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Afr The Baldwin Library R m UnivcrrUity SmfB + -1- r, "ll-r ~ -.... . .... . I I II ,, Something shot over Mrs. Pearson's head, grazing her cap. It was only the monkey, but in her alarm she took it for something much more terrible.- STORIES OF WHITMIINSTER, p. 43. (Frontispiece.) STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. BY ASCOTT R. HOPE. AUTHOR OF "GEORGE'S ENEMIES," "MY SCHOOLBOY FRIENDS," "STORIES OF SCHOOL LIFE," "A BOOK ABOUT BOYS," ETC. EDINBURGH: WILLIAM P. NIMMO, 1873- EDINBUPnGH PRINTED BY M'FARLANE AND ERSKINE, (late Schenck &- M'Farlate,) ST JAMES' SQUARE. SAVE you forgot the nursery beds On which we laid our curly heads, And whispered stories, each to each, My Brother! Now Time has done its work for each, In straightened locks and sobered speech, And other lips now claim your love As Husband I All richest blessing crown your love On earth below and heaven above; All joy be hers whom now I name, My Sister I May other boys soon bear our name, And other curly heads, the same As once were ours, crowd round your knee, A Father 1 And, as they come about your knee, When tired of childish sport and glee, Tell them these tales, and talk of me, Their Uncle I TATTERSHALL, WYly 5, 1878. CONTENTS. THE FAVOURITE, THE BURGLAR, . TOM, DICK, AND HARRY, A HISTORY OF HAMPERS,' THE MISFORTUNES OF AN ELEVEN, CUPBOARD LOVE, LITTLE MONKEYS, ST VALENTINE'S DAY, . PAGE S49 77 S107 53 S191 . 237 S 281 PREFACE. WOULD have my readers to understand that when the time drew near for sending this kite of mine into the air, I had meditated and partly written down the heads of certain somewhat serious observations which might serve for a tail, to steady it, as it were, and to explain to all who might be interested in the matter why I had written in such and such a strain, why I had fixed my scene in such a place, why I had touched upon this feature of schoolboy life and not on that, why I had laughed and not cried over one or the other folly; and how, whether I laughed or cried, I would ndt have written a line if my purpose had only been to raise thought- less laughter. Then I had intended to give a hint vi PREFACE. or two to the critics who should condescend to take notice of these apparently frivolous narratives, deli- cately suggesting the passages where they ought to admire, warning them off the features which I defy them to censure, thanking them for past encourage- ment and advice, and politely remonstrating with them in particulars where I think some of them may be led to see that they have treated me too cavalierly. In fact, my preface was to have been the most weighty and not the least remarkable portion of the present work. But when the day came that I was summoned to prepare it for the press, it happened that I was staying in the country with some friends, who, as is their wont, were singularly kind, and that the weather, as is not its wont, was singularly fine; and it was sweet to wander on the green banks of the full flow- ing Thames, and lie on the new-mown hay beneath the hawthorn shade, and dream of all things in heaven and earth except work or winter; and, in fact, it struck me that the public cared as little for reading prefaces as I for writing them, and that if my tales cannot make themselves understood, they do not PREFACE. deserve any explanation of what was intended to be their purport; so I resolved to do without the pro- posed tail altogether, and to send up my kite at once, with only these few ornamental tags to it. If any of my schoolboy friends grudge the loss of the grave discourse with which I had wished to treat them, I must say that they are very hard on me, and I only hope that all of them are less idle than I am this hot weather. This very day I am going back to my desk, where, before I can get any further holidays, I have to write an imposition of nearly ten thousand lines, which must be shown up to my young masters next Christmas, and I am sure they will not be willing to let me off this new task; for if the present tales seem tame and uninteresting, as compared with much of the popular literature of the day, I can promise that no one shall have the. same fault Sto find with the forthcoming work, with a view to which I have carefully studied the taste of the juve- nile public, and shall do my best to gratify it in my new "CHRISTMAS ANNUAL," containing a large quantity of tomahawkings, shipwrecks, fights, ghosts, PREFACE. grizzly bears, savages, escapes, and other wonderful adventures by flood and field, after the models of the most approved authors. The following pages are very ordinary stories of ordinary boys at an ordinary school, and contain nothing but ordinary incidents and reflections, which, nevertheless, may be thought worthy of more than the ordinary attention bestowed on such matters. But I have already explained that I am not going to write a long preface, so I will at once leave my readers to make the acquaintance of my stories for themselves, or at least will only pause tp introduce them in the slightly altered words of an old poet- Have me excused if I do not please; My will is good, and lo I my tales are these." A. R. H. THE FAVOURITE. A THE FAVOURITE. HAVE heard of schools to which boys return after the holidays without regret-nay, with delight-seeming to find home quite a dull place in comparison. Whether it be that these schools are different from the schools I have known, or that these boys are not the same as the sort of boys we used to be, I cannot tell; but I am sure we were not so fond of returning to Whitminster. Per- haps we had more work and less play there, not so much liberty, and not so great a choice of amuse- ments; not such good food, or such abundant pocket- money, as the young Sybarites of the present day. At all events, when we used to assemble for the first time in the big, bare boys' room of our boarding- house, a collection of somewhat long faces would be 4 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. visible, and the boldest of us might perhaps have confessed to having shed just one or two little tears when saying good-bye that dismal morning. I am speaking of the rule; there were exceptions. The most common of these was the case of a little fellow coming to school for the first time, brimful of spirits and kindliness, rejoicing in his emancipa- tion from the nursery, and his admission into a paradise of freedom, of which he has heard such glowing accounts from companions who have them- selves penetrated into the land of schoolboydom, and report it full of milk and honey, saying nothing about the gall and wormwood which in this part of the world also abound. He is eager to enjoy these privileges; he can't understand how any one should be sorry to come back to school. He hungers for companionship, and does not doubt that all the other boys are as glad to see him as he is to see them. With amusing simplicity, he at once allies himself to the biggest and most formidable boys in the school; he sports playfully round the den of Bruiser, that notorious bully, and hesitates not to address the great Augustus de Collars, who shaves twice a day, and has trousers constructed in London on the most scientific principles. Some of these oldsters, perhaps, THE FA VOURITE. 5 repulse his advances with more or less stiffness or indignation; others, more good-natured, smile at the little fellow's innocence, and, with sage wags of the head, prophesy that he won't be so enthusiastic the next time he comes back to school. For my part, I am always touched by such frankness and trustful- ness, knowing what chills will soon fall on the warm, young heart. And then one can't help thinking of the future day, when the same heart will have passed though its schoolboy trials, and, with the same hope- fulness and confidence, will be going out into the great world, expecting to find there nothing but freedom and fun and friendliness, and learning in due time the bitter lesson of experience-what the real life of boy and man is in this great school of ours, where, for some threescore years or so at the most, we make shift to spell out our lessons, and are happy only if we can contrive to be ignorant, or for a little to forget how many heartless bullies and stern masters and hard tasks and cruel punish- 'ments we have to suffer as manfully as may be, hoping surely for the day when at length, for the last time, we shall quit our state of bondage and probation, and no longer be mocked by the names of love and liberty. 6 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. This is moralising something more than may seem fit; but when you come to think about it, there is a great deal to think about in a boy's first going to school. What I was going on to say was, that never did a new boy seem more cheerful and chatty than Harry Kennedy did the first day he made his appearance in the schoolhouse at Whitminster. He was not nine years old, and had never been to school before, but from the very first he took as kindly to it as a duck to the water. In his case, there was no trembling or wistful looking back to the cosy nest of the nursery; but, under the wing of his elder brother George, he trotted about, eager to see the school- room and the dormitories and the playground of which he had heard so much, and to make acquain- tance with these wonderful boys to whom he was prepared to open all his honest little heart so fully. And the fellows took to him at once. George was decidedly a favourite among them, and this, of course, went far towards securing for his younger brother a more kindly reception than new boys generally meet with; but Harry needed no help of this sort as soon as it was seen what a merry and manly little chap he was. Some amusement was caused by his sim- plicity, but he was the first to join the laugh against THE FA VOURITE. himself, though George, jealous of the family reputa- tion, indignantly declared that in two or three weeks he would be more of a schoolboy than half the fellows who were making fun of him. So any one might have foretold who saw the sturdy urchin, with his light hair and frank blue eyes, laughing and chattering among a group of his new companions, without the least fear or shyness, yet without that boisterous swaggering manner which boys, and men too, often assume to conceal false shame. Even Mr Vialls, our master, was taken by his round happy face, and stopped to