

"Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I'm trying to get him

to it every day--but he's very odd. Poor little beggar! I can't make him

out a bit. He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of--he

seems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut or

a blow."

"That sort of boy's no use here," said East, "he'll only spoil. Now,

I'll tell you what to do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made,

and put him in with plenty of cotton wool, and a pap-bottle, labelled

'With care--this side up,' and send him back to mamma."

"I think I shall make a hand of him though," said Tom, smiling, "say

what you will. There's something about him, every now and then, which

shows me he's got pluck somewhere in him. That's the only thing after

all that'll wash, ain't it, old Scud? But how to get at it and bring it

out?"

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and stuck it in his back

hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method

of invoking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled

look, and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That young gentleman

slapped him on the back, and then put his arm round his shoulder, as

they strolled through the quadrangle together. "Tom," said he, "blest if

you ain't the best old fellow ever was--I do like to see you go into a

thing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as you do--but I never can

get higher than a joke. Everything's a joke. If I was going to be

flogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn't help

laughing at it for the life of me."

"Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the great fives'-court."

"Hullo, though, that's past a joke," broke out East, springing at the

young gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by the collar.

"Here, Tommy, catch hold of him t'other side before he can holla."

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of the quadrangle into

the School-house hall. He was one of the miserable little pretty

white-handed curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big

fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and use

bad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything[D] in

this world and the next. One of the avocations in which these young

gentlemen took particular delight, was in going about and getting fags

for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game. They

carried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of all

the boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted,

and getting all those thrashed who didn't go. The present youth belonged

to a house which was very jealous of the School-house, and always picked

out School-house fags when he could find them. However, this time he'd

got the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of the

hall, and East put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a

shake-up, took away his list, and stood him up on the floor, while he

proceeded leisurely to examine that document.

"Let me out, let me go!" screamed the boy in a furious passion. "I'll go

and tell Jones this minute, and he'll give you both the ---- thrashing

you ever had."

"Pretty little dear," said East, patting the top of his hat; "hark how

he swears, Tom. Nicely brought-up young man, ain't he, I don't think."

"Let me alone, ---- you," roared the boy, foaming with rage, and kicking

at East, who quietly tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in a

place of safety.

"Gently, young fellow," said he; "'taint improving for little

whippersnappers like you to be indulging in blasphemy; so you stop that,

or you'll get something you won't like."

"I'll have you both licked when I get out, that I will," rejoined the

boy, beginning to snivel.

"Two can play at that game, mind you," said Tom, who had finished his

examination of the list. "Now you just listen here. We've just come

across the fives'-court, and Jones has four fags there already, two more

than he wants. If he'd wanted us to change, he'd have stopped us

himself. And here, you little blackguard, you've got seven names down

on your list besides ours, and five of them School-house." Tom walked up

to him and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like a

whipped puppy.

"Now just listen to me. We ain't going to fag for Jones. If you tell him

you've sent us, we'll each of us give you such a thrashing as you'll

remember." And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire.

"And mind you too," said East, "don't let me catch you again sneaking

about the School-house, and picking up our fags. You haven't got the

sort of hide to take a sound licking kindly;" and he opened the door and

sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, with a parting

kick.

"Nice boy, Tommy," said East, shoving his hands in his pockets and

strolling to the fire.

"Worst sort we breed," responded Tom, following his example. "Thank

goodness, no big fellow ever took to petting me."

"You'd never have been like that," said East. "I should like to have put

him in a museum:--Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly

educated. Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a

drunken sailor!--He'd make a respectable public open its eyes, I think."

"Think he'll tell Jones?" said Tom.

"No," said East. "Don't care if he does."

"Nor I," said Tom. And they went back to talk about Arthur.

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell Jones, reasoning that

East and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest fags in the

school, wouldn't care three straws for any licking Jones might give

them, and would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on with

interest.

