MICHAELMAS-DAY OVER.
Mrs. Shaw ordered dinner presently; and while it was being served, she
desired Phil to brush his brother's clothes, as they were dusty from his
ride. All the while he was brushing (which he did very roughly), and all
the first part of dinner-time, Phil continued to tease Hugh about what
he had said on the top of the coach. Mrs. Shaw spoke of the imprudence
of talking freely before strangers; and Hugh could have told her that he
did not need such a lecture at the very time that he found the same
thing by his experience. He did wish Phil would stop. If anybody should
ask him a question, he could not answer without crying. Then he
remembered how his mother expected him to bear things; and he almost
wished he was at home with her now, after all his longing to be away.
This thought nearly made him cry again; so he tried to dwell on how his
mother would expect him to bear things: but neither of them had thought
that morning, beside his box, that the first trial would come from Phil.
This again made him so nearly cry that his uncle observed his twitching
face, and, without noticing him, said that he, for his part, did not
want to see little boys wise before they had time to learn; and that the
most silent companion he had ever been shut up with in a coach was
certainly the least agreeable: and he went on to relate an adventure
which has happened to more persons than one. He had found the gentleman
in the corner, with the shaggy coat, to be a bear--a tame bear, which
had to take the quickest mode of conveyance, in order to be at a distant
fair in good time. Mr. Shaw spun out his story, so that Hugh quite
recovered himself, and laughed as much as anybody at his uncle having
formed a bad opinion of Bruin in the early twilight, for his incivility
in not bowing to the passenger who left the coach.
After dinner, Phil thought it time to be off to Crofton. He had missed
something by coming away at all to-day; and he was not going to run the
chance of losing the top of the class by not having time to do his
Sallust properly. Mrs. Shaw said they must have some of her plums before
they went, and a glass of wine; and Mr. Shaw ordered the gig, saying he
would drive them, and thus no time would be lost, though he hoped Phil
would not mind being at the bottom of every class for once to help his
brother, seeing how soon a diligent boy might work his way up again.
Phil replied that that was not so easy as people might think, when there
was one like Joe Cape determined to keep him down, if he could once get
him down.
"I hope you will find time to help Hugh up from the bottom, in a class
or two," said Mr. Shaw. "You will not be too busy about your own affairs
to look to his I suppose."
"Where is the use of my meddling?" said Phil. "He can't rise for years
to come. Besides----"
"Why can't I rise?" exclaimed Hugh, with glowing cheeks.
"That is right, Hugh," said his uncle. "Let nobody prophesy for you till
you show what you can do."
"Why, uncle, he is nearly two years younger than any boy in the school;
and----"
"And there is little Page above you in algebra. He is about two years
younger than you, Phil, if I remember right."
Hugh could not help clapping his hands at the prospect this held out to
him. Phil took the act for triumphing over him, and went on to say, very
insultingly, that a little fellow who had been brought up among the
girls all his life, and had learned of nobody but Miss Harold, could not
be expected to cut any figure among boys. Hugh looked so grieved for a
moment, and then suddenly so relieved, that his kind uncle wondered what
was in his mind. He took the boy between his knees and asked him.
Hugh loved his uncle already, as if he had always known him. He put his
arms round his neck, and whispered in his ear what he was thinking
of;--his mother's saying that God could and would, if He was sought, put
the spirit of a man into the feeblest child.
"True!--quite true! I am very glad you know that, my boy. That will help
you to learn at Crofton, though it is better than anything they can
teach you in their school-room."
Mrs. Shaw and Phil looked curious; but Mr. Shaw did not repeat a word of
what Hugh had said. He put the boy away from his knees, because he
heard the gig coming round.
Mrs. Shaw told Hugh that she hoped he would spend some of his Sundays
with his uncle and her; and his uncle added that he must come on
holidays as well as Sundays,--there was so much to see about the mill.