speak to him in quite a gentle tone of voice, though, as a rule, Mr Vialls was any- thing but a sucking-dove. "So you are young Kennedy, are you ?" "Yes," said Harry, as bold as if he were talking to an ordinary mortal. "What is your name, please?" "My name?" said the master, sitting down and taking Harry on his knee, while the other boys looked on wonderingly,-" My name is Vialls." Oh, Vialls I've heard of you. You're the master who is so fond of licking the fellows, aren't you ?" The boys expected the ceiling to fall and crush this impious child, but Mr Vialls did not call for a thunderbolt, and said, quietly- 8 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "You must call me Mr Vialls when you speak to me." "All right, Mr Vialls! Do you know, you are very like the curate at our place ?" "Indeed!" "Yes, you are. The other day he was going over a field behind Mr Burton's house, and the Burtons' bull ran at him, and he tumbled down, and they let Carlo our big dog out, and it made the bull run away. You can't think what a splendid fellow Carlo is! I suppose you never saw Carlo?" Harry rattled on. " He's black all over except his two front paws, and they are white; and papa says he has more sense than many men have; and oh! he's such .a fine dog. I wish you could see him. You must come and see us in the holidays, and I'll show you Carlo. Why did you never come to see George in the holidays ?" "I am afraid he sees enough of me here," said Mr Vialls, putting the boy down and hastily walking away. "I say, Harry, you mustn't go on with the masters that way," exclaimed George, as soon as he was out of hearing. "You must call him 'sir,' and not talk so free and easy to him. I never heard of such a thing! What a little donkey you are !" THE FA VO URITE. 9 But though George thought fit thus to rebuke Harry, he went about all the afternoon saying, quite proudly- "Have you heard what my young brother said to Vialls ?" While pretending not to care much about it, he was delighted by the favourable impression the little fellow was making, and looked after him more care- fully than he wished to show. Didn't he flare up presently when he found that Abbing had got hold of Harry as a promising subject to exercise his talents upon ? "You must go to the door of that room," Abbing was saying; "be sure you knock at the right one. Then go in without waiting for an answer,-we always do,-and say, 'Look here, Vialls; I've come for a pint-and-a-half of strap-oil.' All the new fellows are bound to go and ask him for some, and you "- "DROP THAT!" roared George, swooping down upon this confabulation. "I say, Abbing, if I catch you trying to humbug my brother, I'll give you a hiding that will make you howl for a month. So you had better not try it on." And Master Abbing thought it as well to acquiesce in this arrangement, and slunk off in search of some 10 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. other new fellow less adequately protected against his devices. In due time came tea, and Harry confirmed the favourable impression he had already made on his new friends, by appearing with a large pot of jam under each arm. One of these he offered to the big boys, which these young gentlemen were pleased to accept with much graciousness; the other he distri- buted among his own contemporaries at the lower end of the table, and found all of them very anxious for the honour of his acquaintance. So liberally did he dispense the jam, that there was none left for himself; " But then, I've had lots to-day already," he explained to his next neighbour, who was none other than Abbing. "Do you like butter ?" asked Abbing. "Yes. Doyou?" "Not much. I'll sell you mine for a penny a week, if you like." I'm much obliged to you; but George told me not to make any bargains without telling him," said sen- sible little Harry. This silenced Abbing for the moment, but presently he returned to the charge again, and offered to eat an inch of tallow-candle if Harry would give him two- THE FA VOURITE. 11 pence. Receiving again a polite refusal to this pro- position, he applied himself to his bread-and-jam. Then the boy on Harry's other side, by name Prior, as it seemed, attempted to take up the conversation. "Have you seen my brother's watch ?" he said, solemnly, as if he were speaking of an eighth wonder of the world. N," said Harry; "but George has a splendid watch at home, and he is to be allowed to bring it next term." "Whose form are you to be in, young Kennedy?" somebody called out from the other side of the table. I don't know; but I'll ask George," quoth Harry. "I say, don't stick to me so much, and don't be always talking about me," growled George to him more than once during the evening. Go among the fellows of your own size, and you'll soon get on with them." But though he gave this good advice, George was always coming to see how the youngster was doing; and if he did not do well, it certainly would not be for want of patronage. No, indeed. For the next thing was, that Mrs Pear- son sent to ask the two Kennedys to supper with her. 12 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "My eye!" declared George; "I never heard of such a thing. I say, Harry, you are going to be a favourite with Mother P. I'm not. Whenever I go into her room she says my boots are dirty, and sends me to take them off. She never asked me to supper before!" I wish I hadn't eaten all that toffee," was the re- mark of Phillips, who had also been asked. "There's a roast duck; Eliza told me," said Prior, with great seriousness. He hadn't been asked. The boys who were fortunate enough to have re- ceived such an invitation washed their hands, brushed their hair, put on their best behaviour, and repaired to Mrs Pearson's parlour. But before they entered it, George suddenly caught his brother by the arm, and dragged him back to whisper into his ear- Look here Don't you kiss her, remember." "All right! I know!" replied Harry, with much dignity. Few boys entered this parlour without a certain amount of awe, such as humble individuals may be supposed to experience in the presence-chamber of a queen. Mrs Pearson, with her cap and curls, made a very imposing monarch, and received the homage of her subjects in such a way as not to encourage fami- liarity. But while George fidgeted uneasily on the THE FA VOURITE. edge of his chair, and said, "Yes, ma'am," and No, ma'am," and did not venture to eat as much as he should have liked to, Harry at once made himself as much at home here as he had done in the schoolroom. He played with the cat, and asked for more sugar to his tart, and told stories about Carlo, and laughed and chattered at such a rate that his big brother was lost in amazement at his audacity, and wondered if this was the Harry who wasn't allowed to go in the boat at home, and had to change his boots when they were wet, and mightn't even meddle with the pony unless somebody was by. The only person Harry showed the least fear for was Dr Pearson, the para- lysed and superannuated Head-master of Whitminster, who silently dozed in his chair all the evening, and by his very presence cast a shade of awe over the liveliest disposition. But Mrs Pearson seemed far from displeased at the boy's familiarity, for when he said good-night, she patted him on the head, and gave him a handful of macaroons, and told him he must come to tea with her some night soon. I say, Harry, you must look out," said George, rather crossly, as they were coming away from this banquet. You'll be becoming a regular favourite." S"Oh, no I shan't," said Harry, understanding from 14 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. his tone that the character of "favourite" was an un- desirable one. Mrs Pearson, it will be known, with all her merits, had one fault-a rather serious fault in the eyes of some of her subjects, but one which was more than venial, if the opinion of others should be taken. She was too fond of taking an exclusive interest in certain boys, and treating them with more kindness than the rest- Some favoured two or three, The little Crichtons of the hour Her muffin-medals who devour, And swill her prize-bohea." What with tea and supper and macaroons, and other miscellaneous refreshments partaken of at vari- ous periods during the day, one might think Harry had had enough to eat for that night. But he did not seem to think so, for he arrived in the dormitory with a goodly-sized cake in his hands, the sight of which immediately caused him to be surrounded by an ad miring and appreciative circle. "Shall I lend you my knife ?" slid Prior, in a busi- ness-like tone. Harry accepted this offer, cut up the cake, and dis- tributed the whole of it on the spot, giving the largest THE FA VOURITE. 15 piece to young Davis, who was crying underneath the blankets and thinking of his mamma, from whom he had parted that day for the first time in his life. So Harry's first day at school was a success, and he was not less liked the more the boys saw of him. Having been brought up among a family of brothers, he had none of the self-will and pettishness which new boys often find it so hard to get rid of, and his natural high spirits and cheerfulness had full play from the beginning. He soon got into the ways of his new life, after making a few mistakes of a kind that ex- cited some good-humoured amusement, and were long remembered and repeated for the benefit of other new boys. .The first of these mistakes was when, on his first morning at school, he heard the boys calling out their places in the form, and thought they were telling their ages, though he wondered if Prior was really fourteen, and if Abbing, who called out "six," could be younger than himself. So, when his turn came, he jumped up and cried, "Eight and a quarter," and looked very knowing, and then was a little disconcerted to find that everybody was laughing at him. "What a little stupid you were! exclaimed George 16 STORIES OF WIHITMINSTER. when he heard of it; for George did not like any member of the Kennedcy family being laughed at. "Well, how was I to know?" protested Harry, open-eyed. "Oh you ought to have known," said George, with true schoolboy logic. "Next time, remember, when they call your name, you have to give your mark in the form; and when it's the first thing in the morning, that's calling the roll, and you must sing out 'Adsum.' Do you hear? And if any of the mas- ters speaks to you, you must say 'sir,' and you must touch your hat to them. This morning, when you met Vialls, I saw you grinning at him like a young baboon. You'll know what to do next time." "I knew I ought to touch my hat, but I forgot," declared Harry, fixing this good advice in his mind. Now that very day he found an opportunity of putting it into practice, when he happened to come upon Mr Vialls in the street. The master was talk- ing to a gentleman, and had his back turned to Harry as he passed, so he did not notice the ceremonious salute which was made him. Harry didn't know what to do then, but he decided on walking back and repeating his obeisance, and finding it still unnoticed, he walked round Mr Vialls, taking off his cap in front THE FA VOURITE. 