Impositique rogis juvenes ante ora parentum.
Georgic Four, 1 71.
The days that followed, as the boys resumed the regular routine of
school work, passed by very rapidly and pleasantly--rapidly, because the
long-expected Christmas holidays were approaching; pleasantly, because
the boys were thoroughly occupied in working up the subjects for the
final examination. For Walter especially, those days were lighted up
with the warm glow of popularity and success. He was aiming with boyish
eagerness to win one more laurel by gaining the first place in his form,
and whenever he was not taking exercise, either in some school game or
by a ramble along his favourite cliffs and sands, he was generally to be
found hard at work in Mr Percival's rooms, learning the voluntary
repetitions, or going over the trial subjects with Henderson, who had
now quite passed the boundary line which separated the idle from the
industrious boys.
One morning Henderson came in chuckling and laughing to himself. "So
Power's taking a leaf out of your book, Walter. I declare he's becoming
a regular sociable grosbeak."
"Sociable grosbeak? what _do_ you mean?"
"O, don't you know that I'm writing a drama called the `Sociable
Grosbeaks,' in which you and Ken and I are introduced? I didn't mean to
introduce Power, he wasn't gregarious enough; but I _shall_ now, and he
shall prologise."
"But why is he more sociable now?"
"Why, he's actually let one of the--oh, I forgot, I mustn't call names--
well, he's given Eden the run of his study."
"O yes; I knew that," said Walter smiling. "At first, it was the
funniest thing to see them together, they were both so shy; but after a
day or two they were quite friends, and now you may find Eden perched
any day in Power's window-seat, grinding away at his Greek verbs, and as
happy as a king. Power helps him in his work, too. It'll be the making
of the little fellow. Already he's coming out strong in form."
"Hurrah for the grosbeaks," said Henderson. "I _did_ mean to chaff
Power about it, but I won't, for it really is very kind of him."
"Yes, and so it is of Percival to let us sit here; but I wish that dear
old Dubbs could be doing trial-work here with us."
"He's very ill," said Henderson, looking serious; "_very_ ill, I'm
afraid. I saw him to-day for a minute, but he seemed too weak to talk."
"Is he? poor fellow! I knew that he was staying out, but I'd no notion
that it was anything dangerous."
"I don't know about _dangerous_, but he's quite ill. Poor Daubeny! you
know how very very patient and good he is, yet even he can't help being
sad at falling ill just now. You know he was to have been confirmed
to-morrow week, and he's afraid that now he won't be well enough, and
will have to put it off."
"Yes, he's mentioned his confirmation to me several times. Lots of
fellows are going to be confirmed this time--about a hundred, I
believe--but I don't suppose one of them thinks of it so solemnly as
dear old Dubbs--unless, indeed, it's Power, who also is to be
confirmed."
The confirmation was to take place on a Sunday, and the candidates had
long been engaged in a course of preparation. The intellectual
preparation was carefully undertaken by Dr Lane and the tutors of the
boys; but this answer of the lips was of comparatively little value,
except in so far as it tended to guide, and solemnise, and concentrate
the preparation of the heart. In too many this approaching
responsibility produced no visible effect in the tenor of outward life--
they talked and thought as lightly as before, and did not elevate the
low standard of schoolboy morality; but there were _some_ hearts in
which the dreary and formless chaos of passion and neglect then first
felt the divine stirring of the brooding wings, and some spiritual
temples were from that time filled more brightly than before with the
Shechinah of the Presence, and bore, as in golden letters on a new
entablature, the inscription, "Holiness to the Lord."
To this confirmation some of the best boys, like Power and Daubeny, were
looking forward, not with any exaggerated or romantic sentimentality,
but with a deep humility, a manly exultation, an earnest hope. They
were ready and even anxious to confirm their baptismal vow, and to be
confirmed in the sacred strength which should enable them for the future
more unswervingly to fulfil it. Of these young hearts the grace of God
took early hold, and in them reason and religion ran together like warp
and woof to frame the web of a sweet and exemplary life. Bound by the
most solemn and public recognition of, and adhesion to, their Christian
duty, it would be easier for them thenceforth to confess Christ before
men--easier to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with
their God.
"Do you think it would be possible to see Dubbs? I should so like to
see him," said Walter.
