little consideration he seemed to think it best to comply: he and
Harold, therefore, followed Archibald to the garden gate: and the other
boys dispersed.
When Harold and Richard Hobb came into the garden, they found
Archibald standing by his Father, on the gravel walk: he hung down his
head,--pouted,--drew long sobs; and kept twisting the buttons of his
coat. Richard Hobb appeared more frightened than ashamed.
“Harold,” said his Father, “have you been able to learn how this
quarrel began?”
Harold then related what James Mason had told him. His Father, turning
to Archibald, asked if this account was true. “Yes,” said Archibald,
between two sobs. “Then, Archibald, tell Richard Hobb that you
acknowledge that you have acted very wrong.”
Archibald, without raising his head, or turning towards Richard,
repeated the words his Father dictated;--
“Richard Hobb, I acknowledge that I have acted very wrong.”
“Now, Richard Hobb,” added the Father, “if I hear again that you fight
with my son, I shall complain of you to your parents; and insist upon
their punishing you. You may go.”
The boy seemed greatly relieved to be let off so easily. He shuffled
away down the long gravel-walk, as though he had not the use of his
legs: but the instant he passed the garden gate he ran off at full
speed, till he was out of sight.
Archibald was punished by being kept a close prisoner to the house for
three days, during which time his usual tasks were doubled.
There was an old church about two miles from the village, which stood
in the fields, apart from any houses: the only cottage near it was
inhabited by an old woman, who kept the keys and swept the church. The
tower was more ornamented than is usual for country churches; and the
lower part of it was beautifully covered with ivy. The church-yard was
surrounded with lime trees, which made it very shady and pleasant in
hot weather.
One fine afternoon, in the month of August, Harold and his brother
walked to this church, as they often did: there were several children
in the church-yard: one little boy, whose shoes were very dusty, and
who seemed tired with a long walk, was sitting under the shade to rest
himself: he had laid a small parcel on the grass, beside him; while he
looked at the others, who were playing at marbles, on a flat tombstone.
The church was open, because it was Saturday afternoon; and the old
woman was sweeping the church. Harold went in to look at the monuments,
and read the inscriptions; there was a painted window also, which he
thought very pretty; he asked the old woman some questions, but she
only said, “hey, master;” and when he repeated it louder, she shook her
head; for she could not hear a word: she went hobbling along the aisle,
blowing out her hollow cheeks, and dusting the tops of the pews.
When Harold came out of the church, he looked about for his brother;
but could not see him any where: at length he asked the children if
they had seen him leave the church-yard: a little girl replied that she
thought she had seen him go up the belfry stairs. At the same moment,
a piece of mortar fell close to Harold’s feet, and broke to powder on
the bricks with which the path was paved: looking up, he perceived his
brother’s head at a narrow window, near the top of the tower: he bawled
out, “Harold, Harold! you don’t look bigger than a mouse: here now,
will you hold your hat for another bit of mortar.” Harold called to
him that he had better come down, lest he should be locked in. At this
hint, Archibald drew in his head instantly, and came clattering down
the steps in great haste.
The two boys then left the church, and went into an adjoining wood,
where they staid some time, to watch the white rabbits skipping in
and out among the trees. It was nearly seven o’clock when they left
the wood, and proceeded homewards. When they had nearly reached their
Papa’s house, they overtook the little boy whom they had seen in the
church-yard: he was crying piteously. Harold asked him what was the
matter: he answered, that he had lost a parcel that he had brought from
the town, and which he was carrying to his master’s--Farmer Rand. He
had hardly finished saying this, when Archibald exclaimed, “Oh dear me!
Oh dear me! I did not mean to leave it there: I quite forgot it. I
only meant to carry it up, just for a joke.”
“What do you mean, Archibald?” inquired his brother. Archibald
confessed, that, seeing the parcel lying on the grass in the
church-yard, he had carried it up into the belfry; only just, as he
said, to frighten the little boy, and make him think he had lost it;
but intending to bring it down, or, at least, tell him where it was:
but when his brother called him to come down lest he should be locked
in, he was in such a hurry, that he quite forgot the parcel.
