A GRAND GAME OF "FOLLOW MY LEADER"--DIGBY LEADER--FARMER GROWLER PROVES
FAR BETTER THAN HE LOOKS--ARRIVAL OF JULIAN LANGLEY--A CONSPIRACY
HATCHED.
The next morning broke with the promise of a very fine day, and as the
sun rose, the weather improved. Digby was early on foot, and set to
work at once on his lessons, that he might run no chance of being turned
back, and having to keep in to do any task which might be set him, and
which he fancied Monsieur Guillaume or Mr Tugman would be too happy to
impose. Both tried hard to find him tripping, but entirely failed.
School was over. Dinner was rapidly got through, and Digby and his
followers hurried out to prepare for their adventures. They all had on
their cricketing dresses of white flannel, with dark blue jackets over
them--light blue ribbons were on their hats, and short streamers of the
same colour at the upper end of their poles. Altogether they looked
very neat and fit for work. As they were dressed in flannel, and all
their clothes would wash, they did not dread the consequences of a
tumble into a muddy ditch or a deep stream. Digby was distinguished as
leader by having a red and white ribbon added to the blue streamer at
the end of his pole. They all assembled in the playground ready for the
start. Scarborough looked at them with an envious eye, and would have
liked to have spoiled their sport--so would Spiller, for no one had
asked him to join; but the appearance of Bouverie, who had come to see
the start, prevented them from indulging in their bad feelings.
"All ready," shouted Digby. "Well, then, away we go."
A gate in the side wall of the playground led into some fields. Out of
this they all filed, Digby leading and flourishing his pole above his
head. From the moment his followers got outside the gate they were
bound to do exactly as he did. Now he planted his pole in the ground
and leaped as far as it would carry him--now he took a hop, skip, and a
jump--now an eccentric turn on one side or the other--now he bolted
through a hedge, and ran at full speed along a road till a practicable
gap appeared in another hedge with a field on the right: into this he
leaped, and made his way towards a high mound whence a fine view could
be obtained of all the country round. A broad ditch intervened--that
everybody knew. There was a plank bridge some way down, and it was a
question whether he was going to make for it, but he had no such
intention. He reached its sedgy margin, and planting his pole firmly in
the centre, he sprang forward and cleared it with a couple of feet to
spare on the other side. One after the other followed. Some, the
bigger boys especially, leaped as far as he did. Paul Newland cleared
it, and a very good leap he made for a boy of his size. One little
fellow, however, John Nott, who always wanted to do things, but seldom
found his nerves in a proper condition when it came to the point,
planted his pole, began the leap, but trembled when half way over, and
before his feet had touched the bank down he slipped, and into the soft
mud he went. William Ranger, who had purposely brought up the rear that
he might help any who got into scrapes, though he said that he did so to
whip up stragglers, saw what had happened, and leaping across somewhat
out of his turn, hauled up the mud-bespattered little fellow to the
green turf.
"There, roll yourself on the turf, Notty, and then, on your legs once
more, follow the rest." He exclaimed when he had performed this act of
kindnesss, "Tally ho! tally ho!"
Away all the party went once more, till they all stood on the high
mound, flourishing their poles and enjoying the balmy coolness of the
early spring air, scented with numberless flowers of summer. Snowdrops
and daffodils had disappeared, but primroses, cowslips, and violets
covered the grassy fields and meadows in rich profusion. Wood anemones
were carpeting with their delicate and white pink blossoms the
leaf-covered ground in every wood and sheltered copse; and the delicate
blossoms of the stellaria were shining forth, amid herbage of every
description on all the banks and hedges, like stars in the dark sky.
The glossy blossoms of the celandine, too, in every damper spot
enamelled the turf; and the bright yellow flowers of the large water
ranunculus garnished the sides of the streams and rivulets which flowed
below them. Sweetly, too, and cheerfully the birds sang on every bush
and tree-top with many varied notes. The cuckoo sent forth his
unmistakeable sounds, also, from many a neighbouring hedge, always
calling loudly, and yet seeming to be so far off,--while high above
their heads was heard the joyous note of the skylark, as he rose upwards
into the blue sky, as if never intending to return again to earth.
