A BOY NO LONGER.
Frank and Bert put their hearts into the city mission work, just as they
did into everything else that they undertook, and it was well they did.
For surely nothing save genuine zeal, and fidelity to a strong purpose
could have carried them through the experiences that awaited them. The
mission school was still small and struggling. But for the almost heroic
energies of its superintendent, a clerk in a city banking house, it
could not have been carried on at all. He was a small, slight,
fragile-looking man, but he had a heart big enough for a giant, and
having consecrated his spare hours to this most unattractive of all
phases of Christian work, he carried it on with a self-denying
earnestness that no difficulties could dampen, nor obstacles appal. He
was as ready with his purse, to the extent of its slender ability, as he
was with his Bible, and his splendid unselfishness was so well
appreciated by the dangerous degraded beings among whom he toiled, that
alone and unprotected he might go among them at any hour of the day or
night, and meet with nothing but respect and rude courtesy.
Such a man was David McMaster, under whose direction Bert and Frank lost
no time in placing themselves; and a right glad welcome they had from
him, his pale, thin face fairly glowing with pleasure at the addition to
his force of two such promising recruits. With him they went the rounds
of squalid tenements, hideous back alleys, and repulsive shanties, the
tattered children gazing at them with faces in which curiosity was
mingled with aversion, and their frousy parents giving them looks of
enmity and mistrust, no doubt because they were so clean and well
dressed.
But apparently noting nothing of this, Mr. McMaster led the way from one
rookery to another, introducing his new workers to their wretched
inhabitants with an easy grace that disarmed all suspicion, and made
them feel that so long as he was the presiding genius of the school,
they had nothing to fear in the worst locality.
The following Sunday morning they began work on their own account. The
school was held at ten o'clock, closing just in time to permit the
teachers to get to church, and the part assigned to Bert and Frank was
to go out into the highways and byways, and invite the children playing
in the dirt to come to the school, or else to go to the homes, if such
they could be called, of those whose names were already upon the roll,
and secure their attendance at the service.
Then when the school opened they found plenty to do, distributing the
hymn books, helping in the singing, keeping a sharp look-out for unruly
behaviour, watching the door lest any scholar should take it into his
head to bolt, insuring an equitable division of the picture papers, and
so on until the hour came to close the school, and they turned their
steps churchward, feeling with good reason that they had really been
doing work for God, and hard work, too.
They soon grew to love Mr. McMaster as much as they admired his zeal. He
was in many ways a quaint, curious character. His body seemed so small
and insignificant, and his spirit so mighty. He knew neither fear nor
despair in the prosecution of his chosen work, and it was impossible to
be associated with him without being infected by his unquenchable
ardour. For some time no special incident marked their work, and then
Bert had an experience that might have brought his part with it to an
end had he been made of less sturdy stuff.
In company with Mr. McMaster he was making the usual round previous to
the opening of the school, beating up unreliable scholars, and had
entered a damp, noisome alley, lined on either side with tumble-down
apologies for houses. Mr. McMaster took one side and Bert the other, and
they proceeded to visit the different dwellers in this horrible place.
Bert had knocked at several doors without getting any response, for the
people were apt to lie in bed late on Sunday morning, and then his
attention was aroused by sounds of crying mingled with oaths, that came
from the garret of a villainous-looking tenement. He could hear the
voices of a woman and of a child raised in entreaty and terror, and
without pausing to consider the consequences, sprang up the broken
stairs to the room from which they issued.
On opening the door a scene presented itself that would have stirred the
sympathies of a man of stone. Pat Brannigan, the big wharf labourer, had
devoted the greater portion of his week's wages to making himself and
his boon companions drunk with the vile rum dealt out at the groggery
hard by. At midnight he had stumbled home, and throwing himself upon his
bed sought to sleep off the effects of his carouse. Waking up late in
the morning with a raging headache, a burning tongue, and bloodshot
eyes, he had become infuriated at his poor, little girl, that cowered
tremblingly in a corner, because she would not go out and get him some
more drink. Half-crazed, and utterly reckless, he had sprung at the
child, and might have inflicted mortal injury upon her had not the
mother interposed, and kept him at bay for a moment, while she joined
her shrieks to those the girl was already uttering.
