DIGBY'S NEW SCHOOL--HOW HE WAS RECEIVED THERE--HE LEARNS THE
INCONVENIENCE OF WANT OF DISCIPLINE--HIS COMPANIONS AND THEIR
CHARACTERS--ADVANTAGE OF A BOLD FRONT IN A GOOD CAUSE.
"Is this Grangewood House, John?" asked Digby, as he looked out of the
window of the fly which had brought them from the railway station, and
which was now stopping at a large white gate, which John Pratt had got
off the box to open.
"Yes, sir; this be Mr Sanford's academy for young gentlemen. There's a
great many on 'em comes backwards and forwards by me at times," answered
the driver, instead of John, who did not hear the question.
It was a substantial, large, red-brick house, completely in the country,
with a circular drive up to it, and a meadowish piece of lawn, with some
fine elms, in front. The place was not picturesque, but well suited for
the requirements of a school. There were wide-spreading wings on either
side, with a walled enclosure on the right, from which proceeded the
sound of many young voices, shouting, bawling, and laughing, showing
Digby that it was the playground. He altogether liked the look of
things outside.
The fly stopped in front of the house; a flight of stone steps led up to
the chief door. John descended, and rang the bell, and, while it was
being answered, busied himself in taking his young master's things out
of the fly.
"Is this Mr Sanford's school, young woman?" he asked of the
maid-servant, who opened the door.
"It is, young man, and my name is Susan," was the quick reply; some
people might have called it pert.
"Then, Susan, do you just tell your master that young Master Digby
Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come,"
answered John, letting down the steps, and handing Digby out with an air
of the greatest respect. He unintentionally spoke, too, in a tone which
sounded not a little pompous.
Several boys, who had been passing through the hall at the time, and, of
course, followed Susan to the door, to have a look at the new comer,
overheard the announcement. A loud shout of laughter from many voices
followed, in a variety of tones, as they retreated down a passage.
Digby heard them repeating one to the other "Young Master Digby
Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come.
Ho, ho! young Master Digby, what an important person you are--ha! ha!
ha!--we don't think." Great emphasis was laid on the words young
master, and eldest son. Digby knew quite enough of boys to wish
heartily that poor John had held his tongue.
"You'll go round to the back door; or are you going away in the fly?"
said the maid-servant, addressing John, with rather a scornful glance.
"Neither one nor t'other, Mistress Susan," answered John. "I'm going to
stay with Master Digby for the present."
"You can't do that; Master Digby has to go at once to Mr Sanford,"
replied Susan.
"That's where I'm going to, young woman, let me tell you," exclaimed
John, bristling up. "He has been spirited away once, and we had a hard
job to get him back; and I'm not going to lose sight of him till I see
him safe in Mr Sanford's hands, who must be answerable for him whenever
he is sent for. A pretty thing to leave him with such as you, indeed,
who might go and declare that you never got him. No, Master Digby,
dear--that's what I'm going to do, I know my duty, and I'm going to do
it."
The last remark was made to Digby, who was expostulating, by signs, with
John, fearing that he would offend Susan. The damsel, however, seemed
not to care a bit for what John said; and would have shut the hall-door
in his face, but he would not let go of Digby's hand.
"Well, I don't know what master will say to you," exclaimed Susan, as
John entered the hall, evidently resolved not to lose sight of Digby, or
his boxes, till he had delivered them into what he considered proper
custody. Susan, meantime, disappeared at a door on one side of the
hall. She soon returned.
"You are to go in there," she said, addressing Digby. "Not you," she
said, looking at John.
"There are just two opinions about that," answered John, coolly opening
the door, and walking with Digby into a handsome library.
A tall, delicate-looking man, was reclining in his dressing-gown on a
sofa, with a book in his hand. He looked up with an expression of
surprise on his countenance on seeing John; and then glanced at Digby,
but did not rise.
"Bee's you Mr Sanford, sir?" asked John, pulling the lock of his hair
he usually employed for that purpose.
