To breathe the difficult air
Of the iced mountain top.
Manfred.
Fetzo auf den Schroffen Zinken
Hangt sie, auf dem hochsten Grat,
Wo die Felsen jah versinken,
Und verschwunden ist der Pfad.
Schiller.
It was some weeks before the examination, and the close of the
half-year, when one day Walter, full of glee, burst out of the
schoolroom at twelve, when the lesson was over, to tell Kenrick an
announcement just made to the forms, that the next day was to be a whole
holiday.
"Hurrah!" said Kenrick, "what's it for?"
"O! Somers has got no end of a scholarship at Cambridge--an awfully
swell thing--and Dr Lane gave a holiday directly he got the telegram
announcing the news."
"Well done, old Somers!" said Kenrick. "What shall we do?"
"O! I've had a scheme for a long time in my head, Ken; I want you to
come with me to the top of Appenfell."
"Whew-w-w! but it's a tremendous long walk, and no one goes up in
winter."
"Never mind, all the more fun and glory, and we shall have the whole day
before us. I've been longing to beat that proud old Appenfell for a
long time. I'm certain we can do it."
"But do you mean that we two should go alone?"
"O, no; we'll ask Flip, to amuse us on the way."
"And may I ask Power?"
"If you like," said Kenrick, who was, I am sorry to say, not a little
jealous of the friendship which had sprung up between Power and Walter.
"And would you mind Daubeny joining us?"
"Not at all; and he's clearly overworking himself. It'll do him good.
Let me see--you, Power, Flip, Dubbs, and me; that'll be enough, won't
it?"
"Well, I should like to ask Eden."
"Eden!" said Kenrick with the least little touch of contempt in his tone
of voice.
"Poor little fellow," said Walter smiling sadly; "so you, too, despise
him. No wonder he doesn't get on."
"O! let him come by all means, if you like," said Kenrick.
"Thanks, Ken--but now I come to think of it, it's too far for him.
Never mind; let's go before dinner, and order some sandwiches for
to-morrow, and forage generally, at Cole's."
Power and Daubeny gladly consented to join the excursion. At tea,
Walter asked Henderson if he'd come with them, and he, being just then
in a phase of nonsense which made him speak of everything in a manner
intended to be Homeric, answered with oracular gravity--
"Him addressed in reply the laughter-loving son of Hender:
Thou askest me, oh Evides, like to the immortals,
Whether thee I will accompany, and the much-enduring Dubbs,
And the counsellor Power, and the revered ox-eyed Kenrick,
To the tops of thousand-crested many-fountained Appenfell."
"Grotesque idiot," said Kenrick, laughing; "cease this weak, washy,
everlasting flood of twaddle, and tell us whether you'll come or no."
"Him sternly eyeing, addressed in reply the mighty Henderides,
Heavy with tea, with the eyes of a dog, and the heart of a reindeer!
What word has escaped thee, the barrier of thy teeth?
Contrary to right, not according to right, hast thou spoken."
"For goodness' sake shut up before you've driven us stark raving mad,"
said Walter, putting his hand over Henderson's lips. "Now, yes or no;
will you come?"
"Thee will I accompany--" said Henderson, struggling to get clear of
Walter, "to many-fountained Appenfell--"
"Hurrah! that'll do. We have got an answer out of you at last; and now
go on spouting the whole Iliad if you like."
Full of spirits they started after breakfast the next morning, and as
they climbed higher and higher up the steep mountainside, the keen air
exhilarated them, and showed, as through a crystal glass, the exceeding
glory of the hills flung on every side around them, and the broad living
sparkle of the sea caught here and there in glimpses between the nearer
peaks. Walter, Henderson, and Kenrick, were in front, while at some
distance behind them, Power helped on Daubeny, who soon showed signs of
fatigue.
"Look at that pappy fellow, Evson," said Daubeny, sighing; "how he is
bounding along in front. How active he is."
"You seem out of spirits," said Power kindly; "what's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. A little tired, that's all."
"You're surely not fretting about having lost the head place."
"Oh, no. `Palmam qui meruit ferat.' As Robertson said the other day in
his odd, fantastic way of expressing his thoughts--`In the amber of duty
you must not always expect to find the curious grub success.'"
