We boys used to think the days at old Browne's very long and tedious,
and often enough feel a mortal hatred of Euclid as a tyrant who had
invented geometry for the sake of driving boys mad. What distaste, too,
we had for all the old Romans who had bequeathed their language to us;
just as if English wasn't ten times better, Mercer used to say.
"Bother their old declensions and conjugations!" he would cry. "What's
the good of them all? I call it a stupid language to have no proper
prepositions and articles and the rest of it: tucking i's, a's, and e's
at the end of words instead."
But what days they were after all--days that never more return! The
Doctor was pretty stern at times, and gave us little rest. Mr Rebble
seemed to be always lying in wait to puzzle us with questions, and Mr
Hasnip appeared to think that we never had enough to learn; while the
German and French masters, who came over twice a week from Hastings,
both seemed to have been born with the idea that there was nothing of
the slightest consequence in the way of our studies but the tongues they
taught. And oh, the scoldings we received for what they called our
neglect and stupidity!
"_Ach, dumkopf_!" the German master would cry wrathfully; while the
French master had a way of screwing up his eyes, wrinkling his face, and
grinding his teeth at our pronunciation.
I'm afraid we hated them all, in complete ignorance of the other side of
the case, and the constant unwearying application they gave to a set of
reckless young rascals, who construed Latin with their lips and the game
that was to be played that afternoon with their brains.
I confess it. I must have been very stupid in some things, sharp as I
was in others, and I have often thought since that Mr Rebble's
irritability was due to the constant trouble we gave him; that Mr
Hasnip was at heart a thorough gentleman; and as for "Old Browne," as we
called him, he was a ripe scholar and a genuine loveable old Englishman,
with the health and welfare of his boys thoroughly at heart.
We thought nothing of it. A boy's nature does not grasp all these
things. To us it was a matter of course that, if we were ill, Mrs
Doctor should have us shut up in another part of the house, and, with
her two daughters, risk infection, and nurse us back to health. I could
not see then, but I can now, what patient devotion was given to us. Of
course I could not see it, for I was a happy, thoughtless boy, living my
golden days, when to breathe and move was a genuine pleasure, and the
clouds and troubles that shut off a bit of life's sunshine only made the
light the brighter when it came again!
Ah! it's a grand thing to be a boy, with all your life before you, and
if any young sceptic who reads these words, and does not skip them
because he thinks they are prosy preaching, doubts what I say, let him
wait. It is the simple truth, and I am satisfied, for I know that he
will alter his tune later on.
In spite, then, of the many troubles I had to go through, with the
weariness of much of the learning, it was a delightful life I led, and
though a little dumpy at leaving home after the holidays, I had
forgotten my low spirits long before I got back to the Doctor's, and was
looking forward longingly to seeing old faces, wondering what the new
ones would be like, and eager to renew my friendly relations with Tom
Mercer, Lomax, Bob Hopley, and Cook, and to give them the little
presents I was taking back.
These were mere trifles, but they went a long way with the recipients.
Tom Mercer declared that the blade of the knife I gave him was the best
bit of steel he ever saw. It wasn't: for, unless the edge was
constantly renewed, there never was such a knife to cut.
Lomax's gift was more satisfactory, for my uncle got it for me with a
grim smile, as he thought, I know, of his old soldiering days. It was a
quarter of a pound of very choice Virginia tobacco, and it delighted the
old sergeant so, that I thought he would have hugged me. I don't know
how long that lasted, but I am sure he hoarded some of it up for nearly
a year, and he would call my attention to its "glorious scent," as he
called it, though to me it was very nasty indeed.
Bob Hopley's present was a red and orange silk kerchief, which he wore
proudly on Sundays, and Cook's was in a small box prepared by my
mother--a cap with wonderful flowers and ribbons, which obtained for Tom
Mercer and me endless little supper snacks as tokens of the woman's
delight and gratitude.
So, as time sped on, I had grown so accustomed to the life at "Old
Browne's," that I felt little objection, as I have said, to returning
after the Christmas holidays; though the weather was bad and there was a
long while to wait before there could be much pleasure in out-door
sports. But the spring came at last with its pear and apple blossom,
the hops began to run up the poles, May and June succeeded, and glided
on so that I could hardly believe it when the midsummer holidays came
without my feeling that I had advanced much in the past six months.