After the above conversation, East came a good deal to their study, and

took notice of Arthur; and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough

little gentleman, and would get over his shyness all in good time; which

much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having an

object in his life, something that drew him out of himself; and, it

being the dull time of the year, and no games going about which he much

cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying

a great deal.

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge, was from

locking-up till supper-time. During this hour or hour-and-half he used

to take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance,

sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound

tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some

chorus of merry voices; in fact, blowing off his steam, as we should now

call it.

This process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur showed himself

so pleased at the arrangement, that it was several weeks before Tom was

ever in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to

look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other articles essential to

his pursuit for the time being, and while rummaging about in the

cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure

of poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table,

and his head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book, on

which his tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat

down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck.

"Why, young un! what's the matter?" said he, kindly; "you ain't unhappy,

are you?"

"Oh no, Brown," said the little boy, looking up with the great tears in

his eyes, "you are so kind to me, I'm very happy."

"Why don't you call me Tom? lots of boys do that I don't like half so

much as you. What are you reading, then? Hang it, you must come about

with me, and not mope yourself," and Tom cast down his eyes on the book,

and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to

himself, "Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;"--and then said gently--

"I'm very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the

Bible more myself. Do you read it every night before supper while I'm

out?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together.

But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?"

"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive,

we always read the lessons after tea; and I love to read them over now,

and try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all, and I

think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. But it

all comes back to me so fresh, that I can't help crying sometimes to

think I shall never read them again with him."

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouraged

him to do so, as his blundering school-boy reasoning made him think

that Arthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But

now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels and bottled

beer; while with very little encouragement Arthur launched into his home

history, and the prayer-bell put them both out sadly when it rang to

call them to the hall.

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, and above all, of

his father, who had been dead about a year, and whose memory Tom soon

got to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did.

Arthur's father had been the clergyman of a parish in the Midland

Counties, which had risen into a large town during the war, and upon

which the hard years which followed had fallen with a fearful weight.

The trade had been half ruined: and then came the old sad story, of

masters reducing their establishments, men turned off and wandering

about, hungry and wan in body and fierce in soul, from the thought of

wives and children starving at home, and the last sticks of furniture

going to the pawn-shop. Children taken from school, and lounging about

the dirty streets and courts, too listless almost to play, and squalid

in rags and misery. And then the fearful struggle between the employers

and men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long course of

oft-repeated crime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire, and

the county yeomanry. There is no need here to dwell upon such tales; the

Englishman into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the

name; you English boys for whom this book is meant (God bless your

bright faces and kind hearts!) will learn it all soon enough.

Into such a parish and state of society, Arthur's father had been thrown

at the age of twenty-five, a young married parson, full of faith, hope,

and love. He had battled with it like a man, and had lots of fine

Utopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity and

such-like, knocked out of his head; and a real wholesome Christian love

for the poor struggling, sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, and

with and for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and life, driven into

his heart. He had battled like a man, and gotten a man's reward. No

silver teapots or salvers, with flowery inscriptions, setting forth his

virtues and the appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat living or

stall, for which he never looked, and didn't care; no sighs and praises

of comfortable dowagers and well got-up young women, who worked him

slippers, sugared his tea, and adored him as 'a devoted man;' but a

manly respect, wrung from the unwilling souls of men who fancied his

order their natural enemies; the fear and hatred of every one who was

false or unjust in the district, were he master or man; and the blessed

sight of women and children daily becoming more human and more homely, a

comfort to themselves and to their husbands and fathers.

