Harpour, and all who, like him, had long been endeavouring to undermine
the authority which was the only safeguard to the morality of the
school, felt themselves distinctly baffled. Mackworth had been put to
utter rout by Bliss, and though he was almost bursting with dark spite,
would not venture to do much; Jones had become a perfect joke through
the whole school, and was constantly having white hen's feathers and
goose-feathers enclosed to him in little envelopes until he was half mad
with impotent wrath; Harpour himself had been made very decidedly to
swallow the leek of public humiliation; and as for Wilton, he began to
feel rather small.
Tracy again had openly deserted them. After the interview with Power,
Harpour had abused him roundly as a turncoat, and he had told his former
associates that he was sorry to have had anything to do with their
machinations; that they were going all wrong, and were ruining the
school, and that he at any rate felt that he had done mischief enough
already, and meant to do no more. This proof of their failing influence
exasperated them greatly. Harpour threatened, and Mackworth said all
the pungent and insulting things he could, contemptuously mimicking all
Tracy's dandiacal affectations. Tracy winced under this treatment; high
words followed, and after a scene of noisy altercation, Tracy broke with
his former "party," and after the quarrel spoke to them no more.
Dr Lane, too, had now recovered from his fever, and returned to the
school. When the reins were in his strong hands, the difference was
soon perceived. The abuses which had crept in during his absence were
quietly and firmly rectified, and all tendencies to insubordination were
repressed with a stern and just decision which it was impossible to
gainsay or to resist. The whole aspect of things altered, and, lonely
as he was among the Noelites, even Charlie Evson began to like Saint
Winifred's better, and to feel more at home in its precincts.
Still, those who were rebelliously inclined were determined not to give
in at once, and anxiously looked out for some opportunity in which they
could have Kenrick on their side. If they could but secure this, they
felt tolerably confident of giving the monitors a rebuff, and of
carrying with them that numerous body in the school who had been taught
under their training to resist authority on every possible occasion.
The opportunity was not long wanting. One fine afternoon a poor old
woman had come up to the playground with a basket of trifles, by the
sale of which she hoped to support herself during the unexpectedly long
absence of a sailor son. Her extreme neatness of person, and her quiet,
respectable manners had interested some of the boys in her appearance;
and when she came up to sell the little articles, many of which her own
industry had made, she generally found ready purchasers. Walter, who
knew her well, had visited her cottage, and had often seen the sailor
boy on whose earnings she in a great measure depended. This only son
had now been away for some time on a distant voyage, and the poor woman,
being pressed for the necessaries of life, took her basket once more to
the playground of Saint Winifred's. Charlie had often heard about her
from Walter, and he gladly made from her a few small purchases, in which
the other boys followed his example. While he was doing this, he
distinctly saw one of the Noelites--an ill-conditioned fellow in the
shell, named Penn--thrust his hand into the old woman's basket, which
was now surrounded by a large group of boys, and secrete a small bottle
of scent. Charlie waited a moment, expecting to see him pay for it, but
Penn, who fancied that he had been unobserved, dropped it quietly into
his pocket, and stood looking on with an innocent and indifferent air.
Instantly Charlie's indignation knew no bounds. He could hardly believe
his own eyes; he knew that a few of the very worst in the school, and
some in his own house in particular, would regard this as a venial
offence. They would not call it stealing but "bagging a thing," or, at
the worst, "cribbing it"--concealing the villainy under a new name, a
name with no very odious associations attached to it; just as they
called lying "cramming," under which title it sounded much less
repulsive. In fact, these young Noelites took a most Spartan view of
these petty larcenies, confining the criminality to the incurring of
detection. But they had never succeeded in making Charlie take this
view; he never would adopt the change of language by which they altered
the accepted meaning of words in accordance with their own propensities
and dispositions, and to him this particular act which Penn committed
with perfect nonchalance, appeared to be not only a theft, but a theft
accompanied by a cruelty and deadness to all sense of pity, which dipped
it in the very blackest and most revolting dye. He could not restrain,
and did not attempt to restrain, the passionate contempt and horror
which he felt for this act.