"Depend upon it, you'd be higher if you worked less, my dear fellow.
Let me persuade you--don't work for examination any more."
"You all mistake me. It's not for the _place_ that I work, but because
I want to _know_, to _learn_; not to grow up quite stupid and
empty-headed as I otherwise should do."
"What a love for work you have, Daubeny."
"Yes, I have now; but do you know it really wasn't natural to me. As a
child, I used to be idle and get on very badly, and it used to vex my
poor father, who was then living, very much. Well, one day, not long
before he died, I had been very obstinate, and would learn nothing. He
didn't say much, but in the afternoon, when we were taking a walk, we
passed an old barn, and on the thatched roof was a lot of grass and
stonecrop. He plucked a handful, and showed me how rank and useless it
was, and then, resting his hand upon my head, he told me that it was the
type of an idle, useless man--`grass upon the housetops, withered before
it groweth up, wherewith the mower filleth not his hand, nor he that
gathereth the sheaves his bosom.' Somehow, the circumstance took hold
of my imagination; it was the last scene with my poor father which I
vividly remember. I have never been idle since then."
Power mused a little, and then said--"But, dear Dubbs, you'll make your
brain heavy by the time examination begins; you won't be able to do
yourself justice."
He did not answer; but a weary look, which Power had often observed,
with anxiety, came over his face.
"I'm afraid I must turn back, Power," he said; "I'm quite tired--done
up."
"I've been thinking so, too. Let me turn back with you."
"No, no! I won't spoil your day's excursion. Let me go alone."
"Hi! you fellows," said Power, shouting to the three in front. They
were too far in advance to hear him, so he told Daubeny to sit down
while he overtook them, and asked if any of them would prefer to turn
back.
"Dubbs is too tired to go any farther," he said, when he reached them,
breathless with his run. "I don't think he's very well, and so I'll
just go back with him."
"O, no; you really mustn't, _I_ will," said each of the other three
almost in a breath. Every one of the four was most anxious to get on,
and reach the top of Appenfell, which was considered a very great feat
among the boys even in summer, as the climb was dangerous and severe;
and yet each generously wished to undergo the self-denial of turning
back. As their wills were about equally strong, it would have ended in
_all_ of them accompanying Daubeny, had he not, when they reached him,
positively refused to turn on such conditions, and suggested that they
should decide it by drawing lots.
Power wrote the names on slips of paper, and Walter drew one at hazard.
The lot fell on Henderson, so he at once took Daubeny's arm, relieving
his disappointment by turning round, shaking his fist at the top of
Appenfell, and saying, "You be hanged! I wish you were rolled out
_quite flat_ and planted with potatoes!"
"There," said Power laughing, "I should think that was about the
grossest indignity the Genius of Appenfell ever had offered to him; so
now you've had your revenge, take care of Dubbs. Good-bye."
"How very kind it is of you to come with me, Flip," said Daubeny; "I
don't think I could manage to get home without your help; but I'm quite
vexed to drag you back. Good-bye, you fellows."
Walter, Power, and Kenrick, found that to reach the cairn on the top of
Appenfell taxed all their strength. The mountain seemed to heave before
them a succession of huge shoulders, and each one that they surmounted
showed them only fresh steeps to climb. At last, they reached the piled
confusion of rocks, painted with every gorgeous and brilliant colour by
emerald moss and golden lichen, which marked the approach to the summit;
and Walter, who was a long way the first to get to the top, shouted to
encourage the other two, and, after resting a few minutes, clambered
down to assist their progress. Being accustomed to the hills, he was
far less tired than they were, and could give them very efficient help.
At the top they rested for some time, eating their scanty lunch,
chatting, and enjoying the matchless splendour of the prospect which
stretched in a cloudless expanse before them on every side.
"Power," said Walter, in a pause of their talk, "I've long been meaning
to ask you a favour."
"It's granted, then," said Power, "if _you_ ask it, Walter."
"I'm not so sure; it's a very serious favour, and it isn't for myself;
moreover, it's very cool."
"The greater it is, the more I shall know that you trust my friendship,
Walter; and, if it's cool, it suits the time and place."