"Yes, I am, and the head of this school; and who are you?" said the
gentleman, but not at all in an angry tone.
"I'm Squire Heathcote's man, of Bloxholme, and this is his son, Master
Digby Heathcote; and I'm to deliver him safe and sound into your hands,
to keep him carefully till he is sent for home, or till you send him
back," answered John, firmly. "I suppose it's all right, sir?"
"I will give you an acknowledgment in writing that I have him all safe,"
said Mr Sanford, much amused at John's mode of proceeding. "Go into
the kitchen, and get something to eat and drink after your journey."
"No, thank you, sir; I'd rather have the writing. I'm not hungry. We
had something, Master Digby and I, as we came along; and I have to go
back to the station with the fly."
"Very well; push that table with the desk on it near me. I will give
you what you require."
John did as he was desired; and Mr Sanford wrote a short note, which he
gave him.
John forthwith handed it to Digby. "I suppose it's all right, Master
Digby, dear," he whispered. "I bean't no great scholard, sir, and so I
just wanted the young master to see that the lines was all right and
proper. No offence to you, sir, you know," he added, turning to Mr
Sanford.
The schoolmaster was highly amused; but Digby was afraid that John had
gone too far.
"It's all right, John," he exclaimed, taking his hand affectionately.
"Good by, good by. My love to papa and mamma, and Kate and Gusty, and
all; and don't forget to look after Sweetlips, and tell Kate to write to
me about him; but she'll do that, I'm sure. You must go, John, I know
you must." Digby felt more inclined to cry than he had done before.
John was the last link which united him with all the home associations
he was conjuring up. John warmly returned Digby's grasp. He went to
the door, and opened it. He turned round once more with his hand on the
lock.
"You has him in charge, sir," he said, looking sternly at Mr Sanford.
"Oh, take care of him, sir; he's very precious down at Bloxholme there."
John, afraid of trusting himself, bolted out of the door.
Digby overheard some words between John and Susan outside; they ended in
a laugh, just before the fly drove off, so he had no doubt they had
become good friends; and he afterwards had reason to believe that John
had bestowed half a sovereign on her from his own pocket, to secure her
good services for the young master.
"Sit down, young gentleman," said Mr Sanford, in his usual languid
tone, when John had taken his departure. "I am glad to have you as a
pupil, for I find that you are a nephew of my old friend, Nugent, for
whom I have a great regard. I dare say he has done you justice. What
books have you read?--Latin and Greek, I mean?"
Digby told him; he had very little Greek to boast of, however.
"I thought that you were more forward," observed Mr Sanford. "You will
be placed under the third master, Mr Tugman, in his upper class, I
hope. I must leave him to settle that. I will send for him, and he
will take you round the school before tea-time, and introduce you to
some of the boys. He may not be quite ready yet, so I will let Mrs
Pike, the housekeeper, show you your dormitory, and have your things put
away."
Mr Sanford was taking unusual trouble about Digby. He rang the bell,
and the usher and housekeeper were sent for. Mrs Pike appeared first;
Old Jack, the boys called her. She had a stern, relentless expression
of countenance, Digby thought. Her dress was black, with a plain white
cap, and a large serviceable apron. There was business in her.
"Come along, young gentleman," she said, taking Digby by the arm, when
she had received the master's directions. "It will be time for tea
soon, and I shall have to go and look after it."
She first showed Digby a large room fitted all round with lockers, or
drawers, and numbers on each. Into this his things had been wheeled on
a truck.
"Here is your drawer, Master Heathcote," she observed. "You will
remember the number--sixty-five. We had a hundred and thirty not long
ago. Here you will keep your clothes; your play-box you can have with
you in the play-room to-morrow; it can stay here till then. Now, come
along to your dormitory. Susan will unpack your trunk; and if there is
anything in it you want, you can have it when you come back."