Varied, likewise, was the landscape. There were hills and downs in the
distance--wide fields, sloping here and there, in which the corn was
just springing up--rich green meadows, on which the cattle was enjoying
the most luxurious of repasts. There were woods, too, and hazel copses
on the hill-sides; and sparkling streams and ponds which looked as if
they must be full of fish, and wide ditches full of tall sedges and
flowering rushes, and many other water-plants, some few of which were
already coming into bloom. Here and there might be seen small villages
or hamlets, farmhouses, and neat cottages with rustic porches, over
which the honeysuckle or clematis had been taught to climb; pretty
little gardens--every inch of them cultivated--though the habitations
only of the poorest labourers. The boys stood some time looking at it,
and almost unconsciously drinking in its beauties. Digby had a feeling
that he loved such a scene dearly--perhaps he scarcely knew why it was.
He had no inclination for some minutes to dart down again into the
valley to proceed on the course he had marked out. No one seemed to
wish to hurry him either. He looked and looked--gazing round on every
side.
"Yes, this is England, dear old England," he cried. "Old England for
ever. Wherever we go, boys, never let us forget Old England, or what
she is like."
"No; nor that we are Englishmen," added Ranger.
"Old England against the world in arms! Old England for ever!" shouted
Digby.
And that shout was repeated loudly, enthusiastically by all those true
English boys, as they stood on that hill-top; and never were those
words, thus spoken in season, forgotten, nor did the sound of that
hearty shout ever die away altogether on the ears of those who repeated
and heard it. Had there been thousands and thousands of other English
boys within hearing, they, too, would have repeated it with equal
good-will. Oh, may English boys never forget those lines of our
immortal poet:--
"Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue
If England to itself do rest but true."
_King John_.
"After all, I am sure there is no place like the country, and no country
like England," cried Digby, waving his pole. "But away we go once more,
boys, with just another jolly shout for the land we all love--Hurra!
hurra! hurra!"
All repeated the words, and down the hill dashed Digby, followed closely
by his companions, and in another moment he was forcing his way up a
steep bank, and through a hedge which few would have thought of
attempting. He got through it, though, and the rest followed more
easily. Probably the farmer who owned the field would rather they had
taken a longer way round; but certainly it did not occur to any of them
that they were doing any harm; hedges are so evidently made to be got
through, somehow or other, by boys, if not by cows. On they went, along
the edge of the field--for wheat was coming up in it, and Digby knew
that they might do harm by trampling over that. There was, of course, a
gate by which they might have got out of the field, but Digby scorned
gates, and it was not in the direction he was taking. There was another
bank, though, with a still thicker hedge on the top of it than that they
had previously passed through. Up the bank dashed Digby; but, even with
the aid of his pole, he could scarcely find footing; to get over the
hedge seemed impossible. Strenuous were the efforts he made, though,
and numerous the times he and his followers had to jump down the bank
again. Foiled he was determined not to be. Casting his eyes on either
side, they fell on a young beech tree, one of whose glossy branches
hung, he fancied, within reach of the top of the bank. Along the bottom
of the bank he ran; he climbed up it once more, but though he sprung as
high as he could, he could not reach the branch; in an instant his pole
was planted firmly against the branch; up it he swarmed, and sat perched
in the tree. The pole was now hauled up, and the end placed on the
opposite side of the hedge; down it he went, and found himself on the
side of a wide piece of moorland, yellow with the bloom of the fern, or
furze. The shouts of his followers showed him how much they appreciated
the feat. A broad trench was still to be crossed, full of water.
"Not very deep, though," he thought to himself. "Never mind; here
goes."
Down the bank he slid, and, feeling with his pole, attempted to cross;
but the water would, he found, even then, be up to his mouth, and
perhaps deeper still further on. The weather was not yet warm enough to
make a swim pleasant; so he had to scramble along by the side of the
bank. At last, he came to the end of the water, and then he managed to
get up the perpendicular side of a gravel bank, and, hurrying on,
reached a high gravel mound.