"Yet, I bet you that you'll hesitate when I propose it."
"Well, out with it; you make me curious."
"It is that you'd give little Eden the run of your study."
"Little Eden the run of my study! O, yes, if you wish it," said Power,
not liking to object after what he had said, but flushing up a little,
involuntarily. It was indeed a great favour to ask. Power's study was
a perfect sanctum; he had furnished it with such rare good taste, that,
when you entered, your eye was attracted by some pretty print or neat
contrivance wherever you looked. It was Power's peculiar pride and
pleasure to beautify his little room, and to sit there with any one whom
he liked; but to give up his privacy, and let a little scapegrace like
Eden have the free run of it, was a proposition which took him by
surprise. Yet it was a good deal for Power's own sake that Walter had
ventured to ask it. Power's great fault was his over-refinement; the
fastidiousness which marred his proper influence, made him unpopular
with many boys, and shut him up in a reserved and introspective habit of
mind. By a kind of instinct, Walter felt that it would be good to
disturb this epicurean indifference to the general interests of the
school, and the kind of intellectualism which weakened the character of
this attractive and affectionate, yet shy and self-involved boy. "Ah, I
see," said Walter archly; "you're as bad as Kenrick; you Priests and
Levites won't touch my poor little wounded traveller."
"But I don't see what I could do for him," said Power; "I shouldn't know
what to talk to him about."
"O, yes, you would; you don't know how his gratitude would pay you for
the least interest shown in him. He's been so shamefully bullied, poor
little chap, I hardly like to tell you even the things that that big
brute Harpour has made him do. He came here bright and neat, and merry
and innocent; and now--" He would not finish the sentence, and his voice
faltered; but checking himself, he added, more calmly--"This, remember,
has been done to the poor little fellow _here_, at Saint Winifred's; and
when I remember what I might have been myself by this time, but for--but
for one or two friends, my heart quite bleeds for him. Anyhow, I think
one ought to do what one can for him. I wish I'd a study, I know, and
he shouldn't be the only little fellow who should share it. I've got so
much good from being able to learn my own lessons in Percival's room,
that I'd give anything to be able to do as much for some one else."
"He shall come, Walter," said Power, "with all my heart. I'll ask him
directly we get back to Saint Winifred's."
"Will you? I thank you. That _is_ good of you; I'm sure you won't be
sorry in the long-run."
Power and Kenrick were both thinking that this new friend of theirs,
though he had been so short a time at Saint Winifred's, was teaching
them some valuable lessons. Neither of them had previously recognised
the truth which Walter seemed to feel so strongly, that they were to
some extent directly responsible for the opportunities which they lost
of helping and strengthening the boys around them. Neither of them had
ever done anything, worth speaking of, to lighten the heavy burden laid
on some of the little boys at Saint Winifred's; and now they heard
Walter talking with something like remorse about a child who had no
special claim whatever on his kindness, but whom he felt that he might
more efficiently have rescued from evil associates, evil words, evil
ways, and all the heart-misery they cannot fail to bring. The sense of
a new mission, a neglected duty, dawned upon them both.
They sat for a time silent, and then Kenrick, shaking off his reverie,
pointed down the hill and said--
"Do look at those magnificent clouds; how they come surging up the hill
in huge curving masses."
"Yes," said Power; "doesn't it look like a grand charge of giant
cavalry? Why, Walter, my dear fellow, how frightened you look."
"Well, no," said Walter, "not frightened. But I say, you two, supposing
those clouds which have gathered so suddenly don't clear away, do you
think that you could find your way down the hill?"
"I don't know; I almost think so," said Kenrick dubiously.
"Ah, Ken, I suspect you haven't had as much experience of mountain-mists
as I have. We _may_ find our way somehow; but--"
"You mean," said Power, with strange calmness, "that there are lots of
precipices about, and that shepherds have several times been lost on
these hills?"
"Let's hope that the mist will clear away, then," said Walter; "anyhow,
let's get on the grass, and off these awkward boulders, before we are
surrounded."
"By all means," said Kenrick; "charges of cloud-cavalry are all very
well in their way; but--"