"Open rebuke is better than secret love."
It now wanted little more than three weeks to the holidays.
Sticks for notching were in great request, and "days" cut in
paper were fastened to the testers of the several beds, to mark
more securely the weary time that must elapse before the joyful
breaking-up. Reginald and Louis had jointly decorated theirs
with an elegant drawing of Dashwood Priory, with a coach and
four in the distance, which drawing would remain uninjured till
even the last of the twenty-eight strips of paper had been detached,
when the owners tore the remainder for excess of joy. The subjects
for examination had already been given out, and those who had any
interest at stake had already commissioned Maister Dunn for candles,
and begun to rise early and sit late, or as late us was allowed, at
their various studies. It was with some little dismay that Louis
looked down the long list of subjects for the examination of his
class, for he felt that, though (thanks to Hamilton at first,
and latterly some degree of perseverance on his own part) he had
made some progress during the half-year: his friend Clifton's
indefatigable industry had placed him so far first, that it
would be almost impossible to hope for any advantage.
Hamilton was now busily engaged in the composition of a prize poem
in Latin, besides the many other things with which (to use his own
expression) he found it necessary "to cram himself"; for, however
easy, comparatively, he had found his post the preceding half-year,
he had now competitors sufficiently emulous and talented in Norman
and Frank Digby--the latter of whom had shown a moderate degree of
diligence during the half-year, and now, exerting to the utmost the
great powers with which he was gifted, bid fair, if not to distance
all his rivals, at least to claim the lion's share of the honors
held out.
As Hamilton scarcely allowed himself time to run once round the
playground in the day, it cannot be supposed that even had he
condescended to notice Louis he would have found much time to
attend to him. More than once, however, he looked rather anxiously
down the long table where Louis now sat (Reginald having insisted
on his leaving the school-room and his companions to their fate),
and, apparently satisfied that he was doing something, resumed his
own work. Louis' mind was more than ever occupied now--every moment
was taken up with lessons of one kind or another. The first waking
thoughts, which were formerly, at least, a consciousness of the
presence of his Maker, were now so mixed up with Latin verses,
English translations, French plays, ancient and modern history,
that a very short time sufficed for his cold prayer--and then
poured in the whole flood of daily business, only checked by as
cold a semblance of a petition at night. The former half-year the
case, though similar in many respects, differed in the greatest
essential. Louis was not less diligent than now, but he was more
prayerful; he had not more time, but he used it better; he did not
leave his religion for a few minutes at night and morning, and forget
it for the rest of the day; he did not shut up his Bible, and scarcely
look at it from Sunday to Sunday. He who waits closely upon his God
is sure to be enabled to serve him in the beauty of holiness: and
those who thought at all about Louis could not but be struck with
the wide difference between the gentle, humble, happy-looking boy,
who bore so meekly what was unkindly done and spoken, and the equally
industrious, but fevered, restless, anxious, and now rather irritable
being, who toiled on day after day almost beyond his strength.
The first day of the examination, Charles Clifton and Louis were
walking together, between school-hours, settling the order in which
their labors were to be undertaken. As they turned the corner of
the playground, near the kitchen, they encountered Harris, Casson,
and Churchill, who, with Sally Simmons and her basket of apples,
blocked up a narrow passage between the side of the house and the
kitchen-garden wall.
"Aint they beauties, Louis?" said Churchill, at the sight. The mention
of apples sufficiently disturbed Louis in the present company, and he
made a violent effort to get past Harris, who was, however, so much
engaged in choosing an apple from the basket, that he did not move
an inch. Finding it useless at present to attempt the pass, Louis was
turning back, when Sally offered the basket to him, with "Mathter Louis,
you mutht hide it; I donnoh what mathter would thay."
"There are plenty more where they came from, Sally," said Casson.
"Here'th a nithe one, thir," said Sally, looking in Louis' alarmed
face, and pointing to one of the apples.
"They are not yours to give, Sally," said Louis, stepping back against
the wall. "Harris, Casson, Churchill, don't take them--it's dishonest."
Sally protested in great dismay, that it was only one or two, and
Dr. Wilkinson wouldn't mind.
"You know he would, Sally, or why did you say I was to hide it?"
said Louis.
"Do you mean to tell him you have given away any?" asked Clifton.
"Not she; she knows better--don't you, Sally?" said Casson.
"You are not to be trusted," said Clifton.
"Mathter Louis, you won't be going and making mithchief?" said the girl.
"If he does," ejaculated Harris, "I'll--"
What he would do Louis never heard, for he had by this time freed himself
from the basket and run away, followed more leisurely by Clifton.
"I am sure," he said, when Clifton rejoined him, "that Sally Simmons
ought not to be employed here; she is always doing forbidden things
for the boys."