All this sounded very well. There were a dozen rooms on the first and
second floors appropriated as bedrooms; some had eight or ten beds in
them, others only three or four. Digby was shown a room looking out at
the back of the house, with eight beds, in one of which Mrs Pike told
him he was to sleep. There were wash-hand basins and tubs, and a drawer
for each boy to hold his dressing things. All looked very neat and
well-arranged. Mrs Pike prided herself on having her department in
good order. She looked as if she could have said, "Better washed and
fed than taught at this establishment."
Digby returned well satisfied to the study, where Mr Sanford was still
reading his book. He looked up, and was putting a question, in a kind
tone of voice, to Digby, when the door opened. Digby looked up. A
broad-shouldered, pock-marked man, with sandy hair and small grey eyes,
entered. His costume, which consisted of a green coat, with a reddish
handkerchief, a many-coloured waistcoat, and large plaid trousers, did
not improve his appearance. He threw himself into a chair, if not with
grace, at all events with ease, and observed, in an off-hand way, that
it was a chilly day--a fact about which Mr Sanford did not seem
inclined to dispute. He looked at Digby with no pleasant expression,
and Digby looked at him, and hoped that he was not the usher under whom
he was to be placed.
All doubt, however, about the matter was quickly removed by Mr Sanford
saying--"I have sent for you, Mr Tugman, to beg that you will take
charge of this new boy, Digby Heathcote. Examine him to-morrow, and
place him as you judge best. I hope that he will be in the highest of
your classes, as he has been lately under a clever man, an old college
friend of mine, his uncle, for whom I have a great regard."
The usher was listening, with a look of impatience, to all this.
"Oh, I know; he's the son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme," he
observed, with a laugh, which Digby understood, for he spoke exactly
with the expression of the boys who had heard him announced.
"I will take him with me, and introduce the young gentleman to his
future playmates. I hope that he may get on well with them."
"Do, Mr Tugman, do," said Mr Sanford, languidly. "I wish that my
health would allow me to afford greater support to my assistants,
efficient as I am bound to say that they all are."
Mr Tugman did not seem to listen to the compliment, but, with a slight
good evening, taking Digby by the shoulder, walked him off to the
schoolroom.
Digby felt somewhat like a fly in the grasp of a spider, for there was
very little of the _suaviter in modo_, however much there might have
been of the _fortiter in re_, in Mr Tugman's proceedings. They passed
a large glass door, guarded on both sides by wire-work.
"These are your future companions," he said, opening it, and pointing to
a wide-extending gravel space at the back of the house, which Digby
guessed was the playground. Though it was growing dark, the boys were
still there; but all he could see was a confused mass of fellows rushing
about, hallooing, and shouting: some with hoops, against which their
sticks went clattering away incessantly; others driving, with whips
cracking and horns tootooing; some were running races; others playing
leap-frog, or high cock-o'-lorum; indeed, nearly every game which could
make the blood circulate on a cold winter's evening, had its advocates.
From the darkness, and from the state of constant movement in which they
all were, there appeared to be double the number of boys Mrs Pike had
mentioned.
"Well, what do you think of them?" asked Mr Tugman.
Digby said, "That he could form no opinion from the slight view he had
of them."
"Not badly answered," observed Mr Tugman. "Now I will show you the
schoolroom before they come in, and select a desk, so that you may make
yourself at home at once."
Going down a few steps, Digby found himself in a large and lofty room,
or hall, lighted by lamps from the ceiling, with rows of desks across
it, and two large fire-places at the sides towards each end. At one end
was a high desk, and there were five or six smaller desks, intended for
the masters, down the hall, flanking the rows, as the sergeants stand in
a regiment, drawn up on parade. The hall ran at right angles to the
back of the house, by the side of the playground, and had evidently been
built for a schoolroom.
Mr Tugman took Digby to the further end, where his own desk was, and
lifting up several in one of the last rows, he came to one which was
entirely empty.
"Seventy is the number, is it not?" he asked, going to his own desk.
"Now, take this key, lock up whatever you like. I dare say you have
some good things in your play-box, or valuables of some sort; put them
there, and make yourself at home."