I suppose I had, for I had worked hard, and the letter I bore home from
the Doctor quite satisfied my mother who afterwards informed me in
confidence that my uncle was greatly pleased.
Six weeks' holidays were before me, but, before they were at an end, I
was beginning to get weary, and longing for the day to come when my new
things were brought home ready to try on, pack up, and return to school.
To my studies and interviews with the masters?
Oh, no! nothing of the kind; but to where there were woods and ponds,
and the General's cob for my riding lessons, and the cricket-field.
I'm afraid my mother must have thought me careless and unloving. I hope
I was not, in my eagerness to get back to Tom Mercer, who made my school
life most interesting by his quaintness. For I was always ready to
enter into his projects, some of which were as amusing as they were new.
I had seen little of my uncle when I was home last, but he wrote to me
twice--stern, military-toned letters, each of which was quite a despatch
in itself. In these he laid down the law to me, giving me the best of
advice, but it was all very Spartan-like. He insisted above all things
upon my recollecting that I was to be a soldier, and that a soldier was
always a gentleman and a man of honour, and each time he finished his
letter in these words,--
"Never tell a lie, Frank; never do a dirty action; keep yourself smart
and clean; and, by the way, I send you a sovereign to spend in trash."
"Only wish I had such an uncle," Tom Mercer used to say. "My father
would send me money if he could spare it, but he says his patients won't
pay. They're civil enough when they're ill, but when he has wound up
their clocks, and set them going again, they're as disagreeable as can
be if he wants his bill."
This was after I had gone back from the midsummer holidays.
"Did you ask him for money, then?"
"Yes, and he said that if he wrote at midsummer and asked for payment,
the farmers told him they'd pay after harvest, and if he wanted it after
harvest, they said they'd pay at. Christmas, and when Christmas came,
they told him to wait till midsummer. Oh, won't I serve 'em out if ever
I'm a doctor!"
"What would you do?" I said.
"Give 'em such a dose!"
"Not you, Tom."
"Oh, won't I! I don't care, though; father gave me a crown and mamma
half a one."
"And enough too. What a fellow you are to grumble!"
"That I'm not. I wanted 'em to buy me a watch."
"Get out! What a fellow you are! Next time the chaps want a nickname
for you, I shall call you Watchman."
"All right! I don't mind; but I shan't be happy till I have a watch."
"That's what you used to say about Magglin's take-to-pieces gun, but you
never got it, and you've been happy enough without."
"Oh, have I?" said Mercer. "You don't know. I used to long for that
gun."
Two or three days afterwards, in one of our strolls, when we were both
coming back laden with odds and ends for the museum up in the loft,
Mercer proposed that we should cross a field and get into the lower
lane, so as to call at Polly Hopley's to get something to eat.
I was nothing loth, and we struck off across country, got into the lane
about a couple of hundred yards from the keeper's lodge, and then
suddenly stopped short.
"Hush!" I said, as shouts and cries reached our ears.
"There's something the matter," cried Mercer. "Come on."
We set off at a run, and as we passed a bend in the lane, we came full
in sight of the keeper's cottage, and saw him in the middle of the road,
holding a rough-looking figure by the collar, keeping it down upon its
knees, while he vigorously used a stick upon the object's back, in spite
of cries and protestations, till there was a sudden wrench, and whoever
it was dragged himself away and ran down the lane, Polly Hopley standing
at the cottage door laughing, while her father wiped his brow with the
sleeve of his coat.
"Hullo, young gents!" he cried. "You were just too late to see the
fun."
"Saw some of it, Bob," I said. "But who was it?"
"Didn't you see, sir?"
"I did," cried Mercer. "It was old Magglin."
"Yes, and I'll Magglin him!" cried Bob wrathfully.
"What's he been doing?" I said. "Poaching?"
"Eh? Yes, sir, poaching, that's what he's been up to," said Bob, with a
side glance at Polly, who threw her apron over her face, burst out
laughing, and ran into the cottage. "He've been told over and over
again to keep away, but it's no good, so I've started this here hazel
saplin' for him and I've been beating his carpet for him nicely. I
don't think he'll come any more."
"What does he come poaching after, Bob--the sweets?" said Mercer.
"Um! Yes, the sweets," said Bob drily; "and he ain't going to have 'em.