17 of him, to right and left of him, and finally, in despair, going behind again and giving him a poke in the back. "Eh! what's the matter ?" asked the master, turn- ing abruptly round, and not looking very pleased at this mode of greeting on the part of a small boy. "I wanted to touch my hat to you," said Harry, at length, performing the proper ceremony to his own satisfaction, and then cheerfully running away, and Leaving Mr Vialls lost in astonishment. It was a long time before Harry heard the end of these two stories, and there was another which stuck to him still more closely. The master of his form-our old friend Paddy Williamson-was putting the small boys through their paces in reading and spelling, and in due course asked Harry to spell "kangaroo." Harry stopped fidgeting about on the form, bent all his small mind to the task, and got through it suc- cessfully; and then Mr Williamson asked him what a kangaroo was. Though he had been such a short time at school, he had imbibed a notion that it was illegal to ask another question of a boy who had just answered right, so he looked at the master as if in doubt whether he was being spoken to. "Come, Kennedy what is a kangaroo ?" "MAe, sir? "said Harry. 18 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "A very good answer," replied Mr Williamson, and all the boys laughed; and from that day frisky Harry Kennedy was known by no other name than "The Kangaroo," in spite of strong opposition on the part of George, who, in the end, found him- self obliged to acquiesce in the title of "Kangaroo Primus." Mr Williamson came to be just as fond of the young kangaroo as anybody, though the favour of that conscientious instructor was not very valuable, inas- much as it was apt to show itself by extra attentions in the way of detentions and canings. So some of us used to think Mrs Pearson's patronage was better worth having, for the youngster who was fortunate enough to conciliate her esteem, came in for invita- tions to tea and supper, and promiscuous benefactions of cake, and all sorts of indulgences. Without being less merry and playful, Harry very soon learned not to be so free-and-easy in his dealings with per- sons in authority, and advanced proportionably in the good graces of our mistress. In the course of a week or two, he was quite as much at home in her parlour as he had ever been in the nursery; and as by great good luck he didn't break anything, and always treated Mrs Pearson with much natural THE FA VOURITE. politeness, she wrote to his mother, pronouncing him to be the sweetest, dearest, best-behaved little fellow. Harry, for his part, liked Mrs Pearson well enough, though, to tell the truth, he would just as lief have spent his evenings in the big cold schoolroom, where the other small boys were romping about, as in the cosy warm parlour, where, if you did get cake and buttered toast, you had to sit very quiet, and not speak too loud for fear of awakening the old Doctor. And occasionally Harry had cause to wish that Mrs Pearson would not distinguish him by her special care; as, for instance, when he was sallying out with some other boys, and the maid was sent after him to say that the grass was too wet, and that he was to come back and sit in the drawing-room with Mrs Pearson. Then Harry felt rather annoyed, and some- what inclined to kick the good lady's shins as she took him on her lap, and wished with all his heart that she wasn't so fond of him, and envied the Priors, "those dreadful boys," who might go out in any amount of rain or mud without her minding it. But he soon got over his anger, and consoled himself by playing with the monkey. For Mrs Pearson, in spite of her dislike to "dreadful boys," actually kept a monkey in a gilt cage, that generally stood in the 20 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. parlour. She would not have been well pleased if she had known that the boys who were honoured by invitations to visit her were generally more inter- ested in the monkey than in its mistress, but such was the truth. Lopez-that was his name-was a spiteful, restless-looking little imp, whose tricks were extremely amusing, and very mischievous too when- ever he got a chance. Once a month or so he succeeded in escaping from his cage, and the whole household would turn out in pursuit, which, after lasting for half-an-hour, to the great delight of the small boys, would terminate in Lopez being brought back, scratching and squealing, to the arms of his mistress, who would scold and fondle him by turns, and behave very oddly for a respectable old lady of sixty, we thought. But I am growing ill-natured. Peace be with thee, Mrs Pearson, and thy foibles! And peace be with thee, Lopez Thy fate was a sad one. A large pot of pea-soup-the custom always of a Wednesday forenoon-was on the fire; Lopez somehow or other got free; his curiosity carried him too far, and-I shudder to tell the rest. Enough that Lessing, our jester, was justified in saying that his end waspeas. But it is not this tragic part that Lopez has to play in the present story. THE FA VOURITE. Lopez was considered to exhibit a striking like- ness to the youngest of the Priors, mentioned above, and he was very like his elder brothers, so you will have some idea of the characters who are next going to be introduced to you. There were three Priors, with about a year's difference in age between each of them, and they were known as Pry, Prior, and Primus. Mrs Pearson didn't approve of the Priors, who were rough-and-tough little fellows, not great cultivators of drawing-room graces, and for that reason perhaps more fit to shine in schoolboy society. Harry liked them very well, especially Pry and Prior, who were his companions in the small-boys' dormitory, or "cubs' den," at the bottom of the stairs, and had won his hearty admiration by such feats of courage and agility as are within the reach of a nine-year-old athlete. Now Mrs Pearson, who kept away from the dormi- tories as a rule, sometimes paid these small boys a visit, to tuck up one of her favourites in bed, or administer a potion, or see that all was going on properly. And one night, hearing Harry cough, she was so concerned for him, that she manufactured a treacle posset, and took it to him when she thought he should have got into bed. But when she opened 22 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. the door, she was horrified to find her invalid engaged in a desperate pillow-fight with young Pry, while all the other fellows stood round in a ring, and were so engrossed in witnessing the combat, that they did not notice her entrance. She stood there with a frown on her brow, and the treacle posset in her hand, till she beheld her friend Harry laid prostrate by a well- directed blow from his antagonist, and Pry, flushed with triumph, looked up to see her indignant eye, as she rushed forward to interpose, and sent the little crowd flying off to their beds with looks of consterna- tion and a little shame-faced laughing. Silence, boys!" said Mrs Pearson. Is this a way for young gentlemen to behave in their bedroom ?" The young gentlemen were all undressing so fast, that they did not seem to care to answer the question, and Mrs Pearson, with rising wrath, addressed herself to young Prior. Aren't you ashamed of bringing your rough, bully- ing tricks here ? I wonder the others would stand by and let you ill-treat a new boy so abominably." Prior opened his mouth and said nothing. He was a better hand at pillow-fighting than at arguing, and for the moment he felt himself knocked over by this undeserved accusation. And Mrs Pearson herself THE FA VOURITE. 23 seemed to know that it wasn't exactly a case of bully- ing, for she addressed Harry in no very pleased tone. "Get up and go to bed at once. I had brought a treacle posset for you, but it is quite cold now. If your cold is worse to-morrow, you stupid little boy, you will have yourself to thank for it. Go to bed all of you," she said, severely, as she went out of the room ; and then the sting of her speech came at the tail: "I shall speak to Mr Vialls about this." Even Harry, who had only been at school a fort- night, knew what that meant, and all of them began to speculate, with greater or lesser degrees of interest, upon what would be done to them to-morrow. And George and the eldest Prior, having heard Mrs Pear- son's voice, stole in from their dormitory as soon as she was at a safe distance, and wanted to know what had happened. When George heard that Harry, at all events, was in for a scrape, if not all the boyslin the room, he seemed neither concerned nor displeased that his younger brother was to suffer the common lot of juvenile humanity, but in a business-like way recommended him to rub a little onion-juice, if he could get any, on the palms of his hands, and then ran back to his own dormitory, upon a false alarm that the enemy was at hand. 24 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. The "cubs" made all haste to be safe in bed, in case of another visit from the authorities, and then went on wondering what would happen to them, and relating records and reminiscences of famous rows" in days gone by, which these small boys thought appropriate to the occasion of their getting into such a serious scrape. The fate of Prior and Harry Kennedy was regarded as certain, and the latter was comforted by lively descriptions of the cane and its infliction, and stories of great stoicism exhibited by celebrated victims. He learned that it was no use trying on any dodges with Vialls, and that if you didn't submit quietly, you got it twice as bad in the end. Then it was told how, in the olden days, when there were giants among schoolboys, a certain fellow had refused to be thrashed by Dr Pearson, and, greatly daring, had snatched the cane from his very hands, and had smitten him over the sacred pate; apropos of which somebody mentioned, that big Soanso, that stupid fellow with whiskers at the bottom of the fourth form, had not hesitated to declare that Vialls aren't touch him. Moreover, a tradition was brought up that, among former genera- tions of Whitminster boys, if a fellow had a flogging and didn't sing out, the other fellows in his dormitory THE FA VOURITE. 