Paul Newland had closely followed him; he made up by resolution and
sagacity for what he wanted in strength.
The two stood together watching the rest getting over. Some very nearly
tumbled into the pool; and they had to shout to warn them of their
danger. Farnham soon came up to the mound; but they did not begin to
move till Ranger shouted out that all were safely over. Then Digby once
more set off among the heather, and furze, and scattered pine-trees.
The unevenness of the ground afforded an abundant variety in the run.
Sometimes they came to deep gravel-pits, down which Digby plunged,
skirting along the pools which filled their bottoms, and then climbing
up their crumbling banks on the opposite side. The piece of common was
soon passed; and then a copse-wood, filled with brakes and briars, had
to be passed through. Dauntlessly, in spite of thorns and the
numberless scratches they inflicted, Digby led the way. Shrieks and
shouts of laughter burst from the boys as they rushed on, thrusting the
boughs aside, and often letting them spring back in the face of those
who followed. All was taken in good part; they were in too good spirits
to lose their tempers. Once more they were in a cultivated field; it
was in a sheltered position, and the wheat was much advanced.
"Look out, Heathcote; old Growler's farm is not far off, and I shouldn't
be surprised but what the field belongs to him," shouted Farnham.
Digby was keeping along the extreme border of the field, where no wheat
was growing, so he knew that they could do no harm; and he had no
intention of cutting across it. On he went, therefore, till he saw
under the hedge a leafy arch over a drain, and he thought that he could
pass through it.
"The sooner we are out of old Growler's property, perhaps, the better,"
he shouted; "follow me."
As he spoke, trailing his pole, he darted through the hole. It was a
somewhat difficult feat; and he did not exactly know where he should
find himself when he was through. He popped up his head, and found a
heavy hand clapped on his shoulder.
"Hillo, young one; what have you been after?" said the man who had
captured him, with a gruff voice. "Why, how many on you are there?" he
added, as he watched one boy after the other emerge from the hole.
"When will there be an end of you? You seems for all the world like
young ferrets. Pretty mischief you've been doing, I doubt not, in my
field of young corn. Oh, you think you're going on, do you? Stop,
stop, my young masters. I'm going to give you a sound good hiding,
every one on you, or else you clubs together, and pays for the damage
you have done my field."
"We have done no damage whatever," answered Digby. "We went in at a
gap, we kept along the edge on the grass, and we came out at this hole,
as you have seen."
"I don't believe thee, young 'un," growled the farmer, angrily. "Don't
you tell me that you didn't go straight across the young corn. I know
what boys is made of, I should think."
"I say that I would not tell you a falsehood to save myself from a dozen
such thrashings as you would venture to give me," exclaimed Digby,
looking up boldly in his face. "Strike away, if you like; but,
remember, you do it at your peril. I have told you the truth."
The stout old farmer held him at arm's-length, and gazed at him
attentively.
"I do believe if I ever seed an honest English face thee has got it, and
I believes every word thee says," exclaimed the farmer, in quite a
different tone to that in which he had before spoken. "There, now, I
only wanted to frighten thee all a bit; for I thought thee had been
doing a careless thing, and been trampling down my corn; but I sees I
was mistaken--so just come all on you to my farm, it's just close at
hand here, and there's a glass of home-made beer and some bread and
cheese, or a cup of sweet milk and some cake, I'll warrant my missus has
got, for each of you."
"We are playing follow-my-leader, Mr Growler; so if he goes we all must
go, remember," cried one of the boys.
"That's just what I wants, young 'un," answered the farmer,
good-naturedly. "So come along, master--you'll not repent it."