Phil was amused, and somewhat pleased, to find how exactly Hugh
remembered his description of the place and neighbourhood. He recognised
the duck-pond under the hedge by the road-side, with the very finest
blackberries growing above it, just out of reach. The church he knew, of
course, and the row of chestnuts, whose leaves were just beginning to
fall; and the high wall dividing the orchard from the playground. That
must have been the wall on which Mr. Tooke's little boy used to be
placed to frighten him. It did not look so very high as Hugh had fancied
it. One thing which he had never seen or heard of was the bell, under
its little roof on the ridge of Mr. Tooke's great house. Was it to call
in the boys to school, or for an alarm? His uncle told him it might
serve the one purpose in the day, and the other by night; and that
almost every large farm thereabouts had such a bell on the top of the
house.
The sun was near its setting when they came in sight of the Crofton
house. A long range of windows glittered in the yellow light, and Phil
said that the lower row all belonged to the school-room;--that whole
row.
In the midst of his explanations Phil stopped, and his manner grew more
rough than ever--with a sort of shyness in it too. It was because some
of the boys were within hearing, leaning over the pales which separated
the playground from the road.
"I say; hello there!" cried one. "Is that Prater you have got with you?"
"Prater the second," cried another. "He could not have had his name if
there had not been Prater the first."
"There! there's a scrape you have got me into already!" muttered Phil.
"Be a man, Phil, and bear your own share," said Mr. Shaw; "and no spite,
because your words come back to you!"
The talk at the palings still went on, as the gig rolled quietly in the
sandy by-road.
"Prater!" poor Hugh exclaimed. "What a name!"
"Yes; that is you," said his uncle. "You know now what your nickname
will be. Every boy has one or another: and yours might have been worse,
because you might have done many a worse thing to earn it."
"But the usher, uncle?"
"What of him?"
"He should not have told about me."
"Don't call him 'Prater the third,' however. Bear your own share, as I
said to Phil, and don't meddle with another's."
Perhaps Mr. Shaw hoped that through one of the boys the usher would get
a new nickname for his ill-nature in telling tales of a little boy,
before he was so much as seen by his companions. He certainly put it
into their heads, whether they would make use of it or not.
Mr. Tooke was out, taking his evening ride; but Mr. Shaw would not drive
off till he had seen Mrs. Watson, and introduced his younger nephew to
her, observing to her that he was but a little fellow to come among
such a number of rough boys. Mrs. Watson smiled kindly at Hugh, and
said she was glad he had a brother in the school, to prevent his feeling
lonely at first. It would not take many days, she hoped, to make him
feel quite at home. Mr. Shaw slipped half-a-crown into Hugh's hand, and
whispered to him to try to keep it safe in his inner pocket. Hugh ran
after him to the door, to tell him that he had five shillings
already--safe in his box: but his uncle would not take back the
half-crown. He thought that, in course of time, Hugh would want all the
money he had.
Mrs. Watson desired Phil to show his brother where he was to sleep, and
to help him to put by his clothes. Phil was in a hurry to get to his
Sallust; so that he was not sorry when Mrs. Watson herself came up to
see that the boy's clothes were laid properly in the deep drawer in
which Hugh was to keep his things. Phil then slipped away.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Watson, turning over one of Hugh's new collars, "we
must have something different from this. These collars tied with a black
ribbon are never tidy. They are always over one shoulder or the other."
"My sisters made them; and they worked so hard to get them done!" said
Hugh.
"Very well--very right: only it is a pity they are not of a better make.
Every Sunday at church, I shall see your collar awry--and every time you
go to your aunt's, she will think we do not make you neat. I must see
about that. Here are good stockings, however--properly stout. My dear,
are these all the shoes you have got?"
"I have a pair on."
"Of course; I don't doubt that. We must have you measured to-morrow for
some boots fitter for the country than these. We have no London pavement
here."
And so Mrs. Watson went on, sometimes approving and sometimes
criticising, till Hugh did not know whether to cry or to be angry. After
all the pains his mother and sisters had taken about his things, they
were to be found fault with in this way!