"Penn," he said, in a loud and excited voice, not doubting that the
sympathies of the others would be as warm as his own, "Penn, you wicked
brute, you have stolen that bottle of scent. Here, Mrs Hart, _you_
shan't suffer at any rate if there _is_ a fellow so base and wicked,"
and he at once pulled out his last half-crown, and insisted on her
taking it in payment for the stolen article.
Penn, for the moment, was quite taken aback by the scathing flame of
Charlie's righteous anger. If there had been none but Noelites there he
would have made very light of the accusation, and probably have laughed
it off; but there were others looking on who would, he knew, view the
transaction in a very different light, so he thought that his safest
course lay in a flat denial. It was not reasonable to expect that he
would stick at this; a boy who has no scruples about "bagging" the
property of a poverty-stricken old woman, is not likely to hesitate
about telling a "cram" to escape exposure.
"What's all this about, you little fool? I haven't bagged anything."
Charlie was still more amazed; he positively could not understand a
great brazen lie like this, and yet it was impossible to doubt that it
_was_ a lie, against the evidence of his own senses.
"You didn't take that scent-bottle? oh! how _can_ you tell such a lie?
I saw you with my own eyes."
"What do I care for you or your eyes?" was the only answer which Penn
vouchsafed to return.
"You're always flying out at fellows like a young turkey-cock, you
No-thank-you," said Wilton. "Why don't you thrash him, Penn, for his
confounded impudence?"
"Thrash him yourself if you like, Raven; I don't care the snap of a
finger for what he says."
"What do you mean, No-thank-you, by charging him with bagging the thing
when he says he didn't?" said Wilton in a threatening tone to Charlie;
and as Charlie took no notice, he enforced the question by a slap on the
cheek; for Wilton had old grudges against Charlie to pay off.
"I didn't speak to _you_, Wilton; but you shan't hit me for nothing; you
force me to fight against my will," said Charlie, returning the blow;
"you can't say that I'm doing it to get off anything this time, as you
did once before."
A long and desperate fight ensued between Charlie and Wilton; too long
and too desperate in the opinion of several of the bystanders; but as
there was no one near who had any authority, nobody liked to interfere.
So, as they were very equally matched, neither of the combatants showed
the least sign of giving in, though their faces and clothes were smeared
with blood. At last Henderson and Whalley, who were strolling through
the playground, caught sight of the crowd, and came up to see what was
the matter.
"It's a fight," said Henderson; "young Evson and Belial junior; I'd much
rather see them fight than see them friends."
"Yes, Flip; but they've evidently been fighting quite long enough to be
good for them. You're a monitor--couldn't you see if they ought not to
be separated, and shake hands?"
"Hallo, stop, you two," said Henderson, pushing his way into the crowd.
"What's all this about? let's see that it's all right."
"It's a fair fight," said several; "you've no right to stop it."
"I won't stop it unless there's good reason, though I think it's gone on
long enough. What began it?"
"No-thank-you charged Penn with--"
"Who is No-thank-you?" asked Whalley.
"Young Evson, then," said Mackworth sulkily, "charged Penn with bagging
a scent-bottle from the old woman's basket, and then he was impudent, so
Wilton was going to pitch into him."
"And couldn't manage it, apparently," said Whalley; "come, you two,
shake hands now."
Charlie, after a moment's hesitation, frankly held out his hand; but
Wilton said, "He'd no right to accuse a Noelite falsely as he did."
"It wasn't falsely," said Charlie; "I saw him take it, and a horrid
shame it was."
"Is one of your bottles missing, Mrs Hart?" asked Whalley.
"Yes, sir; but now young Master Evson has paid for it, and I don't want
no more fighting about it, sir, please."
"Well, my good woman, there's something for you," said Henderson, giving
her a shilling; "and I hope nobody will treat you so badly again; you'd
better go now. And now, Penn, if you didn't take the bottle, of course
you won't mind being searched?"
"Of course I _shall_," said Penn, edging uneasily away to try if
possible to get rid of the unlucky bottle, which now felt as if it
burned his pocket.
"Stay, my friend," said Whalley, collaring him; "no shuffling away, if
you please."
"What the devil is your right to search me?" said Penn, struggling in
vain under Whalley's grasp; "don't you fellows let him search me."