“What is to be done?” said Harold. “Do you know, little boy, what
was in the parcel? Do you think your master can wait for it till
to-morrow?”
“Oh, no;” said the little boy, “if I go home without it, I know he’ll
beat me; I know he’ll beat me: besides, it is doctor’s stuff: my
mistress is very ill; and I have been to the doctor’s for it: and she
was to take it this evening.”
As soon as he had ended speaking, the little boy began to cry again,
saying, over and over again, that he had rather stay out all night,
than go home without the parcel.
“Well, Archibald,” said Harold, “I’ll tell you what we must do: one
of us must go back to the church, and find the parcel; and the other
must go, first to Farmer Rand’s, and say it is all our fault; and beg
him not to be angry with the little boy; and that he shall have the
parcel presently; and then go home, and tell Papa and Mamma what has
happened; because they will be quite frightened that we do not come
home in proper time.”
Archibald did not like this proposal at all; and he began to say that
he thought it did not much signify to fetch the parcel; and that he
dared say they could do well enough without the physic; and so forth:
but his brother insisted upon his choosing whether he would go back for
the parcel, or to the farmer’s. Archibald proposed that the little boy
should go back to the church; and that they should both go together to
the farmer’s. But Harold said, that if the old woman had locked up the
church, most likely she would not be willing to unlock it, merely at
the request of the little boy; especially as she was so deaf that he
could not make her understand what was the matter.
“Then we’ll all go back together,” said Archibald.
“No, Archibald,” replied his brother, “we shall not be home again till
it is quite dark, and you know how very uneasy Mamma will be.”
To return alone to the church, and ascend the dark narrow stairs,
and then grope about for the parcel in the dismal belfry, was what
Archibald knew he had not courage for; especially as it would be
dusk-light by the time he could get there. He therefore chose to call
at Farmer Rand’s, to make an apology for the little boy, and then to
return home to acquaint his Papa and Mamma with what had occurred. He
secretly resolved, however, to loiter about in the fields till his
brother should return with the parcel: as he had not courage enough
to go and confess his fault, either to Farmer Rand or to his Papa; he
therefore walked on till his brother was out of sight, and then sat on
a gate, telling the little boy to wait a bit.
Though Harold was rather tired with his afternoon’s ramble, he retraced
his steps towards the church at a brisk pace: indeed, as the sun was
just set, the evening was cool and pleasant. When he arrived at the
church, he found the door into the tower still open; and observing
the old woman’s pail and mop still standing at the vestry door, he
concluded that she would not leave the church before he should have
found the parcel; and he did not go in to speak to her, because he
knew he could not make her understand what his business was; and he
thought, perhaps, she might not permit him to go into the belfry.
It was now quite dark within the narrow winding staircase that led
to the belfry; and when he reached the chamber, there was too little
light to find the parcel, except by feeling about for it: he therefore
crawled about on his hands and knees; going from side to side of the
chamber: he examined the whole floor in this way, but no parcel was to
be found; he had unfortunately forgotten to ask his brother exactly
where he had left it.
In one corner of the chamber there were some old hassocks and matting;
and among these, at last, he found a parcel, which he had no doubt was
the one he was in search of; and smelling it, he was satisfied that it
was medicine: this gave him more pleasure than little boys or girls
usually feel at the smell of medicine.
As Harold was feeling his way to the staircase, he heard the old woman
coughing below, and just as he set his foot upon the first step to
descend, he heard her bang-to the door at the bottom of the staircase;
and presently afterwards, the door of the tower also. Harold, at first
called out with all his might: but he recollected that this could be
of no service; as she was quite deaf: he hurried down to the foot of
the staircase, but found the door fast locked: he then went up again
into the belfry; and looked out of the open window, through which,
as was mentioned before, he had seen his brother put his head: from
this window he saw the old woman sitting on the horsing-block at the
church-yard gate, resting herself, and he could hear her cough. Though
he had no hope of making her hear, he continued to call to her as loud
as possible; but there she sat, till her fit of coughing was over; and
then she rose, locked the church-yard gate; and slowly walked away.
