"Delight to bark and bite."
"Oh, yes--
"How doth the little busy bee
Delight to bark and bite--
"How _does_ it go on, Cyril?" said Frank.
"To gather honey all the day,
And eat it all the night,"
whispered the audacious brother, conjuring into memory the schoolboy
version of that celebrated poem.
Frank, who was far too much engrossed in his own difficulties to think
of what he was saying, artlessly repeated the words, and opened his
large eyes in amazement, when he was greeted by a shout of laughter from
Cyril, and a little shriek of indignation from Miss Sprong, which
combined sounds started Lady Vinsear from the doze into which she had
fallen, and ended in the summary ejectment of the young offenders.
The next day, to their own great relief and delight, they were sent home
in disgrace; and knowing that their mother would not be angry with them
for a piece of childish gaiety under such trying circumstances, they
were surprised and pained to see how grave she and Violet looked when
they told their story. But Mrs Home's thoughts had reverted to Julian,
and she knew Miss Sprong too well not to be aware that she had designs
on Lady Vinsear's property, and would excite against Julian any ill-will
she could.
That her fears were not unfounded was proved by the fact that, in the
middle of trial-week, Julian received an altogether intolerable epistle
from Miss Sprong, written, she said, "at the express request and
dictation of his esteemed aunt," calling him to account for this little
incident in a way that, (to use Lillyston's expression), instantly "put
him on his hind legs." He read a part of this letter to Lillyston, and,
with his own comments, it ran thus:--
"Lady Vinsear desires me to say," (Hem! I doubt that very much),
"that the rudeness of those two little boys, to say nothing of their
great immorality and impiety," (I say, that's coming it too strong, or
rather too _Sprong_), "is such as to reflect great discredit on the
influences to which they have been _lately_--"
"By Jove! this is too bad," said Julian, passionately; "when she adds
innuendoes against my mother to her other malice--I won't stand it,"
and, without reading farther, he tossed the letter into the fire,
watching with vindictive eyes its complete consumption--
"There goes the squire--revered, illustrious spark!
And there--no less illustrious--goes the clerk!"
he said, as he watched the little red streams flickering out of the
black paper ashes. "And now for the answer! Bother the woman for
plaguing me, (for I know it's none of my aunt's handiwork), in the
middle of trial-week."
"I say, Julian, don't be too fiery in your answer, you know, for you
really ought to appease the poor old lady. Only think of that impudent
little brother of yours! I must make the young rogue's acquaintance
some day."
But Julian had seized a sheet of note-paper, and wrote to his aunt, not
condescending to notice even by a message her obnoxious amanuensis:--
"My Dear Aunt--I cannot believe that the letter I received to-day
really emanated from you, at least not in the language in which it was
couched.
"I have neither time nor inclination," (`Hoity, toity, how grand we
are!') "to attend to the foolish trifle to which your amanuensis,"
(`Meaning me!' screamed the irrepressible Sprong), "alludes; but I am
quite sure that, on reflection, you will not be inclined to judge too
hardly a mere piece of fun and thoughtless liveliness; for that
Frankie meant to be rude, I don't for a moment believe. I shall only
add, that if I were not convinced that _you_ can never have sanctioned
the expressions which the lady," (Julian had first written `person,'
but altered it afterwards), "who wrote for you presumed to apply to my
brothers, and above all, to my mother, I should have good reason to be
offended; but feeling sure that they are not attributable to you, I
pass them over with indifference. I am obliged to write in great
haste, so here I must conclude.
"Believe me, my dear Aunt, your affectionate nephew,
"Julian Home."
Lady Vinsear was secretly pleased with the spirit which this letter
showed, and was not sorry for the snubbing which it gave to her
lady-companion; but she determined to exercise a little tyranny, and
fancied that Julian would be too much frightened to resent it.
Accustomed to the legacy-hunting spirit of many parasites, the old lady
thought that Julian would be like the rest, and hoped to enjoy the sight
of him reduced to submission and obedience, in the hopes of future
advantage; not that she would exult in his humiliation, but she was glad
of any pretext to bring the noble boy before her as a suppliant for her
favour. Accordingly, setting aside her first and better impulses, she
wrote back a sharp reply, abusing Cyril and Frank in round and severe
terms, and adding some bitter innuendoes about the poverty of the
family, and their supposed expectations at her decease. Miss Sprong
lent all the venom of her malicious ingenuity to this precious
performance, which fortunately did not reach Julian until trials were
nearly over. Tired with excitement and hard work, the boy could ill
endure these galling allusions, and wrote back a short and fiery
reply:--
"My Dear Aunt--If any one has persuaded you that I am eager to
purchase your good-will at any sacrifice, and that in consideration of
`supposed advantages' hereafter to be derived from you--I shall be
willing to endure unkindly language or groundless insinuations about
my other relatives--then they have very seriously misled you as to my
real character. This is really the only reply of which your letter
admits. I shall always be ready, as in duty bound, to bestow on you
such respect and affection as our relationship demands and your own
kindness may elicit, but I would scorn to win your favour at the
expense of a subservience at once ungenerous and unjust.