Scarcely had these arrangements been concluded, when a bell rang, and
the boys came trooping into the schoolroom. He was fairly caught, like
a mouse in a trap. At first he was not perceived; but it was soon
buzzed about, that the new boy was there, and he was quickly saluted
by--
"How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of
Bloxholme Hall?"
"Pretty well, I thank you, young gentlemen," answered Digby, determined
not to be outdone, and resolved to put a bold face on the matter. "I
shall be happy to make the acquaintance of any of those who will favour
me with their cards, and an account of their own family, parentage, and
connexions."
"He is a pert little chap," observed one. "Plenty of impudence in him,"
said another. "A plucky little cock, though, I think," remarked a
fourth. Opinions among the bigger fellows varied considerably as to his
character, and how he was to be treated.
Seldom is there a school without a bully, and Grangewood was no
exception to the rule. The chief bully was a big, hulking fellow,
called Scarborough. He remarked, "That there was a great deal to be
taken out of the little cock, and that he purposed having the
satisfaction of taking it."
"I'm in the habit of giving small change, remember that," said Digby,
who had overheard the remark--as it had been intended he should.
Scarborough turned white with rage on this being said; and would then
and there have inflicted condign punishment on the daring upstart, had
not the bell rang, and the boys been called to order by Mr Yates, the
head usher, who, entering Mr Sanford's desk, assumed command in the
evening. He only deferred doing so, however, till another opportunity.
The little fellows, and those about Digby's own age, listened with eager
and surprised ears to what he said; and at once looked upon him as one
likely to prove their champion. In a very short time he had made a
number both of friends and foes; but, curiously enough, he knew none of
them by sight, as he could only distinguish the countenances of the few
who sat immediately about him. They being mostly about his age, and
having suffered from the tyranny of Scarborough, were inclined to side
with him.
As, of course, he had nothing to do, he was able to sit quiet, and
observe what was going forward. Each of the masters called up a class
to say lessons, while the rest of the boys had to prepare them for the
following day. Books were got out, and a murmur of voices was heard
through the school. A stranger coming in might have fancied that
everybody was very studiously employed; but although all had piles of
books before them, on a closer inspection he would have seen, as Digby
did, that very few were really learning their lessons; some were
drawing, others playing games, draughts, or spillikins, or dominoes, and
some even had cards; many were cutting out things in card-board or wood,
making models of carriages, and houses, and boats. It had become the
practice of the school at that time of the evening, especially as they
would have another half hour in the morning to look over the lessons
they were then supposed to be learning. Digby was surprised, and
thought that he had come to a very slack sort of school. He was not
particularly shocked, for he could not fancy that what everybody was
doing was so very wrong.
The classes had just been dismissed, when another bell rang, and
everybody hurried away out of the schoolroom. Digby, not knowing what
was to take place, sat still.
"Come with me," said a boy, who looked rather smaller than himself. "I
am delighted with the way you answered that big bully, Scarborough.
Keep up to it; don't give in, and I will stick by you. We are now going
into tea. I will find a place for you near myself, and tell you all
about the fellows."
Digby was very glad to fall in at once with a friend; and he at once
accepted the little boy's offer.
"My name is Paul Newland," said his new companion, as they followed the
rest into the tea-room. "I am rather older than I look, for I am not
very big; but I intend to grow some day. You will be in my class, I
suspect. I'm at the top of it, and expect to get into the sixth soon;
that is, under Mr Moore, who is a very quiet sort of fellow. You must
try and work up along with me. There is nothing like working, I find.
I came in at the lowest, and got up three classes in one half year. But
this is the tea-room. Come along; don't mind what fellows say."
This was not an unnecessary caution, for Digby found himself saluted as
he went along by the boys turning sharply round and saying--
"How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire
Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall? Welcome to Grangewood House, most noble
young Squire."
It need not be said how Digby felt, but he fortunately kept his temper;
nor did he lose his appetite in consequence of these sarcastic
greetings.
"I wish that John Pratt had not announced me in that way. Of course it
would make a capital joke for the fellows," he said to himself, as he
took his seat at the table.