It was just at this moment that Bert entered the room. As quick as a
flash he sprang to Pat Brannigan's side, and seized his arm now uplifted
to strike down the unhappy wife. With a howl of rage the big brute
turned to see who had thus dared to interfere. He did not know Bert, and
his surprise at seeing a well-dressed stranger in the room made him
hesitate a moment. Then with an oath he demanded:
"Who may you be, and what's your business here?"
Bert looked straight into his eyes, as he answered, quietly:
"I heard the noise, and I came in to see what was the matter."
"Then you can just be taking yourself off again as fast as you like,"
growled the giant, fiercely.
Bert did not stir.
"Be off with you now. Do you hear me?" shouted Brannigan, raising his
clenched fist in a way there was no mistaking.
Still Bert did not move.
"Then take that," yelled Brannigan, aiming a terrible blow at the boy.
But before it could reach him the poor wife, with a wild shriek, sprang
in between them, and her husband's great fist descended upon her head,
felling her to the floor, where she lay as though dead.
At this moment, Mr. McMaster rushed in through the open door. Pat
Brannigan knew him well, and when sober held him in profound respect.
Even now his appearance checked his fury, and he stood swaying in the
centre of the room, looking with his bleared, bloodshot eyes, first at
Mr. McMaster, and then at the motionless heap upon the floor at his
feet.
Advancing a step or two, Mr. McMaster looked into Brannigan's fiery
face, and asked, sternly, as he pointed to the insensible woman lying
between them:
"Is that your work?"
The giant quailed before the fearless, condemning glance of the man who
seemed like a pigmy beside him. His head fell upon his breast, and
without attempting a reply, he slunk over to the other end of the room,
flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.
"Come, Bert, let us lift her up on the bed," said Mr. McMaster, and
between them Mrs. Brannigan was lifted gently, and placed upon the
miserable bed.
"Now, Katie, get us some cold water, quick," said he, turning to the
little girl, who watched him with wondering eyes. As if glad to get out
of the room, she sped away, and presently returned with a tin of water,
with which Mr. McMaster tenderly bathed Mrs. Brannigan's forehead, and
soon the poor sufferer recovered consciousness. Mr. McMaster and Bert
then went away, the former promising to look in again after school was
over, and see if further help might be required.
When Bert told of the morning's experience at home, his mother became
very much agitated, and seemed strongly inclined to oppose his
continuing the work. But Mr. Lloyd was not of the same opinion at all.
He thought it a very admirable training for Bert, and Bert himself had
no disposition to give it up. Accordingly, he went on as though nothing
had happened, meeting with many discouragements, and few real successes,
yet sustained by a steady impulse to willing service, strengthened by a
real interest in the work itself.
The days of Bert's boyhood were rapidly passing by. The time was
approaching for him to enter college, and once enrolled as an
undergraduate he could of course be counted a boy no longer. Not indeed
that he was growing old in the sense of becoming too prim or particular
to indulge in boyish sports and pranks. There was nothing premature in
his development. He was in advance of many boys of his age, it is true,
but that was only because he strove to be.
He was not content unless he stood among the leaders, whether in study
or sport. He looked forward to college with ardent expectation. Ever
since the days of Mr. Garrison's school he had been accustomed to see
the students in their Oxford caps and flowing black gowns going to and
from the university which had its home in a handsome free-stone building
that stood right in the heart of the city, and he had felt impatient for
the time to come when he might adopt the same odd and striking costume.
During the past year his studies had been directed with special
reference to the matriculation examination. As regards the classics, he
could not have had a better teacher than Dr. Johnston, and his progress
in knowledge of them had been sure and steady. In mathematics, however,
he was hardly up to the mark, partly because they were not taught with
the same enthusiasm at Dr. Johnston's, and partly because he did not
take to them very kindly himself. Mr. Lloyd accordingly thought it wise
to engage a tutor who would give him daily lessons during the mid-summer
holidays.