"Believe me to remain, your affectionate nephew,
"Julian Home."
This letter decided the matter. Lady Vinsear wrote back, that as he
obviously cared nothing about her, and did not even treat her with
ordinary deference, she had that day altered her will. Poor old lady!
Julian's angry letter cost her many a pang; and that night, as she sat
in her bedroom by her lonely hearth, and thought over her dead brother
and this gallant high-souled boy of his, the tears coursed each other
down her furrowed cheeks, and she could get no rest. At last she had
taken her desk, and, with trembling hands, written:--
"Dearest Julian--Forgive an old woman's whim, and come to me and
comfort my old age. All I have is yours, Julian; and I love you,
though I wrote to you so bitterly.--Your loving aunt,
"Caroline Vinsear."
But when morning came, Sprong resumed her ascendency, and by raking up
and blowing the cooled embers of her patroness' wrath, succeeded once
more in fanning them to the old red heat, after which she poured vinegar
upon them, and they exploded in the pungent fumes of the note which told
our hero that he was not to hope, for the future, to be one day owner of
a handsome fortune.
Of course, at first he was a little downcast; and in talking to
Lillyston, compared himself to Gautier sans avoir, and "Wilfred the
disinherited."
"Never mind, Julian; it matters very little to _you_," said Lillyston
proudly.
"Anyhow I must have no more fits of idleness," answered Julian.
And indeed the only pain it caused him arose from the now necessary
decision that he must go to Saint Werner's College _as a sizar_, or not
at all. But for all that he went home with a light heart, and had once
more gained the proud distinction of head-remove--one for which, at that
time, I very much doubt whether he would have exchanged the prospect of
a rich inheritance.
And the misfortune proved an advantage to Cyril too, as we shall see.
"So here's the little rogue who has lost me a thousand a year," said
Julian laughingly, when he got home, and took Cyril on his knee by the
fireside after dinner. The next moment he was very sorry he had said
it, for Cyril hung his head, and seemed quite disconcerted; but his
brother laughed away his sorrow, as he thought, and no further allusion
to the subject was made.
But that night, as Julian looked into his brother's bedroom before he
went to bed, he found Cyril crying, and his pillow wet with tears.
"Cyril, what's the matter, my boy?--you're not ill, are you?"
Cyril sat up, his eyes still swimming, and threw his arms round his
brother's neck. "I've ruined you, Julian," he said.
"My dear child, what nonsense! Nay, my foolish little fellow," answered
Julian, "this is really a mistake of yours. Aunt Vinsear was angry with
me for my letters,--not with you. Don't cry so, Cyril, for I really
don't care a rush about it; but I shall care if it vexes you. But shall
I tell you why you ought to know of it, Cyril?"
"Why?"
"Because, my boy, it affects you too. You know, Cyril, that we are very
poor now. Well, you see we shall have to support ourselves hereafter,
and mother and Violet depend on us so you must work hard, Cyril, will
you? and don't be idle at Marlby, as I'm afraid you have been. Eh, my
boy?"
The boy promised faithfully, and performed the promise well in after
days; but that night Julian did not leave him until he was fast asleep.
We shall tell only one more scene of Julian's Harton life, and that very
briefly.
It is a glorious summer afternoon; four o'clock bell is just over, and
it is expected that in a few minutes the examiner, (an old Hartonian and
senior classic), will read out the list which shall give the result of
many weeks' hard work. The Newry scholarship is to be announced at the
same time: Bruce and Home are the favourite names.
A crowd of boys throng round the steps, but Julian is not among them; he
is leaning over the rails of the churchyard, under the elm-trees by
Peachey's tomb, filled with a trembling and almost sickening anxiety.
Bruce, confident of victory, is playing racquets, just below the
schoolyard.
The Examiner suddenly appears from the speech-room door. There is a
breathless silence while he reads the list, and then announces, in an
emphatic voice--
"The Newry scholarship is adjudged to Julian Home!"
Off darts Lillyston, bounds up the hill into the churchyard, and has
informed the happy Julian of his good fortune long before the "three
cheers for Mr Burton," and "three cheers for Home," have died away.