It must be confessed that Harold did not at all like his present
situation; and when he thought of having to spend the whole night in
this lonely belfry, he was very near bursting into tears. Indeed, we
are not quite sure that he did not cry a little.
He soon, however, recollected that his brother had probably by this
time reached home, and told his Papa what had occurred: he felt little
doubt, therefore, that his Papa would send a servant, or come himself
to release him: and so he was comforted with the hope of being set at
liberty in a short time: he resolved to continue watching at the Belfry
window, that he might call to any one who might happen to pass by the
church-yard. The moon was now risen, and shone bright upon the white
tomb-stones.
“Though it is very uncomfortable and very dismal,” said Harold to
himself, “to be shut up here all alone; I need not be frightened;
because there is nothing _really_ to hurt me; and besides, God is here,
as well as at home.”
He was a little startled when the clock struck directly over his head:
the noise made his ears tingle; and when it had struck nine strokes,
the sound continued to ring in the tower for a long while.
Harold began now to feel sleepy: he rested his head on his hands, as
he leaned on the window-sill, and almost forgot where he was, when
he was roused suddenly, by hearing a rustling noise in one corner of
the belfry: presently afterwards he perceived something white moving
round and round over his head, and gradually coming lower; at length it
darted close by him out of the window at which he stood: on looking out
after it, he saw that it was a white owl: it continued to hover about
the tower for some time, and then flew off in a straight line towards a
neighbouring wood.
But we must now leave Harold in the belfry; and say what Archibald has
been doing all this time.
He sat on the gate till it began to grow dark, hoping every moment that
he should see his brother return.
The little boy, who stood leaning against the gate-post, cried and
sobbed at intervals; and looked towards his master’s house, which was
within sight, at the distance of about a mile.
Archibald was always afraid of being in the dark; and he now began to
consider whether he should not return home at once: he wondered why his
brother did not return: sometimes he imagined that, perhaps, he had
gone round some other way; and that by this time he had told the whole
story at home: again he feared that some harm had befallen Harold: this
thought made him feel very unhappy, especially when he remembered that
his own misconduct had been the occasion of it; and that he ought,
himself, to have gone back for the parcel: at last he resolved to go
directly home, and give his Papa a full account of what had happened:
he had scarcely made this resolution, when he perceived two or three
persons coming across the field very quickly, carrying a lantern: he
soon heard his Father’s voice: he ran up to him, crying out, “Papa,
Papa, I am a naughty boy; indeed I am.”
“Is it you, my boy,” said his Father, who seemed very glad to find him;
“but where have you been; and where is your brother?”
Archibald then related all that had happened; and told where his
brother was gone.
His father immediately sent one of the servants home with him;
charging him to tell his Mamma the whole story, and to say, that his
Papa did not doubt he should soon find his brother; as he conjectured
at once what had actually happened: he then dispatched the other
servant to the cottage of the old woman to procure the keys; and
proceeded himself to the church.
Poor Harold by this time had began to despair of being released from
his confinement before the morning: he was now exhausted with fatigue
and hunger; and he was very sleepy: he had just been roused again by
the din of the clock striking ten, when he heard the joyful sound
of his Father’s voice from the church-yard below, calling, “Harold,
Harold!” He instantly replied, “Yes, Papa; yes, yes; here am I in the
belfry.”
“A little more patience then, my dear boy, and we will let you out: the
servant is gone to fetch the keys.”
Harold, reaching as far as he could out of the window, continued to
converse with his Papa.
It was more than half an hour before the servant, who had been sent for
the keys, returned.
The old woman had been in bed some time; and all the noise the
servant could make at the door was to no purpose: at last the light
from the lantern, which he held at the hole of the window shutter,
awoke her, and she screamed out in great terror, supposing it was a
thief,--“Murder! murder! marcy! marcy! don’t murder me. I ha’rnt got
but eighteen pence in the house: if you won’t murder me, I’ll let you
in; and you shall have it all.” In a few minutes, she unbarred the
door. The servant held up the lantern to his face, that she might
know him at once; she looked at him a moment, and exclaimed, “Marcy
on’s,--the Squire’s sarvant: why what now!”