25 -in his form, held some authorities-were bound to subscribe a penny apiece as a reward for his forti- tude; so that a bad character and a thick skin must have put some boys in a fair way of realising a for- tune. Prior was of opinion that the custom was a good one, and should be revived. Descending to less legendary times, eye-witnessess narrated how Hen- derson in the fifth form had stood a tremendous licking of twelve cuts from Vialls, and how, when it was over, he turned round and coolly asked if there wasn't any more. Harry thought this was the height of heroism, and hoped he should be handed down in history for some such noble deed. So he strengthened his heart, and resolved to play the man next morning, and fell asleep without troubling himself too much by visions of Mr Vialls. Good-night, Harry and may the angels who give sweet sleep and forgetfulness to naughty little school- boys, watch over thy rest Would they might watch over thee thus for a lifetime, and guard thee from all fears and cares except those so easily forgotten, and from all sins but those for which the penalty can be so quickly and so bravely paid ! At this point in my story I fully expect that grown- up readers will begin to yawn, but all small boys will 26 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. be very anxious to hear what happened to our friends in the cubs' dormitory. Well, next morning they were summoned into Mr Vialls' room after breakfast, and Mr Vialls made them a speech about the naughti- ness of not going to bed quietly, concluding thus- "Mrs Pearson tells me, that last night two boys were having a pillow-fight. I must teach them that the rules are not to be broken with impunity. One of these boys, I am sorry to say, always appears as a ringleader in such scenes of disorder, and Mrs Pearson has asked me to punish him severely. Prior!" Master Prior stood forward and received his caning, which he stood like a little man, not saying a single word, to the great satisfaction and edification of the rest of the dormitory, and also of Master Abbing, who was very fond of being present at scenes of this kind, except when he was called upon to play a too promi- nent part in them, and on this occasion had managed to introduce himself into the room, under pretence of asking Mr Vialls what was the postage of a letter to India. The punishment was over, Prior had put his hands into his pocket, the spectators, relieved to find what their sole part in the proceedings was to be, were backing out of the door, and the master was locking THE FA VOURITE. 27 up the cane, when Harry, staying behind the rest, came up to him and said- "Please, Mr Vialls, it was my fault too ; I was fight- ing too with Pry-I mean, Prior." "So I understood from Mrs Pearson," said Mr Vialls. "But I hope that what you have seen will be enough to make you behave better for the future. As you are a new boy, Mrs Pearson has asked me not to punish you this time." So Harry followed the other boys, and wasn't quite sure whether he felt more glad or sorry at having got off so easily. Certainly what he had just seen of the cane did not dispose him to wish for its better acquaintance; but now he saw the fellows gathering round Prior with the respect and admira- tion shown by small boys for a companion who has behaved well under such painful circumstances, and Harry felt that he himself had not played such a creditable part. As he was hanging back behind the rest, George ran to meet him, and ask how he had fared. "Did you get it?" he inquired, with the anxiety becoming an affectionate elder brother. "No," said Harry, wishing now that he could have said, "Yes." 28 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "Why, you didn't sneak?" asked George, quite fiercely. "No; Mrs Pearson said I was to get off," replied Harry, George didn't look pleased at this, and said, sharply- "You were just as bad as the other fellow." "I know I was," said Harry, meekly submitting to his brother's reproaches. But just then a diversion was made in the current of George's dissatisfaction. The smallest Prior, at- tended by his two brothers and a select circle of his partisans, appeared flushed with the triumph, such as it was, of having had a licking, and Master Primus advised himself to exult over George Kennedy. "So your brother is a favourite, is he ?" "No, he isn't," said George, with great prompti- tude. "Looks very like it," said Prior. "Fine thing to go sucking up to Mother P. and getting her to let you off your lickings." "He didn't, I tell you," roared George. "I shouldn't like to be a favourite!" exclaimed Pry; and then George fairly lost his temper at these aspersions on the credit of the Kennedy family. THE FA VOURITE. "Will you shut up, or I'll give you something, young Pry." "Who'll touch my brother ?" demanded Primus. "Well, then, why did he cheek me?" replied George, growing hotter as he found he had to deal with an adversary more worthy of his steel. Poor Harry was quite ashamed of having caused all this to-do, and couldn't bear to see George fight- ing on his account, so he slipped away and made off into the playground, feeling very unhappy Wandering along, he came to a little gate opening into the Pearsons' private garden. This was for- bidden to most of the boys, but Harry, being a favourite, had been told he might go there as often as he pleased; so he turned into it, without thinking where he was going, and ran right into the arms of Mrs Pearson, who was there gathering apples, with Lopez, the monkey, fastened to her parasol by a chain. When Harry saw her, he was for making off, but Mrs Pearson called to him, and he had to go up to her. "I suppose you feel ashamed of yourself," she began, rather stiffly; and then, seeing that he hung his head, she spoke in a kinder tone. "Never mind, 30 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. Harry. I asked Mr Vialls not to punish you this time, and you won't be a naughty boy again, I dare- say. Sit down here and talk to me." Harry sat down, but did not prove himself a very pleasant companion. All his lively, laughing ways were gone that morning, and Mrs Pearson settled in her own mind that he was very sorry for having been naughty, and tried to comfort him by giving him an apple. "Would you like to stay away from school this morning and help me in the garden ?" she said, pat- ting him on the head. "Oh, no, ma'am," replied Harry, awkwardly. "Mr Williamson would be angry." "Not if I wrote him a note, little boy. But never mind; I am glad to see that you wish to stick to your lessons. Go off to school now, like a good boy; and as it is a half-holiday this afternoon, you shall go out with me, and have tea afterwards in the parlour." Munching his apple, Harry returned to the play- ground, and there the first thing he saw was George, very red and hot, engaged in a most amicable game of prisoner's base with the whole Prior family, and about a dozen other boys. And as soon as Primus saw Harry and the apple, he cried out- THE FA VOURITE. "Hallo! where did you get that? I suppose your friend Mother P. has been giving it you for telling tales of some of the other fellows." "I never tell tales," says Harry, quite indignant; but Primus had run off without hearing his dis- claimer, and the poor little fellow went down to school feeling as miserable as a healthy, honest boy of eight can feel. One blessing is, that a boy of eight can scarcely feel miserable for long, and by dinner-time Harry had half forgotten about what had happened in the morning, and was as gay and cheery as ever. But as he was running up to join in a game, it was re- called to his mind by Pry, who hailed him with- "Hallo! Here's the favourite! I say, I wonder Mother P. lets you play, for fear of tumbling down and cracking your pretty crown. She ought to send the nurse with you whenever you go out, to see that you don't dirty your dear little boots." Young Prior was only joking, and, as too many schoolboys do, not thinking of what he said; but Harry took him quite seriously. He turned away, and went all by himself into the schoolroom, and gave himself up to gloomy meditations. It was hard to feel that he was looked down upon by the other fellows as a 32 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "favourite." He did not doubt that it was wrong to be a favourite, but was it his fault ? He didn't want to get off being licked; and as for Mrs Pearson's par- lour, he would far rather be playing with the fellows in the schoolroom, so his conscience was clear. But they wouldn't believe him, and Mrs Pearson would pet him and take him on her knee. How could he help it ? The more he thought over his trouble, the less he could see how to get over it. Even George, though he had stood up for him against the Priors, seemed to think that it wasn't right to be a favourite. He wished he could ask Mrs Pearson- no, that would never do. At length, as the only thing which he thought likely to be of any service to him, he resolved to write home and ask them to send him a cake. What he had already seen of school-life inclined him to think that this would be the best way of inducing the other boys to pardon his offence in being a favourite. He had finished his letter, and was wondering if he might again venture to join the game of his compan- ions, who, for their part, were all the while wondering why he was not with them ; but just as he had sealed it, Mrs Pearson's maid appeared, and announced that he had to be "made tidy to go out with her mistress. THE FA VOURITE. At half-past three in the afternoon, a good deal has to be done to make a schoolboy tidy, but Harry sub- mitted to his fate with resignation, comforting himself by the thought that none of the fellows were there to laugh at his clean collar, Sunday gloves, and other due preparations for going into high society with Mrs Pearson. Mrs Pearson's society was not very entertaining without the monkey, Harry thought, and of course the monkey was left at home. For they took their way through the most genteel and imposing streets of Whitminster, Mrs Pearson walking very slow, and Harry looking very demure, and feeling very ill at ease. When they got into the High Street, among the shop windows, that was better, but then Mrs Pearson must needs go into a dark, narrow linen- draper's shop, and Harry had to sit perched on a high stool by her side while she looked over ever so many things, and finally bought a parcel of silk, or calico, or worsted-what did he know about these things ?