The attention of all was now fairly diverted from the fight, which,
therefore, remained undecided; while the boys, especially the Noelites,
formed an angry group round Henderson and Whalley, to prevent them, if
possible, from any attempt to search Penn. Meanwhile, seeing that
something was going on, other boys came flocking up until a large number
of the school were assembled there, while Whalley still kept tight hold
of Penn, and Henderson watched that he should play no tricks; the
Noelites meantime exclaiming very loudly against the supposed
infringement of their abstract rights.
Kenrick was one of those who had now come up; and as several fellows
entreated him to stick up for his own house, and not to let Penn be
searched, he worked himself into a passion, and pushing into the circle,
said loudly, "You've no right to search him; you shan't do it."
"Here's the head of the school, he shall decide," said Henderson, as
Power and Walter approached. "State your own case, Kenrick."
"Well, the case simply is, that a scent-bottle has been taken from Mrs
Hart; and Penn doesn't see--nor do I--why he should be searched."
"You haven't mentioned that young Evson says he _saw_ him take it."
"Why, Charlie, what _have_ you been doing?" said Walter, looking at his
brother's bruised and smeared face in surprise.
"Only a fight," said Charlie; "I couldn't help it, Walter; Wilton struck
me because I charged Penn with taking the bottle."
"Are you absolutely certain that you saw him, Charlie?"
"Yes; I couldn't possibly be mistaken."
"Well, then, clearly Penn must be searched," said Walter.
"But stop," said Power; "aren't we beginning at the wrong end? Penn, no
doubt, if we ask him quietly, will empty his pockets for our
satisfaction?"
"No I won't," said Penn, who was now dogged and sullen.
"Well, Kenrick has taken your part, will you let him or me search you
privately?"
"No!"
"Then search him, Henderson."
Instantly a rapid movement took place among the boys as though to
prevent this; but before anything could be done, Henderson had seized
Penn by both wrists and Whalley, diving a hand into his right pocket,
drew out and held up a little ornamental scent-bottle!
This decisive proof produced for a moment a dead silence among the loud
voices raised in altercation; and then Power said--
"Penn, you are convicted of lying and theft. What is Saint Winifred's
coming too, when fellows can act like this? How am I to punish him?" he
asked, turning to some of the monitors.
"Here and now, red-handed, _flagrante delicto_," said Walter. "Some of
these lower fellows need an example."
"I think you are right. Symes, fetch me a cane."
"You shan't touch him," said Kenrick; "you'd no right to search him, in
the first place."
"I mean to cane him, Kenrick. Who will prevent me?"
"We will," said several voices; among which Harpour's and Mackworth's
were prominent.
"You mean to try and prevent it by force?"
"Yes."
"And, Kenrick, you abet this?"
"I do," said Kenrick, who had lost all self-control.
"I shall do it, nevertheless; it is my plain duty."
"And I recommend you all not to interfere," said Walter; "for it must
and shall be done."
"Harpour," said Franklin, "remember, if you try force, I for one am
against you the moment you stir."
"And I," said Bliss, stepping in front of Power; "and I," said Eden,
Cradock, Anthony, and others--among whom was Tracy--taking their places
by the monitors, and forming a firm front together.
Symes brought the cane. Power took it, and another monitor held Penn
firmly by the wrists. At the first stroke, some of the biggest
fifth-form fellows made a rush forward, but they were flung back, and
could not break the line, while Harpour measured his full length on the
turf from the effects of the buffet which Franklin dealt him. Kenrick
was among those who pressed forward; and then, to his surprise and
shame, Walter, who was the stronger of the two, grasped him by the
shoulder, held him back, and said in a low tone, firm yet kind, "You
must excuse my doing this, Kenrick; but otherwise you might suffer for
it, and I think you will thank me afterwards."
Kenrick was astonished, and he at once desisted. Those were the first
and only words which Walter had spoken to him, the only time Walter had
touched him, for nearly three years; and in spite of all the abuse,
calumny, and opposition which Walter had encountered at his hands,
Kenrick could not but feel that they were wise words, prompted, like the
action itself, by the spirit of true kindness. He said nothing, but
abruptly turned away and left the ground.
The struggle had not lasted a moment, and it was thoroughly repulsed.