The boys near nodded to him, holding up their mugs of tea with mock
gravity.
"Your health, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire Heathcote,
of Bloxholme Hall," was repeated over and over again, in various tones.
Digby was determined not to be put out, whatever was said or done. He
lifted his mug to his lips--it was filled with a liquid he thought most
execrable--some one had evidently put salt in it; but he pretended not
to have discovered the bad taste.
"Young gentlemen," he said, holding up his mug, and mimicking the tones
of those who had spoken to him, "I beg to return you my thanks for the
honour you have done me. When I know your names and places of abode, as
well as you appear to know mine, I can address you more personally. As
neither tea nor salt-water are the proper things to drink to the health
of one's friends, I will make a libation with the contents of my mug
into the slop-basin, which you will receive as a mark of the honour I
wish to do you."
Digby was sorely puzzled to pump up all these words. He had never made
so long a speech in his life before; but the importance of the object
inspired him; and a large slop-basin standing before him to receive the
dregs of the mugs, put the idea into his head. He had been afraid at
first that he should have been obliged to drink the salted tea.
His young friend, Paul Newland, inquired why the boys addressed him as
they had been doing; and he then explained that it was owing to John
Pratt's desire to give him importance; instead of which, as is often the
case, a contrary effect had been produced.
"I need not tell you not to mind, for I see you don't," observed Paul.
"Everybody has to go through something of the sort when they first come,
and some remain butts all the time they stay. That sort of thing
matters very little if a fellow keeps his temper, and pretends not to
notice it. They soon grow tired of a joke when it produces no effect.
They bothered me a great deal when I first came, and called me Paul Pry,
and Paul the Preacher, and Little Bank Note, and Pretty Poll, and Polly,
and all sorts of names, and they played all sorts of tricks; but I
pretended not to mind, though I was really very much annoyed; and, at
last, they gave it up, and it is only occasionally that I now get
addressed in that way."
Digby thanked Newland for his good advice, and promised to follow it as
far as his temper would allow.
"Oh, that is the very thing; you must keep in your temper," answered
Newland. "I don't mean to say that you may harbour revenge, or that you
intend to pay them off another day. Far from that; that would be
horrid, you know, not like a Christian or an honest Englishman; but that
you may disarm them, make them ashamed of themselves, or tired of their
stale tricks or jokes."
Paul went on talking in a quiet, low tone, while Digby was munching a
thick slice of bread-and-butter. He sent up his cup for some more tea
by one of the attendant maid-servants; but was told by Mrs Pike, who
had seen him throw the first away, that he could have no more.
"But some salt had got into the mug, marm; and salt with tea is not
pleasant, I assure you," exclaimed Digby, feeling very indignant,
notwithstanding Newland's exhortations and his own resolutions.
"We only use sugar at Grangewood House, young gentleman," answered Mrs
Pike, looking angrily at the bold assertion of the new boy. "Those who
throw their tea away can have no more. That is the rule here; is it
not, Mr Tugman?"
The third master, thus appealed to, replied, with what he intended to be
a bland smile, though it had very much the look of a grin--
"Certainly, marm, certainly. Master Digby Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has
been brought up with rather extravagant notions, and has been accustomed
to take salt as well as sugar in his tea."
This sally produced a grin from the surrounding boys who heard it; for
the big fellows considered him a great wit, and a jolly cock, a
character he had striven to obtain from some, that he might the more
easily manage, or rather bully, the rest.
"Never mind," whispered Paul; "wait a moment till no one is looking, and
take mine. I'll get some more presently, if I want it. Mrs Pike likes
me, as I never bother her. She'll like you some day, if you are quiet
and well-behaved. She's not ill-natured at bottom, but her temper gets
put out very often. She almost manages the school now, since Mr
Sanford has been ill."
Digby accepted the offer; and Newland soon afterwards got a fresh and
ample supply for himself. Perhaps Mrs Pike winked at the arrangement,
after she had duly asserted her authority.