-and gave them to him to carry. It was a relief to get into the open air again, but presently Mrs Pearson left the High Street, and walked up a sort of terrace by the river side, where there were twelve little houses all looking equally like large bandboxes. At the last C 34 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. of these bandboxes she rang the bell and inquired for the Misses Somebody, and now Harry had again to sit still for half an hour, this time in a drawing-room pervaded by an overpowering sense of neatness and propriety, while Mrs Pearson went through the cere- mony of calling on the two Misses Somebody, who were no doubt most excellent people in their own way, but belonged to the class of old maids, between whom and schoolboys there is seldom much sympathy. As they entered the room, Mrs Pearson whispered to him to behave himself, and Harry behaved himself into a state of great discomfort. Of course he did not touch anything, and he did not like to go to the window to look out at the boats on the river, and durst not put his feet on the carpet for fear of dirtying it, and the elder Miss Somebody inquired if he liked school, and he said "Yes, ma'am; and the younger Miss Somebody asked him if he was a good boy, and, for a change, he said No, ma'am ;" and then they said nothing more to him, and he didn't know what to do, and sat fidgeting on his chair and counting the flies on the window, and wondered what fun it could be for Mrs Pearson and these ladies to talk so much about the weather; and he yawned and felt ashamed of himself, for he knew it wasn't good manners; THE FA VOURITE. 35 and next he knocked over a jar with his elbow, and felt still more ashamed; and for the rest of the visit, which seemed as if it were going to last for ever, he sat stiff and straight, looking very red, and thinking of the boys who were playing in the field, and wishing with all his heart that Mrs Pearson would go home. And merry little Harry began to feel as much like being in the sulks as it was possible for him to feel, and it did not raise his spirits even when the kind-hearted Misses Somebody brought out wine and biscuits, which was their only notion of entertaining schoolboys, and not a bad notion either, many boys would have thought. This visit, too, came to an end, but Harry's peace of mind was not restored. For as soon as they got into the street, Mrs Pearson would have it that he was tired, and insisted upon his giving her the parcel and taking her hand, and in this humiliating manner he was led home. Mr Vialls and the cane were better than this; and whom should he meet but Charley Grey and Sydney Young and two or three other day- boys who had been playing with the fellows at the schoolhouse, and were going home, looking very dusty and untidy and happy. As soon as he came in sight ofthem,he tried to release his hand from Mrs Pearson's, but she held him fast, and there was nothing for it but 36 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. to walk straight on with his eyes bent on the ground, which, however, didn't prevent him from seeing the grins and winks of his companions. Harry felt angry enough to fight somebody. At length they got to the schoolhouse, and there were a lot of fellows at the windows of the boys' room, laughing and pointing at him with their fingers. Harry looked the other way, but he knew very well that they were saying, "There goes the favourite!" and he would have given anything to have been able to make them believe that he did not wish to be a favourite, but a jolly fellow like George or Prior. Mrs Pearson took him through the private door into her cosy parlour, and having made him sit down, she first scolded the monkey for trying to get out of his cage, and then, asked Harry whether he would rather have damson or gooseberry jam for tea. "None, thank you, ma'am," said Harry. "What! aren't you hungry ?" "No. May I go to the boys, please? I think they want me." "No, they don't, my dear, and you are too much of a nice little fellow to be always with them. You shall stay here all the evening-don't say no. I like hav- ing you here, Harry, so long as you are a good little THE FA VOURITE. 37 boy, and don't learn the rough ways of these Priors and creatures. Are you going to be good ?" "Yes, ma'am," mumbled Harry, not very enthu- siastically. "That's right. Well, if you won't choose, it shall be damson, and I'll go and get it now, if you don't mind waiting, my dear ?" And Mrs Pearson, much against his will, gave Harry a kiss, and then left him alone in the parlour while she went to fetch the jam. Perhaps one ought not to have said that Harry was left alone in the parlour. Dr Pearson and Lopez were both there, but the tea-kettle singing on the hob was a more lively companion than either of them, for the old Doctor was fast asleep in his easy-chair, and the monkey was lying huddled up in his cage so quiet, that no one would have thought of noticing the mischievous look that twinkled out of his half-open eyes. Lopez was slyly watching Harry, and perhaps wondering what he was thinking of, and Harry was staring at the table laid out for tea, but not thinking of jam, or toast, or muffins. What was Harry thinking of? Well, I believe he was thinking whether once in a way it might not be right to be naughty. What a thought for a well- 38 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. brought-up boy, as all the Kennedys were! Harry knew it was wrong to be naughty, but then he felt that it was wrong to be a favourite; and he was a favourite, because Mrs Pearson thought him so good, and he wasn't really so good as she thought, and he wanted to show her that he wasn't; and if he did some- thing naughty, and made Mrs Pearson not favour him, it wouldn't be doing any harm to anybody; and George didn't like him to be a favourite, and surely his mamma wouldn't; and he didn't want to be very naughty, but only to be like the other boys ; an'd- Harry got tired of his short flight in these regions of moral philosophy, and gave it up. Of one thing he was sure, that he wished he had been caned like Prior, and could have gone to play among the other fellows with a clear conscience, and had not been asked to tea by Mrs Pearson. It was nice to have jam-and-cake, and because it was nice, surely it couldn't be wrong to wish not to have them. The question began to get puzzling again, but Harry held on to this: would it be wrong to do something which would make Mrs Pearson angrywith him, and pre- vent her from petting him, and bring the other fellows to understand that he was not a favourite? The other fellows would think that he was quite right, THE FA VOURITE. 39 because they liked the Priors, and they didn't like favourites. As soon as he thought of the other boys, he began to try the question by the laws of the schoolroom rather than of the nursery; and from wondering if it would be right to do anything to gain the bad opin- ion of Mrs Pearson, unconsciously passed to consider- ing what he should do with this intent. Abbing had told him to ask her where she bought her best wig, but he durst not go so far, and indeed he was too much of a little gentleman to be so rude. Then it struck him that if he were to poke the fire and make a mess all over the grate, Mrs Pearson would call him a "tiresome boy, and resolve to have as little to do with him as with the Priors. But he did not like to move towards the fireplace for fear of awaken- ing the old Doctor, the very look of whom inspired Harry with awe. Mrs Pearson would be very angry if he were to lie on the sofa in his dusty boots, but it was so clean that he hadn't the heart to dirty it. He might spill his tea on the tablecloth; he had once before done so accidentally, and she threatened never to invite him to tea again if he was so clumsy. The very thing! But no; Harry felt that he would not have courage to go through with any plan of the sort, IL 40 STORIES OF WHITJflNSTER. unless he could get it over before she came back, and he expected her every minute. As he was reflecting thus, Lopez began to wake up and jump about his cage, probably by way of hinting that it was about tea-time; for this genteel ape had bread-and-milk four times a day at his mis- tress' table, and ate it with a spoon a great deal more like a Christian than some of the other boarders who didn't have tails. And then a sudden thought came into Harry's mind. "Why not let loose the monkey? Mrs Pearson would be so angry, and there would be the fun of catching it, and some of the other fellows would be called in to help, and then she wouldn't take him on her knee and kiss him as she did when they were alone, and "- His hand was within two feet of the cage; Lopez looked so anxious to get free, and the door slipped back with tempting easiness ; and somehow before he had quite made up his mind, there was the monkey jumping out and scrambling upon the table. The smashing of two cups and the slop-basin brought Harry at once to his senses. Come back, Lopez," he called out, in consterna- tion. "Don't go there, now. Do come back! THE FA VOURITE. Come along, old fellow !