"Let's ask Percival, he's in the next room; and if Dubbs is well enough
I know he'd give anything to see you."
"Please, sir," said Walter, after knocking for admission at the door of
the inner room, "do you think that Henderson and I might go to the
cottage and see Daubeny?"
"I don't know, Walter. But I want very much to see him myself, if Dr
Keith will let me, so I'll come with you and enquire."
Mr Percival walked with the two boys to the cottage, and, after an
injunction not to stay too long, they were admitted to the sick boy's
bedside. At first, in the darkened room, they saw nothing; but
Daubeny's voice--weak and low, but very cheerful--at once greeted them.
"O, thank you, sir, for coming to see me. Hallo! Walter, and Flip,
too; I'm so glad to see you--you in a sickroom again, Flip!"
"We would have come before if we had known that we might see you," said
the master. "How are you feeling, my dear boy?"
"Not very well, sir; my head aches sadly sometimes, and I get so
confused."
"Ah, Daubeny, it's the overwork. Didn't I entreat you, my child, to
slacken the bent bow a little? You'll be wiser in future, will you
not?"
"In future--O yes, sir; if ever I get well, I'm afraid," he said, with a
faint smile, "that you'll find me stupider than ever."
"Stupid, my boy! none of us ever thought you that. It is not the stupid
boys that get head removes as you have done the last term or two. I
should very much enjoy a talk with you, Daubeny, but I mustn't stay now
the doctor says, so I'll leave these two fellows with you, and give them
ten minutes--no longer--to tell you all the school news."
"In future wiser--in future," repeated Daubeny in a low voice to himself
once or twice; "ah, yes, too late now. I don't think he knows how ill I
am, Walter. My mother's been sent for; I expect her this evening. I
shall at least live to see her again."
"O, don't," said Henderson, whose quick and sensitive nature was easily
excited; "don't talk like that, Daubeny; we can't spare you; you must
stay for our sake."
"Dear old fellow," said Daubeny, "you'll have nobody left to chaff; but
you can spare me easily enough," and he laid his fevered hand kindly on
Henderson's, who immediately turned his head and brushed away a tear.
"O, don't cry," he added, in a pained tone of voice, "I never meant to
make you cry. I'm quite happy, Flip."
"O Daubeny! we can't get on without you!" said Henderson.
"Daubeny! I hardly know the name," said the sick boy, smiling. "No,
Flip, let it be Dubbs, as of old--a nice heavy name to suit its owner;
and you gave it me, you know, so it's your property, Flip, and I hardly
know myself by any other now."
"O Dubbs, I've plagued you so," said Henderson, sobbing as if his heart
would break; "I've never done anything but teaze you, and laugh at you,
and you've always been so good and so patient to me. Do forgive me."
"Pooh!" said Daubeny, trying to rally him. "Listen to him, Walter;
who'd think that Flip was talking? Teased me, Flip?" he continued, as
Henderson still sobbed at intervals, "not you! I always enjoyed your
chaff, and I knew that you liked me at heart. You've all been very kind
to me. Walter, I'm so glad I got to know you before I--. It's so
pleasant to see you here. Give me your hand; no, Flip, let me keep
yours too; it's getting dark. I like to have you here. I feel so
happy. I wish Power and Ken would come too, that I might see all my
friends."
"Good-night, Daubeny; I can't stay, I mustn't stay," said Henderson;
and, pressing his friend's hand, he hurried out of the room to indulge
in a burst of grief which he could not contain; for, under his trifling
and nonsensical manner, Henderson had a very warm and susceptible and
feeling heart, and though he had always made Daubeny a subject of
ridicule, he never did it with a particle of ill-nature, and felt for
him--dissimilar as their characters were--a most fervent and deep
regard.
"Look after him when I am gone, Walter," said Daubeny sadly, when he had
left the room. "He is a dear good fellow, but so easily led. Poor
Flip; he's immensely changed for the better since you came, Walter."
"I have been very fond of him all along," said Walter; "he is so full of
laughter and fun, and he's very good with it all. But, Dubbs, you are
too desponding; we shall have you here yet for many pleasant days."