Digby had been accustomed to very different tea arrangements, and did
not admire those he now saw. The tea was made in great urns, and there
were huge jugs of milk, or, as the boys declared, of milk-and-water, and
basins of brown sugar. The mixture was served out in blue and white
mugs, which did duty as beer mugs at dinner; while trays, with slices of
bread-and-butter, were continually being handed round. Of the latter,
the boys might have as much as they wanted; and their tastes were so far
consulted, that they might have milk-and-water without tea and sugar, if
they wished for it. They sat at table chattering away, or playing
tricks with each other, or reading, if they liked, provided the books
were not on the table, till the bell again rang, and they hurried back
into the schoolroom.
Other classes were now called up, and more lessons were supposed to be
learned; but nothing was very strictly attended to at that time in the
evening. In summer, they would have been out in the playground. The
boys in those classes which had said their lessons were allowed to amuse
themselves as they liked at their desks, either in reading, or writing,
or making some of the nine hundred and ninety-nine curious articles
which boys are wont to manufacture.
As Digby had nothing to do, Newland lent him an interesting book--"The
Swiss Family of Robinson"--which he had never seen. He was soon
absorbed in it, and not at all inclined to be interrupted. The
shipwreck he had suffered enabled him to realise that described in the
book. At length, however, he heard somebody speak to him. What was
said he did not understand. He turned round, thinking it was Newland;
but, instead of him, he saw a much older, taller boy, with a fair
complexion, and greyish eyes. At the first glance, he did not like the
expression of his countenance; and he was not over-pleased at being
interrupted.
"What do you think of our school?" said the boy. "Some of the fellows
have been trying to make fun of you, but you do not mind that. I hate
that sort of thing myself. We have got some tremendous bullies here.
I'll point them out to you, and show you how to avoid them. Where do
you live?"
Digby told him.
"I live in Berkshire, some miles away from here, though. My name is
John Spiller. I manage to get on very well with the fellows, and I'll
put you up to a thing or two which will be of great assistance to you.
Now, about your play-box; you haven't unpacked it yet, I suppose?"
"No," said Digby; "not yet."
"All right. Don't till I can help you, or you'll have everything
carried off by the fellows," observed Spiller. "While you are looking
to see who has got hold of a knife, or a saw, or a cake, or a boat,
others will be carrying off a pot of jam, or a Dutch cheese, or some
gingerbread, or a pot of anchovies, or a parcel of herrings, or--"
"Oh, there's no fear of that. I have not got half the things you speak
of," said Digby, rather inclined to laugh at the collection of valuables
his box was supposed to contain.
"What have you got, then?" asked Spiller, point blank.
Digby, who had not suspected his new acquaintance's object in
introducing the subject, was going to tell him, when Paul Newland came
back to his desk.
Spiller did not see him. He started, and seemed very much annoyed when
Paul put his hand on his shoulder, and said, quietly--
"Well, what do you find that he has got?"
Spiller looked big enough to keep in awe a dozen such little fellows as
Paul Newland, but he seemed in no way inclined to pick a quarrel with
him.
"Nothing that I know of," he answered. "We have been merely talking
about things in general; have we not, Heathcote? It will soon be
bed-time, or I should like to have heard more about your part of the
country. I'll get you to tell me to-morrow. Good-night, Heathcote."
Saying this, he moved away.
"I'm glad I came back when I did," sail Newland. "That fellow is the
most notorious sponge in the school. We call him Spongy Spiller. He
makes friends with all the new fellows, and sticks like a leech to them
as long as they have a piece of cake, or a lump of barley-sugar, or
anything else in their boxes, which he can get hold of. His desk is
full of things, which, he says, were given him, but which he has, in
reality, sponged out of fellows. About your box; unless there is
anything in it which won't keep, just don't open it for a day or two,
till you are able to judge for yourself a little of fellows. To-morrow
is a half-holiday, and you will better see what the different fellows
really are."
Digby said he would take his advice, for he felt sure that he might
trust him. Both Newland and Spiller were strangers, but, when comparing
the two, he did not for a moment hesitate as to which was most worthy of
his confidence.
