Life hath its May, and all is joyous then
The woods are vocal, and the flowers breathe odour,
The very breeze hath mirth in't.
_Old Play_.
AT last the longed-for yet dreaded day approached, and a letter informed
the Trevors that Mr and Mrs Williams would arrive at Southampton on
5th July, and would probably reach Ayrton the evening after. They
particularly requested that no one should come to meet them on their
landing. "We shall reach Southampton," wrote Mrs Williams, "tired,
pale, and travel-stained, and had much rather see you first at Fairholm,
where we shall be spared the painful constraint of a meeting in public.
So please expect our arrival at about seven in the evening."
Poor Eric! although he had been longing for the time ever since the news
came, yet now he was too agitated for enjoyment. Exertion and
expectation made him restless, and he could settle down to nothing all
day, every hour of which hung most heavily on his hands.
At last the afternoon wore away, and a soft summer evening filled the
sky with its gorgeous calm. Far-off they caught the sound of wheels; a
carriage dashed up to the door, and the next moment Eric sprang into his
mother's arms.
"O mother! mother!"
"My own darling, darling boy!"
And as the pale sweet face of the mother met the bright and rosy
child-face, each of them was wet with a rush of unbidden tears. In
another moment Eric had been folded to his father's heart, and locked in
the arms of his little brother Vernon. Who shall describe the emotions
of those few moments? they did not seem like earthly moments; they
seemed to belong not to time, but to eternity.
The first evening of such a scene is too excited to be happy. The
little party at Fairholm retired early, and Eric was soon fast asleep
with his arm round his new-found brother's neck.
Quiet steps entered the chamber, and noiselessly the father and mother
sat down by the bedside of their children. Earth could have shown no
scene more perfect in its beauty than that which met their eyes. The
pure moonlight flooded the little room, and showed distinctly the forms
and countenances of the sleepers, whose soft regular breathing was the
only sound that broke the stillness of the July night. The small
shining flower-like faces, with their fair hair--the trustful loving
arms folded round each brother's neck--the closed lids and parted lips--
made an exquisite picture, and one never to be forgotten. Side by side,
without a word, the parents knelt down, and with eyes wet with tears of
joyfulness, poured out their hearts in passionate prayer for their young
and beloved boys.
Very happily the next month glided away; a new life seemed opened to
Eric in the world of rich affections which had unfolded itself before
him. His parents--above all, his mother--were everything that he had
longed for; and Vernon more than fulfilled to his loving heart the ideal
of his childish fancy. He was never tired of playing with and
patronising his little brother, and their rambles by stream and hill
made those days appear the happiest he had ever spent. Every evening
(for having lived all his life at home, he had not yet laid aside the
habits of early childhood) he said his prayers by his mother's knee; and
at the end of one long summer's day, when prayers were finished, and
full of life and happiness he lay down to sleep, "Oh, mother," he said,
"I am so happy--I like to say my prayers when you are here."
"Yes, my boy, and God loves to hear them."
"Aren't there some who never say prayers, mother?"
"Very many, love, I fear."
"How unhappy they must be! _I_ shall _always_ love to say my prayers."
"Ah, Eric, God grant that you may."
And the fond mother hoped he always would. But these words often came
back to Eric's mind in later and less happy days--days when that gentle
hand could no longer rest lovingly on his head--when those mild blue
eyes were dim with tears, and the poor boy, changed in heart and life,
often flung himself down with an unreproaching conscience to prayer-less
sleep.
It had been settled that in another week Eric was to go to school in the
Isle of Roslyn. Mr Williams had hired a small house in the town of
Ellan, and intended to stay there for his year of furlough, at the end
of which period Vernon was to be left at Fairholm, and Eric in the house
of the head-master of the school. Eric enjoyed the prospect of all
things, and he hardly fancied that Paradise itself could be happier than
a life at the sea-side with his father and mother and Vernon, combined
with the commencement of schoolboy dignity. When the time for the
voyage came, his first glimpse of the sea, and the sensation of sailing
over it with only a few planks between him and the deep waters, struck
him silent with admiring wonder. It was a cloudless day; the line of
blue sky melted into the line of blue wave, and the air was filled with
sunlight. At evening they landed, and the coach took them to Ellan. On
the way Eric saw for the first time the strength of the hills, so that
when they reached the town and took possession of their cottage, he was
dumb with the inrush of new and marvellous impressions.
Next morning he was awake early, and jumping out of bed, so as not to
disturb the sleeping Vernon, he drew up the window-blind, and gently
opened the window. A very beautiful scene burst on him, one destined to
be long mingled with all his most vivid reminiscences. It had been too
dark on their arrival the evening before to get any definite impression
of their residence, so that this first glimpse of it filled him with
delighted surprise. Not twenty yards below the garden, in front of the
house, lay Ellan Bay, at that moment rippling with golden laughter in
the fresh breeze of sunrise. On either side of the bay was a bold
headland, the one stretching out in a series of broken crags, the other
terminating in a huge mass of rock, called from its shape The Stack. To
the right lay the town, with its grey old castle, and the mountain
stream running through it into the sea; to the left, high above the
beach, rose the crumbling fragment of a picturesque fort, behind which
towered the lofty buildings of Roslyn School. Eric learnt the whole
landscape by heart, and thought himself a most happy boy to come to such
a place. He fancied that he should never be tired of looking at the
sea, and could not take his eyes off the great buoy that rolled about in
the centre of the bay, and flashed in the sunlight at every move. He
turned round full of hope and spirits, and, after watching for a few
moments the beautiful face of his sleeping brother, awoke him with
boisterous mirth.