-tchick, tchick, tchick, tchicky." But Lopez was equally insensible to command, entreaty, and coaxing. With two bounds he sprung on the top of the bookcase, and jabbered out, as plain as a monkey can-" Don't you wish you may catch me !" Harry wished he could, and wished with all his heart he had never let the brute out. For now, as he drew back, and pretended not to be on the alert, Master Lopez comes swinging down from his fast- ness and gets on the table again, and Harry's guilty heart trembled for the tea-cups. But he durst not interfere, and had to stand by in suspense, and watch the proceedings of the monkey, who luckily seemed inclined to behave with caution and propriety. Steer- ing clear of the crockery, he reconnoitred the table, and at length fixed his regards on the cream-jug, into which he gravely dipped his tail and sucked the end of it with great relish. When Harry saw him do this several times, he couldn't help laughing, and that alarmed Lopez, and sent him up the bookcase in half a second. Presently, however, he ventured to return, and devoted himself to the examination of a biscuit- box. Off this he carefully took the lid, and seizing a * 42 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. biscuit in each paw, skipped up to the mantelpiece for more secure enjoyment of his prey. But just as he was beginning to munch, he suddenly turned round and caught sight of himself in the mirror, against which his tail was pressing uncomfortably. The effect was extremely ludicrous. He dropped the biscuits, shrank back, sat with pricked-up ears and open eyes for a moment, looked shyly round, turned sharply away again, moved towards the strange appa- rition, trembled, grinned, regarded himself with min- gled doubt and delight, seemed uncertain whether to be more afraid of or pleased with this wonderful discovery. At length he became more assured, and it was comical to see him touch the glass with his paw and draw it quickly back, then rub his face, then throw himself into the most ridiculous attitudes and examine himself from various points of view, till, forgetting all about the delicacies of the tea-table, he was lost in the admiration of his own airs and graces, as far as he had room to exhibit them on the narrow ledge of the mantelpiece. Now is my chance," thought Harry, and was creep- ing up behind him. But Mr Monkey was not such a fool as he looked. He saw Harry's hand just in time, and was off with a bound. Down went a valuable * THE FA VOURITE. 43 vase falling into Dr Pearson's lap; flop came Lopez on his bald head. "Oh, dear !" cried the Doctor, waking up and ringing the bell. "Lopez !" shouted Harry, making a frantic rush at him, but not in time to prevent him from reaching the tea-table and making a swift career of devastation through the cups and saucers on his way to his bookcase fortress. Crash went the lamp, and "What's the matter?" screamed Mrs Pearson, entering at that moment with a pot of jam in her hand, and getting just one glance at this scene of confusion before it was plunged in darkness. Something shot over Mrs Pearson's head, grazing her cap. It was only the monkey, but in her alarm she took it for something much more terrible, and ran back into the passage, calling out for the servants, who were already hurrying up, summoned by the violent ringing of the parlour bell. They guessed what was the matter when they saw Lopez frisking about round their discomfited mistress, and when he saw them, he made off down the long passage leading to the boys' rooms. Catch him catch him, Eliza 1" cried Mrs Pearson. "Nobody knows what mischief he may have done already." "Never mind, mum! He has gone among the young 44 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. gentlemen," said Eliza, as if to intimate that Lopez's career of victory would now be cut short enough, and Mrs Pearson understood that she was right, and returned to the parlour to see what had happened. "What's the meaning of all this?" mumbled the Doctor, in no very good humour. "This is what comes of having boys about." "It's only Lopez, my dear," said Mrs Pearson, taking a survey of the room by the light of a candle. "I declare he has broken a cup-two!-and spilt the cream on the clean cloth-and the lamp !-dear me - and my beautiful vase !" "Oh, mum!" cried Eliza and the other servant in sympathetic chorus. Mrs Pearson's brow grew blacker as she discovered each fresh disaster, and when her eye rested onr Harry, who was cowering in a corner of the room, she saw conscious guilt on his face, and burst out- You naughty, bad, careless, ungrateful boy You let him loose, and allowed him to do all this mischief. I declare you shall pay for it all out of your own pocket-money, every penny. Go away from my room this very moment, you stupid fellow You are not fit to be left alone anywhere but in a schoolroom THE FA VOURITE. 45 or a stable. It will be a long while before I ask you to my parlour again. Oh! you bad child !" Long before Mrs Pearson was out of breath, Harry had fled, and at the door of the schoolroom he met a party of boys carrying Lopez in triumph. How did he get loose ?" "I let him out, and she says she won't ask me to tea any more," said Harry, looking round quite proudly. "What a stupid fellow you were to throw away your chance was Prior's opinion; and this seemed strange to Harry after what he had heard said about favourites. But he was too excited to think about it. A dozen times over he told the boys what he had done, and mistook their expressions of wonder for admiration. He romped and ran about in the highest spirits; he was idle and troublesome at preparation, and got an hour's detention from Mr Vialls. If it had been a caning, I think he would have been rather pleased than otherwise at such an opportunity of showing that he was not a favourite. The first thing that cast a damp upon his self-satis- faction was George's reception of the great news. George had been out at tea with Mr Williamson, and 46 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. when he came in and heard what his younger brother had been about, he only said, "What a little stupid you were!" Whereas Harry had expected to be praised to the sky for his courage and proper school- boyishness, if I may invent a name for a virtue which has a real enough existence. This first made him think that what he had done was, after all, not such a very fine thing; and when he was in bed, and was able to reflect over it more coolly, he began to repent. It was naughty of him to let loose the monkey, and break all these things, and frighten Dr Pearson, and make Mrs Pearson angry, and give so much trouble to everybody. He felt that he had done wrong; and Harry, with all his mirth- fulness, had been brought up to understand what was meant by doing wrong. But what was he to do now? Here Harry's con- science did not urge him to do anything in particular. He supposed that he would be punished, and that in his eyes was confession, penance, and absolution. He wished he had not let out the monkey, and he hoped the consequences would come and be gone as quickly and pleasantly as possible. What more prac- tical penitence could you have in a boy of nine ? But no one proposed to punish him. Mrs Pearson THE FA VOURITE. 47 took no notice of him--that was all. Mr Vialls, the dread minister of justice, said not a word about his misconduct-at least, not till Friday evening, when he was administering to his flock their customary pocket- money in small doses, and stopped for a moment over Harry Kennedy's threepence. Mrs Pearson thought of stopping your pocket- money this week, on account of your carelessness the other evening; but though she is very much displeased with you, she doesn't wish you to be punished, and you can have your threepence as usual." Harry walked away without saying anything; and a few minutes afterwards, Mrs Pearson, who was sitting with two or three friends at supper in her parlour, was interrupted in a conversation about the character of their respective maid-servants by two taps at the door, the first one timidly low, the second, clumsily loud. "'Min cried Mrs Pearson, who was so accustomed to pronouncing this formula, that it had got contracted in her mouth to a single syllable. And in walks Harry, and goes up to his mistress, and lays down before her his threepenny-piece, new, shining, precious. "What's this for?" The things Lopez broke," he came out with, in a 48 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. voice that seemed to show that he couldn't trust him- self to say much. "My dear child!" said Mrs Pearson, "I didn't intend that you should pay for them. I know I was vexed at the time, and no wonder; but, after all, it was an accident, and the best thing to do is to say nothing more about it. I am sure you didn't let the monkey out on purpose, and next time you will be more careful. Here !" and she held out to him, not his threepence, but a sixpence which she had substituted for it. But Harry shrunk back, and his face grew red, and his eyes filled with tears, and he stammered out- "But-I did-do it-on purpose. I'm very sorry. I'll never do it again." "What!" cried Mrs Pearson; but at this point Harry ran out of the room, and left her lost in aston- ishment mingled with disgust. "Did you ever know such strange creatures as boys !" she exclaimed to her friends. "This child won't tell a lie, but he thinks nothing of letting the monkey loose on my tea-table, just for the fun of seeing it break my cups and saucers. And after all my kindness to him, too Well, well! I thought he was a nice little fellow, but I am afraid he is no better than the rest of them, after all." THE BURGLAR. i) THE BURGLAR. HE venerable Bishop of Oudenham is almost universally admitted to be among the most amiable and excellent of prelates, but there was one passage of his long pnd useful life which gave rise to feelings of extreme disgust and disapproval among a certain section of the community, to wit, the boys of Whitminster School. I refer to the occasion on which his Lordship was requested to distribute the prizes at the Midsummer breaking-up of this school: many old Whitminster boys will remember the year very well. The Bishop replied that he would be most happy to preside, but that his engagements on the day specified would not permit him to come sooner than two o'clock; so, to suit his convenience, the prize-giving was fixed to take place in the afternoon, 52 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. much to our discontent. I fear we did not sufficiently appreciate the honour which his Lordship proposed to confer on us; but we were fully sensible of the incon- venience of impatiently waiting all the forenoon-when our breakings-up had hitherto been wont to take place-and then rushing off to catch the last trains which could take us home, not in time for dinner at our parents' houses, as greedy boys feelingly remarked. And if most of the fellows had reason to be discon- tented, two of us had to bemoan a still harder case. These two were Phillips, commonly called Jemima Anne, and myself, known as-well, my name can be of no use to