We are not worst at once; the course of evil
Begins so slowly, and from such slight source,
An infant's hand might stop the breach with clay;
But let the stream grow wider, and Philosophy,
Ay, and Religion too--may strive in vain
To stem the headlong current!
_Anon_.
With intense delight Eric heard it announced next morning, when the new
school list was read, that he had got his remove into the "Shell," as
the form was called which intervened between the fourth and the fifth.
Russell, Owen, and Montagu also got their removes with him, but his
other friends were left for the present in the form below.
Mr Rose, his new master, was in every respect a great contrast with Mr
Gordon. He was not so brilliant in his acquirements, nor so vigorous in
his teaching, and therefore clever boys did not catch fire from him so
much as from the fourth-form master. But he was a far truer and deeper
Christian; and, with no less scrupulous a sense of honour and
detestation of every form of moral obliquity, he never yielded to those
storms of passionate indignation which Mr Gordon found it impossible to
control. Disappointed in early life, subjected to the deepest and most
painful trials, Mr Rose's fine character had come out like gold from
the flame. He now lived in and for the boys alone, and his whole life
was one long self-devotion to their service and interests. The boys
felt this, and even the worst of them, in their worst moments, loved and
honoured Mr Rose. But he was not seeking for gratitude, which he
neither expected nor required; he asked no affection in return for his
self-denials; he worked with a pure spirit of human and self-sacrificing
love, happy beyond all payment if ever he were instrumental in saving
one of his charge from evil, or turning one wanderer from the error of
his ways.
He was an unmarried man, and therefore took no boarders himself; but
lived in the school buildings, and had the care of the boys in Dr
Rowlands's house.
Such was the master under whom Eric was now placed, and the boy was
sadly afraid that an evil report would have reached his ears, and given
him already an unfavourable impression. But he was soon happily
undeceived. Mr Rose at once addressed him with much kindness, and he
felt that, however bad he had been before, he would now have an
opportunity to turn over a new leaf, and begin again a career of hope.
He worked admirably at first, and even beat, for the first week or two,
his old competitors, Owen and Russell.
From the beginning, Mr Rose took a deep interest in him. Few could
look at the boy's bright blue eyes and noble face without doing so, and
the more when they knew that his father and mother were thousands of
miles away, leaving him alone in the midst of so many dangers. Often
the master asked him, and Russell and Owen and Montagu, to supper with
him in the library, which gave them the privilege of sitting up later
than usual, and enjoying a more quiet and pleasant evening than was
possible in the noisy rooms. Boys and master were soon quite at home
with each other, and in this way Mr Rose had an opportunity of
instilling many a useful warning without the formality of regular
discipline or stereotyped instruction.
Eric found the life of the "boarders' room" far rougher than he had
expected. Work was out of the question there, except during the hours
of preparation, and the long dark winter evenings were often dull
enough. Sometimes, indeed, they would all join in some regular indoor
boys' game like "baste the bear," or "high-cockolorum"; or they would
have amusing "ghost-hunts," as they called them, after some dressed-up
boy among the dark corridors and staircases. This was good fun, but at
other times they got tired of games, and could not get them up, and then
numbers of boys felt the idle time hang heavy on their hands. When this
was the case, some of the worst sort, as might have been expected, would
fill up their leisure with bullying or mischief.
For some time they had a form of diversion which disgusted and annoyed
Eric exceedingly. On each of the long iron-bound deal tables were
placed two or three tallow candles in tin candlesticks, and this was the
only light the boys had. Of course these candles often wanted snuffing,
and as snuffers were sure to be thrown about and broken as soon as they
were brought into the room, the only resource was to snuff them with the
fingers, at which all the boys became great adepts, from necessity. One
evening Barker, having snuffed the candle, suddenly and slyly put the
smouldering wick unnoticed on the head of a little quiet inoffensive
fellow named Wright, who happened to be sitting next to him. It went on
smouldering for some time without Wright's perceiving it, and at last
Barker, highly delighted, exclaimed--"I see a chimney," and laughed.
Four or five boys looked up, and very soon every one in the room had
noticed the trick except little Wright himself, who unconsciously toiled
on at the letter he was sending home.
Eric did not like this, but not wishing to come across Barker again,
said nothing, and affected not to have observed. But Russell said
quietly, "There's something on your head, Wright," and the little boy,
putting up his hand, hastily brushed off the horrid wick.
"What a shame," he said, as it fell on his letter, and made a smudge.