These things of course took time, and had to be fought for with toil and

sweat of brain and heart, and with the life-blood poured out. All that,

Arthur had laid his account to give, and took as a matter of course;

neither pitying himself, or looking on himself as a martyr, when he felt

the wear and tear making him feel old before his time, and the stifling

air of fever dens telling on his health. His wife seconded him in

everything. She had been rather fond of society, and much admired and

run after before her marriage; and the London world, to which she had

belonged, pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman

and went to settle in that smoky hole Turley, a very nest of Chartism

and Atheism, in a part of the county which all the decent families had

had to leave for years. However, somehow or other she didn't seem to

care. If her husband's living had been amongst green fields and near

pleasant neighbours, she would have liked it better, that she never

pretended to deny. But there they were: the air wasn't bad after all;

the people were very good sort of people, civil to you if you were civil

to them, after the first brush; and they didn't expect to work miracles,

and convert them all off-hand into model Christians. So he and she went

quietly among the folk, talking to and treating them just as they would

have done people of their own rank. They didn't feel that they were

doing anything out of the common way, and so were perfectly natural, and

had none of that condescension or consciousness of manner which so

outrages the independent poor. And thus they gradually won respect and

confidence; and after sixteen years he was looked up to by the whole

neighborhood as _the_ just man, _the_ man to whom masters and men could

go in their strikes, and all in their quarrels and difficulties, and by

whom the right and true word would be said without fear or favour. And

the women had come round to take her advice, and go to her as a friend

in all their troubles; while the children all worshipped the very ground

she trod on.

They had three children, two daughters and a son, little Arthur, who

came between his sisters. He had been a very delicate boy from his

childhood; they thought he had a tendency to consumption, and so he had

been kept at home and taught by his father, who had made a companion of

him, and from whom he had gained good scholarship, and a knowledge of

and interest in many subjects which boys in general never come across

till they are many years older.

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father had settled that

he was strong enough to go to school, and, after much debating with

himself, had resolved to send him there, a desperate typhus-fever broke

out in the town; most of the other clergy, and almost all the doctors,

ran away; the work fell with tenfold weight on those who stood to their

work. Arthur and his wife both caught the fever, of which he died in a

few days, and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to the end,

and store up his last words. He was sensible to the last, and calm and

happy, leaving his wife and children with fearless trust for a few years

in the hands of the Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, and

for whom he, to the best of his power, had lived and died. His widow's

mourning was deep and gentle; she was more affected by the request of

the Committee of a Freethinking Club, established in the town by some of

the factory hands, (which he had striven against with might and main,

and nearly suppressed,) that some of their number might be allowed to

help bear the coffin, than by anything else. Two of them were chosen,

who with six other labouring men, his own fellow-workmen and friends,

bore him to his grave--a man who had fought the Lord's fight even unto

the death. The shops were closed and the factories shut that day in the

parish, yet no master stopped the day's wages; but for many a year

afterwards the townsfolk felt the want of that brave, hopeful, loving

parson, and his wife, who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and

helpfulness, and had _almost_ at last given them a glimpse of what this

old world would be if people would live for God and each other, instead

of for themselves.

What has all this to do with our story? Well, my dear boys, let a fellow

go on his own way, or you won't get anything out of him worth having. I

must show you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and trained

little Arthur, or else you won't believe in him, which I am resolved you

shall do; and you won't see how he, the timid weak boy, had points in

him from which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and made his presence

and example felt from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself,

and without the least attempt at proselytizing. The spirit of his father

was in him, and the Friend to whom his father had left him did not

neglect the trust.

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years afterwards, Tom

and Arthur, and by degrees East occasionally, and sometimes one,

sometimes another, of their friends, read a chapter of the Bible

together, and talked it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly

astonished, and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur read

the book, and talked about the men and women whose lives were there

told. The first night they happened to fall on the chapters about the

famine in Egypt, and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were a

living statesman; just as he might have talked about Lord Grey and the

Reform Bill; only that they were much more living realities to him. The

book was to him, Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of real

people, who might do right or wrong, just like any one who was walking

about in Rugby--the Doctor, or the masters, or the sixth-form boys. But

the astonishment soon passed off, the scales seemed to drop from his

eyes, and the book became at once and for ever to him the great human

and divine book, and the men and women, whom he had looked upon as

something quite different from himself, became his friends and

counsellors.