the reader, who can fill up the blank with N. or M. as the case may be. I was going to stay for a week at Phillips' home, and the trains had been so stupidly arranged that it was impossible for us, starting in the afternoon, to get there the same evening. As neither of us had much prospect of a prize, we had sounded the authorities about getting away in the morning without waiting for the cere- mony; but it wasn't to be heard of, and we found ourselves condemned to stay at school till the next day. Perhaps the Bishop was a boy himself once, and knew what it was to be eager about going home. If he could only have learned the disappointment that THE BURGLAR. he had unintentionally caused us, I am sure he would have consented to come and give away the prizes at six in the morning, rather than keep one boy, much less two, at school an hour after they need be. But either he had never been a boy, or he had forgotten about it, or he was not informed of the unfortunate position in which Phillips and I were placed; so we had to resign ourselves to our fate, and the story that I am going to tell came to be told. It is about a burglar, and the reader may be surprised to find me beginning with a bishop, but he must read on and see how clever we authors are. And while I am talking about bishops, let me mention that I have a book which once belonged to a real, live bishop,-not the Bishop of Oudenham, but a still more learned and dignified one, who was educated at the same school as myself. Never mind how it came into my posses- sion; it is a tattered old Cornelius Nepos, that has evidently suffered many things, and is sadly marked with ink-stains and dog-ears. These may or may not have been his Lordship's doing, but what nobody can deny is that, scrawled on the fly-leaf in a handwriting recognisable by all collectors of episcopal autographs, may be read this line-" Three weeks to the holidays ! Hurrah " 54 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. Well, the weeks, and the days, and the hours passed over our heads more and more slowly, as we wanted them to go faster and faster. Old Father Time seems to take a pleasure in tormenting school- boys, of whose youthful health and strength he is no doubt envious. When the holidays have begun, he smartens his pace, and his old legs step out with quite a malicious liveliness; but when they are coming on, he pretends to have grown stiff, and lumbers along as lazily as if he were dragging six millions of years at his heels. And the schoolboy, in return, does not like the old gentleman, and resorts to all kinds of devices to trick him. I speak things known. What says the poet ?- "The indented stick, that loses day by day Notch after notch, till all are smoothed away, Bears witness, long ere his dismission come, With what intense desire he wants his home." At the time I speak of, I considered myself too big for the notched-stick business; but I was not above having a calendar on the last leaf of my Latin Gram- mar, where every day for a month I joyfully inarked off a space. The last square in this calendar was filled up, and the eventful morning had dawned bright and balmy, and the forenoon had passed away some- THE BURGLAR. 55 how or other, and here we were at length-closely packed together in the great schoolroom and in our best clothes, looking to the dais where sat our masters and certain "potent, grave, and reverend seigniors" of the neighbourhood, while a crowd of admiring friends and relations filled every corner of the room, and showed their interest in us by doing their best to suffocate us. The repetitions had been gone through; the prizes had been given away; we had made our- selves hoarse with cheering. The Bishop had per- formed his function well, and done much to reconcile us with his late appearance. With each prize he had said something appropriate and sensible; now and then he had made a little joke, which of course produced roars of laughter; for it is as surprising, and therefore pleasing, to hear even a bad joke from a bishop, as it is to see a horse ringing a bell or firing a pistol. We were inclined to think most favourably of his Lordship, so kind and genial did he show himself; but we were not so well pleased when he began a long and earnest and wise speech, complimenting the boys who had got prizes, encouraging those who had not, and giving good advice to all. It was a good speech, and we ought to have listened, but I fear it was partly thrown away upon us, for too many boys were 56 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. thinking of the railway time-tables, and there were uneasy glances at watches, and the applause was not so loud or hearty as before. At last came the Bishop's peroration, which completely won the hearts of the Whitminster boys. "I have many more things which I should like to say to you, but a little bird has whispered to me that you think I have said enough-(slight cheering and feeble cries of "No, No ")-and I know that boys who are going to start for home in half an hour make very bad listeners. So I will only say one thing more, and that is, I hope you will all be good boys, and enjoy very happy holidays, till the 8th of August, when -I grieve to say-my friend the head-master requires your presence here once more to attack the old enemies or friends, which, I suppose, will be shut up in these desks till that sad day arrives." Never did any burst of ancient or modern eloquence call forth such enthusiasm. Never surely did the old roof hear such cheers as rung out from our throats- for the Bishop, for the masters, for the ladies, for the holidays. Never did such happy boys stream out of the dusty schoolroom and hurry off-home! What a world of joy is in this little word, or once was! Ah, me we cannot believe that such happiness still THE BURGLAR. exists upon earth; we look wistfully back to the storehouse of boyish delights, of which it seems as if the key had been lost because it is no longer in our hands ; we forget to thank Heaven that little Dick and Tom and Harry are now revelling in these same joys that were so bounteously showered on the threshold of our own lives. And now all was bustle among the boys. Some rushed off to their boarding-houses to complete their preparations; others made straight for the station, either to start at once, or to see some friend off. Every omnibus in Whitminster was of course pressed into our service that afternoon. One or two of our head boys had cabs waiting for them at the school-gates, and it was whispered among us admiring youngsters, that these were to carry away the loads of prizes, though they were already pretty well filled with boxes and bags. Nearly all the fellows at our house had their things wheeled down on a truck by Macduff, the gardener, who on such an occasion was always assisted by Uncle Ned. I should like to be able to tell you all about Uncle Ned, and how he came to be connected with the Grammar-school. But all I have time to tell you is, that he was a negro-a runaway slave, according to his own account-who had come 58 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. to Whitminster as a clergyman's servant, and since his master's death had lived there on a small pension and what he could pick up by odd jobs of fetching and carrying. Uncle Ned, for reasons which I may explain some day, took a very lively interest in us, and never was there a breaking-up without his making himself very busy in our service, and of course receiv- ing enough coppers and sixpences to make him a rich man for the next fortnight. So there he was at the station, rushing about, dragging along boxes, howling to the porters, shoving the boys into carriages, and making himself so conspicuous that every one turned to look at him. He was a queer figure, Uncle Ned, at the best of times, and when he was worked up to a state of excitement, as upon such occasions, his black face seemed to glisten, and his eyes rolled comi- cally enough to make a crow laugh, and his few scanty wisps of stubbly hair stood up more obstinately than ever. It was not only from age that Uncle Ned had so little hair on the top of his head, where, we are informed upon the authority of the poet, "the hair ought to grow." It was a common joke among us young rascals to ask him for a lock of his hair, and as he always took this request seriously, and seemed greatly flattered by it, I fear we were to blame for THE BURGLAR. the unfurnished state of his pate. He seldom wore any covering on his head on week-days, and looked very funny. But he looked still funnier on Sundays, when he always mounted an enormous white hat and a preternaturally long black coat, and went to church with great pomp and solemnity. It was fine to see him running by the side of the train to the very end of the platform, grinning as only a negro can grin, and waving his great black paw to his special friends among the boys. But they were not quite so friendly, for out through the window would come a bright tin tube, and a volley of split peas would rattle in the old fellow's face, making him utter a roar and come to a halt. Then there would be a great burst of laughter from the train, or another discharge of peas, or perhaps the naughty boys would suddenly be silent and shrink back in the carriage as they caught the eye of Mr Vialls, or one of the other masters, fixed upon them. Then, as likely as not, Ned would begin to console himself by counting up the money he had received; and Mr Vialls went up to him and said- "Now, Edward, my good fellow, don't you go and make a fool of yourself with that money." "Oh no, massa!" exclaimed Ned; "I'm going to put him all in de Savings Bank." . 