A lazy, poaching, dishonest scoundrel, that's what he is. I did think
we'd got rid of him lots o' times, but he's like a bad shilling, he
always comes back. Well, never mind him, sir. When are you coming to
have a day's fishing? Sir Orkus told me only t'other day you was to be
looked after if you come."
"Oh, some day soon," I said. "We've got a big cricket match coming on
first."
"Ay? Well, I must come and see that, young gents. I used to be fond of
bowling myself."
We shook hands with the keeper, and then went into the cottage to buy a
couple of Polly's turnovers, and found her looking very red-faced and
shy, but she was businesslike enough over taking the money, and we went
off browsing down the lane upon Polly's pastry and blackberry jam.
"Magg wants to marry Polly," I said oracularly. "Don't you remember
that day when we went round by the back, and heard her ordering him
off?"
"Yes, I remember," said Mercer, with his mouth full. "I was thinking
about it. I don't wonder at Bob whacking him. Polly's too good for
such a miserable, shuffling, cheating fellow as he is. I hate him now.
I used to like him, though I didn't like him. I liked him because he
was so clever at getting snakes and hedgehogs and weasels. He always
knew where to find lizards. But he's a cheat. You pay him, and then he
says you didn't, and keeps on worrying you for more money. I'll never
buy anything of him again."
"That's what you always say, Tom," I replied, "and next time he has a
good bird or anything, you buy it."
"Well, I've done with him this time. Look: there he is."
For about fifty yards away there was Magglin, long-haired and
dirty-looking, seated on the bank, with his elbows on his knees and his
face buried in his hands.
But he was so quick of ear, that, though we were walking along the
grassy margin of the road, he heard us coming, and started up fierce and
excited of aspect, but only to soften down and touch his cap, with a
servile grin upon his face.
"Hullo, Mr Mercer, sir," he whined; "looking for me?"
"No," said my companion. "Why should I look for you?"
"Thought you wanted to pay me that shilling you owe me, sir."
"I don't owe you a shilling."
"Oh yes, you do, sir. Don't he, Mr Burr junior?"
"No," I said; "and if you ever have the impudence to say so again, I'll
tell Bob Hopley to give you another thrashing."
The gipsy-looking fellow's dark eyes flashed.
"He'd better touch me again," he cried fiercely. "He'd better touch me
again. Did you two see?"
"Yes, we saw," said Mercer. "I say, he did make you cry chy-ike."
"He'd better touch me again."
"He will," I said, "if you go hanging about after Polly Hopley."
"What, did he tell you that?"
"No," I said, "we knew well enough. Bob Hopley didn't say a word. Only
called it poaching."
Magglin's manner changed directly, and in a snivelling, whining way he
began,--
"Well, I can't help it, young gen'lemen. I'm 'bliged to go there, and
nothing I can do's good enough for her. If I give her anything, she
chucks it at me, because it aren't good enough."
"I should think not, indeed," said Mercer. "What decent girl's going to
listen to such a ragged scaramouche as you are?"
"Well, I can't help it, young gen'lemen."
"Yes, you can. Go to work like a man, and grow respectable," I said.
"I should be ashamed to idle about as you do."
"Why, aren't you two always idling about?"
"No. We do our work first," I said.
"I say, Magg, here comes Bob Hopley!" cried Mercer mischievously.
The poacher gave a quick glance up the lane in the direction from which
we had come, caught sight of the keeper's velveteen coat, and shot into
the copse and was gone.
"I don't wonder at Bob thrashing him," I said.
"No," replied Mercer, as we went on. "I shall never deal with him
again. If I want a bird or anything, I shall ask Bob Hopley. He's a
man, he is. If you give him anything, he says, `Thank-ye,' and if you
don't, he never seems to mind. He knows boys haven't always got any
money. I wish Magglin would go right away."
The conversation turned then upon the coming cricket match; after which
we dropped in upon Lomax, and talked to him about boxing, and I pleased
him very much by telling him how satisfied my uncle had been at the way
I had learned to ride a horse; when, with his eyes twinkling, the old
soldier took a letter from his chimney-piece, and opened it to show me
my uncle's words, thanking him for the way he, an old soldier, had
trained the son of a soldier, and enclosing a five-pound note.
"For a rainy day, Master Burr," he said. "I've clapped that in the
bank."