RAY IN HIS SCHOOL LIFE.
Away up at the extreme end of the Parade, and commanding an extensive
view of the town and bay, stood the Afton Graded School building.
Four stories high, solid, square, substantial was the structure, and
through its spacious doors passed daily five or six hundred pupils.
Eight departments occupied its pleasant rooms, ranging from primary
up to senior, the latter department being a grade higher than the
grammar, and yet hardly advanced enough to be called academic. The
scholars ranged from the five-year-old beginners to youths of sixteen
or seventeen, and were of both sexes.
Mr. Greenough, the principal, was a kind-hearted, just man, a good
disciplinarian, and an excellent teacher. For some years now he had
been in charge of the school, and under his management it had reached
a degree of success never experienced before. Admission to the school,
especially in the higher departments, had been eagerly sought for by
scholars who lived far beyond the limits of the corporation; and the
town authorities, under certain restrictions and for an ample tuition,
had consented that a limited number of outsiders should be admitted.
It was under this provision that Ray Branford had the September before
entered the school.
But as soon as Mr. Greenough learned that the lad's residence at Long
Point Farm was but a temporary one, and that his legal home was still
that of his father at Black Forge, he had decided that he was within
the corporation limits, and was therefore entitled to free tuition at
the school, and to all of its privileges. In this opinion the school
board of the town had concurred; and so, with that understanding among
all the interested parties, his name had been put on the regular roll
of the corporation scholars.
The room occupied by the senior department was on the second floor of
the building, and on the south side. The next lower grade, the grammar,
occupied the same room also, and the two departments came directly
under the care of Mr. Greenough and his two assistants. Consequently,
in this room alone, there were nearly one hundred pupils, whose ages
ran from twelve to seventeen.
Into this room on the Monday morning after Thanksgiving Ray came
for the first time as a scholar. There was a novelty to him in
his surroundings, and for a time he felt that every pair of eyes
in the room was turned curiously upon him. He could not appear at
ease, and evinced an awkwardness quite contrary to his usual, calm
self-possession. He also found it difficult at first to study among
so many, and it was well for him that the lessons for the day had been
already thoroughly prepared.
In his own immediate class he found some strangers, but the greater
part were already old acquaintances; for it happened that Edward
Lawton, the son of the president of the Forge Mills, John Bacon, the
son of the superintendent, and all the other lads of Miss Squire's
Sunday-school class were in the senior grade at the public school. For
the most part, too, they gave Ray a cordial welcome--in fact, the only
exception was Edward Lawton. He had never been quite reconciled to
Ray's position in the class at the Bible school, and he now manifested
a similar resentment at Ray's entrance to the senior grade. This
resentment, for reasons which will soon appear, steadily increased, and
became open dislike before the term closed.
Doubtless the first cause of his resentment had been simply Ray's
humble position. He knew his own father was rich, and held a position
of influence not only in the town, but throughout the State. This had
led him to assume aristocratic airs toward Ray. He continually spoke
of him as "one of my father's mill hands," or as "that fellow from the
Forge," as though honest toil could belittle the man or his soul. After
Ray's triumphant acquittal, he had seemed to accept the inevitable, and
treated him with an air of sufferance, if not of courtesy. Possibly
this would have continued to have been his attitude toward him in the
school, had not a circumstance occurred soon after the opening of the
term which brought Ray unconsciously into what Lawton called "a direct
antagonism with himself," and thus the old feeling of resentment was
not only re-aroused, but was intensified. At the close of school one
day, Mr. Greenough detained the scholars for a few minutes to make,
what he called, an important announcement.
"It is generally known to the scholars of the town," he said, "that
at the end of the year the school board presents a silver medal to
the scholar graduating with the highest rank. But it may not be as
generally understood that this medal can be won only by a scholar
belonging within the corporation limits, and even then it must be a
scholar whose name has been on the school register for the entire
school year. In other words, whatever rank an outside scholar may hold,
or whatever the rank one may attain who has entered during the school
year, the fact that one is without the corporation, and that the other
has not been on the school roll for the whole year, will debar each
from receiving this honor.
"But the school board, finding that so many have entered the school
this term under one or the other of these restrictions, has decided
to give them an opportunity to win at least one distinction, and has
requested me to announce that a set of Shakespeare's works, bound in
morocco and valued at ten dollars, will be given to that scholar of
the senior class, without regard to the time he entered the school, or
the place where he may reside, who, in the judgment of the examining
committee, shall show the most marked improvement in his studies, the
highest average scholarship, and the most perfect deportment. There is
but one exception to this competition: the scholar on the corporation
roll, who wins the silver medal, cannot also receive the second prize;
that must go to the one who ranks next to him, if it should be found
that he, in the judgment of the committee, would otherwise have been
entitled to it. Here is now a chance for distinction open alike to all,
and I trust that there will be such an incentive to all to try for it
that a higher excellence will be manifest in our studies, and thus the
wisdom of the board in offering the prize be completely vindicated."
