"Oh," I whispered, "aren't you jolly miserable here, I say?"
"Pretty!" said he. "Aren't you?"
"Oh, yes! But the fellows are all so unkind to you."
Smith gave a little bitter laugh. "That doesn't matter," he said.
"Doesn't it? I wish I was bigger, I'd back you up--and so will
Flanagan, if you let him."
"Thanks, old man!" said the new boy, putting his hand on my arm. "It's
not the fellows I mind, it's--" and here he pulled up.
"Old Henniker," I put in, in accents of smothered rage.
"Ugh!" said Smith; "she's awful!"
But somehow it occurred to me the Henniker was not what Smith was going
to say when he pulled up so suddenly just before. I felt certain there
was something mysterious about him, and of course, being a boy, I burned
to know.
However, he showed no signs of getting back to that subject, and we
talked about a lot of things, thankful to have scope for once for our
pent-up feelings. It was one of the happiest times I had known for
years, as I knelt there on the hard carpetless floor and found my heart
going out to the heart of a friend. What we talked about was of little
moment; it was probably merely about boys' trifles, such as any boy
might tell another. What was of moment was that there, in dreary,
cheerless Stonebridge House, we had found some interest in common, and
some object for our spiritless lives.
I told him all about home and my uncle, in hopes that he would be
equally communicative, but here he disappointed me.
"Are your father and mother dead too?" I said.
"Not both," he replied.
It was spoken in a tone half nervous, half vexed, so I did not try to
pursue the subject.
Presently he changed the subject and said, "How do you like that fellow
Hawkesbury?"
"Not much; though I don't know why."
Smith put out his hand and pulled my face close to his as he whispered,
"I hate him!"
"Has he been bullying you?" I inquired.
"No," said Smith. "But he's--ugh--I don't know any more than you do why
I hate him. I say, shall you be out in the playground to-morrow?"
"Yes, unless I get four bad marks before. I've two against me already."
"Oh, don't get any more. I want to go for a walk."
"A walk!" I exclaimed. "You'll never be allowed!"
"But we might slip out just for a few minutes; it's awful never to get
out."
It _was_ awful; but the risk. However, I had promised to back him up,
and so I said where he went I would go.
"If it was only to climb one tree, or see just one bird on the bushes,"
he said, almost pathetically. "But I say, ain't you getting cold?"
I was not, I protested, and for a long time more we continued talking.
Then at last the creaking of a board, or the noise of a mouse, startled
us in earnest, and in a moment I had darted back to my bed. All was
quiet again.
"Good-night, old boy," I whispered.
"Good-night, old man. Awfully good of you," he replied. "I'll come to
you to-morrow."
And not long after we were both sound asleep.
I managed to keep down my bad marks below four next day, so that I was
able once more to take my walks abroad in the playground.
It was with a little feeling of misgiving that I sallied forth, for
Smith was at my side, reminding me of our resolution to escape, if only
for a few minutes, to the free country outside. I would greatly have
preferred not trying it, but Smith was set on it, and I had not the face
to leave him in the lurch.
The far end of the playground, beyond the swings, broke into a patch of
tangled thicket, beyond which again a little ditch separated the grounds
of Stonebridge House from the country outside.
To this thicket, therefore, we wandered, after "showing ourselves" on
the swings for a few minutes, for the sake of allaying suspicions. The
other fellows were most of them loafing about on the far side of the
gravel yard, where the marble holes were; so we managed to make our
escape pretty easily, and found ourselves at length standing on the
breezy heath. Once there, Smith's whole manner changed to one of wild
delight. The sense of freedom seemed to intoxicate him, and the
infection seized me too. We scampered about in a perfectly ridiculous
manner; up hills and down hollows, leaping over bushes, chasing one
another, and, in fact, behaving exactly like two kids (as we were),
suddenly let loose from confinement.
"I say," said I, all out of breath, "suppose we run clean away, Smith?"
Smith pulled up in the middle of a scamper, and looked up and down on
every side. Then the old solemn look came as he replied, "Where to,
that's it?"
"Oh, Brownstroke, if you like; or your home. Let's turn up, you know,
and give them a jolly surprise."
Smith's face clouded over as he said, hurriedly, "I say, it's time to be
going back, or we shall get caught."
This was an effectual damper to any idea of flight, and we quickly
turned back once more to Stonebridge House.
We found our gap all right, and strolled back past the swings and up the
gravel walk as unconcernedly as possible, fully believing no one had
been witness of our escapade. We were wrong.
Hawkesbury came up to us as we neared the house, with the usual smile on
his face.
"Didn't you hear me calling?" he said. "You know it's against rules to
go out of bounds, and I thought--"
"What! who's been out of bounds?" said the voice of the Henniker at that
moment.
Hawkesbury looked dejected.
"Who did you say, Hawkesbury, had been out of bounds?"
"I'd rather not tell tales," said Hawkesbury, sweetly.
"I've been out of bounds," blurted out Smith, "and so has Batchelor. I
asked him to come, and Hawkesbury has been spying and--"
"Silence," cried Miss Henniker. "Smith and Batchelor, follow me."
We followed duly to Mr Ladislaw's study, where we were arraigned.