"Who told you to interfere?" said Barker, turning fiercely to Russell.
Russell, as usual, took not the slightest notice of him, and Barker,
after a little more bluster, repeated the trick on another boy. This
time Russell thought that every one might be on the look-out for
himself, and so went on with his work. But when Barker again chanted
maliciously--
"I see a chimney!" every boy who happened to be reading or writing,
uneasily felt to discover whether this time he were himself the victim
or no; and so things continued for half an hour.
Ridiculous and disgusting as this folly was, it became, when constantly
repeated, very annoying. A boy could not sit down to any quiet work
without constant danger of having some one creep up behind him and put
the offensive fragment of smoking snuff on his head; and neither Barker
nor any of his little gang of imitators seemed disposed to give up their
low mischief.
One night, when the usual exclamation was made, Eric felt sure, from
seeing several boys looking at him, that this time some one had been
treating him in the same way. He indignantly shook his head, and sure
enough the bit of wick dropped off. Eric was furious, and, springing
up, he shouted--
"By Jove! I _won't_ stand this any longer."
"You'll have to sit it, then," said Barker.
"Oh, it was you who did it, was it? Then take that!" and seizing one of
the tin candlesticks, Eric hurled it at Barker's head. Barker dodged,
but the edge of it cut open his eyebrow as it whizzed by, and the blood
flowed fast.
"I'll kill you for that," said Barker, leaping at Eric, and seizing him
by the hair.
"You'll get killed yourself then, you brute," said Upton, Russell's
cousin, a fifth-form boy, who had just come into the room--and he boxed
Barker's ears as a premonitory admonition. "But I say, young 'un,"
continued he to Eric, "this kind of thing won't do, you know. You'll
get into rows if you shy candlesticks at fellows' heads at that rate."
"He has been making the room intolerable for the last month by his
filthy tricks," said Eric hotly; "some one must stop him, and I will
somehow, if no one else does."
"It wasn't I who put the thing on your head, you passionate young fool,"
growled Barker.
"Who was it, then? how was I to know? You began it."
"You shut up, Barker," said Upton; "I've heard of your ways before, and
when I catch you at your tricks, I'll teach you a lesson. Come up to my
study, Williams, if you like."
Upton was a fine sturdy fellow of eighteen, immensely popular in the
school for his prowess and good looks. He hated bullying, and often
interfered to protect little boys, who accordingly idolised him, and did
anything he told them very willingly. He meant to do no harm, but he
did great harm. He was full of misdirected impulses, and had a great
notion of being manly, which he thought consisted in a fearless
disregard of all school rules, and the performance of the wildest
tricks. For this reason he was never very intimate with his cousin
Russell, whom he liked very much, but who was too scrupulous and
independent to please him. Eric, on the other hand, was just the boy to
take his fancy, and to admire him in return; his life, strength, and
pluck made him a ready pupil in all schemes of mischief, and Upton, who
had often noticed him, would have been the first to shudder had he known
how far his example went to undermine all Eric's lingering good
resolutions, and injure permanently the boy of whom he was so fond.
From this time Eric was much in Upton's study, and constantly by his
side in the playground. In spite of their disparity in age and position
in the school, they became sworn friends, though their friendship was
broken every now and then by little quarrels, which united them all the
more closely after they had not spoken to each other perhaps for a week.
"Your, cousin Upton has `taken up' Williams," said Montagu to Russell
one afternoon, as he saw the two strolling together on the beach, with
Eric's arm in Upton's.
"Yes, I am sorry for it."
"So am I. We shan't see so much of him now."
"Oh, that's not my only reason," answered Russell, who had a rare habit
of always going straight to the point.
"You mean you don't like the `taking up' system."
"No, Montagu; I used once to have fine theories about it. I used to
fancy that a big fellow would do no end of good to one lower in the
school, and that the two would stand to each other in the relation of
knight to squire. You know what the young knights were taught, Monty--
to keep their bodies under, and bring them into subjection; to love God,
and speak the truth always. That sounds very grand and noble to me.
But when a big fellow takes up a little one, _you_ know pretty well that
_those_ are not the kind of lessons he teaches."
"No, Russell; you're quite right. It's bad for a fellow in every way.
First of all, it keeps him in an unnatural sort of dependence; then ten
to one it makes him conceited, and prevents his character from really
coming out well. And besides, the young chap generally gets paid out in
kicks and abuse from the jealousy and contempt of the rest; and if his
protector happens to leave, or anything of that kind, woe betide him!"