For our purposes, however, the history of one night's reading will be

sufficient, which must be told here, now we are on the subject, though

it didn't happen till a year afterwards, and long after the events

recorded in the next chapter of our story.

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and read the story of

Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured of his leprosy. When the chapter was

finished, Tom shut his Bible with a slap.

"I can't stand that fellow Naaman," said he, "after what he'd seen and

felt, going back and bowing himself down in the house of Rimmon, because

his effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the

trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him."

"Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your head," struck in

East, who always took the opposite side to Tom; half from love of

argument, half from conviction. "How do you know he didn't think better

of it? how do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter don't look

like it, and the book don't say so."

"I don't care," rejoined Tom; "why did Naaman talk about bowing down,

then, if he didn't mean to do it? He wasn't likely to get more in

earnest when he got back to court, and away from the prophet."

"Well but, Tom," said Arthur, "look what Elisha says to him, 'Go in

peace.' He wouldn't have said that if Naaman had been in the wrong."

"I don't see that that means more than saying, 'You're not the man I

took you for.'"

"No, no, that won't do at all," said East; "read the words fairly, and

take men as you find them. I like Naaman, and think he was a very fine

fellow."

"I don't," said Tom, positively.

"Well, I think East is right," said Arthur; "I can't see but what it's

right to do the best you can, though it mayn't be the best absolutely.

Every man isn't born to be a martyr."

"Of course, of course," said East; "but he's on one of his pet hobbies.

How often have I told you, Tom, that you must drive a nail where it'll

go."

"And how often have I told you," rejoined Tom, "that it'll always go

where you want, if you only stick to it and hit hard enough. I hate half

measures and compromises."

"Yes, he's a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the whole animal, hair and

teeth, claws and tail," laughed East. "Sooner have no bread any day than

half the loaf."

"I don't know," said Arthur, "it's rather puzzling; but ain't most right

things got by proper compromises, I mean where the principle isn't given

up?"

"That's just the point," said Tom; "I don't object to a compromise where

you don't give up your principle."

"Not you," said East, laughingly. "I know him of old, Arthur, and you'll

find him out some day. There isn't such a reasonable fellow in the

world, to hear him talk. He never wants anything but what's right and

fair; only when you come to settle what's right and fair, it's

everything that he wants, and nothing that you want. And that's his idea

of a compromise. Give me the Brown compromise when I'm on his side."

"Now, Harry," said Tom, "no more chaff--I'm serious. Look here--this is

what makes my blood tingle;" and he turned over the pages of his Bible

and read, "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the

king, 'O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this

matter. If it _be_ so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from

the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O

king. But _if not,_ be it known unto thee, O king, that we will _not_

serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.'"

He read the last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and dwelling on them

as if they gave him actual pleasure, and were hard to part with.

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, "Yes, that's a glorious

story, but it don't prove your point, Tom, I think. There are times when

there is only one way, and that the highest, and then the men are found

to stand in the breach."

"There's always a highest way, and it's always the right one," said Tom.

"How many times has the Doctor told us that in his sermons in the last

year, I should like to know?"

"Well, you ain't going to convince us, is he, Arthur? No Brown

compromise to-night," said East, looking at his watch. "But it's past

eight, and we must go to first lesson. What a bore!"

So they took down their books and fell to work; but Arthur didn't

forget, and thought long and often over the conversation.

FOOTNOTE:

[D] A kind and wise critic, an old Rugboean, notes here in the margin:

The "small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847." Before

that, too, there were many noble friendships between big and little

boys, but I can't strike out the passage: many boys will know why it is

left in.

CHAPTER III.

ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND.

"Let Nature be your teacher:

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things.

We murder to dissect--

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves:

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives."--WORDSWORTH.

ABOUT six weeks after the beginning of the half, as Tom and Arthur were

sitting one night before supper beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly

stopped, and looked up, and said, "Tom, do you know anything of Martin?"

