"Master Mercer came and told me, and asked me for something to eat for
you, because he said he knew they'd only give you bread and water."
"Master Mercer!" I muttered to myself angrily; "and I'm to suffer for
him!"
"There, I won't bother you, my dear, but I'm very sorry, and I don't
suppose it's anything much. Have you broken a window?"
"No, Cook."
"Now don't say you've been stealing apples, because I'd have given you
lots if you'd asked."
"No," I said softly, for the woman's voice sounded so pleasant and
sympathetic that I wanted her to stay.
"Then I know: you've been breaking bounds. Oh dear, boys will be boys,
and it's quite natural, my dear, for you to want to get away, and run
where you like. I don't wonder, shut up as you all are, like being in a
cage. There, don't you fret, and it'll all come right. I'll see that
you have something beside bread and water. Bread and water, indeed!
Such stuff as is only to cook with. Why, they might just as well feed
you on flour."
"What time is it, Cook?" I asked.
"Just gone six, my dear; and there: I mustn't stop gossiping, for I've
my fire to light, my kitchen to do; but I hate people to be miserable.
I can't abide it. There's plenty of worries with one's work, as I told
missus only yesterday. There, good-bye, and don't you fret."
I heard the rustling of her dress as she went along the passage, and I
stood by the door till it died away, feeling sad but pleased, for it was
satisfactory to know that there were people about the place who cared
for me. But I felt more low-spirited directly as I thought of what she
might say as soon as she knew the real cause of why I was a prisoner.
The bell rang for rising, and I heard some of the boys soon after out in
their gardens; then, as I stood back from the window, I caught sight of
one or two, and after a while heard the increasing hum and buzz of
voices, and knew that some of them must be getting up lessons that had
been neglected over-night. And as I listened, I thought of the times
when I had murmured and felt dissatisfied at being obliged to give so
much time to such work, whereas now I was envying the happy boys who
were seated at study, with no greater care upon their minds.
Perhaps I was learning a great lesson then, one that I did not know.
The time went on very slowly, and it seemed many hours since I awoke,
when the breakfast-bell rang, and I sat picturing the scene, and
fancying I could hear the boys talking and the mugs and spoons
clattering, as the great piles of bread and butter disappeared.
I was just thinking this when there were steps in the passage, and soon
after the key was rattled in the lock, Mr Rebble appeared, and with him
one of the maids, with a tray on which was a mug and a plate of bread
and butter.
He did not look at me, only admitted the maid to set down the tray, saw
her out, and I was locked in again.
It was very much like the old time, but Tom Mercer was not there to
lighten my loneliness.
As the door closed, I noticed that the mug was steaming, and found that
I was not to have prison fare though I was a prisoner, for my breakfast
was precisely the same as that of the other boys.
"I can't touch it," I said, "It is impossible to eat."
But I was feverishly thirsty, and I took up the mug of milk, just made
warm by the addition of some boiling water. It was pleasantly sweet,
too, and I half fancied that Cook had put in an extra quantity of sugar.
More from habit than anything else, for I felt sick and full of distaste
for food, I broke off a piece of bread and butter and began to eat it
mechanically, and now knew that I was right, for, instead of the salt
butter we generally had, this was fresh and sweet. Cook had certainly
been favouring me, and that scrap led to the finishing of the slice, and
finally to the disappearance of all that was on the plate, while the
last drop of milk and water was drained from the big mug.
As soon as the breakfast was finished, a morbid feeling of vexation came
over me. I was angry because I had touched it, and wished that I had
sulked, and shown myself too much injured to go on as if nothing had
happened. But it was too late then.
After a while, Mr Rebble came back, looking very severe. He watched
the maid as she took the tray, but the girl gave me a sympathetic look,
and then I was once more left alone.
Hard people think they do not,--they say, "Oh, he's only a boy; he'll
soon forget,"--but boys suffer mentally as keenly, or more keenly, than
grown people. Of course they do, for everything about them is young,
tender, and easily wounded. I know that they soon recover from some
mental injury. Naturally. They are young and elastic, and the sapling,
if bent down, springs up again, but for the time they suffer cruelly.
I know I did, shut up there in disgrace, and, as I sat or walked about
my prison, it made no difference to me that it was a plainly furnished,
neat bedroom, for it was as prison-like to me in my vein as if the floor
had been stone, the door of iron-clamped oak with rusty hinges. And as
I moved about the place, I began to understand how prisoners gladly made
friends with spiders, mice, and rats, or employed themselves cutting
their names on the walls, carving pieces of wood, or writing long
histories.
But I had no insects or animals to amuse me, no wood to carve, no stone
walls upon which to chisel my name.