"If you know of any thing wrong in her, why don't you tell Dr. Wilkinson?"
said Charles.
"The next thing I know of, I shall. But I should get the boys into such
a scrape," said Louis.
"If they are bad boys they deserve it," replied Clifton; "my father
says, if we conceal evil, when we may remove it by mentioning it, we
make ourselves partners in it."
"The boys would call me a sneak if I did," said Louis.
Charles looked at Louis in simple wonderment. "That wouldn't hinder
you from doing what is right, would it? What does it matter what such
fellows as those think or say?"
"Yes, but I shouldn't like to get them into a scrape," repeated Louis,
uneasily.
"Why don't you tell your friend Hamilton of it, and ask his advice?"
"Oh, Clifton! surely you know that Hamilton won't speak to me."
"No, I didn't," said Clifton, in a tone of surprise. "Why not? he used
to be so fond of you."
"He's offended now," replied Louis, looking down.
"He doesn't like me, I know," said Charles; "but he used to be so very
fond of you."
"_Used_--that's long ago," said Louis, with a suppressed sigh.
"Well, but," remarked Clifton, without showing the least curiosity
to discover the cause of Louis' quarrel with Hamilton, "if you can't
consult him, ask your brother."
"I know very well what Reginald would do; he wouldn't think it right
to tell of them, or of her either."
"Then, Louis, make up your own mind."
"It's not so easily done," replied Louis; "oh, Charlie, I wish I were
like you!"
"Oh, why?" said Charles, gravely; "you have a great many more friends,
and are much better liked than I am. I have no friend but you--not that
I care at all about it, but I should think you would."
"Yes; but I wish I _could_ make up my mind. I am not half so happy
as you are, for I cannot make up my mind to do a thing because it is
right. You only think about that and do it at once; and because I have
so many friends, and even care about pleasing those I do not like, I am
always getting into scrapes, and always doing wrong. I think there never
was anybody so bad as I am. I wish papa hadn't sent me to school."
"I like you very much," said Clifton; "and I am sure you have done me
good--on Sunday, at least."
"Ah, it is much easier to know and talk of what is right than to do it,"
replied Louis, sighing very deeply. "Oh, _domum, dulce domum!_ But there
is Reginald, and I must go and ask him a question."
* * * * *
For several days after this occurrence, Louis was too busy, and too much
with his brother, to see much of his evil advisers; and very pleased in
having, as he imagined, thus got rid of them. The examination was going
on in earnest; Louis had now nearly regained his old place, and was, on
the whole, favorably reported of: but Clifton was not to be overcome.
Thoroughly prepared, and thoroughly understanding all he had learned,
he kept the first place undaunted by any difficulty, and apparently
unexcited by the crisis; at least, Louis remarked to Reginald, that
Clifton was so cool, he didn't seem to care whether he won or not.
He had a little more color than usual, and the only beauty his face
possessed--his intelligent eyes--wore perhaps a keener and more anxious
expression, but this was not noticed by a casual observer; nor was
the violent palpitation of the heart, when the chances ran so closely
between him and the next, at the close of a two days' struggle for the
mathematical prize. There were few that congratulated him on his almost
unparalleled success; but few that did not respect his ability and
steadiness. Never once, from the first day he came to school, had he
on any occasion incurred the displeasure of his masters; and yet no
one cared for him, for he had lived only for himself.
But to return to Louis. The mathematical contest was finished, and there
was a little lull before the second class would be again called on, and
Louis determined to spend this little interval of leisure in giving a
finishing scrutiny of the history likely to be in demand. Full of his
purposes, he burst into the class-room, where only Hamilton and Reginald
were, the former writing very fast, and the latter looking carefully
over an English essay he had just finished. Louis flew to the shelves
and ransacked them in vain: almost every book he wanted was gone.
At length, in despair, he asked Reginald if he knew who had Rollin's
History. Reginald absently replied in the negative, as he noted down
something in the page he was reading.
"The books are always gone," said Louis, pettishly. "I suppose Charlie
has it. He had it yesterday--he might as well let me have it to-day."
"Trevannion has it, I think," said Reginald.
"You may have mine," said Hamilton.
Louis stood still; he wanted the book very much, but was too proud
to accept the offer.
"It is in my room," continued Hamilton, without looking up.
"Thank you, I don't want _yours_," replied Louis, proudly, walking
out of the room.
As he entered the school-room he confronted Dr. Wilkinson, who, having
given orders for a brisk walk, was inquiring for Hamilton. Louis had
scarcely taken his hand from the lock when Hamilton abruptly opened it
and came quickly out of the room.
"You are the person I want," said the doctor, laying his hand on his
arm. "Hamilton, I want you to come out with me this bright day."