There could not be the least doubt of that, or of the fact that those
who were on the side of righteous order outnumbered and exceeded in
strength the turbulent malcontents. Power inflicted on Penn a severe
caning there and then. The attempt to prevent this, audacious and
unparalleled as it was, afforded by its complete failure yet another
proof that things were coming round, and that these efforts of the
monitors to improve the tone of the lower boys would tell with greater
and greater force. Even the character of the Noelites was beginning to
improve; in that bad house not a single little new boy had successfully
braved an organised antagonism to all that was good, and by his
victorious virtuous courage had brought over others to the side of
right, triumphing, by the mere force of good principle, over a banded
multitude of boys far older, abler, and stronger than himself.
So that now Harpour, Mackworth, and Jones, were confined more and more
to their own society, and were forced to keep their misconduct more and
more to themselves. They sullenly admitted that they were foiled and
thwarted, and from that time forward left the school to recover as fast
as it could from their vicious influence. Among their other
consolations--for they found themselves shunned on all sides--they
proposed to go and have a supper at Dan's. One day, before the events
last narrated, Power had seen them go in there. He had sent for them at
once, and told them that they must know how strictly this was forbidden,
what a wretch Dan was, and how ruinous such visits to his cottage must
be. They knew well that if he informed of them they would be instantly
expelled, and entreated him with very serious earnestness to pass it
over this time, the more so because they had no notion that any monitor
would ever tell of them, _because since he had been a monitor, Kenrick
had accompanied them there_. Shocked as he was to hear this, it had
determined Power not to report them, on the condition, which he made
known to the other monitors, and of which he specially and pointedly
gave warning to Kenrick, that they would not so offend again. This
promise they wilfully broke, feeling perfectly secure, because Dan's
cottage was at a remote and lonely part of the shore, where few boys
ever walked, and where they had very little chance of being seen, if
they took the precaution of entering by a back gate. But within a week
of Penn's thrashing, Walter was strolling near the cottage with Eden and
Charlie, and having climbed the cliff a little way to pluck for Eden
(who had taken to botany) a flower of the yellow horned poppy which was
waving there, he saw them go into Dan's door, and with them--as he felt
sure--little Wilton. The very moment, however, that he caught sight of
them, the fourth boy, seeing him on the cliff, had taken vigorously to
his heels and scrambled away behind the rocks. Walter had neither the
wish nor the power to overtake him, and as he had not so much _seen_
Wilton as inferred with tolerable certainty that it was he, he only
reported Harpour, Mackworth, and Jones to Dr Lane; at the same time
sending for Wilton to tell him of his suspicion, and to give him a
severe and earnest warning.
Dr Lane, on the best possible grounds, had repeatedly announced that he
would expel any boy who had any dealings with the scoundrel Dan. He was
not likely to swerve from that declaration in any case, still less for
the sake of boys whose school career had been so dishonourable and
reprobate as that of these three offenders. They were all three
publicly expelled without mercy and without delay; and they departed,
carrying with them, as they well-deserved to do, the contempt and almost
the execration of the great majority of the school.
In the course of their examination before the headmaster, Jones, with a
meanness and malice thoroughly characteristic, had said, "that he did
not know there was any harm in going to Dan's, because Kenrick, one of
the monitors, had done the same thing." At the time, Dr Lane had
contemptuously silenced him, with the remark, "that he would gain
nothing by turning informer;" but as Dr Lane was always kept pretty
well informed of all that went on by the Famulus, he had reason to
suspect, and even to know, that what Jones said was in this instance
true. He knew, too, from other quarters how unsatisfactorily Kenrick
had been going on, and the part he had taken in several acts of
insubordination and disobedience. Accordingly, no sooner had Harpour,
Jones, and Mackworth been banished from Saint Winifred's, than he sent
for Kenrick, and administered to him a reprimand so uncompromising and
stern, that Kenrick never forgot it to the end of his life. After
upbraiding him for those many inconsistencies and follies, which had
forfeited the strong esteem and regard which he once felt for him, he
pointed out finally how he was wasting his school-life, and how little
his knowledge and ability could redeem his neglect of duty and betrayal
of trust; and he ended by saying, "All these reasons, Kenrick, have made
me seriously doubt whether I should not degrade you altogether from your
position of monitor and head of a house. It would be a strong step, but
not stronger than you deserve. I am alone prevented by a deep and
sincere wish that you should yet recover from your fall; and that, by
knowing that some slight trust is still reposed in you, you may do
something to prove yourself worthy of that trust, and to regain our
confidence. I content myself, therefore, with putting you from your
present place to the _lowest_ on the list of monitors--a public mark of
my displeasure, which I am sure you will feel to be just; and I must
also remove you from the headship of your house--a post which I grieve
to know that you have very grievously misused. I shall put Whalley in
your place, as it happens that no monitor can be conveniently spared.