The servant, knowing that he could not make her understand his errand,
looked about in search of the keys; which he presently found hanging
behind the door; taking them away, therefore, he hurried off, leaving
the poor woman in amazement at what might be the meaning of this
strange visit.
At length the keys arrived: the doors were presently unlocked; and
Harold, grasping his Papa’s hand, was very happy to find himself on his
way home.
A servant was sent early the next morning with the little boy and the
parcel to Farmer Rand’s, to explain the reason of his detention, and to
make an apology for what had happened.
When Archibald appeared in the breakfast room, he was too much ashamed
of his own conduct to raise his head, or look at any one.
“Archibald,” said his Papa to him, “I have often told you that the love
of mischief and true courage are seldom found together: Do you feel,
now, that this is true?”
“Yes, Papa, indeed I do.”
VIII.
THE TINNER’S SON.
On the roads in Cornwall that lead from the copper mines to the
sea-port towns, one often meets large droves of mules, driven by a man
and one or two boys. Each mule has a wooden saddle, across which two
sacks are placed, filled with copper ore. The ore is emptied into large
bins, not far from the sea-side; whence it is afterwards taken in small
vessels, by sea, to Swansea; and there it is melted ready for use. The
copper ore, before it is sent in this way from the mine, is broken
small, washed, and pounded; it then looks like dark greenish fine
mould, or earth.
Thomas Trewellan was employed, along with a man and another boy, in
driving mules from a copper mine, in the western part of Cornwall, to
a small sea-port town on the northern coast: he went and returned with
the drove once every day.
Thomas had usually an hour or two of leisure in the evening: this
time he employed in learning writing and arithmetic: his father was a
tinner, that is to say, a miner, and like many others, he had acquired
a good deal of knowledge. He gave his son all the instruction that he
could; and Thomas, beside being able to read with propriety, and to
write a fair hand, knew something of Geometry, Algebra, and Mechanics.
Instead of being, like some boys, who think themselves unhappy because
they are obliged to learn, and who would be content to spend all their
time in play; Thomas employed every opportunity for improving his mind.
While the man who had the charge of the drove of mules was transacting
business in the town, Thomas would take his book to a niche in the rock
that hung over the sea; where he would spend half an hour, or sometimes
an hour, in study: and perhaps he might learn as much in this short
time as some boys do in a whole day; though they have masters to teach
them every thing.
Thomas was not often interrupted in the place he had chosen for his
study, because it could only be approached by a very rugged, steep,
and difficult path. One day, however, he heard some one scrambling
up the path, and uttering many exclamations which he could not at all
understand. Presently afterwards, a lad about his own size came up.
Thomas was quite startled by his odd appearance; for he wore a red cap
with a blue tassel; he had gold rings in his ears, and on his fingers;
he wore several waist-coats of different colours,--a striped green
jacket, and full petticoats reaching to the knees; with large high
boots. Thomas stared at this strange figure, and shut his book. The
boy said something, as though he meant to ask a question. “Nan!” said
Thomas. After muttering a word or two more, the boy turned round, and
descended the way he came. As soon as he was gone, Thomas recollected
that he heard that, since the late peace with France, fishing boats
from Normandy sometimes put into the harbour, when the weather was
rough, or the wind contrary. He guessed, therefore, that the boy he had
just seen must belong to one of these boats: and looking out to sea,
he perceived two or three odd looking boats lying at anchor, about a
league from the shore; and he learned from the sailors on the pier that
they were French fishing boats.
As he rode home, Thomas began to consider the reason why he and the
French boy could not understand each other. He did not know a word of
any language except English; and he had never before thought on the
subject. He remembered to have heard that the people in France speak
French; and he had heard too, the son of the captain of the mine talk
about learning Latin; but he had no clear notion of what was meant by
another language. “I suppose,” said he to himself, “speaking French,
or speaking Latin, means calling things by different names to what we
do.” But this seemed strange, and difficult to be imagined; for he had
always believed that _Horse_, was _really_ the name for a horse; and
_House_, the name for a house: “and why,” thought he, “should people
call things by names that are not their _real_ names.” While he was
puzzling himself in this way, it came into his mind, that his Father
and Mother, and he himself, sometimes, used what were called old
Cornish words, quite different from the common names of things; and
that it seemed almost as _natural_ to him to use one sort of word as
another; this seemed to clear up his difficulties; and he began to feel
a strong desire to learn French, or some other language.
