FREDDY'S NEW SCHOOL.
More than three years have passed since Mary's probation ended so
pleasantly, and they have very much changed her father.
Perhaps we ought to say that the gentle influence of his wife and close
association with her family, had to a certain extent softened down the
rugged points of his character, and made him more amenable to the usages
of the society in which he moved. The very fact of his choosing for a
wife a woman of education and refinement proved that his tastes were
above his position, for in the days of which we write, the idea of
refinement in the wife of a tradesman would have been treated with
incredulity, if not contempt.
During this period the death of Mrs. Armstrong's mother, Mrs. St. Clair,
was the only change that occurred in his wife's family. The house at
Richmond was given up, and Mary greatly missed the society of her dear
grandmamma, and the pleasant visits to her house; but she still
constantly associated with her aunts and uncles.
Among the changes of opinion which had by degrees crushed down Mr.
Armstrong's prejudices and crotchets, were two important ones, not
perhaps in themselves, but in their results. He took a house for his
family at Kilburn, which was then a really rural suburb of London.
Sometimes he would ride into town to his business, or take the newly
established omnibus which left that locality in time for business hours.
This arrangement led to the less important change from an early to a
late dinner, and also to the choice of a school for his youngest boy,
Freddy, now in his eighth year. The child's health had always suffered
in London, and as, since their residence in the country, he appeared so
much better, Mrs Armstrong wished him to remain at home and go daily to
a school in the neighbourhood.
It was not long before a circular found its way from Englefield Grange
School to Lime Grove, as Mr. Armstrong's residence was named, from two
magnificent lime-trees which stood as sentinels on each side the
entrance gate, in summer filling the air with their sweet fragrance.
Mrs. Armstrong decided to call upon the principal, Dr. Halford, herself,
and with all a mother's anxiety talk to him about her boy.
Her own health had wonderfully improved during the six months of her
residence at Kilburn. The open country--for houses then were few and far
between--the sweet fresh air, the pleasant walks, gave her, as it were,
new life, and last, but not least, the six o'clock dinner suited her
better than a late supper. Mr. Armstrong would sometimes tell her she
was growing young again, and it may be understood well how her relatives
rejoiced over the change in her husband's opinions which had brought
about such pleasant results. This improved state of health enabled Mrs.
Armstrong to array herself fearlessly in warm winter clothing, and
venture out in the cold frosty air a few weeks after Christmas, to call
upon Dr. Halford. The distance along the country road was very trifling,
and she had more than once noticed the large old-fashioned house which
stood back from the road, surrounded by playgrounds, orchards, and a
farmyard, all visible to the passer-by.
The vacation was nearly at an end, and the house, with its large
dormitories and schoolrooms, in perfect readiness for the return of Dr.
Halford's pupils. Its clean and well-furnished appearance satisfied the
rather fastidious lady, although she had no intention of sending her boy
as a boarder. She had been conducted to a pleasant drawing-room
overlooking a beautiful prospect at the back of the house, and instead
of taking the chair placed for her she advanced to the window to admire
the view. While thus standing, she almost started as the door opened and
the doctor entered.
A mildly speaking man, above the middle height, with silvery hair and
keen intellectual eyes, advanced to greet the visitor, who quickly
discerned that the schoolmaster, of whose erudition she had heard so
much, was truly a gentleman of the old school. The cavalier deference in
his manner to women, the old-fashioned courtesy with which he requested
Mrs. Armstrong to be seated, and addressed her as "Madam," were
essentially pleasing to that lady. They were soon quite at home on the
subject of education, and Dr. Halford added no little to the
prepossession he had created by listening to her anxieties respecting
Freddy's health with courteous interest.
"You have children of your own, Dr. Halford?" said Mrs. Armstrong, in a
tone of inquiry.
"I have two living, madam; a son and a daughter. My son is being
educated for the Church, but at present he assists me in my school."
"And your daughter in the domestic arrangements, I presume," said the
lady, with a kind of wish to know whether other men were as anxious over
that point as her husband.
"She was accustomed to do so before her marriage," he replied, "but she
has resided for several years with her husband in Australia. My son is
much younger than his sister. She is the eldest of seven, and he the
youngest."
Mrs. Armstrong mentally reflected on the sorrowful loss of five
children, which must have caused such a terrible gap between the only
surviving son and daughter, for there had been a sadness in his tone
when he last spoke. Her own sympathies were too strong, and the memory
of the loss of two children since Freddy, too painful still to allow her
to continue the subject, so she said--
"When do you commence school again, Dr. Halford?"
"On Monday, madam," was the reply. "Would you like to see the
schoolrooms and dining-rooms?" he added, "as your little boy is to dine
with us."
Mrs. Armstrong gladly assented, and on her way to these apartments met
Mrs. Halford, with whom she was equally pleased to make acquaintance.
After a stay of nearly an hour, she at last took her leave of the doctor
and his wife, saying--
"I shall send my little boy on Monday week, Dr. Halford, not before, and
I feel sure he will make progress under your care, and be quite happy."
The terms for so young a pupil were not of such great importance as to
justify Dr. Halford's pleasure at this addition to his numbers, but he
had been as quick to detect a gentlewoman in Mrs. Armstrong as she had
been respecting himself. Besides, he had heard rumours already of the
wealth and good connexions of the family at Lime Grove, and the latter
fact was more especially agreeable to him.