He, therefore, is now the head of Mr Noel's house; and, so far, you
will be amenable to his authority, which, I hope, you will not attempt
to resist."
Kenrick, very full of bitter thoughts, hung his head, and said nothing.
To know Dr Lane was to love and to respect him; and this poor
fatherless boy _did_ feel very great pain to have incurred his anger.
"I am unwilling, Kenrick," continued the Doctor, "to dismiss you without
adding one word of kindness. You know, my dear boy, that I have your
welfare very closely at heart, and that I once felt for you a warm and
personal regard; I trust that I may yet be able to bestow it upon you
again. Go and use your time better; remember that you are a monitor;
remember that the well-being of many others depends in no slight measure
on your conscientious discharge of your duties; check yourself in a
career which only leads fast to ruin; and thank God, Kenrick, that you
are not actually expelled as those three boys have been, but that you
have still time and opportunity to amend, and to win again the character
you once had."
Turned out of his headship to give way to a fifth-form boy, turned down
to the bottom of the monitors, poor Kenrick felt unspeakably degraded;
but he was forced to endure a yet more bitter mortification. Before
going to Dr Lane he had received a message that he was wanted in the
sixth-form room, and, with a touch of his old pride, had answered, "Tell
them I won't come." Hardly had he reached his own study after leaving
the Doctor, when Henderson entered with a grave face, and saying, "I am
sorry, Kenrick, to be the bearer of this," handed to him a folded sheet
of paper. Opening it he found that, at the monitors' meeting, to which
he had been summoned, an unanimous vote of censure had been passed upon
him in his absence, for the opposition which he had always displayed
against his colleagues, and for the disgraceful part which he had taken
in attempting to coerce them by force in the case of Penn. The document
concluded, "We are therefore obliged, though with great and real
reluctance, to take the unusual step of recording in the monitors' book
this vote of censure against Kenrick, fourth monitor, for the bad
example he has set and the great harm he has done, in at once betraying
our interests and violating the first conditions on which he received
his own authority: and we do this, not in a spirit of anger, but solely
in the earnest and affectionate hope that this unanimous condemnation of
his conduct by all his coadjutors may serve to recall him to a sense of
his duty."
Appended were the names of all the monitors--but, no; as he glanced over
the names he saw that one was absent, the name of Walter Evson.
Evidently, it was not because Walter _disapproved_ of the measure, for,
had this been the case, Kenrick knew that his name would have appeared
at the end as a formal dissentient; no, the omission of his name was
due, Kenrick saw, to that same high reserve, and delicate, courteous
consideration which had marked the whole of Walter's behaviour to him
since the day of their disastrous quarrel.
Kenrick appreciated this delicacy, and his eyes were suffused with
tears. Wilton, somewhat cowed by recent occurrences, was the only boy
in his study at the time, and though Kenrick would have been glad to
have some one near him, to whom he could talk of the disgraces which had
fallen so heavily upon him, and to whom he could look for a little
sympathy and counsel, yet to Wilton he felt no inclination to be at all
communicative. There was, indeed, something about Wilton which he could
not help liking, but there was and could be no sort of equality between
them.
"Ken," said Wilton, "do you remember telling me the other day that I was
shedding crocodile tears?--what are crocodile tears? I've always been
wanting to ask you."
"It's just a phrase, Ra, for sham tears; and it was very rude of me,
wasn't it? Herodotus says something about crocodiles; perhaps he'll
explain it for us. I'd look and see if I had my Herodotus here, but I
lost it nearly three years ago."