"No fear for Eric in that line, though," said Russell; "he can hold his
own pretty well against any one. And after all, he is a most jolly
fellow. I don't think even Upton would spoil him; it's chiefly the soft
self-indulgent fellows, who are all straw and no iron, who get spoilt by
being `taken up.'"
Russell was partly right. Eric learned a great deal of harm from Upton,
and the misapplied hero-worship led to bad results. But he was too
manly a little fellow, and had too much self-respect, to sink into the
dependent condition which usually grows on the foolish little boys who
have the misfortune to be "taken up."
Nor did he in the least drop his old friends, except Owen. A coolness
grew up between the latter and Eric, not unmingled with a little mutual
contempt. Eric sneered at Owen as a fellow who did nothing but grind
all day long, and had no geniality in him; while Owen pitied the love of
popularity which so often led Eric into delinquencies, which he himself
despised. Owen had, indeed, but few friends in the school; the only boy
who knew him well enough to respect and like him thoroughly was Russell,
who found in him the only one who took the same high ground with
himself. But Russell loved the good in every one, and was loved by all
in return, and Eric he loved most of all, while he often mourned over
his increasing failures.
One day as the two were walking together in the green playground, Mr
Gordon passed by; and as the boys touched their caps, he nodded and
smiled pleasantly at Russell, but hardly noticed, and did not return
Eric's salute. He had begun to dislike the latter more and more, and
had given him up altogether as one of the reprobates. Barker, who
happened to pass at the same moment, received from him the same cold
glance that Eric had done.
"What a surly devil that is," said Eric, when he had passed; "did you
see how he purposely cut me?"
"A surly...? Oh, Eric, that's the first time I ever heard you swear."
Eric blushed. He hadn't meant the word to slip out in Russell's
hearing, though similar and worse expressions were common enough in his
talk with other boys. But he didn't like to be reproved, even by
Russell, and in the ready spirit of self-defence, he answered--
"Pooh, Edwin, you don't call that swearing, do you? You're so strict,
so religious, you know. I love you for it, but then, there are none
like you. Nobody thinks anything of swearing here,--even of _real_
swearing, you know."
Russell was silent.
"Besides, what can be the harm of it? it means nothing. I was thinking
the other night, and I made out that you and Owen are the only two
fellows here who don't swear."
Russell still said nothing.
"And, after all, I didn't swear; I only called that fellow a surly
devil."
"Oh, hush! Eric, hush!" said Russell sadly. "You wouldn't have said so
half a year ago."
Eric knew what he meant. The image of his father and mother rose before
him, as they sate far away in their lonely Indian home, thinking of him,
praying for him, centring all their hopes in him. In him!--and he knew
how many things he was daily doing and saying, which would cut them to
the heart. He knew that all his moral consciousness was fast vanishing,
and leaving him a bad and reckless boy.
In a moment all this passed through his mind. He remembered how shocked
he had been at swearing at first; and even when it became too familiar
to shock him, how he determined never to fall into the habit himself.
Then he remembered how gradually it had become quite a graceful sound in
his ears--a sound of entire freedom and independence of moral restraint;
an open casting off, as it were, of all authority, so that he had begun
to admire it, particularly in Duncan, and, above all, in his new hero,
Upton; and he recollected how, at last, an oath had one day slipped out
suddenly in his own words, and how strange it sounded to him, and how
Upton smiled to hear it, though his own conscience had reproached him
bitterly; but now that he had done it once, it became less dreadful, and
gradually grew common enough, till even conscience hardly reminded him
that he was doing wrong.
He thought of all this, and hung his head. Pride struggled with him for
a moment, but at length he answered, "Oh, Edwin, you're quite right, and
I'm all in the wrong as usual. But I shall never be like you," he added
in a low sad tone.
"Dear Eric, don't think that I'm always sermonising. But I hope that I
know the difference between what's right and what's wrong, and do let me
say that you will be so much happier, if you try not to yield to all the
bad things round us. Remember, I know more of school than you."
The two boys strolled on silently. That night Eric knelt at his
bedside, and prayed as he had not done for many a long day.
And here let those scoff who deny "the sinfulness of little sins"--but I
remember the words of one who wrote, that:
The most childish thing which man can do,
Is yet a sin which Jesus never did
When Jesus was a child,--and yet a sin
For which in lowly pain he came to die
That for the _bravest_ sin that e'er was praised
The King Eternal wore the crown of thorns.