After the school was out, John Bacon said to Edward Lawton: "Hey, Ned,
it's lucky for you that Branford is an outsider, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" asked his companion, loftily.
"Because you might lose the silver medal that you are after," responded
John.
"Bosh! You don't suppose that mill hand can win a prize, do you?" asked
Lawton, with a sneer.
"His chances are good, you can bet!" exclaimed John Bacon, more
forcibly than politely. "I only wish mine were as good."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Edward, angrily. "You, like every one else, seem
to think Ray Branford is a prodigy. I tell you, he isn't half as smart
as you think."
"Time will tell," remarked Bacon, dryly. "You know as well as I do that
he entered the senior grade last September, and that at the end of the
term he passed an examination that gave him a place next to you, and a
dreadful small per cent. below you. And I have heard that Mr. Greenough
said that had Branford been in the class room during the term he would
easily have won the first place. Now he is in the class room, and my
opinion is that, if he keeps on the whole term in his recitations as he
has in the past week, nothing but the fact that he is an outsider will
prevent him from taking the honors right away from Mr. Edward Lawton;
and that's what the trouble is--hey, Ned?"
"I tell you he can't, and I don't fear him that much." And he snapped
his fingers contemptuously; then he turned the corner of the street
leading to his home, and hurried away from his tantalizing companion.
He was more annoyed, however, than he cared to show. All the week he
had been forced to recognize the fact that Ray had ranked as high in
his studies as he, and the fact irritated him. Up to Ray's coming
he had easily led his class, and had already begun to look upon the
graduating medal as his own. But he knew now, even if he were not
prepared to acknowledge it, that if he continued to hold the first
place in the class he must work for it as he never had before; and he
resented the fact that it was one whom he so thoroughly disliked that
forced him into such a situation. He still believed that the silver
medal was his; but if Ray should win the set of books, and show a
higher scholarship than himself, there would be little satisfaction in
receiving the graduation honor. It would be well known that Ray's place
of residence alone had prevented him from taking it.
He entered the house in a sullen and discontented mood, which was at
once aggravated by overhearing his sister Daisy's remark to their
mother. She was a year or two younger than he, but being in the grammar
department was in the same room with him, and had, of course, heard Mr.
Greenough's announcement.
"Yes," she was saying, "and a good many think Edward will have to study
very hard to prevent Ray from getting the medal."
"He can't get it; he's an outsider," snapped out the discontented boy.
"No, he isn't!" said Daisy; "though he works for Mr. Woodhull, his real
home is at his father's, of course, and he was admitted to the school
without tuition or restriction. Sadye Greenough told me so."
"Well, he didn't enter until this term," said Edward, desperately.
"Why, Eddie, you know as well as I do, he was admitted in September,
and recited every week of last term to Mr. Greenough. He also passed
his examination at the end of the term, ranking next to you," said
Daisy, with some show of indignation. "I surely want you to get the
medal, but I don't think it is right to make out that things are
different from what you know they really are. You ought, with hard
work, to easily keep your lead, and I told Sadye Greenough so. But
I do think it is remarkable how fast Ray has gained the position he
occupies, and mamma thinks so too, don't you, mamma?"
"He certainly has shown rare perseverance, and is to be commended
for it. I only hope my son will show a magnanimity and honorableness
as great. He certainly is too honorable to want any position, or to
win any position except by fair and open means. Much as your father
and I want you to graduate at the head of the class, we would prefer
that you should be at its foot, rather than have you exhibit a single
dishonorable or unmanly trait." Then the subject was dropped.
That the lad had been uninfluenced by his mother's words, however,
was manifest by his remarking to himself, as he went to his own room:
"I'll win that medal by fair means if I can, but by foul if I must. No
drunkard's son shall take an honor away from me."
Meanwhile, Ray, utterly unconscious of the resentment he had roused in
Edward Lawton's breast, and with no thought of taking the honors of
his class, went quietly forward with his studies. On the principle he
had adopted months before, to do whatever he had to do with all his
might, he learned each lesson conscientiously and well. He frequently
studied until midnight, and even then rose early enough in the morning
to give his lessons a careful review before the time for doing the
morning chores. He applied himself to his studies so assiduously, that
Mr. Woodhull grew anxious, lest he should impair his health, and one
morning as they sat at the breakfast table he spoke to the lad about
it. Ray laughingly replied: "One good look at me and the breakfast I am
eating would send that anxiety to the four winds; and really, as long
as I take the daily exercise I now do, I scarcely see how ill-health
can get the slightest hold," a remark that his robust frame and
enormous appetite fully justified.