When his box was emptied, and his drawer filled, Mrs. Watson took him
into the school-room, where the boys were at supper. Outside the door
the buzz seemed prodigious, and Hugh hoped that, in such a bustle,
nobody would notice him. Here he was quite mistaken. The moment he
entered there was a hush, and all eyes were turned upon him, except his
brother's. Phil hardly looked up from his book; but he made room for
Hugh between himself and another boy, and drew the great plate of bread
within reach. Mrs. Watson saw that Hugh had his basin of milk; and he
found it a good thing to have something to do while so many eyes were
upon him. He felt that he might have cried if he had not had his supper
to eat.
The usher sat at the top of the table, reading. Mrs. Watson called his
attention, to Hugh; and Hugh stood up and made his bow. His face was
red, as much with anger as timidity, when he recognised in him the
passenger who had sat beside the coachman.
"Perhaps, Mr. Carnaby," said Mrs. Watson, "you will find something for
this young gentleman to do, when he has had his supper, while the rest
are learning their lessons. To-morrow he will have his own lessons; but
to-night----"
"There is always the multiplication-table," replied Mr. Carnaby. "The
young gentleman is partial to that, I fancy."
Hugh reddened, and applied himself to his bread and milk.
"Never mind a joke," whispered Mrs. Watson. "We wont plague you with the
multiplication-table the first evening. I will find you a book or
something. Meantime, there is a companion for you--I forgot that."
The good lady went down the room, and brought back a boy who seemed to
be doing all he could to stop crying. He dashed his hand over his eyes
every minute, and could not look anybody in the face. He had finished
his supper, and was at a loss what to do next, as he had only arrived
that morning, and did not know anybody at Crofton. His name was Tom
Holt, and he was ten years old.
When they had told their names and ages, and where they came from, the
boys did not know what to say next; and Hugh wished Phil would stop
murmuring over his Sallust and looking in the dictionary every minute;
but Mrs. Watson did not forget the strangers. She brought them Cook's
Voyages out of the library, to amuse themselves with, on condition of
their delivering the book to Mr. Carnaby at bedtime.
The rest of the evening passed away very pleasantly. Hugh told Holt a
great deal about Broadstairs and the South Sea Islands, and confided to
him his own hopes of being a sailor, and going round the world; and, if
possible, making his way straight through China,--the most difficult
country left to travel in, he believed, except some parts of Africa. He
did not want to cross the Great Desert, on account of the heat. He knew
something of what that was by the leads at home, when the sun was on
them. What was the greatest heat Holt had ever felt? Then came the
surprise. Holt had last come from his uncle's farm; but he was born in
India, and had lived there till eighteen months ago. So, while Hugh had
chattered away about the sea at Broadstairs, and the heat on the leads
at home, his companion had come fourteen thousand miles over the ocean,
and had felt a heat nearly as extreme as that of the Great Desert! Holt
was very unassuming too. He talked of the heat of gleaning in his
uncle's harvest-fields, and of the kitchen when the harvest-supper was
cooking; owning that he remembered he had felt hotter in India. Hugh
heaped questions upon him about his native country and the voyage; and
Holt liked to be asked: so that the boys were not at all like strangers
just met for the first time. They raised their voices in the eagerness
of their talk, from a whisper so as to be heard quite across the table,
above the hum and buzz of above thirty others, who were learning their
lessons half-aloud. At last Hugh was startled by hearing the words
"Prater," "Prater the second." He was silent instantly, to Holt's great
wonder.
Without raising his eyes from his book, Phil said, so as to be heard as
far as the usher,--
"Who prated of Prater the second? Who is Prater the third?"
There was a laugh which provoked the usher to come and see whereabouts
in Sallust such a passage as this was to be found. Not finding any such,
he knuckled Phil's head, and pulled his hair, till Hugh cried out--
"O, don't, sir! Don't hurt him so!"
"Do you call that hurting? You will soon find what hurting is, when you
become acquainted with our birch. You shall have four times seven with
our birch----Let us see,--that is your favourite number, I think."