"To-day, sir?" said Hamilton, whose countenance expressed any thing
but delight at the proposition.
"And why put off till to-morrow what may be done to-day so well?"
said the doctor, smiling. "I suppose you have hopes of the weather
making a walk impracticable to-morrow: but I must have you all out,
or some of you will be laid up before you go home."
His eye fell upon Clifton, who was sitting with his elbows on a desk
close by, his fingers pushed through his hair, wholly absorbed in
"_Gibbon's Decline and Fall_." Dr. Wilkinson addressed him twice,
but, producing no impression, he removed one of the props of his
head, and turned his face towards himself.
"What are you doing there?"
"History, sir," said the boy, getting up mechanically, and looking
very much as if he were not pleased at the interruption.
"I hear your name is very high in the list to-day."
"Yes, sir," replied Charles, gravely; and, as the doctor released him,
he settled down precisely in the same attitude, without showing the
least satisfaction at the notice he had received.
Hamilton turned away with an impatient gesture.
"Are you going immediately, sir?" he said. "Can you spare me a
few minutes?"
"I shall be at the garden-gate in a quarter of an hour from this time,"
replied the doctor.
"I will not fail, sir," said Hamilton; and, crossing the room in
immense strides, he flew up stairs, and returned almost immediately
with a large volume under his arm. He made some inquiries of
Trevannion's whereabouts, and, learning that he was in the playground,
went in search of him. He very soon found him, walking briskly
up and down with Norman, making extracts from an old book in his
hand, and questioning his friend alternately. Hamilton and he had
scarcely exchanged a word since their quarrel, and it was with some
surprise that he saw Hamilton present himself, and still more, when
a request was made that he would exchange books.
"I particularly want this just now," he replied.
"This is Rollin," said Hamilton. "I should feel obliged if you would
exchange copies."
Trevannion opened his eyes wider, but after a second's pause, he took
Hamilton's and gave him his book in exchange, without any comment.
"What a strange whim!" remarked Norman, when Hamilton had left them,
after shortly expressing his thanks.
"What can he mean, Norman?" said Trevannion. "This is his own, too."
"Perhaps some new way of trying to make up an old quarrel,"
said Norman, sneeringly.
"I don't think so," replied Trevannion; "he would not have tried
so odd a plan--no, there's something deeper than that."
"Are the histories alike?" asked Norman.
"I believe so," answered Trevannion; "if there's any advantage, I am
sure to have it, at any rate."
"You have a very high opinion of him."
"VERY," said Trevannion. "If Hamilton did mean this to make up our
quarrel, I am sure I shall be willing."
"Upon my word," said Norman, "this is dignity."
Trevannion made no answer, for something had attracted his attention
on the opposite side of the playground.
"Holloa! Norman, look there!" he exclaimed.
"Where? what! oh, horror!" cried Norman.
"There they are--they're hid; now, there they are again!--now look,
who is it? Stand behind this tree a minute--now let us look out."
Obedient to his instructions, Norman looked, and saw three boys drop
down one after another from the branch of a tree, that had evidently
assisted their descent from the playground wall, and then run across
the playground.
"Who are they?" said Trevannion, putting up his eye-glass (which,
gentle reader, be it known he carried for use). "One is Churchill,
I'm sure! Who's that long fellow? Why, it's Harris, isn't it? It
can't be, surely!"
"It is," said Norman; "and the other's Casson."
"I'm sure they are at no good," said Trevannion; "I shall make
a note of this remarkable occurrence."
So saying, he made a memorandum of the circumstance in his
pocket-book, and had just finished when the boys poured out
cloaked and great-coated, and informed him of the doctor's
desires.
The reader will be at no loss to discover Hamilton's reason for
exchanging the books. As Louis was out, he took Dr. Wilkinson's
with him into the class-room, and sat down to finish the six last
words of his poem; and then, folding it neatly up, enveloped it in
half a sheet of writing-paper. He was just pressing the seal upon
the wax, when his watch, which he had laid open before him, warned
him that the last minutes of the quarter of an hour had arrived.
He just pushed his things together, and left them on the table;
and snatching up his hat as he ran through the hall, scarcely
arrived at the garden-gate in time to save his character for
punctuality.
It so happened that Casson was Louis' companion during the walk,
and entertained him with a flowing account of all the vulgar tricks
he had been in the habit of playing at his former school. Louis could
not help laughing at them; nor would his vanity allow him to refrain
from boasting of--what he had before been properly ashamed--his own
share in some of Casson's late exploits. So afraid was he of seeming
inferior, even to a person he despised, and in those things which his
better feelings taught him equally to despise. Casson inwardly laughed
at Louis' boasted feats, as he had always done to others when Louis was
out of hearing; but he now quizzed him, stimulating him, by applauding
his spirit and ingenuity; and by the time they had reached the house,
Louis was in a thoroughly giddy humor, ready to try, at the risk of
disgrace, the new schemes to which he had just been listening.