Nor did Ray, in his school life, forget for a moment that other
principle he had adopted--that he would ever remember "whose he was
and whom he served." He manifested his Christian faith everywhere, not
obtrusively or in a sanctimonious way, but so as to command the respect
of all. He found time to be often in the prayer room; he occasionally
led the Sunday afternoon service at the Forge, with growing unction and
power; and he exhibited such a manly Christian spirit and courtesy in
his school duties and toward his school associates, that he fast became
a favorite with both teachers and scholars, and witnessed among them
all silently but powerfully for Christ. The very positiveness of his
own Christian character and faith influenced many a more timid disciple
in that schoolroom to a greater boldness and a more efficient service
for the Master. He scorned all meanness, he refused to stoop to any
dishonorable act, he regarded no school rule or duty as of too little
consequence to be strictly obeyed or thoroughly performed. He was full
of life, ever ready for any harmless sport or innocent amusement. No
one could call his a gloomy Christianity. He made mistakes;--living
men always do; it is only dead men who make no mistakes;--but he
freely confessed his wrong when it was pointed out to him, nor was he
ashamed to ask for forgiveness. So thoroughly marked was his spiritual
progress, as well as his intellectual, that Mr. Greenough remarked to
his pastor one day:
"That boy constantly calls to my mind the Scripture declaration: 'Even
for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my power
in thee, and that my name might be declared throughout all the earth.'
Just think of what he was, how he was saved, and what he now is. If
I mistake not, God has some great work for him to do. I never saw a
more striking illustration of divine election, nor did I ever so fully
believe in the doctrine as I have since I knew him."
But during the weeks that Ray had been growing in favor with his
teachers and the majority of his schoolmates, there was one who
steadily refused to like him. Edward Lawton at first treated Ray with
a cool indifference, while he tried, by hard study, to keep the lead
over him. Had he studied as conscientiously as Ray, and with the same
desire to thoroughly master each lesson, he might easily have kept the
supremacy he already held; for he was naturally a talented and gifted
boy. But he cared nothing for knowledge in itself, and studied only for
the honor of leading his class. Even then he might have succeeded, had
he not formed a habit of passing lightly over, or entirely neglecting
any point of his lessons that seemed to him insignificant, or likely
to pass unnoticed. This superficialness soon manifested itself, as
it always will, and in a moment when it was least expected, as it
often does. The class was reciting in Latin; and in the passage that
Edward Lawton was rendering, an allusion was made to the "swift-footed
Camilla."
"Who was she?" Mr. Greenough asked.
The lad stammered and hesitated for a while, but finally confessed that
he did not know. The question passed down the class unanswered until it
came to Ray, who replied:
"She was the daughter of King Metabus, of the Volscian town of
Privernum, and was one of the swift-footed messengers of Diana,
accustomed to the chase and to war."
A few days later, a similar incident occurred in the geometry class.
Edward again stumbled over some question he ought to have known,
and Ray without hesitation gave the correct answer. Slight as these
circumstances were, and free as Ray's heart was from any intentional
reflection upon Edward's superficialness, the latter chose to so regard
his answers, and talked out of school hours in no gentle terms of "the
Black Forge Mill hand who was putting on airs over him."
His ill feeling toward Ray was soon apparent, but only reacted upon
himself. Boys love fair play, and they know when one of their number is
ill-treated; and whatever popularity Edward had possessed, gradually
waned as his attitude toward Ray became known.
No one had been quicker to discern his ill-treatment of Ray than
his own sister Daisy, and espousing Ray's cause, she both at home
and at school freely denounced what she called "my brother's
contemptibleness." Nor had Edward's ill-will for Ray escaped the notice
of Mr. Greenough. He at once divined the cause, but as there had been
no serious rupture between the boys, and as Ray's bearing toward Edward
was ever one of uniform courtesy, he let the affair go unnoticed,
hoping that some circumstance would occur that would show the offended
boy the unreasonableness of his position, and lead him to change his
course.
Affairs were in this condition as the winter term drew to a close.
The examinations revealed what was generally expected, that Ray by
a handsome percentage had led the class. When the announcement was
made, Edward Lawton went sullenly out from the schoolroom, muttering
to himself: "I have led one term, and that Branford one. If I can now
lead the other, the medal is mine. Fair means have failed; I'll now try
the foul." And allowing every good feeling and noble principle to drop
out of sight, he suffered his secret resentment to grow into an open
jealousy, and his open dislike into a hateful spite. For early the next
term the contemptuous indifference he had at first manifested toward
Ray gave place to one of the most persistent systems of petty annoyance
one lad ever perpetrated upon another. Well was it for Ray that he had
not only read the divine words: "He that is slow to anger is better
than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a
city," but had also by God's grace wrought them into his heart, and
made them a part of his daily life.