So once more seizing Digby by the shoulder he hauled him off, without
any vehement opposition, towards a comfortable looking farmhouse, a few
fields away from where they then were. The farmer was better than his
word, and bread and cheese and cake, and honey and preserves, and fresh
milk and cider, and beer and gooseberry wine, all, as the farmer's wife
assured them, made by herself at home, were placed in abundance before
them. They did justice to the provisions, but to their credit they
drank very slightly of the fermented liquors. The farmer and his wife
pressed them to partake of everything set before them. Really it was,
as the good dame observed, a pleasant sight to see the twenty boys, all
in health and spirits, their cheeks glowing with the exercise they had
been taking, sitting round the large well-scrubbed oak table in the
farmhouse kitchen, and the huge cheeses and equally large loaves of pure
home-made bread, not sickly white, but with an honest brown tinge,
showing that all the best part of the flour was there, and no admixture
of alum or bone-dust. Then how the beer frothed, and smelt of honest
malt and hops. The profusion of honest food was pleasant, and still
pleasanter the hearty good-will with which it was given. The dame
wanted to do some rashers of bacon and to poach them some eggs, but they
all declined her kindness, assuring her that if they eat more they could
never get through the work they had before them.
"Remember, my boys, I shall be main glad to see any of you whenever you
comes this way, and can give me a look in," said Farmer Growler, as they
rose to continue their run, and Digby was offering to shake hands with
him.
The farmer took his hand and wrung it heartily.
"I wasn't inclined to think over well of the youngsters of Grangewood
there; but since I have seen you, I tell you frankly, I likes some on
you very much. Good-bye, good-bye."
"We might have said the same of our new friend," observed Digby, as they
got beyond hearing. "After having known that honest, good-natured
fellow, rough as his outside seemed, I shall be inclined to think better
of some of the farmers I know, whom I've always fancied to be rather
sulky, bearish fellows. We won't forget to pay him a visit another day,
and it will be pleasant if we can think of something to carry to him or
his wife. But we must make up for lost time, and go ahead faster than
before, or we shall not get back till dark."
Away they all went; their meal--for neither was it luncheon, dinner, nor
tea--in no way impeded their progress. On they ran faster than ever;
nothing stopped them. At last they came out near a village. Right
through it they went, much to the astonishment of the inhabitants, who
hurried out of their cottages, to see the young gentlemen running like
mad down the street. A meadow was on one side. Over a paling and a
widish ditch Digby jumped, and along the meadow he ran, knowing full
well that a broadish stream was to be found at the bottom of it. By
this time a number of spectators had collected.
"It must be done," thought Digby; "follow who can."
He planted his pole in the middle of the stream and cleared it with a
bound--shouts from the villagers showing their admiration of the feat.
Most of the rest went over in good style. Poor little Notty very nearly
tumbled in, but generous Ranger went over first and stood by to catch
him; and on they all went once more in line, and were soon out of sight
of the village and its vociferous inhabitants, as Newland called them.
Other streams were in their course. They came to some swampy ground,
and Digby very nearly let them into a quagmire, where they would all
have stuck, when he espied some stones to his left, and landed on a
causeway which led across it. That stream-leaping was a fine exercise
for the nerves and strength, and agility too, and required no little
practice. A hill now appeared before them. They breasted it boldly, as
some of them did years afterwards other hills when crowned with fierce
enemies, showering down bullets and round-shot on their heads. The
parish church, with a lofty and beautiful tower, stood there. It had
been all along Digby's aim to reach it. The view from the summit he
knew was beautiful--no more extensive prospect was to be found in all
the country round. The tower was undergoing repair, so the door was
open. In went Digby, and up the steps he ran--round and round and round
he went, as he ascended the well-worn circular stair--the voices of his
followers sounding in various tones behind him. Near the top was a
window--from it hung a stout rope, which his quick eye saw was well
secured. He reached the top, where there was a platform large enough,
for the tower was square, to contain all the party. Soon they all
assembled there. If the view from the hill was sufficient to inspirit
them, this was still more calculated to do so. It did, and such a cheer
was raised as perhaps had not been heard from the old tower top for many
a year. There is good hope for England when her boys can cheer right
lustily and honestly, as did Digby Heathcote and his friends. For some
time they stood there drinking in unconsciously the beauty of the scene,
not troubling themselves with details however, and imbibing, too,
greater love than ever for their native land. Suddenly Digby
recollected that he ought to be moving.