By one of those curious coincidences, which look strange in books, but
which happen daily in common life, Tracy at this moment entered with the
lost Herodotus in his hand, saying--
"Kenrick, I happened to be hunting out the classroom cupboard just now
for a book I'd mislaid, when I found a book with your name in it--an
Herodotus; so I thought I'd bring it you."
"By Jove!" said Wilton, "talk of--"
"Herodotus, and he'll appear," said Kenrick; "how very odd. It's mine,
sure enough! I lost it, as I was just telling Wilton, I don't know how
long ago. Now, Raven, I'll find you all he says about crocodiles."
"Before you look, may I tell you something?" asked Tracy. "I wanted an
opportunity to speak with you."
"Well?"
"Do you mind coming out into the court, then?" said Tracy, glancing at
Wilton.
"Oh, never mind me," said Wilton; "I'll go out."
"I shan't be a minute," said Tracy, "and then you can come back. What I
wanted to say, Kenrick, was only this, and it was a great shame of me
not to tell you before; but I see now that I've been a poor tool in the
hands of those fellows. Jones made you believe, you know, _that Evson
had told him_ all about your home affairs, and about the pony-chaise,
and so on," said Tracy, hurrying over the obnoxious subject.
"Yes, yes," said Kenrick impatiently. "Well, he never did, you know.
I've heard Jones confess it often with his own lips."
"How can I believe him in one lie more than another, then? I believe
the fellow couldn't open his lips without a lie flying out of them. How
could Jones possibly have known about it any other way? There was only
one fellow who could have told him, and that was Evson. Evson _must_
have told me a lie when he said that he'd mentioned it to no one but
Power."
"I don't believe Evson ever told a lie in his life," said Tracy.
"However, I can explain your difficulty. Jones was in the same train as
Evson; he saw you and him ride home; and, staying at Littleton, the next
town to where you live, he heard all about you there. I've heard him
say so."
"The black-hearted brute!" was all that Kenrick could ejaculate, as he
paced up and down his study with agitated steps. "O Tracy, what an
utter, utter ass, and fool, and wretch, I've been."
"So have I," said Tracy; "but I'm sorry now, and hope to improve.
Better late than never. Good morning, Kenrick."
When Wilton returned to the study a quarter of an hour after, he found
Kenrick's attention riveted by a note which he held in his hand, and
which he seemed to be reading with his whole soul. So absorbed was he
that he was not even disturbed by Wilton's entrance. Listlessly turning
over the pages of his Herodotus to divert his painful thoughts by
looking for the passage about the crocodiles, Kenrick had found an old
note directed to himself. Painful thoughts, it seems, were to give him
no respite that day; how well he knew that handwriting, altered a little
now, more firm and mature, but even then a good, though a boyish hand.
He tore it open; it was dated three years back, and signed Walter Evson.
It was the long lost note in which Walter, once or twice rebuffed, had
frankly and even earnestly asked pardon for any supposed fault, and
begged for an immediate reconciliation--the very note of which Walter of
course imagined that Kenrick had received, and from his not taking any
notice of it, inferred, that all hope of renewing their friendship was
finally at an end. Kenrick could not help thinking how very different a
great part of his school-life would have been, had that note but come to
hand!
He saw it all now as clearly as possible--his haste, his rash and false
inferences, his foolish jealousy, his impetuous pride, his quick
degeneracy, all the mischief he had caused, all the folly he had done,
all the time he had wasted. Disgraced, degraded, despised by the best
fellows in the school, censured unanimously by his colleagues, given up
by masters whom he respected, without a single true friend, grievously
and hopelessly in the wrong from the very commencement, he now felt
_bowed down and conquered_, and, to Wilton's amazement, he laid his head
upon his arms on the table before him without saying a word, and broke
into a heavy sob. If his conscience had not declared against him, he
could have borne everything else; but when conscience is our enemy,
there is no chance of a mind at ease. Kenrick sat there miserable and
self-condemned; he had injured his friend, injured his fellows, and
injured, most deeply of all, himself. For, as the poet sings--
"He that wrongs his friend,
Wrongs himself more; and ever bears about
A silent court of justice in his breast;
Himself the judge and jury, and himself
The prisoner at the bar, ever condemned.
And that drags down his life."