The boys stayed in the playground till the dinner-bell rang, which
was a few minutes after they had entered the playground; but these
few minutes sufficed for Louis, in his present humor, to get himself
in a scrape, the consequences of which, at the time, he certainly did
not contemplate. He had been complaining to Casson, in the beginning
of their walk, that he could not get "Rollin's History," and, as Casson
persisted that it was in the study, Louis took him there to show him
his error, when they returned home.
"Ha, ha! Mr. Louis Mortimer, who's right?" cried Casson,
holding up the book.
"That can't be; I wonder how it got there," said Louis,
approaching the table in a mystified manner. "These must
be Trevannion's things, I suppose; only Hamilton was writing
here; and here is his dictionary,--I wonder what he wanted
with it--he never said he had it--he let me suppose Trevannion
had it--kind of him--I suppose he wanted to prevent my getting
it; but I'll have it now--he's got one of his own."
"I'd be even with him," said Casson; "what a heap of things! See,
here's an exercise of his; or a letter, I suppose--it's too neat
for an exercise. A good thick letter--sealed, too. I'll tell you
what, Louis--"
Accordingly, what Casson did tell Louis was, what a "capital dodge"
it would be to abstract Hamilton's sealed packet, and to leave another
folded like it in its place.
"We often used to trick the boys at old Stennett's with their
exercises," continued he; "they never wrote in books there--we
used to tear the leaves out of the exercise-books, and write on
them. It was such jolly fun to see them open the paper and find
nothing in it, or only some rubbish."
"How did you do it?" asked Louis.
"Oh, we doubled up a bit of an old exercise-book, and exchanged, that's
all!" replied Casson; "see, why here's half a sheet of paper, that'll
do for the cover; and now then, Louis, more paper--he'll never miss
it--that's it--fold it up just the size; how beautifully you have
done it!"
"But there's no seal," said Louis.
"He'll forget he sealed it," replied Casson; "oh, how jolly!--here's
a piece of sealing-wax--it is sealed with the top of a pencil-case."
"I have one just like that," said Louis; "oh, no; here's E. H. on
this--that won't do, Casson."
Casson presently relieved this difficulty by discovering Hamilton's
pencil-case; and the paper was quickly sealed, when Louis began to
doubt:
"But we don't know what it is, Casson."
"If it turns out to be any thing, send it by post, directed to him,
at his father's," said Casson; "he'll get it safely enough."
The dinner-bell rang loudly at this moment, and with a little laugh
at the idea of the oddity of sending it to Hamilton's home, and a
strong feeling of doubt as to the wisdom of his proceeding, Louis
hastily exchanged the packets, and ran out of the room. On his way
to the dining-room he paused--
"If it should be of any consequence, Casson," he said.
"Well, if it is, so much the better fun; he won't treat you so shabbily
another time."
"Ah, but--I don't want to revenge myself, and I don't like playing
tricks on Hamilton exactly, either: I think I must give it back."
"I thought you were such a dab at these kinds of things," said Casson,
sneeringly.
"What have I done with it now?" Louis exclaimed suddenly, as they
reached the dining-room door, after stopping a few seconds in the
hall to hang up his coat. "What can I have done with it? I must have
slipped it into my desk just now, when I put my Livy in."
He was not able to turn back then; and, in the mean time, Hamilton
had paid a hasty visit to the class-room, to collect his things,
and had locked up carefully the false packet; and Louis had not
courage to make any inquiries, though he hoped that he might have
found the right one, which, with all his care, he could not discover
himself. Louis had, in his hurry, left Rollin on the study-table, and
after school he ran into the room, and finding it in nearly the same
place where Hamilton had been guarding it for him, he carried it off,
and Hamilton, seeing the action, made no remark on the matter.
The next evening, the Latin poems were sent in to the doctor's study
for comparison, and Hamilton's blank counterfeit was titled on the
cover, and dispatched with a degree of nervous anxiety that certainly
would not have been called forth by a subject so empty. Louis was
in an agony of remorse, when the truth burst on him. His only hope
was, that Hamilton might have found the right packet. He heard the
speculations around him as to the probability of success, and saw
the last paper put into Norman's hand to be carried away, but he
dared not say any thing. He had never dreamt of the importance of
the paper he had so carelessly dropped or mislaid, and would have
given all he possessed to have remembered what he had done with it.
Nothing more was done that evening. Study had helped to drive away
the smaller qualms of conscience the day before; but he was now so
sick at heart, that he remained with his head on his hand doing
nothing, puzzling himself in vain to remember what he had done
with the poem.