A clergyman who is a schoolmaster and his wife are both often well born
and well connected though poor, and naturally they prefer to teach boys
who learn refinement and good breeding at home, to those who are perhaps
better paid for by parents who think everything, even intellect and good
manners, can be obtained for money.
Mrs. Armstrong returned home at a quick pace; the pleasure she felt at
being able to place her delicate Freddy with such nice people, and the
fresh bracing air of the cold morning, invigorated her so greatly that
Mary, who met her in the hall, exclaimed--
"Why, mamma, you look quite young and blooming, and as happy as if you
had heard pleasant news!"
"Well, dear, I think I have, for Dr. Halford is one of the nicest
schoolmasters I ever met with, rather of the old school in manners, but
not in the least pedantic, and I like Mrs. Halford exceedingly, there is
such a kind, motherly way about her, and they are both really well
bred."
"So I suppose you intend Freddy to go there to school, mamma?" said
Mary.
"Yes, indeed I do, my dear; and I am so pleased with the house and the
arrangements, that if the Grange were not too near home, I should like
to send Arthur and Edward as boarders. But I begin to feel rather tired,
darling," she added, throwing herself into an easy-chair, "although the
fresh bracing air seems to have given me new life."
"Ah, yes, so it may," cried Mary, "but, mamma, I can see you are tired;
all the bright colour on your checks is beginning to fade already, so
you must sit quite still in that chair till luncheon time; it will soon
be ready, and I will take off your things and carry them upstairs while
you rest."
The fairies of old are still Mary's attendants; gently and quickly she
removed her mother's bonnet and wraps, and running upstairs with them,
returned in a very few minutes with her head-dress, which she arranged
tastefully on the pale brown hair, still worn in side curls as in the
days of her youth.
Mrs. Armstrong has not yet reached the age of forty, and the delicate
health of the last few years has only rendered her fair complexion more
delicate and her physical powers weaker, without adding age to her
appearance or a single grey hair to the shining curls which hang on each
side of her face.
As Mary Armstrong stands by her mother, smoothing the soft ringlets, it
is plainly to be seen that the pretty child of twelve has developed into
a very beautiful woman. At the age of eighteen she resembles her mother
only in complexion, eyes, and hair. Her features, though as regular, are
not so delicately chiselled, they are larger and more marked; and in
this, as in an expression of calm decision, the resemblance to her
father is very striking. It is when she smiles, and her blue eyes light
up with pleasure and interest, that strangers often exclaim, "How like
you are to your mother, Miss Armstrong!" Mary has grown very little
since the time when her cousin named her "Cinderella," but she looks
taller, partly on account of her figure having fully developed into
rounded proportions, but principally because the curls have disappeared.
They have been tortured into plaits and massive coils at the back of her
head, but true to Nature they often rebel, and escape here and there in
the form of ringlets--often unnoticed by their owner, but when pointed
out to her they are unceremoniously pushed back.
Mary is still influenced by the words of her father; he once said to
her, "Mary, can you not arrange your hair as other girls do? those long
curls are too childish at your age."
From this moment, to her mother's great regret, she, as it was then
called, "turned up her hair" in the way we have described.
Her aunts approved, because this arrangement was less singular and more
fashionable, which latter fact would have greatly surprised Mr.
Armstrong. At all events, they differed from him in one respect still.
When the rebellious hair would escape from the plaits in stray ringlets
while in the company of her aunts, Mary had at first attempted to reduce
them to submission, but she was quickly interrupted. "Leave your hair
alone, Mary," her aunt Herbert exclaimed; "why, those stray ringlets are
most effective, and quite an improvement to the appearance of your head.
Surely your father will not object to what is natural; if you curled it
in paper every night to produce an effect, then he might complain or
disapprove."
Mary laughed, but when visiting at her aunt's she allowed Nature to act
as she pleased. Yet at home there seemed no happier task to the young
girl than to give way to every wish of her father, whether openly
expressed or slightly hinted at, no matter to what it referred. It was a
kind of hero-worship in the girl's heart. Her father was her hero, and
the fact that she did not love him with the same clinging fondness as
she loved her mother was quite unknown to herself.
Mary Armstrong certainly obeyed the command, "Honour thy father and thy
mother;" yet in the family at Lime Grove there was still one thing
wanting, "the perfect love that casteth out fear."
The principles of honour, rectitude, truthfulness, generosity, and other
moral virtues were cultivated in Mary's home, but the "charity, or
love," without which, St. Paul tells us, all our doings are as "sounding
brass and tinkling cymbals," was wanting. Love to God and love to man,
on which "hang all the law and the commandments," were known only in
theory.
Mary Armstrong had yet to learn that to her Father in heaven she must
turn in trouble and sorrow, and in future days she might have said
almost in the words of Wolsey, "Had I but served my Father in heaven as
diligently as I studied to please my father on earth, He would not have
forsaken me now in my hour of sorrow." And yet for these days of trial
Mary at last could feel thankful. Christianity in her home had been an
acknowledged fact. Its outward duties, its moral principles, were all
inculcated; but when our daily life passes smoothly, untroubled, by
sorrow or poverty, which is, perhaps, the hardest trial of all to bear,
especially when accompanied by sickness and pain, we are apt to forget
the sweet principle of love to God and love to man which, St. Paul tells
us, "is the fulfilling of the law;" and Mary Armstrong's life hitherto
had known no trials more painful than those caused by her father's
eccentricities.