"On, on," he shouted, and down the steps he dashed--not altogether,
though. He stopped at the belfry and sprang to the window, from which
hung the rope he had observed. Heaving down his pole, he grasped the
rope, and, to the surprise and almost horror of his companions, he threw
his legs over and down he glided; not very rapidly, though, but quietly,
as if it was a matter of every-day occurrence, looking up and trying
out, "Let those only follow who are certain they can do it. I forgive
those who cannot."
Farnham, Ranger, Newland, and others looked over, and doubted whether or
not they would follow. They had a regard for their necks--it would not
be pleasant to break them, and yet Digby performed the feat so easily,
and it would be a disgrace if no one attempted it. Ranger did not
hesitate long--he only waited till Digby reached the ground in safety,
to grasp the rope and to follow him down. The rest shouted when they
saw him gliding down. He was, as he deserved to be, a general
favourite. Soon he was seen standing alongside Digby. Farnham and then
Newland came, and three more; but the remainder could not bring
themselves to make the venture. Indeed, Digby and Ranger entreated them
not to do so; for though they stood underneath to catch any who might
fall, they all felt that the risk was great. Digby, more especially,
had scarcely reached the ground than he regretted having tempted others
to follow his example.
"If any of them should be killed, or seriously hurt themselves, how
dreadful it would be. I should never forgive myself," he observed to
Ranger.
All were at length assembled at the foot of the tower; and Digby having
flourished his pole, once more started off as leader of the party, on
their return towards home. He had arranged a different route to that by
which they had come, away to the right; a portion of it being over a
high chalky ridge. They had a steep hill-side to climb, but well and
actively they did it; and, at the top, they were rewarded by the fresh
health-inspiring breeze they met in their faces. For a mile or more
Digby kept the summit of the ridge--a smooth, green surface, which
appeared to afford but little variety to the leader's movements; but
here Digby equally showed his talent for his office, never for a minute
together was he in the same attitude. Now his pole was poised on high
as an Indian dart, or javelin; now it was held as a lance; now he was
flourishing it round his head; now he made a sudden leap forward with
it; now he hopped; now he skipped; now he went round and round,
spinning, but yet advancing. All these, and a variety of other
eccentric movements were seen from the valley below, and created the
greatest astonishment, and, in some instances, consternation, for the
figures of the boys, seen against the evening sky, as they followed one
after the other, in regular succession, appeared magnified to a
considerable degree; and many wondered what extraordinary beings they
could be. They were very much amused, some days afterwards, on hearing
of the strange sights the people had seen on the ridge on that very
evening, and how they passed by. The remainder of the leaps they took,
the streams they crossed, and the duckings some of them got, need not
further be described. They got back in time for tea, which on
Saturdays, in summer, was always later than at other times.
Digby got very much complimented for the way in which he had led.
"It's the best run we have ever had, old fellow," exclaimed Ranger and
others. "Yes, indeed it was; and the plucky way in which you got down
from the top of Whitcombe Church tower was very fine. It's not
surprising some of us funked to follow. We must have another run like
it next week, and we must get you to be leader again. Remember, you
think over what course you will take, so as to give us plenty of sport."
Digby, naturally gratified at all these compliments, promised that he
would prepare for another run on the following Saturday.
The authorities, however, it appeared, had taken a different view of the
sport to that which those had who had engaged in it. The descent from
the top of Whitcombe tower was looked upon with unmitigated horror; and
it was proposed to take steps for the prevention of any such dangerous
adventures in future. Little, however, was poor Mr Sanford aware of
how much worse proceedings were taking place much nearer home, and of
the far greater dangers to which many of the boys were exposed during
those long spring evenings, when they were allowed to wander forth
beyond the supervision of their masters.
The Monday after this noted run, Digby was passing through the hall,
when the front-door bell rang, and Susan went to open it, just as she
had done the day of his arrival. He likewise stopped at the end of the
passage to see who was coming. A fly was at the door, and in front of
it stood Rubbins, the fat butler at Milford Priory, who was at that
moment helping out of it no less a person than Julian Langley.
