NEGLECTED DUTY
"It is often very profitable, to keep us more humble, that others
know and rebuke our faults."
"CAN I see the doctor, Miss Vernon?"
"My dear, what is the matter? Is your house on fire?"
"No; I want to speak to him quickly about one of the boys."
"One of your lambs?"
"It is Roland Gibbons; he was moved away from me last term."
"Then you have nothing on earth to do with him now."
Miss Vernon spoke sharply.
"Everard has been at it all day; there is some rumpus, but I never
ask any questions. He has had no lunch; one of the masters kept him
closeted in his study for nearly two hours. He went off to his classes
after a hasty gulp of soup, and has this minute come in for a quiet
cup of tea and, I hope, a little rest. Do for pity's sake leave him in
peace."
"I must see him, I am afraid."
Audrey looked anxious and rather agitated. She was in Miss Vernon's
drawing-room, and that good lady gave a little pitying smile as she
looked at her.
"Oh, you are like all the rest. I am the only one in our community
who can keep detached from the school affairs. No boy is worth making
yourself so hot and eager over him. But I suppose I must let you have
your way. Do you think you can get your business over in ten minutes?"
"It depends upon the doctor," said Audrey with relief in her tones as
she followed Miss Vernon into the doctor's study.
He was leaning back in his chair shielding his eyes with his hand.
Audrey saw him for the first time looking tired and dispirited. He
looked up in surprise when he saw her, but he rose immediately and
offered her a chair.
"Are you in difficulties of any sort?" he said.
"I have just heard of the raid on White's shop," said Audrey quickly.
"I hear you are going to cane the six, Roland Gibbons amongst them, and
I came to tell you—to ask you to let him off. I am positive he is not
in the affair; he is shielding somebody else."
Dr. Vernon smiled.
"I am afraid you must trust your boys to me when they come into my
school. Roland has left you for nearly two terms."
"But I know the boy better than you do," Audrey persisted. "In the
first place, he has never been struck in his life, except on one
occasion. He is a peculiar child, with a most violent, uncontrolled
temper. A nurse once boxed his ears—his mother told me this—and though
he was only five years old, he nearly killed her. He simply goes mad if
anyone lays a hand upon him."
"I don't think that would deter me from acting as I thought right,"
said Dr. Vernon sternly.
"But he is so small. He is only just ten, and I am quite sure he is not
one of the genuine culprits."
"Do you bring me any proofs?"
"I met the boy just now and spoke to him. I asked him to tell me the
truth, and he said, 'Honour bright, I wasn't in it!' And I believed
him. He never tells lies."
Dr. Vernon knitted his brows. He had some lawless spirits in the junior
school, and a small pastrycook's close to the school gates had been
raided in the dusk of an afternoon. It was kept by an old man, and at
the time, he was suffering from a sharp attack of rheumatism.
Six of the boys were identified by old Tom White, and Roland Gibbons
was amongst them. None of them denied it, and they were now awaiting
their summons to the doctor's study.
"I will give him another chance," he said, "to acquit himself. If he
does not take it, he must bear his punishment with the rest."
"I wish you would let him off and not press the point."
"That I cannot do."
"Oh, how hard a man can be!"
Audrey spoke with flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks.
Dr. Vernon rose and very courteously opened his door.
"Thank you for your information," he said with cold dignity. "Good
afternoon."
"I hate him!" Audrey muttered passionately to herself. "He is an
autocrat! The class of schoolmaster is most objectionable!"
Miss Vernon put her hand on her shoulder as she left the house.
"Don't you interfere with the doctor, my dear. Shut your eyes and ears,
as I do, to anything outside your special province."
"I hate injustice!" said Audrey hotly.
She was appeased when she heard that a more searching inquiry had
discovered the real culprit, and for the time Roland escaped. But he
was a daring spirit, and a few weeks later met with the chastisement
that was due to him.
Audrey could not lose interest in her boys; she dreaded the effect
of corporal punishment on a boy of Roland's calibre. But to her
astonishment, she found that from that date Roland almost worshipped
the doctor. She never knew exactly what took place in that private
interview, but she saw the good results of it, and marvelled, as she
often did, at the doctor's personal influence over his boys.
One spring day, the whole school had an outing. It was a yearly visit
to the patron of the school, an old general who lived in his big,
lonely country house about fifteen miles away. He had a liking for
all boys, and the whole school turned out to spend his birthday with
him. There was fishing for the bigger lads, with impromptu sports and
a hockey match in one of his fields, and his woods and grounds were
thrown open to all.
They started in brakes at nine o'clock, and did not generally return
till dark.