"I don't know; perhaps so, if God wills. I am very young. I should
like to stay a little longer in the sunshine. Walter, I should like to
stay with _you_. I love you more, I think, than any one except Power,"
and as he spoke, a quiet tear rolled slowly down Daubeny's face.
Walter only pressed his hand. "You can't think how I pitied you,
Walter, in that accident about Paton's manuscript. When all the fellows
were cutting you, and abusing you, my heart used to bleed for you; you
used to go about looking so miserable, so much as if all your chances of
life were over. I'm afraid I did very little for you then, but I
_would_ have done anything. I felt as if I could have given you my
right-hand."
"But, Dubbs, you were the first who spoke to me after that happened, the
first who wasn't ashamed to walk with me. You can't think how grateful
I felt to you for it; it rolled a cold weight from me. It was like
stretching a saving hand to one who was drowning; for every one knew how
good a fellow _you_ were, and your countenance was worth everything to
me just then."
"You really felt so?" said Daubeny, brightening up, while a faint flush
rested for a moment on his pale face; "O Walter, it makes me happy to
hear you say so." There was a silence, and, with Walter's hand still in
his, he fell into a sweet sleep, with a smile upon his face. When he
was quite asleep, Walter gently removed his hand, smoothed his pillow,
looked affectionately at him for a moment, and stole silently from the
room.
"How did you leave him?" asked Henderson eagerly, when Walter rejoined
him in Mr Percival's room.
"Sleeping soundly. I hope it will do him good. I did not know how much
you cared for him, Flip."
"That's because I always made him a butt," said Henderson, remorsefully;
"but I didn't really think he minded it, or I wouldn't have done so. I
hardly knew myself that I liked him so. It was a confounded shame of me
to worry him as I was always doing. Conceited donkey that I was, I was
always trying to make him seem stupid; yet all the while I could have
stood by him cap in hand. O Walter, I hope he is not going to die!"
"O no, I hope not; and don't be miserable at the thought of teasing him,
Flip; it was all in fun, and he was never wounded by any word of yours.
Remember how he used to tell you that he was all the time laughing at
you, not you at him. Come a turn on the shore, and let's take Power or
Ken with us."
"Sociable grosbeaks, again," said Henderson, laughing in the midst of
his sorrow.
"Yes," said Walter; "never mind. There are but few birds of the sort
after all."
They found Eden with his feet up, and his hands round his knees, on the
window-seat, perfectly at his ease, and chattering to Power like a young
jackdaw. A thrill of pleasure passed through Walter's heart as a glance
showed him how well his proposal had succeeded. Power evidently had had
no reason to repent of his kindness, and Eden looked more like the
bright and happy child which he had once been, than ever was the case
since he had come to Saint Winifred's. He was now clean and neat in
dress, and the shadows of fear and guilt which had begun to darken his
young face were chased away.
Power readily joined them in their stroll along the shore, and listened
with affectionate sympathy to their account of Daubeny.
"What is it that has made him ill?" he asked.
"There's no doubt about that," answered Walter; "it's overwork which has
brought on a tendency to brain fever."
"I was afraid so, Walter," and then Power repeated half to himself the
fine lines of Byron on Kirke White--
"So the struck eagle stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And winged the barb that quivered in his heart;
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel.
He nursed the pinion that impelled the steel;
While the same plumage that had warmed his nest,
Drank the last life blood of his bleeding breast."
"What grand verses!" said Walter. "Poor, poor Daubeny!"
"I've never had but one feeling about him myself," said Power, "and that
was a feeling almost like reverence. I hope and trust that he'll be
well enough for to-morrow week. I always looked forward to kneeling
next to him when we were confirmed."
"All, you loved him, Power," said Henderson, "because your tastes were
like his. But I owe a great deal to him--more than I can ever tell you.
I don't feel as if I could tell you now, while he lies there so ill,
poor fellow. He has saved me more than once from vigorous efforts to
throw myself away. But for him I should have gone to the devil long,
long ago. I was _very_ near it once." He sighed, and as they walked by
the violet margent of the evening waves, he offered up in silence an
earnest prayer that Daubeny might live.
The blind old poet would have said that the winds carried the prayer
away and scattered it. But no winds can scatter, no waves can drown,
the immortal spirit of one true prayer. Unanswered it _may_ be--but
scattered and fruitless, _not_!