Julian was looking very sheepish and downcast, and very much inclined to
cry; but the moment he saw Digby, who could not help coming forward, his
countenance brightened up.
"Ah, Digby, this is pleasant, to have a friend to meet one, and to tell
one all about the school," he exclaimed. "I did not know I was coming
to your school. Now I don't mind. What sort of a place is it? Many
fast fellows, eh? Any fun to be had? Tell me all about it; come,
quick. You look jolly enough, let me tell you. Why, you are nearly as
big as I am." So Julian ran on, much in his old style.
Although Digby knew perfectly well what he had been, and how much
mischief he had led him into, yet he could not help looking upon him as
an old friend and companion, and as such he received him, feeling really
very glad to see him. They had not much time to talk then, for Rubbins
having got all his luggage and things out of the fly, and shaken hands
with him in a somewhat familiar and patronising manner, delivered him
over formally to Susan, to be carried before Mr Sanford.
"Won't you wish to see master, sir?" asked Susan, who did not understand
exactly who Mr Rubbins was.
"Oh, no; no, thank you," answered that gentleman, with a slight sneer in
the tone of his voice. "The young one knows well enough how to take
care of himself, I guess."
Susan, from these words, at once understood who Mr Rubbins was, and
formed a tolerably correct opinion of the character of the young
gentleman, which she did not fail to express to Mrs Pike.
Digby had to leave Julian, who was now taken before Mr Sanford; but he
promised to wait for him at the end of the passage.
Mr Sanford was not altogether satisfied with his new pupil. Julian
spoke in an off-hand way of his former career, and the education he had
received; and then forthwith mentioned his friendship with Digby
Heathcote.
"He will show me all about the school, sir, and put me up to its ways.
All I want is to know them, and I dare say that I shall get on very well
with the other fellows," said Julian, with consummate assurance. "Digby
and I, you see, sir, are like brothers almost--we have been so much
together, and think so exactly alike."
Now Mr Sanford, from what he had heard of Digby, had formed a
favourable opinion of him; and therefore, taking Julian at his word, he
was bound to form the same of him. He knew enough, however, of the
world to be aware that the very worst way of judging of persons is to
take them at their own estimate; and so Julian did not find himself
quite so highly esteemed as he might have wished. Mr Sanford, however,
rang the bell, and desired that Master Heathcote might be sent to him.
Digby very quickly made his appearance; and Mr Sanford was at once
inclined to doubt Julian's assertion that they were acquainted, till
Digby explained that they had just before met.
"Very well, Heathcote, introduce him to the other boys; and I hope I
shall hear a good account of him from the masters," said Mr Sanford.
"But remember, by the by, that you do not run the risk of breaking your
own neck, and that of your companions, by slipping down from the top of
church towers. I must take measures to prevent such a proceeding in
future; and have begged Mrs Pike and Mr Yates to see to it. Now go,
and be good boys."
Away ran Digby and Julian. The boys were in the playground, so Digby at
once took his old friend there to introduce him. He was resolved to
give him the chance of a good start; so he took him up only to the best
fellows, intending to warn him of the characters of the others. This
ought to have been a very great advantage to Julian.
Farnham, Ranger, Newland, received him, for Digby's sake, very kindly
and cordially; and even Bouverie showed that he wished to be civil to
him, and did not address him in the bantering way in which big fellows
are apt to speak to those younger than themselves.
Julian, however, took it into his head that all this was owing to his
own merits, and was not proportionably grateful to Digby. Although
warned by Digby, from the first, of the characters of Spiller, Johnny
Bray, Scarborough, and others, he at once showed that he had a hankering
to become acquainted with them. Spiller, consequent, very soon got
round him, and became the possessor of various articles in his box, as
well as of some slices of his cake, and a pot or two of jam.
Scarborough was not long in falling foul of him.
Digby was about to rush to his rescue, and calling on Ranger and Farnham
to assist; when what was his surprise to hear Julian say--
"Please don't hit me, Scarborough, and I will give you a pot of jam and
some marmalade, and will send home for some more, if you want it."