In the evening, when he went home, Thomas described to his Father
the dress and appearance of the French boy whom he had seen; and he
afterwards hinted at the subject of his meditations as he rode home.
“Father,” said he, “do you think one could any how learn French, the
same as one learns Geometry; could’nt I get a book that would tell me
all about it.” “Ah, Thomas,” said his Father, “what you are thinking
about they call grammars and dictionaries, and so forth: but in such
things I can’t help you. You’ll make no hand of it, I can tell you;
beside, I don’t see it would be any sort of use to a tinner. Geometry
and Mechanics, you know, are in our line; but French and Latin would do
you no good in the world.”
But Thomas was not entirely discouraged by what his father said. John
Dawson, the son of the captain of the mine, was just then at home
during the holidays: the next time Thomas met him, he accosted him, by
saying, “Be so good, Master John, as just to tell me a little about
Grammar, or French, or Latin, or something of that sort,--what you
learn at school.” John was never very willing to be put in mind of
his learning in holiday time; it was bad enough, he thought, to be
_obliged_ to attend to it at school. But as he was a good tempered
boy, he would not refuse to give Thomas some sort of answer to his
question.
“Well then, Thomas,” said he, “listen:--_hic, hæc, hoc_:--that is
Grammar and Latin too: will that content you?”
“That does not make me understand any thing about it,” said Thomas.
“_As in præsenti, perfectum format in avi_,” said John.
“Please to tell me what all those words mean, Master John,” said Thomas.
“Very well: but you must pay attention, because I can’t tell you more
than once. _As, in_, in, _præsenti_, the present tense, _perfectum_,
the perfect, _format_, forms, _in_, in avi:--will that do?”
“Thank you, Master John.” Thomas found that he was not likely to gain
any assistance from his young master, and therefore he asked him no
more questions.
A few days after, as he was walking on the pier, Thomas perceived that
two of the French fishing boats had put into the harbour, and were
undergoing some repair. While he was waiting, therefore, he loitered
about where these boats were lying, that he might listen to the
conversation of the men: once or twice he spoke to them, to find out if
any of them understood English; but they only shook their heads, or did
not pay any attention to him.
“Now,” said Thomas to himself, “suppose that one of these men would be
willing to teach me the French names of things:--let me consider how
we should manage:--Why, I would point to something, and then he should
tell me the name of it in French; and I would write it down just as he
spoke it:--that would be easy enough: for instance, then, I would point
to a ship, or to my hat, or to a tree; and so on. But suppose I wanted
to know the French word for _wood_; then I must point to a post, or a
tree, or a piece of timber: but then, most likely, he would tell me
the French word that means a post, or a tree, or timber, and not the
word that means _wood_. Or if I wanted to know the name for _iron_, in
French; I must point to an anchor, or a nail, or a saw: but how would
that make him understand that I wanted to know the French for _iron_?”
Thomas was greatly perplexed by these difficulties. He found out
what he had never before attended to, that most things are called by
several different names; and that very different things are called by
the same name:--thus, for instance, a _wedge_ is called--a _wedge_, and
it is called a _tool_, and it is called _iron_: and so a dog is called
_Cæsar_, or a _dog_, or an _animal_, or a _brute_; and so a mouse, and
a cow, and a lion, are all called _animals_, though they are so very
different from each other.
“I wonder whether there is any such thing as a book that has rows of
words like the spelling-book, with the proper French word put against
every English word;--this would make it very easy.” It seemed to him
probable that there might be some such book, and he determined the
next day to make inquiry on the subject at the old book-stall, where he
had bought the few tattered volumes which formed his library. He had
made acquaintance with the man who kept the stall. “Pray, Mr. Moth,”
said Thomas, “have you any French books here?”