"Now, Verny," he cried, as the little boy sprang eagerly out of bed,
"don't look till I tell you," and putting his hands over Vernon's eyes,
he led him to the window. Then he threw up the sash, and embodied all
his sensations in the one word--"There!"
To which apostrophe Vernon, after a long gaze, could make no other
answer than, "Oh, Eric! oh, I say!"
That day Eric was to have his first interview with Dr Rowlands. The
school had already re-opened, and one of the boys passed by the window
while they were breakfasting. He looked very happy and engaging, and
was humming a tune as he strolled along. Eric started up and gazed
after him with the most intense curiosity. At that moment the
unconscious schoolboy was to him the most interesting person in the
whole world, and he couldn't realise the fact that, before the day was
over, he would be a Roslyn boy himself. He very much wondered what sort
of a fellow the boy was, and whether he should ever recognise him again,
and make his acquaintance. Yes, Eric, the thread of that boy's destiny
is twined for many a day with yours; his name is Montagu, as you will
know very soon.
At nine o'clock Mr Williams started towards the school with his son.
The walk led them by the sea-side, over the sands, and past the ruin, at
the foot of which the waves broke at high tide. At any other time Eric
would have been overflowing with life and wonder at the murmur of the
ripples, the sight of the ships in the bay or on the horizon, and the
numberless little shells, with their bright colours and sculptured
shapes, which lay about the beach. But now his mind was too full of a
single anxiety; and when, after crossing a green playground, they stood
by the head-master's door, his heart fluttered, and it required all his
energy to keep down the nervous trembling which shook him.
Mr Williams gave his card, and they were shown into Dr Rowlands's
study. He was a kind-looking gentlemanly man, and when he turned to
address Eric, after a few minutes' conversation with his father, the boy
felt instantly reassured by the pleasant sincerity and frank courtesy of
his manner. A short examination showed that Eric's attainments were
very slight as yet, and he was to be put in the lowest form of all,
under the superintendence of the Reverend Henry Gordon. Dr Rowlands
wrote a short note in pencil, and giving it to Eric, directed the
servant to show him to Mr Gordon's schoolroom.
The bell had just done ringing when they had started for the school, so
that Eric knew that all the boys would be by this time assembled at
their work, and that he should have to go alone into the middle of them.
As he walked after the servant through the long corridors and up the
broad stairs, he longed to make friends with him, so as, if possible, to
feel less lonely. But he had only time to get out, "I say, what sort of
a fellow is Mr Gordon?"
"Terrible strict, sir, I hear," said the man, touching his cap with a
comic expression, which didn't at all tend to enliven the future pupil.
"That's the door," he continued, "and you'll have to give him the
Doctor's note," and, pointing to a door at the end of the passage, he
walked off.
Eric stopped irresolutely. The man had disappeared, and he was by
himself in the great silent building. Afraid of the sound of his own
footsteps, he ran along the passage, and knocked timidly. He heard a
low, a very low murmur in the room, but there was no answer. He knocked
again a little louder; still no notice; then, overdoing it in his
fright, he gave a very loud tap indeed.
"Come in!" said a voice, which to the new boy sounded awful; but he
opened the door, and entered. As he came in every head was quickly
raised, he heard a whisper of "New fellow," and the crimson flooded
his face, as he felt himself the cynosure of some forty
intensely-inquisitive pairs of eyes.
He found himself in a high airy room, with three large windows opening
towards the sea. At one end was the master's throne, and facing it, all
down the room, were desks and benches, along which the boys were sitting
at work. Every one knows how very confusing it is to enter a strange
room full of strange people, and especially when you enter it from a
darker passage. Eric felt dazzled, and not seeing the regular route to
the master's desk, went towards it between two of the benches. As these
were at no great distance from each other, he stumbled against several
legs on his way, and felt pretty sure that they were put out on purpose
to trip him, especially by one boy, who pretended to be much hurt, drew
up his leg, and began rubbing it, ejaculating _sotto voce_, "Awkward
little fool."
In this very clumsy way he had at last reached the desk, and presented
his missive. The master's eye was on him, but all Eric had time to
observe was, that he looked rather stern, and had in his hand a book
which he seemed to be studying with the deepest interest. He glanced
first at the note, and then looked full at the boy, as though determined
to read his whole character by a single perusal of his face.
"Williams, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," said Eric, very low, still painfully conscious that all the
boys were looking at him, as well as the master.
"Very well, Williams, you are placed in the lowest form--the fourth. I
hope you will work well. At present they are learning their Caesar. Go
and sit next to that boy," pointing towards the lower end of the room;
"he will show you the lesson, and let you look over his book. Barker,
let Williams look over you!"
Eric went and sat down at the end of a bench by the boy indicated. He
was a rough-looking fellow with a shock head of black hair, and a very
dogged look. Eric secretly thought that he a very nice-looking specimen
of Roslyn School. However, he sate by him, and glanced at the Caesar
which the boy shoved about a quarter of an inch in his direction. But
Barker didn't seem inclined to make any further advances, and presently
Eric asked in a whisper--
"What's the lesson?"
The boy glanced at him, but took no further notice.