Audrey and Mrs. Bonar had a brake to themselves and their boys. It was
a typical spring day, with hot sun and a fresh breeze, and the drive
along the primrosed lanes delighted Audrey's soul. She had her hands
full when she got there, for Mrs. Bonar was not actively inclined,
and the small boys were in riotous spirits. Later in the day, she
was in a wood with them, when Mr. Oates once more followed her and
pertinaciously attached himself to her.
"This is my last term," he said. "I've had enough of boys. I'm trying
to get a post as lecturer; meanwhile, I'm going to America to widen my
mind."
"I heard that you were leaving," Audrey said quietly.
She had heard through Mrs. Ross that Dr. Vernon was parting with him
owing to his slackness in his work. But she never believed the whole of
that little lady's statements.
"Yes," Mr. Oates went on. "This is too narrow a sphere for me; and the
doctor—if it is not treason to say so—is old-fashioned and behind the
age. Miss Hume, I want to say something to you before I go. May I say
it now?"
"Oh, please," said Audrey, nervously anticipating what was coming, "I
think you had better not."
"But I must. You have fought shy of me all this term. I know you have
thought it right to do so, and I respect you for it. But—but you must
know what my feelings are towards you. I believe we are kindred souls.
You, like myself, are chafing at our proscribed circle here. Together
we could live our lives in freedom and happiness. We—"
"Are you asking me to marry you?" asked Audrey very quickly.
"I'm afraid marriage at present is a long way off, but if you will
wait."
"I am very, very sorry," said Audrey, "but neither now nor at any
other time could I do what you wish. I had no idea you felt anything
more towards me than a mere friendly interest. Please forgive me for
speaking quite frankly, but it is best for us both. And thank you very
much."
Then, rather nervously, she added:
"I'm sure it is time I was collecting my boys. We were to start at six
from the house, and it is now half-past five."
Mr. Oates would not be dismissed so quickly. He began to plead his
cause again. And even when Audrey was marching her boys back, he
still kept close to her side.
When they came to the house, one of the boys was missing. The doctor
was marshalling the brakes off. He looked up a little impatiently as
Mr. Oates and Audrey came into sight together. Mrs. Bonar was already
seated in the brake, and the boys were clambering in.
"Oates, your boys are waiting for you over there." Dr. Vernon's voice
was sharp and peremptory.
"Miss Hume has missed one of her boys," said Mr. Oates.
"That is her affair—not yours. Miss Hume is responsible for her boys."
Never had Audrey heard the doctor speak more sharply. Her cheeks
burned. She dashed back into the path that led to the wood, and
determined she would never speak to Mr. Oates again. And she began to
reproach herself for her carelessness. Little Herbert Renton was one
of the smallest of her flock; she had thought that he had run on in
front. And if Mr. Oates had not been worrying her so, she would have
discovered before that he was not with the others.
"I am not fit to be a schoolmistress," she said, as she began to call
for the missing boy. "If I stay here all night, I won't venture back
without him."
It was already beginning to get dusk. She made the wood echo with her
shouts, and once she thought she heard a muffled cry. But there seemed
no sight or sound of the child.
"Someone else might have turned back to help me," she thought bitterly.
"Sometimes I dislike the doctor; he is such a disciplinarian—all head,
no heart, and not an atom of softness or sympathy in his composition.
It is a shame to leave me alone! It would be just like him to drive
off and take all the others with him, and leave me to find my way home
alone. It's not like a gentleman to behave so!"
A step behind her made her start. She hardly knew whether she was vexed
or relieved to find it was the doctor.
"Well, can't you find him?"
His tone was still curt, but Audrey was meekness itself. "I'm very
sorry. I thought he was on in front of me, but he could never have
followed us."
"Are you sure he was here?"
"Yes; they were all having a game of hide-and-seek."
The doctor shouted, and then stopped to listen. He had sharper ears
than Audrey, for he heard a faint answering shout.
"He is here somewhere," he said. "It sounds as if he were hurt. This is
the direction."
[Illustration: THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO LISTEN.
HE HEARD A FAINT ANSWERING SHOUT.]
Audrey followed him along a path which was much overgrown with brambles
and briers. They presently came to a clearance, where there was a
group of old oaks, and now distinctly from one of these they heard the
muffled cry for help.
"Where are you?" called the doctor. "Up a tree?"
"Inside, and I'm dying. Help!—Help!"
"It's hollow; he has fallen into it!" cried Audrey.
And her conjecture proved right. Dr. Vernon threw off his coat and
climbed the old tree like a schoolboy. Herbert was at first too low
down to be reached, until the doctor lowered his coat and told him to
catch hold of the sleeve of it. Then he drew him up carefully, and in
another moment, Audrey had her arms around the breathless, dishevelled,
frightened child. He clung hold of her and sobbed aloud.
"I cried and cried and cried, and I thought I was going to be starved
and buried there!"