"Yes," said Tom, taking his hand out of his back hair, and delighted to

throw his Gradus ad Parnassum on to the sofa; "I know him pretty well.

He's a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He's called Madman, you

know. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum things

about him. He tamed two snakes last half, and used to carry them about

in his pocket, and I'll be bound he's got some hedgehogs and rats in his

cupboard now, and no one knows what besides."

"I should like very much to know him," said Arthur; "he was next to me

in the form to-day, and he'd lost his book and looked over mine, and he

seemed so kind and gentle, that I liked him very much."

"Ah, poor old Madman, he's always losing his books," said Tom, "and

getting called up and floored because he hasn't got them."

"I like him all the better," said Arthur.

"Well, he's great fun, I can tell you," said Tom, throwing himself back

on the sofa, and chuckling at the remembrance. "We had such a game with

him one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some

time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, and she told

the Doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before dinner, when he came down

from the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding into

the Hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, and

preciously we stared, for he don't come in like that once a-year, unless

it is a wet day and there's a fight in the Hall. 'East,' says he, 'just

come and show me Martin's study.' 'Oh, here's a game,' whispered the

rest of us, and we all cut up-stairs after the Doctor, East leading. As

we got into the New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the Doctor

and his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman's den.

Then that stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun: the

Madman knew East's step, and thought there was going to be a siege.

"'It's the Doctor, Martin. He's here and wants to see you,' sings out

East.

"Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door opened, and there was the

old Madman standing, looking precious scared; his jacket off, his

shirt-sleeves up to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered

with anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like a

sailor-boy's, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. 'Twas all

the Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East and I, who were

looking in under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie was

standing on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and looking

disgusted and half-poisoned.

"'What can you be about, Martin?' says the Doctor; 'you really mustn't

go on in this way--you're a nuisance to the whole passage.'

"'Please, Sir, I was only mixing up this powder, there isn't any harm in

it;' and the Madman seized nervously on his pestle and mortar, to show

the Doctor the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding;

click, click, click; he hadn't given six clicks before, puff! up went

the whole into a great blaze, away went the pestle and mortar across the

study, and back we tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down

into the court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, howling, with his

fingers in his mouth. The Doctor caught hold of him, and called to us to

fetch some water. 'There, you silly fellow,' said he, quite pleased

though to find he wasn't much hurt, 'you see you don't know the least

what you're doing with all these things; and now, mind, you must give up

practising chemistry by yourself.' Then he took hold of his arm and

looked at it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twinkled;

but he said, quite grave, 'Here, you see, you've been making all these

foolish marks on yourself, which you can never get out, and you'll be

very sorry for it in a year or two: now come down to the housekeeper's

room, and let us see if you are hurt.' And away went the two, and we all

stayed and had a regular turn-out of the den, till Martin came back with

his hand bandaged and turned us out. However, I'll go and see what he's

after, and tell him to come in after prayers to supper." And away went

Tom to find the boy in question, who dwelt in a little study by himself,

in New Row.

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such a fancy for, was one of

those unfortunates who were at that time of day (and are, I fear, still)