"Well, hand out the grub, young one, and I will let you off this time,"
answered the bully. "Remember, though, I won't stand any nonsense.
You've promised to get me what I want, and I intend to keep you up to
your word."
Julian sneaked off to his play-box, to get the eatables; and Digby
turned away with disgust.
"The idea of buying off a thrashing from a big bully," he exclaimed,
stamping with his feet in very vexation. "It is a thoroughly
un-English, cowardly proceeding. Besides, it will only make the bully
attack him more readily when he wants anything out of him. As he looks
upon him as my friend, he wants to revenge himself on him, as he dares
not attack me again while Bouverie remains."
Boys at school very soon find their own level. Julian rapidly sunk to
his. He would have had a better chance of retaining the friendship of
Farnham, Ranger, and the good set, had he been sent to sleep in their
room; but, unfortunately, there was no vacant bed there, and he,
consequently, was put into a room with Spiller, and some of the worst
fellows. All the advantage, therefore, which he gained in the day, from
associating with Digby and his friends, was undone in the evening by the
loose conversation of his bedroom companions.
"I wanted to have had a jolly feast, such as you had, Digby, the fellows
tell me, and which, it seems, gained you so many first-rate friends,"
said Julian, one day soon after his arrival, in a melancholy tone. "But
do you know, what with that brute, Scarborough, and that sneaky chap,
Spiller, and a host of others, I haven't got a single thing left. I
don't think you benefited much by me, either."
"Oh, never mind that; but I did not suppose my feasts gave me friends,"
answered Digby. "Perhaps it might have been so; but then, when I think
of it, Bouverie would accept nothing, and some of the best fellows took
very little, and indeed, generally put in their own share of grub."
"Ah, still they knew that you were a fellow who was always likely to
have plenty of good things," argued Julian. "I must see about getting
some more things from the Priory; it won't do to be looking down in the
world."
Poor, miserable Julian had evidently no notion of any other bond of
union between people; it should not be called friendship, though he so
called it, but interest, what one may get from the other. He was to be
pitied certainly; but not for a moment exonerated. He had been
miserably instructed at the first, there was no doubt about that; but
then he had gone to Mr Nugent's, where he had every opportunity of
learning what was right. The truth, the right was set clearly before
him, but he deliberately refused to accept it. The laws of God and man,
his duties in life, were clearly explained to him; he had a good example
set him; he was kept as much as possible out of temptation to do wrong;
still, as has been seen, he contrived to do it. Now he came where he
had evidently the choice between good companions and bad, and he
deliberately chose the bad.
So it will be with all those whose eyes may fall on these pages. If
they abandon the straight and narrow, and perhaps difficult, path of
right, and enter into the broad, and seemingly easy, course of evil,
they do so with their eyes open, in spite of warnings, in spite of the
whisperings of conscience, in spite of thousands of examples of the
destructive results of the life they are pursuing; and they will in the
end be unable to offer the slightest excuse for themselves; they will
have to acknowledge they brought down all their misery and wretchedness
on their own heads, that their punishment was just.
The next Saturday came, and when lessons were over, Mr Yates ascended
the head-master's desk, and informed the school that leave to go out was
stopped, in consequence of certain proceedings which had come to Mr
Sanford's knowledge; but more than that he did not consider it just then
necessary to explain.
This announcement, though received in silence, created the greatest
vexation, and anger, and indignation among all the boys. Some thought
the prohibition arose from one cause, some from another. Digby and his
friends, who had played the game of Follow-my-leader on the previous
Saturday, thought that it was owing to something they had done on that
occasion. Some farmer, less good-natured than Mr Growler, might have
complained about them; perhaps it was owing to their exploit in the
church tower; others thought that it was owing to something which had
occurred in the village; others, owing to a fight which had taken place
between one of their boys and a country lad; and perhaps Scarborough,
and Spiller, and their set might have suspected that their half-holiday
practices were known, and that all the school was being punished on that
account. One thing was clear, on comparing notes, that a very
considerable number of misdemeanours were committed every Saturday; and
that, altogether, they were not punished without cause. Those, however,
as is usually the case, who were the most guilty, were the most furious.