Then Audrey saw the soft side of Dr. Vernon. He hoisted the boy into
his arms and carried him along, talking to him more like a tender
father than a schoolmaster. She followed them in silence. In the drive
that led to the house, they met some gardeners coming off to help them
in their search.
General Tennant was pacing the terrace in some perturbation of mind. He
was greatly relieved when he saw them.
"Now you really must stay to dinner," he said, laying his hand on Dr.
Vernon's arm. "All your flock are safely driving home, and this young
lady can make herself comfortable in my housekeeper's room, if she
likes, with the boy. Mrs. Green is a good soul and a most superior
woman. Then you can drive them home later; or send them off in your
dogcart now, and I'll have the brougham out to take you home."
Audrey's head was raised and a heightened colour was in her cheeks as
she passed the old general. She knew that in his old-fashioned eyes,
she was just a governess, to be ranked with his upper servants, and her
pride rose in arms at once. But she did not say a word. Herbert was
scratched and bruised with his fall, and sadly wanted a good wash and
tidying up. So she went up to the housekeeper's room with him, and for
the next quarter of an hour occupied herself with his toilet.
Then a message came up to her from the doctor, asking her if she were
ready to start, and going downstairs she found the doctor's dogcart at
the door.
He had declined to stay to dinner, and Audrey was thankful to feel that
they were returning home at once.
He wrapped his thick rug round her carefully; Herbert snuggled in
between them, and was so tired that he fell fast asleep with Audrey's
arm around him before they had driven a mile.
"Are you cold?" Dr. Vernon asked presently.
"Not at all, thank you."
"What did the general say as he wished you good-bye?"
Audrey gave her low laugh as she answered, with a bit of mimicry in her
tone:
"'Let me advise you, young woman, to look after your pupils in a more
trustworthy manner. The doctor is sadly inconvenienced by the delay you
have caused.'
"And I nearly made him a curtsy and said, 'Yes, sir; I'm sorry, sir.'"
"I think his advice was good," said the doctor quietly.
"I know it was," said Audrey, checking her mirth, "but I never can
remember my position in life, and I don't like being treated like an
inferior being."
"Your work is the same as mine," said the doctor. "I don't feel that
teaching is a degrading position."
"Ah! The general would make a distinction between us," said Audrey;
"and, of course, there is one. I think I am too big for my shoes. I am
always being told so by Mrs. Bonar. I keep reminding myself that I am
nearly penniless and am earning my living, but I cannot be servile to
my superiors. I think I feel that anyone who earns their living is on
the same level. There are officers in the army and navy who only live
on their pay, and judges and ministers of state, and bishops, and all
the big government officials simply earn their living as I do. I say
that we are quits!"
Audrey was talking at random. She was feeling nervous of the long drive
and "tête-à-tête" conversation with the doctor, and she dreaded that he
should allude to her being in Mr. Oates' company.
But Dr. Vernon talked very pleasantly to her on various topics outside
the school, and then suddenly said:
"You have returned me all the books I have lent you. Have they helped
you?"
"Yes, they have."
Audrey spoke gravely now. She was always rather shy of talking about
her spiritual difficulties.
"Do you want any more?"
"No, thank you. They have led me to my Bible. I am finding out my
ignorance of it. And there is such a warmth and life in it! The other
books are cold, and hard, though convincing, but the Bible is—well, I
can't explain; it gives life and it sustains it, and I hope I shall
never get away from it."
"You have learnt a good deal if you have learnt that," said Dr. Vernon.
Then his voice grew tense and earnest as he added:
"Be real and sincere, Miss Hume; never put up with the second best.
Don't forget the empty shrine. Let the glory of your womanhood circle
round the One Who owns you. And with Him in your heart and life, you
will be a burning power for good amongst those small boys who are in
your charge."
Audrey bent over Herbert's curly head resting contentedly on her
shoulder.
"I feel I'm only the smoking flax at present," she said. "I hope the
flame will come."
And then for the rest of the drive they were silent. When she and
Herbert were deposited at her door, she looked up at the doctor with
penitent eyes.
"Please forgive me for my carelessness, and thank you for coming back
to help me. I shudder when I think what the plight of this poor child
might have been had we left him."
His tone was inscrutable as he replied:
"Let the charge of your boys be your first consideration."
"There spoke the schoolmaster," said Audrey to herself as she turned
away. "I like him best when he forgets his vocation."
And Dr. Vernon, as he sat eating his belated dinner that evening, was
haunted by a pair of grey eyes looking up into his—the grey eyes of
which his sister had said: "If you look at them, you are perfectly
certain that you can trust her, and that honour, frankness, and
fearlessness are her chief characteristics."
The result of his cogitations was the emphatic comment to himself:
"I am glad this is Oates' last term."
In which he showed himself a man as well as a schoolmaster.