DISPERSION.
The next day the young party assembled at Ivy Lodge dispersed to their
various destinations. Amy, like a restless butterfly, fluttered through
the house in the bustle of preparation all the morning, conveying
packet after packet, to be heaped up, one upon another, on one of the
old-fashioned oak chairs in the hall. Her brother's heavy portmanteau
she placed on her own band-box, some books lent by Willy, a paint-box
given by Mr. Presgrave, a portfolio of prints crowning the pile. What
wonder if, the first time that Tom passed the heap, books, portfolio,
and portmanteau fell crashing upon the floor, and the edge of the
paint-box made its way through the band-box! Good-natured Jessy and
merry little Julia came in a moment to their companion's assistance.
Bella was too busy with "The Lord of the Isles" to give heed either to
crash or exclamation.
At length the Clarence rolled to the door. There was shaking of hands,
and oft-repeated good-byes, as Louis and his sisters, one by one, left
the house. Mr. Presgrave stood on the threshold to see them depart; the
bright sunlight shone on his venerable bald head, surrounded as by a
crown of silvery hair, as he gave each child his parting blessing, and
inwardly prayed for the welfare of all.
Just as the carriage was about to move off, trunks and parcels without,
smiling faces within, Julia came running with a large nosegay which she
had just gathered for Jessy. "You will like to have flowers in London,"
said she, "and they will remind you of dear Ivy Lodge."
Next appeared an invalid chair, drawn by a donkey, to take Percy to his
less distant home. A joyless home it was, and the poor lame lad could
scarcely force a smile to his lips as he bade adieu to his friends. His
uncle was an attorney in the village of Meade, a man cold in manner and
habits, who, never having had his heart softened by domestic ties, had
little sympathy or kindliness for the sickly boy. Mr. Presgrave marked
the expression of Percy's pale face, the moistening of the eye, which
he in vain tried to hide.
"God be with you, my son!" he gently whispered. "Remember that
Christianity has its heroes in suffering as well as in acting; 'endure
hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.'"
Then her mother's carriage arrived for Julia, the darling and plaything
of the house. Mrs. Gore kissed her as tenderly as though she had been
her own daughter, and Mr. Presgrave's manner was that of a parent, as
he led the little girl to the door. Tom and Willy waved their caps
again and again, till the carriage had rolled away down the lane.
On the following morning they themselves departed for school. On their
sojourn there I am not about to dwell, but, taking advantage of the
privilege of an author to skip over time and space as I please, I beg
my young reader to imagine himself beside them on the day when school
breaks up for the midsummer holidays.
A school on the eve of dispersion is like a hive on the point of
swarming—all bustle, noise, hope, merriment, and confusion; to those
who have seen, I need not describe it. Amongst the light-hearted boys
now leaving Dr. Paynter's, by omnibus, carriage, or railway train, none
were more light-hearted than Tom and Willy. As they drove towards Ivy
Lodge, and began to recognise the land-marks around them, what joyous
exclamations burst from their lips!
"Tom, I say, there's the old mill; don't you see it on that hill far
away?"
Tom looked doubtful for a moment, then joyfully cried, "Yes, yes! And
there's the gate over which we saw Sir Hugh leap on his coal-black
hunter; and there's the little inn where he watered his horse, with the
red lion swinging in the wind."
"I wonder how Duke is, our own frisky little pony."
"Ah! How glad I shall be," cried Tom, "to mount him again!"
"Indeed," said Willy, laughing, "the last time that you mounted you
came down a good deal faster than you got up! I thought that you might
be a little afraid."
"Afraid!" exclaimed Tom. "That's a fine word for an Englishman! Do
you think I've forgotten all those famous stories that we read in the
Easter holidays? I tell you what, Willy, I've a mind to be a hero like
Outram or Nesham, and I'll never be afraid of anything or anybody!"
"I should rather like an adventure myself," said Willy, "if it all
ended well, and was not at night, and had nothing to do with tortures
or fire."
"I long to have my courage tried!" cried Tom, throwing himself back in
the carriage with an air of great firmness and determination. "I want
to have it brought to the proof!"
"But if it should fail?" suggested Willy. "Do you know that I have
often thought over those stories, and I'm half afraid."
"That word again!" cried Tom impatiently.
"I'm dubitating, then, as Dr. Paynter would say, whether in any one of
the cases I should have acted as the heroes did! Think of Maxwell now,
how he stood the fire, and never flinched from his post for a moment,
though—"
"There's Ivy Lodge itself!" cried Tom, springing up to the window. "And
the roses out already, and Duke grazing in the field."
"Mamma! Can you see mamma?" cried Willy. "There is some one at the
door—no! 'Tis Uncle Presgrave—I thought he would be there."
The carriage stopped at the entrance to Ivy Lodge.
[Illustration]