Just then the bell rang; and Paul told him they were to have prayers.
He expected to see Mr Sanford; but instead, Mr Yates entered the
head-master's desk, and saying that he was too unwell to come into the
schoolroom, read a very brief form of prayer, while the boys knelt up on
the forms at their desks.
Digby was not surprised to find very little attention or reverence, for
though Mr Yates read slowly, in a loud voice, there was a something in
his tone which showed that the devotional spirit was not there.
The moment prayers were over, the boys rushed off upstairs. The lamps
were put out by a man in a fustian coat, whom Digby had not seen before.
Digby found Paul by his side.
"Come along quickly, or you will have an apple-pie bed made," he said,
in a low voice. "You ought to have been out one of the first."
"Never mind," answered Digby, laughing. "I know how to unmake it fast
enough. I have done such a thing as make one myself."
"Very well, then," said Paul, "we need not hurry. You are to sleep in
our room, I find. I have gone through a good deal from the fellows
there, though they now let me alone. You'll not have a pleasant night
of it, I am afraid. I wish that I could help you."
"You can help me," exclaimed Digby, who had been been silent for some
time, as they went upstairs. "I have made up my mind how to act. Is
there no one who would support you?"
"Yes; I think that there is one, Farnham. He is a good sort of fellow,
but he generally sides with the majority. However, if he sees anything
done in a spirited way, it would take with him."
"Then I'll do it," cried Digby. "There are no very big fellows who
could thrash me easily."
"There are two or three a good deal bigger than you are; and I don't
think that you could thrash them."
"I don't mind that," answered Digby. "They would find me very tough, at
all events, if they attempt to thrash me. You go into the room first;
it won't do to let it appear as if we had formed any plan together."
Newland seemed highly delighted at Digby's proposal, and ran on into the
room, which was at the end of a long passage.
Digby followed in a few seconds. He had noted well the position of the
bed Mrs Pike had told him was to be his, so he walked straight up to
it. Susan had placed his night-shirt and night-cap on the pillow. A
lamp, with a tin reflector, placed against the wall, over the wash-hand
places, gave light to the room. Most of the boys had already got their
clothes off, and had tumbled into bed; they were laughing, and talking,
and cutting jokes with each other.
Paul had begun to undress. Presently one of them, directly opposite
Digby's bed, put up his head, and said--
"Ah, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall,
how are you?"
"That's me," answered Digby, firmly; "I'm very well, I thank you, in
very good condition, and not bad training; and I am strong, though not
very big. And now I'll tell you what I am going to do: I am going to
make my bed, to see that it is comfortable, and then I am going to say
my prayers, as I always do; and I beg that you fellows will not make a
row till I have done. I shall not be long; then I intend to undress,
and get into bed. After the candle is put out, if anything is shied at
me, or any other trick is played, I'll tell you what I intend to do. I
have fixed upon one of the beds, with a fellow in it, and, big or
little, as he may be, I'll pay him off in such a way that he will be
glad to help me another night in keeping order. I am not a greenhorn; I
just want you to understand that."
There was something in Digby's well-knit figure, sunburnt, honest
countenance, and firm voice, which, as the boys, one after the other,
popped up their heads to look at him, inspired them, if not with respect
for him, at all events with a dislike to bring down on their heads the
chastisement he threatened. The bigger boys, though they might have
thrashed him in open daylight, could not tell what means he might have
for attacking them; and those of his own size saw that he was very
likely to thrash them, even on fair terms, if they attempted to try
their strength together. No answer was made; so, whistling a merry
tune, he set to work: first, he carefully and systematically undid his
bed, which had been made into an apple-pie, and smoothing down the
sheets, and tucking in the feet, he said--"Ah, now that will do." Then
he knelt down by the side of the bed, and most earnestly and sincerely
repeated the prayers he had been accustomed to use. Several attempts
were made to disturb him.
"Shame, shame!" cried Paul Newland from beneath the bedclothes.