SCHOOL LIFE.
Unfurl the Christian standard!
Lift it manfully on high!
And rally where its shining folds
Wave out against the sky!
SATURDAY afternoons were seasons of special delight at Knowlton
School, as at many another; for then the boys were free, under certain
regulations, to do as they liked, and almost entirely without the
supervision of the tutors—Dr. Bowles holding the opinion that boys put
on their honour, and really trusted, were less likely to break rules
than those who were watched too closely. So no boy was called on to
give an account of the manner in which the day was spent after one
o'clock, if they were only inside the gates at a specified hour.
One thing, however, was forbidden. Within a walking distance of
Knowlton there ran a bright, sparkling river, shaded in many places
by trees, which afforded a pleasant shelter in summer days. Whilst
the river itself in some parts was known to be well stocked with
trout—a temptation of no small kind to the boys. In former years Dr.
Bowles had obtained leave for some of his older scholars to fish in it
occasionally; but of late the permission to do so had been withdrawn,
and so the doctor found he had to make a stringent law on the matter,
and every boy knew that transgression of it would meet with summary and
severe punishment. Some of the boys still grumbled about it; but really
they had not much reason to do so, for what with cricket and games of
all sorts, pleasant strolls through the wood not very far distant, or
visits to the metropolis itself every now and then with Dr. or Mrs.
Bowles, they had plenty of pleasant ways of passing their Saturday
afternoons.
It is on a bright June Saturday that we again take a peep at Ronald
Macintosh. He is sitting with one of his old dreamy looks, half gazing
out of the window, half looking at the clouds as they skim along. He is
alone; and though his lips are silent, we take the privilege of putting
his thoughts into words:
"'Thou hast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that it may be
displayed,'" he was saying in his heart. "'Displayed,'—but surely that
does not mean we must tell everything we do? Now, I do want to go and
see that old sick woman I found out two or three weeks ago. She said my
reading to her comforted her. But then the boys have begun to wonder
where I go and what I do. Surely I am not ashamed to tell? Still, it is
no business of theirs; and if I did, it would look as if I wanted to
boast of doing it. It can't be wrong to be quiet about it. Of course,
when they know, there are several will laugh and call me names; and I
do not like that. Perhaps it is cowardice keeps me from telling—I don't
know. 'Thou bast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that it may be
displayed because of truth.' But this has nothing to do with truth; and
it is the Captain who has said, 'Let not thy left hand know what thy
right hand doeth.'"
Here came a pause, followed by the resolution: "No, I will not say a
word about it unless Dr. Bowles asks me, which is not a likely thing.
And I must try to go to-day, for when I missed a Saturday lately, poor
old Susan said she was wearying for my coming all that day; and I'll be
back in time enough for a game at cricket afterwards."
So saying, he rose and began to prepare to go out. Ronald had a good
name at the school, where he had now been for some months. He was a
favourite with the masters, who marked his diligence at lessons and
love of books; and was liked also by most of the boys from his obliging
disposition and his prowess at all sorts of outdoor sports. True, there
were some amongst them who sneered at what they called his religious
notions, fit only for priests or women; but even in that respect his
frank, truthful, consistent character, silenced in time those who
opposed him, and won from them the testimony that at least Macintosh's
goodness did not make him stuck up.
Very faithfully, notwithstanding, had Ronald held up the banner; and
several of the younger boys, especially little James Dudley, knew that
it was by his words and example that they were saved from the bullying
of some of the elder ones. Only two boys regarded Ronald with dislike;
and these were the very leaders of all mischief—Tom Pritchard and
George Dundas. It was they who invented the funny names for him, as
they termed them; such as "Peter the Hermit," "Praying Aldy," "John
Knox," and many others. At first the others had joined in the laugh
which these names elicited; but by degrees the larger number ceased to
see fun in tormenting a fellow, as they said, who was ever ready with a
kind word and action. If he liked to pray, where was the harm? It would
not be a bad plan if some more of them copied his example. And so, on
the whole, Ronald's days at school passed pleasantly.
Just as he was starting to go out, on the Saturday we are writing of,
Dr. Bowles accosted him: "Macintosh," he said, "Mrs. Bowles and I are
going to London, and if you would like to accompany us, you can come
also."
Ronald's first impulse was to say, "Thank you, sir; I should like so
much to go;" but as the words rose to his lips, the remembrance of the
old woman, and her disappointment at his non-appearance on the Saturday
he had missed, made him hesitate, and with an air of embarrassment,
he said, "Many thanks, sir; but I am afraid I can't go to town this
afternoon; I—" Here he hesitated.
Dr. Bowles looked at him wonderingly. "Why Ronald," he said, "it was
only the other day you expressed a wish to Mrs. Bowles to go again to
town. What has changed you? Some special game at cricket, I suppose.
Well, well, take your own choice; you know I never interfere with your
Saturday pleasures. But I must go now, or I'll be too late."
And without letting Ronald say another word, he was off. There was
a sore sense of disappointment in Ronald's heart as, some minutes
afterwards, he set off across the fields to Susan's cottage. He knew
he was doing right; but just then it cost him a struggle. Yet, had not
the Captain under whose banner he fought, said, "If any man will come
after me, let him deny himself"? And had he not vowed that, as far as
possible, he would try to help the weak and suffering ones of earth as
a true Knight of the Cross?