The usher looked round, and almost everybody laughed.
"You see I have your secret;--four times seven," continued Mr. Carnaby.
"What do you shake your head for?"
"Because you have not my secret about four times seven."
"Did not I hear your father? Eh?"
"What did you hear my father say? Nobody here knows what he meant? and
nobody need know, unless I choose to tell--which I don't.--Please don't
teaze Phil about it, sir: for he knows no more about it than you do."
Mr. Carnaby said something about the impertinence of little boys, as if
they could have secrets, and then declared it high time that the
youngsters should go to bed. Hugh delivered Cook's Voyages into his
hands, and then bade Phil good night. He was just going to put his face
up to be kissed, but recollected in time that he was to leave off
kissing when he went to school. He held out his hand, but Phil seemed
not to see it, and only told him to be sure to lie enough on one side,
so as to leave him room; and that he was to take the side of the bed
next the window. Hugh nodded and went off, with Holt and two more, who
slept in the same room.
The two who were not new boys were in bed in a minute; and when they saw
Hugh wash his face and hands, they sat up in bed to stare. One of them
told him that he had better not do that, as the maid would be coming
for the light, and would leave him in the dark, and report of him if he
was not in bed. So Hugh made a great splutter, and did not half dry his
face, and left the water in the basin;--a thing which they told him was
not allowed. He saw that the others had not kneeled down to say their
prayers,--a practice which he had never omitted since he could say a
prayer, except when he had the measles. He knew the boys were watching
him; but he thought of his mother, and how she had taught him to pray at
her knee. He hid himself as well as he could with the scanty
bed-curtains, and kneeled. He could not attend to the words he said,
while feeling that eyes were upon him; and before he had done, the maid
came in for the candle. She waited; but when he got into bed, she told
him that he must be quicker to-morrow night, as she had no time to spare
waiting for the candle.
Hugh was more tired than he had ever been in his life. This had been the
longest day he had ever known. It seemed more like a week than a day.
Yet he could not go to sleep. He had forgotten to ask Phil to be sure
and wake him in time in the morning: and now he must keep awake till
Phil came, to say this. Then, he could not but ask himself whether he
liked, and should like, being at school as much as he expected; and when
he felt how very unlike home it was, and how rough everybody seemed, and
how Phil appeared almost as if he was ashamed of him, instead of helping
him, he was so miserable he did not know what to do. He cried
bitterly,--cried till his pillow was quite wet, and he was almost choked
with his grief; for he tried hard not to let his sobs be heard. After
awhile, he felt what he might do. Though he had kneeled he had not
really prayed: and if he had, God is never weary of prayers. It was a
happy thought to Hugh that his very best friend was with him still, and
that he might speak to Him at any time. He spoke now in his heart; and a
great comfort it was. He said--
"O God, I am all alone here, where nobody knows me; and everything is
very strange and uncomfortable. Please, make people kind to me till I am
used to them; and keep up a brave heart in me, if they are not. Help me
not to mind little things; but to do my lessons well, that I may get to
like being a Crofton boy, as I thought I should. I love them all at home
very much,--better than I ever did before. Make them love me, and think
of me every day,--particularly Agnes,--that they may be as glad as I
shall be when I go home at Christmas."
This was the most of what he had to say; and he dropped asleep with the
feeling that God was listening to him.
After a long while, as it seemed to him, though it was only an hour,
there was a light and some bustle in the room. It was Phil and two
others coming to bed.
"O Phil!" cried Hugh, starting bolt upright and winking with sleep,--"I
meant to keep awake, to ask you to be sure and call me in the morning,
time enough,--quite time enough, please."
The others laughed; and Phil asked whether he had not seen the bell, as
he came; and what it should be for but to ring everybody up in the
morning.
"But I might not hear it," pleaded Hugh.
"Not hear it? You'll soon see that."
"Well, but you will see that I really do wake, wont you?"
"The bell will take care of that, I tell you," was all he could get from
Phil.