Hawkesbury was sent for as evidence. He came smiling, and declared he
may have been mistaken, perhaps it was two other boys; he hoped we
should not be punished, etcetera. Smith was nearly breaking out once or
twice during this, and it was all I could do to keep him in. Hawkesbury
was thanked and dismissed, and then, with the assistance of Miss
Henniker, Mr Hashford, and Mr Ladislaw, Smith and I were birched, and
forbidden the playground for a fortnight, during which period we were
required to observe absolute silence.
So ended our little adventure out for a puff of free air! Among our
fellows we gained little enough sympathy for our misfortunes. Flanagan
was the only fellow who seemed really sorry. The rest of the ill-
conditioned lot saw in the affair only a good opportunity of crowing
over their ill-starred adversary, and telling me it served me right for
chumming up to such a one.
One day, greatly to my surprise, when the Henniker was away
superintending the flogging of Flanagan for some offence or other,
Hawkesbury came over and sat beside me.
"Oh," said he, softly, "Batchelor, I've been wanting to tell you how
sorry I am I helped get you into your scrape. I didn't mean--I was only
anxious for you to know the rule. I hope you'll forgive me?" and he
held out his hand.
What could I do? Perhaps he was telling the truth after all, and we had
thought too badly of him. And when a big boy comes and asks pardon of a
small one, it is always embarrassing for the latter. So I gave him my
hand, and told him I was sure he did not mean it, and that it did not
matter at all.
"Thanks, Batchelor," he said, smiling quite gratefully. "It's a relief
to me."
Then I watched him go on what I knew was a similar errand to Smith, but,
as I expected, his reception in that quarter was not quite so flattering
as it had been in my case. I could see my chum's eyes fire up as he saw
the elder boy approach, and a flush come over his pale cheeks. I
watched Hawkesbury blandly repeating his apology, and then suddenly, to
my astonishment and consternation, I saw Smith rise in his seat and
throw himself furiously upon his enemy. Hawkesbury was standing near a
low form, and in the sudden surprise caused by this attack he tripped
over it and fell prone on the floor, just as Miss Henniker re-entered.
There was a brief pause of universal astonishment, then the Henniker
demanded, "What is this? Tell me. What is all this, Hawkesbury?"
Hawkesbury had risen to his feet, smiling as ever, and brushing the dust
from his coat, replied softly, "Nothing, really nothing, ma'am. I fell
down, that's all."
"I knocked you down!" shouted Smith, panting like a steam-engine, and
trembling with excitement.
"Oh," said Hawkesbury, kindly, though not quite liking the downright way
in which the adventure had been summed up. "It was only play, Miss
Henniker. My fault as much as Smith's. He never meant to be so rough.
Really."
"Silence, both!" said Miss Henniker. "Smith, follow me!"
"Oh, Miss Henniker, please don't punish him," said Hawkesbury.
"Silence," replied the Henniker, icily. "Come, Smith."
Miss Henniker had the wonderful art of knowing by instinct who was the
culprit in cases like this. She was never troubled with a doubt as to
her verdict being a right one; and really it saved her a great deal of
trouble.
Smith was haled away to justice, where, in addition to a flogging and
further term of imprisonment, he was reduced for a given period to a
bread-and-water diet, and required publicly to beg Hawkesbury's pardon.
That there might be no delay about the execution of the last part of the
sentence, the culprit was conducted back forthwith to the schoolroom,
accompanied by Miss Henniker and Mr Ladislaw.
"Hawkesbury," said the latter, addressing the injured boy, "I have
desired Smith to beg your pardon here and now for his conduct to you.
Smith, do as you have been told."
Smith remained silent, and I who watched him could see that his mind was
made up.
"Do you hear Mr Ladislaw, Smith?" demanded the Henniker; "do as you are
bid, at once."
"Please, sir," began Hawkesbury, with his pleasant smile.
"Silence, Hawkesbury," said the Henniker. "Now, Smith."
But she might have been addressing a log of wood.
"Do you hear what I say to you?" once more she exclaimed.
Smith only glared at her with his big eyes, and resolutely held his
tongue.
"Then," said Mr Ladislaw, "Smith must be publicly punished."
Smith was punished publicly; and a more repulsive spectacle I never wish
to witness. A public punishment at Stonebridge House meant a flogging
administered to one helpless boy by the whole body of his schoolfellows,
two of whom firmly held the victim, while each of the others in turn
flogged him. In the case of an unpopular boy like Smith, this
punishment was specially severe, and I turned actually sick as each of
the cowardly louts stepped up and vented their baffled wrath upon him.
Hawkesbury, of course, only made the slightest pretence of touching him;
but this of all his punishment seemed to be the part Smith could bear
least. At last, when it was all over, the bruised boy slunk back to his
desk, and class proceeded.
That night, as I knelt beside my poor chum's bed, he said, "We've paid
pretty dear for our run on the heath, Fred."
"_You_ have, old man," I replied.
Smith lay still for some time musing, then he said, "Whatever do they
mean by forgiving enemies, Fred?"
Smith didn't often get on these topics, and I was a little nervous as I
replied, "What it says, I suppose."
"Does it mean fellows like Hawkesbury?"
"I should say so," said I, almost doubtful, from the way in which he
spoke, whether after all I might not be mistaken.
"Queer," was all he replied, musingly.