Bert, as was quite natural, did not altogether relish the idea of
mingling work with play in this fashion in the glorious summer weather
when the days seemed all too short for the enjoyment that was to be had;
but when Frank, who was of course to go to college also, entered
heartily into the plan, and Mr. Scott, the tutor, proved to be a very
able and interesting instructor, full of enthusiasm about the
university, in which he was one of the most brilliant students, Bert's
indifference soon disappeared, and the three lads--for Mr. Scott was
still in his teens--had a fine time together that summer, studying hard
for two hours each morning, and spending the rest of the day in boating,
or cricket, or some other pleasant fashion.
As the heat of summer yielded to the cool breezes of autumn, and the
time for the opening of the college drew near, Bert grew very excited.
There were two scholarships offered at each matriculation examination,
one open to those coming from the city, the other to those from the
country. He had fixed his ambition upon the city scholarship, and
determined to do his best to win it. He had caught some of his tutor's
enthusiasm, and fully appreciated the importance of a brilliant
beginning. Accordingly, he gave diligent heed to the good advice Mr.
Scott delighted to give him, as well as to the studies he set for him,
and looked forward hopefully to the approaching examination.
Toward the end of October the examination took place. It was the boys'
first experience of a written examination, and it is little wonder if
they felt nervous about it.
With Mr. Scott as guide they made their way to the university building,
where he led them along the echoing stone corridors to a door inscribed,
"Library;" and then, wishing them the best of fortune, bade them enter
and try their fate. They found themselves in a large bright room whose
floor was covered with desks, and the walls lined with bookcases, and
having at one end a baize-covered table, around which sat several
spectacled gentlemen attired in long black gowns, and chatting busily
with one another. They took no notice of the two boys, who sat down at
the nearest desk, and awaited developments. They were the first
candidates in the room, but others presently came in until more than a
score had gathered.
All evidently felt more or less nervous, although some tried very hard
to appear unconcerned. They varied in age from Bert, who was
undoubtedly the youngest, to a long-bearded, sober-visaged Scotchman,
who might almost have been his father; their appearance was as different
as their ages, some being spruce, well-dressed city lads, and others the
most rustic-looking of youths, clad in rough homespun. They each sat
down in the first seat they could find, and then stared about them as if
they would like very much to know what was going to happen next.
They had not long to wait in uncertainty. A short, stout, pleasant-faced
professor disengaged himself from the group at the table, and stepping
up to the platform, said, in a smooth voice, with a strong Scotch
accent:
"If you are ready to begin, gentlemen, will you please arrange
yourselves so as to occupy only every alternate desk."
There was a little noise and bustle as this order was being carried out,
and then they settled down again, with a vacant desk between each pair
as a precaution against whispered assistance. The next proceeding was to
distribute paper to the candidates, they being expected to supply their
own pens and ink. And then came what all were awaiting with beating
pulse--viz., the examination paper. Each one as he received his paper
ran his eye eagerly down the list of questions, his countenance growing
bright or gloomy according as, to this hasty survey, the questions
seemed easy or difficult.
Bert scanned his list rapidly, gave a great sigh of relief, and then
turned to Frank with a meaning smile, which said more plainly than
words:
"I'm all right."
Frank smiled back, in token that he was all right, too, and then the two
boys bent to their work.
They did not get along very fast at the start. It was their first
written examination, and this, added to their natural nervousness, kept
both their ideas and their ink from flowing freely. But after a few
minutes they forgot themselves in their eagerness to commit to paper the
answers to the questions before them, and for an hour or more they
scribbled away until the first paper, which was upon the classics, had
nothing unanswered left upon it.
Bert finished first, and the professor, noticing him unemployed, brought
him another paper, this time the mathematical one. As he expected, he
did not do quite as well with it. But he felt sure of being right in his
answers to six out of the ten questions, and very hopeful about two
others, so that altogether he was well satisfied.
The third and last paper was upon the English branches--history,
grammar, geography, and so forth, and he polished this off with little
difficulty, making a clean sweep of the dozen questions. All this took
until after one o'clock, and when he laid down his pen with his task
finished, he felt pretty tired, and anxious to get out and stretch
himself. Frank, however, was not quite through, so he waited for him,
and then the friends hurried off to compare notes, and estimate their
chances.