So with a more cheerful heart, he sped on his way, the pleasant summer
air and bright sky cheering him. He saw one or two of the boys as he
left the play-ground, and shouted to them that he would be back for a
game in an hour or two; but he did not stay to talk to them just then,
waving back even his own favourite little Sir James Dudley, pointing to
him that he was off for a walk.
Susan's cottage lay in the very opposite direction from the river, and
it was impossible for even a quick walker to go to both places and
return to the school within two hours; so Ronald made up his mind to go
straight to the cottage. On his way, he fancied he caught a glimpse of
two boys crossing the fields which led to the river, and wondered if
they could be any of the school-boys, but the distance was too great to
let him distinguish the figures.
He soon reached the cottage, which stood alone, and, to his no small
disappointment, found the door locked. As his knocking met with no
answer, he concluded that the old woman must be asleep, and her little
grandson, who took care of her, out. He lingered about for some
minutes, in hopes that the child might be playing near; but seeing no
traces of him, he very unwillingly retraced his steps. He went back
slower than he had come: he had given up a great pleasure, and yet had
been of no use to the old woman. It seemed hard. Still he felt he had
done right; and by the time he reached the field where his companions
were playing at cricket, he had entirely got over his disappointment.
"Come along, Macintosh," was the greeting he received. "We have been
waiting for you; come and help us."
And in a moment the boy was engrossed in his favourite sport.
Dr. Bowles did not return from London till late, and the boys only saw
him at evening worship.
Sunday passed in the usual way: the hours after church services,
or rather between them, had become doubly pleasant to Ronald since
Dudley's arrival, for somehow the little home-sick follow had found out
that Macintosh was often alone then, and never ill-natured if a little
boy disturbed him; so with fear at first the child had slipped away
from some of the rougher boys to try and keep a promise he had given
his mother to spend some portion of the Sunday as much in quiet as he
could. He had told Ronald this, and from that day the two contrived to
be together for a quiet hour, reading a little, talking a little, till,
despite the difference in their years, these two became great friends;
and in helping the little boy, Ronald rejoiced to feel he was doing the
Master's work.
On Monday, more than one of the boys remarked that the face of their
usually kind master wore a troubled, stern look. After breakfast, ere
lessons began, he spoke:
"I have a question to put, to which I desire a truthful answer. It has
come to my knowledge that one or more of the boys from this school, in
defiance of my most express commands, were seen at the river fishing
on Saturday; and now I request that the boy or boys who were guilty of
the act will stand up and say so, in order that the odium of it may at
least not fall on the wrong party."
A dead silence fell on all, but no response was made, no boy stood up.
Dr. Bowles looked sorely grieved. He threw a pained glance at each;
then he said, "I number amongst my so-called young gentlemen a coward
as well as a law-breaker."
Still no word was spoken.
Then the question was put to each, "Were you at the river on Saturday;
and if so, were you fishing in it?"
Each boy answered, "No;" some, it might be, less distinctly than
others, but all in the negative.
Dr. Bowles fairly groaned, but dismissed the boys without another word.
Presently, to his no small amazement, Ronald Macintosh was requested to
go to Dr. Bowles in his study. The look he met as he entered the room
was one to be remembered. Mingled with sternness, there was in it so
much of heart-felt grief.
"Ronald Macintosh," were the words which greeted him, "had I been
asked which of all the boys under my care I believed to be the most
truly Christian one, I would have said it was you. Deep, therefore, is
my grief when I find that, so far from that being the case, you have
proved yourself a breaker of the laws of the school, a coward, and,
much as I dislike to use the word, a liar!"
The lad's hot Highland blood was up in a moment, and, without thinking
to whom he spoke, he exclaimed passionately, proudly:
"Dr. Bowles, take back those words; no man living shall use them to me!
I am neither liar nor coward, and repeat, I was never near the river."
A dead silence followed, in which, through the fearful conflict in his
mind, conscience was already speaking. Ah! Ronald, it said, is this
having the meek and lowly spirit of a follower of Him who, when he was
reviled, reviled not again? True, you are falsely accused; but it was
certainly not your part to speak in that way to your master, whatever
he said to you.
The silence was broken by Dr. Bowles. "The evidence I have of your
guilt, sir, is an undeniable one; but at present I cannot enter either
on that subject or on the punishment awaiting you. Retire to your own
room, till you have at least gained the mastery over your temper, so
that I can speak further to you."
And without a word, but with a bursting heart, the boy went to his
room, bolted the door, and cried passionately.
What did it all mean? he asked himself. Why did suspicion rest on him?
And, above all, what was the evidence which Dr. Bowles had received,
and which he said was conclusive of his guilt? Guilty in this matter he
was not; but when the first burst of anger passed, very plainly did he
see how he had sinned: he had been guilty of disrespect to Dr. Bowles,
and had sinned against God by his outburst of passion. Ah! Was this the
way in which he was to hold up the banner of the Lord?
What, he asked himself, were some of the marks which the true soldiers
of Christ bore, by which all men could distinguish them as easily as
they could the Crusaders by their garb and outward mark? He knew them
well; only the day before had he been talking to little Dudley about
them—"love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, meekness." All! How
he had failed; no wonder, he said, that he needed the cross which was
laid on him by the unjust suspicion, when God knew all the evil that
was in him.
Then, throwing himself on his knees, he told all to the One who by his
Spirit hath said:
"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us."
Then he rose quieted, having sought that the Lord would stand by him
and give him strength to endure false accusation calmly, and yet clear
him from it in his own way and time. One duty lay plainly before him—he
must ask Dr. Bowles's forgiveness for the manner in which he had spoken
to him.