A NEW HOME
“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
July 5th, 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. Trevor, “tired, pale,
and travel-stained, and had much rather see you first at dear 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 to enjoy. 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 ineffable tears. In
another moment Eric had been folded to his father’s heart, and locked in
the arms of “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 newfound brother’s neck.
Quiet steps entered the little room, 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 he had not yet laid aside the habits of 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, “O 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 fair boy, changed in heart and life,
often flung himself down with an unreproaching conscience to
prayerless 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 seaside 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. 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 be never 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,
he awoke him with a boisterous kiss.
That day Eric was to have his first interview with Dr. Rowlands. The
school had already re-opened, and one of the boys in his college cap
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 realize 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 a good deal 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 passing by the rock-bound bay, and the
numberless little shells, with their bright colors and sculptured
shapes, which lay about the beach. But now his mind was too full of a
single sensation, 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’
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 Rev. 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 school-room.
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, pretending to be much hurt,
drew up his leg, and began rubbing it, ejaculating _sotto voce_,
“awkward little fool.”
In this very clumsy way he 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
character at a glance.
“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 Cesar. 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 wasn’t a very nice-looking
specimen of Roslyn school. However, he sate by him, and glanced at the
Cesar 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.
Eric repeated, “I say, what’s the lesson?”
Instead of answering, Barker stared at him, and grunted,
“What’s your name?”
“Eric--I mean Williams.”
“Then why don’t you say what you mean?”
Eric moved his foot impatiently at this ungracious reception; but as he
seemed to have no redress, he pulled the Cesar nearer towards him.
“Drop that; ’t isn’t yours.”
Mr. Gordon heard a whisper, and glanced that way. “Silence!” he said,
and Barker pretended to be deep in his work, while Eric, resigning
himself to his fate, looked about him.
He had plenty to occupy his attention in the faces round him. He
furtively examined Mr. Gordon, as he bent over his high desk, writing,
but couldn’t make our the physiognomy. There had been something reserved
and imperious in the master’s manner, yet he thought he should not
dislike him on the whole. With the countenances of his future
schoolfellows he was not altogether pleased, but there were one or two
which thoroughly attracted him. One boy, whose side face was turned
towards him as he sat on the bench in front, took his fancy
particularly, so, tired of doing nothing, he plucked up courage, and
leaning forward whispered, “Do lend me your Cesar for a few minutes.”
The boy at once handed it to him with a pleasant smile, and as the
lesson was marked, Eric had time to hurry over a few sentences, when Mr.
Gordon’s sonorous voice exclaimed,
“Fourth form, come up!”
Some twenty of the boys went up, and stood in a large semicircle round
the desk. Eric of course was placed last, and the lesson commenced.
“Russell, begin,” said the master; and immediately the boy who had
handed Eric his Caesar, began reading a few sentences, and construed
them very creditably, only losing a place or two. He had a frank open
face, bright intelligent fearless eyes, and a very taking voice and
manner. Eric listened admiringly and felt sure he should like him.
Barker was put on next. He bungled through the Latin in a grating
irresolute sort of a way, with several false quantities, for each of
which the next boy took him up. Then he began to construe;--a frightful
confusion of nominatives without verbs, accusatives translated as
ablatives, and perfects turned into prepositions ensued, and after a
hopeless flounder, during which Mr. Gordon left him entirely to himself,
Barker came to a full stop; his catastrophe was so ludicrous, that Eric
could not help joining in the general titter Barker scowled.
“As usual, Barker,” said the master, with a curl of the lip. “Hold out
your hand!”
Barker did so, looking sullen defiance, and the cane immediately
descended on his open palm. Six similar cuts followed, during which the
form looked on, not without terror; and Barker, squeezing his hands
tight together, went back to his seat.
“Williams, translate the piece in which Barker has just failed!”
Eric did as he was bid, and got through it pretty well. He had now quite
recovered his ordinary bearing, and spoke out clearly and without
nervousness. He afterwards won several places by answering questions,
and at the end of the lesson was marked about half-way up the form. The
boys’ numbers were then taken down in the weekly register, and they went
back to their seats.
On his desk Eric found a torn bit of paper, on which was clumsily
scrawled, “I’ll teach you to grin when I’m turned, you young brute.”
The paper seemed to fascinate his eyes. He stared at it fixedly, and
augured ominously of Barker’s intentions, since that worthy obviously
alluded to his having smiled in form, and chose to interpret it as an
intentional provocation. He felt that he was in for it, and that Barker
meant to pick a quarrel with him. This puzzled and annoyed him, and he
felt very sad to have found an enemy already.