The results would not be declared for two days at least, and Bert found
it very hard to keep his impatience in check. He could think of nothing
else than those examinations. Having answered so many questions, he felt
not the slightest uneasiness as to passing; but the scholarship--ah!
that was the point. Mr. Scott had made it very clear what an important
position a scholarship winner held in his class. It gave him the lead at
once, and was in every way an honour to be highly coveted.
Well, the longest days have their ending, and the two days of excited
uncertainty dragged themselves past, and on Friday morning with a heart
beating like a trip hammer, Bert hastened to the university. The results
would be posted up on a huge blackboard that hung in the central
corridor, and on entering he found an eager crowd thronging about this
board, through which he had some difficulty in making his way. But by
dint of pushing and elbowing, he soon got near enough to make out what
was written on the long sheets of paper that occupied the centre of the
board, and then--how shall be described the bound of wild delight his
heart gave, when he read: "_The City Scholarship_--CUTHBERT LLOYD."
Then underneath the word "_Passed_," in large letters, the name
"CUTHBERT LLOYD," and a few names lower down "FRANK BOWSER," while
below them were the rest of the candidates.
Frank was beside him, and by a common impulse of joy the two friends
threw their arms about each other, and hugged one another like two
enthusiastic young bears. Then they ran off as fast as their legs could
carry them to tell the good news.
There was not a happier, prouder family in all Acadia that night than
the Lloyds. Mr. Bowser and Frank came in to exchange congratulations,
and they rejoiced together over the boys' success. Mr. Bowser was as
delighted over Frank's passing as Mr. Lloyd was over Bert's scholarship.
Like many men of defective education, he had very vague views about
college. It was all a mystery to him, and that Frank, whom he was just
finding out to be something more than a boy, should so easily penetrate
these mysteries, and take a good place among the candidates for
admission, was a source of unbounded satisfaction to him.
After the first exuberance of joy had subsided, the conversation sobered
down somewhat, and they began to talk about the future.
"Now, young gentlemen--for I suppose I dare not call you boys any
longer," said Mr. Lloyd, smilingly--"you should soon be making up your
minds as to what part in life you intend to take, because, once you have
decided, your studies at college should be carried on with that end in
view. Don't you think so, Mr. Bowser?"
"I most certainly do, sir," replied Mr. Bowser, promptly.
"Well, of course, it is not a question to be decided off hand,"
continued Mr. Lloyd," nor one which we should decide for you, unless you
turn it over to us. So we will leave it with you for a while, if you
like."
"I don't think that's necessary, father," spoke up Bert. "Frank and I
have pretty well made up our minds already--that is, of course, if there
is no objection."
"And what is your choice, Frank?" asked Mr. Lloyd.
"I would like to follow my father's business, if he will have me, sir,"
answered Frank, giving his father a look of inquiry.
Mr. Bowser's face flushed with pleasure. He rose from his chair, and
crossing the room to where his son sat, he put his big hand upon his
shoulder, and said, in his heartiest tones:
"Ay--that I will, my lad, and all that I have shall be yours when I am
gone."
"I hope that won't be for a long time yet, father," said Frank, looking
up affectionately into his father's beaming face.
"So do I, my boy, so do I; but when it does happen, God knows what a
comfort it will be to me to leave such a son behind me." And the tears
slipped down his broad cheeks as he went back to his chair.
There was a moment's silence, for all had been affected by this touching
little scene; and then, Mr. Lloyd, turning to Bert, inquired of him:
"And what is your choice, Bert?"
"Well, father, if you think I can ever become fit for it, I would like
to be a minister," he answered, modestly.
It was now Mr. Lloyd's turn to become radiant.
"My darling boy, you could not have delighted me more," he cried. "It
has been my desire and prayer for you, that this should be your choice,
but I have said nothing to you, because I wanted you to be perfectly
free and unbiassed by any thought of pleasing me. I see clearly now that
this is the Lord's doing, and my heart is full to overflowing with joy.
God bless you both, my boys. I am sure that the hope and prayer of us
all is that in your manhood may be fulfilled the promise of your boyhood
that has been so bright, and to which you have now bidden farewell."
THE END.
LORIMER AND GILLIES, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
End of Project Gutenberg's Bert Lloyd's Boyhood, by J. McDonald Oxley