quite out of their places at a public school. If we knew how to use our

boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated as a natural

philosopher. He had a passion for birds, beasts, and insects, and knew

more of them and their habits than any one in Rugby; except perhaps the

Doctor, who knew everything. He was also an experimental chemist on a

small scale, and had made unto himself an electric machine, from which

it was his greatest pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to any

small boys who were rash enough to venture into his study. And this was

by no means an adventure free from excitement; for, besides the

probability of a snake dropping on to your head or twining lovingly up

your leg, or a rat getting into your breeches-pocket in search of food,

there was the animal and chemical odour to be faced, which always hung

about the den, and the chance of being blown up in some of the many

experiments which Martin was always trying, with the most wondrous

results in the shape of explosions and smells that mortal boy ever heard

of. Of course, poor Martin, in consequence of his pursuits, had become

an Ishmaelite in the house. In the first place, he half-poisoned all his

neighbours, and they in turn were always on the look-out to pounce upon

any of his numerous live-stock, and drive him frantic by enticing his

pet old magpie out of his window into a neighbouring study, and making

the disreputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar. Then

Martin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court some

ten feet across, the window of which was completely commanded by those

of the studies opposite in the Sick-room Row, these latter being at a

slightly higher elevation. East, and another boy of an equally

tormenting and ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, and

had expended huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments of

annoyance for the behoof of Martin and his live colony. One morning an

old basket made its appearance, suspended by a short cord outside

Martin's window, in which were deposited an amateur nest containing four

young hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of Martin's life for the time

being, and which he was currently asserted to have hatched upon his own

person. Early in the morning, and late at night he was to be seen half

out of window, administering to the varied wants of his callow brood.

After deep cogitation, East and his chum had spliced a knife on to the

end of a fishing-rod; and having watched Martin out, had, after

half-an-hour's severe sawing, cut the string by which the basket was

suspended, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with hideous

remonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, returning from his short

absence, collected the fragments and replaced his brood (except one

whose neck had been broken in the descent) in their old location,

suspending them this time by string and wire twisted together, defiant

of any sharp instrument which his persecutors could command. But, like

the Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East and his chum had an answer for

every move of the adversary; and the next day had mounted a gun in the

shape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of their window, trained so as to

bear exactly upon the spot which Martin had to occupy while tending his

nurselings. The moment he began to feed, they began to shoot; in vain

did the enemy himself invest in a pea-shooter, and endeavour to answer

the fire while he fed the young birds with his other hand; his attention

was divided, and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs told on

his face and hands, and drove him into howlings and imprecations. He had

been driven to ensconce the nest in a corner of his already too

well-filled den.

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts of his own

invention, for the sieges were frequent by the neighbours when any

unusually ambrosial odour spread itself from the den to the neighbouring

studies. The door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the frame

of the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it the owner carried on

his varied pursuits; much in the same state of mind, I should fancy, as

a Border-farmer lived in, in the days of the old mosstroopers, when his

hold might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any minute of night

or day.

"Open, Martin, old boy--it's only I, Tom Brown."

"Oh, very well, stop a moment." One bolt went back. "You're sure East

isn't there?"

"No, no, hang it, open." Tom gave a kick, the other bolt creaked, and he

entered the den.

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long by five wide, and

seven feet high. About six tattered school-books, and a few chemical

books, Taxidermy, Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the

latter in much better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The other

shelves, where they had not been cut away and used by the owner for

other purposes, were fitted up for the abiding places of birds, beasts

and reptiles. There was no attempt at carpet or curtain. The table was

entirely occupied by the great work of Martin, the electric machine,

which was covered carefully with the remains of his table-cloth. The

jackdaw cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned by a small

hatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin candle-box, in which he

was for the time being endeavouring to raise a hopeful young family of

field-mice. As nothing should be let to lie useless, it was well that

the candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin never had. A pound

was issued to him weekly as, to the other boys, but as candles were

available capital, and easily exchangeable for birds'-eggs or young

birds, Martin's pound invariably found its way in a few hours to

Howlett's the bird-fancier's, in the Bilton Road, who would give a

hawk's or nightingale's egg or young linnet in exchange. Martin's

ingenuity was therefore for ever on the rack to supply himself with a

light; just now he had hit upon a grand invention, and the den was

lighted by a flaring cotton-wick issuing from a ginger-beer bottle full

of some doleful composition. When light altogether failed him, Martin

would loaf about by the fires in the passages or Hall, after the manner

of Diggs, and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the fire-light.

"Well, old boy, you haven't got any sweeter in the den this half. How

that stuff in the bottle stinks. Never mind, I ain't going to stop, but

you come up after prayers to our study; you know young Arthur; we've got

Gray's study. We'll have a good supper and talk about birds'-nesting."

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, and promised to

be up without fail.