While he was looking at the paper, the great school-clock struck twelve;
and the captain of the form getting up, threw open the folding-doors of
the school-room.
“You may go,” said Mr. Gordon; and leaving his seat disappeared by a
door at the further end of the room.
Instantly there was a rash for caps, and the boys poured out in a
confused and noisy stream, while at the same moment the other
school-rooms disgorged their inmates. Eric naturally went out among the
last; but just as he was going to take his cap, Barker seized it, and
flung it with a whoop to the end of the passage, where it was trampled
on by a number of the boys as they ran out.
Eric, gulping down his fury with a great effort, turned to his opponent,
and said coolly, “Is that what you always do to new fellows?”
“Yes, you bumptious young owl, it is, and that too;” and a tolerably
smart slap on the face followed--leaving a red mark on a cheek already
aflame with, anger and indignation,--“should you like a little more?”
He was hurt, both mind and body, but was too proud to cry. “What’s that
for?” he said, with flashing eyes.
“For your conceit in laughing at me when I was caned.”
Eric stamped. “I did nothing of the kind, and you know it as well as I
do.”
“What! I’m a liar, am I? O we shall take this kind of thing out of you,
you young cub--take that;” and a heavier blow followed.
“You brutal cowardly bully,” shouted Eric; and in another moment he
would have sprung upon him. It was lucky for him that he did not, for
Barker was three years older than he, and very powerful. Such an attack
would hare been most unfortunate for him in every way. But at this
instant some boys hearing the quarrel ran up, and Russell among them.
“Hallo, Barker,” said one, “what’s up?”
“Why, I’m teaching this new fry to be less bumptious, that’s all.”
“Shame!” said Russell, as he saw the mark on Eric’s cheek; “what a
fellow you are, Barker. Why couldn’t you leave him alone for his first
day, at any rate?”
“What’s that to you? I’ll kick you too, if you say much.”
“Cavè, cavè!” whispered half a dozen voices, and instantly the knot of
boys dispersed in every direction, as Mr. Gordon was seen approaching.
He had caught a glimpse of the scene without understanding it, and
seeing the new boy’s red and angry face, he only said, as he passed by,
“What, Williams! fighting already? Take care.”
This was the cruellest cut of all. “So,” thought Eric, “a nice
beginning! it seems both boys and masters are against me;” and very
disconsolately he walked to pick up his cap.
The boys were all dispersed in the play-ground at different games, and
as he went home he was stopped perpetually, and had to answer the usual
questions, “What’s your name? Are you a boarder or a day scholar? What
form are you in?” Eric expected all this, and it therefore did not annoy
him. Under any other circumstances, he would have answered cheerfully
and frankly enough; but now he felt miserable at his morning’s
rencontre, and his answers were short and sheepish, his only desire
being to get away as soon as possible. It was an additional vexation to
feel sure that his manner did not make a favorable impression.
Before he had got out of the play ground, Russell ran up to him. “I’m
afraid you won’t like this, or think much of us, Williams,” he said.
“But never mind. It’ll only last a day or two, and the fellows are not
so bad as they seem; except that Barker. I’m sorry you’ve come across
him, but it can’t be helped.”
It was the first kind word he had had since the morning, and after his
troubles kindness melted him. He felt half inclined to cry, and for a
few moments could say nothing in reply to Russell’s soothing words. But
the boy’s friendliness went far to comfort him, and at last, shaking
hands with him, he said--
“Do let me speak to you sometimes, while I am a new boy, Russell.”
“O yes,” said Russell, laughing, “as much as ever you like. And as
Barker hates me pretty much as he seems inclined to hate you, we are in
the same box. Good bye.”
So Eric left the field, and wandered home, like Calchas in the Iliad,
“Sorrowful by the side of the sounding sea.” Already the purple mantle
had fallen from his ideal of schoolboy life. He got home later than they
expected, and found his parents waiting for him. It was rather
disappointing to them to see his face so melancholy, when they expected
him to be full of animation and pleasure. Mrs. Williams drew her own
conclusions from the red mark on his cheek, as well as the traces of
tears welling to his eyes; but, like a wise mother, she asked nothing,
and left the boy to tell his own story,--which, in time he did, omitting
all the painful part, speaking enthusiastically of Russell, and only
admitting that he had been a little teased.