Scarborough declared loudly that he would pot stand it; that, in spite
of all the masters, he for one would go out as usual; so said a number
of other fellows of his stamp.
Digby, and Farnham, and Newland did not like it; they thought themselves
very unjustly treated; and of course that made them indignant. They
talked of doing all sorts of things: they would scale the walls; they
would take their usual expedition, with leave or without leave.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," exclaimed Farnham, who was always rather
vehement when he fancied himself unjustly treated, "I'll write home, and
beg to be taken away altogether, unless we have our proper liberty.
After dinner, I'll go straight up to Mr Sanford, and ask him why we are
all kept in because some other fellows have done what is wrong; and then
I'll undertake to guarantee that if he will allow them to go out, they
will all behave as he could wish in every way. If he still refuses,
then I will frankly tell him that I will write home, and complain, and
that others are determined to do the same."
Farnham's proposal was very much applauded by nearly all the moderate
party, a few only advocating a quiet run through the country for an hour
or so, just to show that they would maintain their rights.
The dinner-bell rang. They all went in; and no one ate a worse dinner
in consequence of the perturbed state of their minds. They still,
however, continued, in low voices, talking the matter over; and the
masters and Mrs Pike saw that something was evidently wrong. The
weather, however, summarily settled the matter for them. The sky had
been for some time clouding over, and before they had left the
dinner-table, the rain began to descend in torrents, so that it was
impossible for any one of them to make any complaint of not being
allowed to go out on that day. Harder and harder came down the rain,
till it was evident that it was going to be a settled pouring afternoon.
Although, in one respect, this was an advantage, as it enabled the
better disposed to calm their spirits, and to think quietly over what
they had proposed to do, yet it, at the same time, allowed the rest to
brood over their fancied wrongs, and to concoct a variety of schemes of
vengeance.
Julian Langley was one of the most indignant, and most ready to join any
of the plans of the extreme party. He had come to a school where he
understood there was plenty of liberty and gentlemanly treatment, and he
found, he said, neither one nor the other. He had read of some fellows
at a large school getting up a grand rebellion, barring out the masters,
and standing a siege of several days, till their terms were complied
with. The idea was caught up by others. It was grand in the extreme,
if not novel. Scarborough and some of the bigger fellows were delighted
with it. Julian undertook to win over Heathcote and his set.
"They must not be left out, certainly," observed Scarborough. "They are
plucky fellows, and would be powerful allies; but I suspect that you
will have some difficulty in managing them."
"Let me alone for that," answered Julian, with a self-satisfied tone.
"I know how to touch up my old friend, Digby Heathcote, in the right
place. He is well primed already, and only wants the spark to set him
off."
There was certainly far less noise and disturbance that Saturday
afternoon than there had been for a long time. On the Sunday, also, and
the following days, the masters observed that the boys behaved even
better than usual. An event which proved to be of considerable
importance occurred on Monday. Bouverie, who had been counselling
patience and submission, was suddenly summoned home to attend the sick
bed of his father: he had time only to pack up and be off. He sent,
however, for Farnham, and urged him not to do anything rashly, though he
could not enlighten him as to the reason of the prohibition so much
complained of. Strange to say, Digby was more pleased with Julian for
two or three days than he had been since he came to the school--he was
constantly with him, submitting to his opinion, and speaking so very
sensibly on many matters.
"I'll tell you what it is, Digby," said Julian at last, "if all the
fellows will sink their quarrels and disputes and unite heart and hand,
we shall carry the day and gain our rights. For my own part, I do not
care much about the matter; I am not going to be here long, so I argue
for the sake of others more than for myself. Just, therefore, come and
hear what Knowles and that clever fellow, Blake, has got to say. Depend
on it they will show you that they are in the right."
In a fatal moment Digby consented to join a conference of those who
called themselves the leaders of the school, to decide what should be
done in case they were still denied the liberty they demanded.