59 60 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "I'm glad to hear it; because somebody has told me that somebody else, when he gets a little money, is rather too fond of putting it in the public-house." Oh no, massa! that's not me," declared Ned, with such an air of seriousness and dignity that Phillips and I, who were close by, nearly burst out laughing before the master's face. I am glad to hear it," repeated Mr Vialls, in a not very confident tone; and Ned tied all his money up in a ragged red handkerchief, and announced loudly that he was going off to the Savings Bank that very moment. His services were no longer required, for the last train had gone away, and not a boy was left on the platform, except Phillips and myself. As we strolled away from the station arm-in-arm, we agreed that after all our lot was not so hard. There was some- thing novel and entertaining in the idea of hav- ing all the house to ourselves, and being monarchs for one night of whatever we might feel inclined to survey. Then, school-time being over, we settled in our own minds that the ordinary rules of discipline should be suspended, and were minded to prove our freedom by not going home to tea, and by scorning the barbarous institution of lock-up. Moreover, we THE BURGLAR. had one source of comfort which Mr Vialls knew not of, and it was well for us that he did not. Other boys had vexed his soul by equipping themselves for the journey home with pea-shooters and catapults, according to immemorial custom; but, despising these childish weapons, we- What did we do? Why, we walked out of the town and through the fields till we came to a secluded spot. There we paused, consulted, looked round us cautiously, peeped through the hedges, and finally Phillips produced from his pocket a very small shin- ing six-barrelled breach-loading revolver, and a box of cartridges. After gazing on this with admiration not unmingled with awe, we proceeded to load the piece; that is, Phillips, holding it very gingerly, under- took to put the cartridges in, while I looked on and gave advice. As soon as the loading was accom- plished, I suggested that it should be cocked. Cocked it was accordingly, but not without risk, for, to Phillips' alarm and horror, all the barrels suddenly went off one after another, luckily without doing any harm. This so alarmed us, that we hurriedly decamped as soon as the pistol had stopped exploding, not be- cause Phillips had taken away his finger from the trigger but for another reason. Nor did we halt, 62 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. and again bring our artillery into action till we had put at least three fields between ourselves and the echoes of the first discharge. Then we loaded again, this time with double caution and greater success, and Phillips, as proprietor of the weapon, having put aside a claim that it was my turn to fire, set about selecting an aim. He was not long in perceiving a rook leisurely feeding about fifty yards off, and proceeded to open fire without delay. Whether the old rook was deaf, or blind, or rash, or uncommonly shrewd, I know not, but he calmly went on with his supper till my companion had let off the whole six barrels at him, and only then quietly flapped his wings and proceeded upon his journey in a leisurely and genteel manner, leaving us with a single caw of contempt. This was rather a damper to Phillips, and he was more willing to give me the pistol and let me have my turn. I loaded and looked about me, feeling determined to distinguish myself as a marksman, and put "Jemima" to shame; but just as I had spied a very respectable old blackbird taking the air in front of his nest in an elm-tree, Phillips nudged my arm and cried- Look out !" There was Mr Bentley, one of our masters, walking On the first day after our arrival, we should go to a cave about three miles from his father's house. There we were to play at being smugglers.-SToRIES OF WHITMINSTER, p. 63. THE BURGLAR. 63 towards us from the other end of the field. I quickly popped the pistol into my pocket, and we each as- sumed an air of unconcern. When Mr Bentley came up to us, he remarked that it was a fine evening, in the most friendly manner in the world, but it appeared to me as if he cast a very suspicious glance at my jacket-pocket, and Phillips seemed to have similar misgivings, for as soon as the master was out of sight, he proposed that we should give up our sport for the present. I agreed, and we took the cartridges out, and then took our way to the schoolhouse, promising ourselves lots of shooting when we arrived at Phillips' place, where there were no masters and lots of room by the seaside for any amount of ball practice, so my friend gave me to understand. Phillips was of an imaginative turn of mind, and he held forth with great enthusiasm upon the adventures to which we should treat ourselves. On the first day after our arrival, we should go to a cave about three miles from his father's house. There we were to play at being smugglers. Phillips was to lie on his arms within, and I was to keep watch outside, and in due time to give notice of the approach of the coastguard-men, when Phillips, as captain of the gang, was to sally forth and commence firing, and a bloody combat with nobody 64 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. was to take place, and result in his complete discom- fiture. Another day we were to go out in a boat and try to get a shot at a gull, and to be chased by pirates in the course of the voyage. These diversions were to be varied by a grisly-bear-hunt among the sand- hills, the part of grisly bear being, for this once only, omitted through circumstances beyond our control. Arranging our amusements thus, we reached the schoolhouse, and found an unusual silence reigning in what, for three months, had been a busy and noisy hive of young bees or drones, improving or enjoying the shining hour as the case might be. Mrs Pearson, and Mr Vialls, the house-master, had gone out to a party, we were told; but the matron was in her room, quite worn out by her exertions in packing and otherwise preparing for the holidays. If we could have understood how weary good old Mother Bramble felt, I don't think we should have bothered her so much; but the fact was that we would give her no peace till she promised to let us have roast potatoes for supper. While these were preparing, we took a stroll over the house, and rejoiced in the unwonted sense of having it all to ourselves, without rulers or rules to interfere with us. We wandered through the dormitories, still in confusion after the packing, and THE BURGLAR. the desolate-looking schoolroom and dining-hall, that always seemed cheerful enough when filled with young, merry faces, and the lavatories and lobbies strewed with old shoes, bits of rope, broken stumps, and other signs that a juvenile army had just broken up its encampment. We turned on the water at all the taps, and turned out the boys' lockers to see if any- body had left anything behind, and turned about in search of any moderately mischievous occupation that might come handy. We next went out into the play- ground and took a kindly look of farewell at the old fives-court and the gymnastic bars, and the quiet little corners where fellows used to make bargains and talk secrets. Finally, in our elated frame of mind, we even dared to penetrate into the Chamber of Horrors, the gloomy cavern of despair; I mean, we stole on tiptoe into Mr Vialls' room, and, with respect- ful eyes and cautious hands, rummaged about, and tried on the master's gown, and looked for his cane, only, of course, he had locked it up ; and enjoyed the stolen pleasure of a near inspection of a place which, in school-time, we too often had visited upon business of such a nature as to interfere with our powers of calm observation. Standing there, in the enemy's stronghold as it were, under such new and unfamiliar E 66 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. circumstances, we realized more vividly than before that the holidays had indeed begun. "Juvat ire et Dorica castra Desertosque videre locos litusque relictum. Classibus hic locus, hic acie certare solebant." Even thus, with bated breath, we pointed out to each other the fatal spot where you stood when you had to get a thrashing, and the cupboard in whose dark'and mysterious recesses dwelt the dread ministers of justice, and the book in which your name went down for detention or an imposition, and the window which George Kennedy had cracked with a stone one day, and Mr Vialls had never found it out yet. Such is life i When we had prowled about to our hearts' content, we remembered the roast potatoes, and returned to the matron's room to see that she fulfilled her pro- mise. She kept it like a man, and we made a good supper, and sat chatting in her room till past ten, when she went to bed, and we condescended to think we might do likewise without any discredit to our new-fledged independence. We chose out two corner-beds in the largest dor- mitory, and disposed ourselves to rest. But Phillips THE BURGLAR. must needs load his revolver and put it under his pillow, for, as he informed me, his uncle in Ireland never slept without a loaded pistol. This set him off into a series of anecdotes and legends connected with his family, from which I learned that Phillips' ancestors were a singularly uncomfortable and un- fortunate set of people, who were addicted to mur- dering and being murdered, and appearing after death in white sheets to all sorts of honest and innocent people, and making strange vows and hear- ing strange noises and doing strange actions. His father's house, he gave me to understand, had in its time been a perfect Castle of Otranto for mystery; but it was comforting to learn that at present no ghosts were kept on the premises; the last of them had dis- appeared when a railway was made near the building. Still I was rendered rather uneasy by this kind of talk, and begged Phillips to remember that ghost stories were only seasonable at Christmas-time. Then he entered upon an interesting narrative concerning an old servant of his grandfather's, who was killed by robbers, and hidden away in a beer-barrel, where his skeleton was unfortunately discovered some years afterwards. To this style I also objected; so he said he would tell a story of a more lively kind; and, 68 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. leaving the gloomy records of his family history, began to give me a tale out of his own head, as he wds pleased to call it. It was about a wicked old uncle who wanted to seize the inheritance of two in- nocent young nephews, and to that end secured the services of two desperate characters with masks on their faces and long swords by their sides, who led the children into a deep wood, and were about to kill them, when a brave and handsome knight made his appearance, and- At this point I interrupted him, by suggesting that I had heard something like this before; but Phillips indignantly denied the charge of plagiarism, and assured me that his story would end quite differently from the Babes in the Wood." While we were disputing this matter, our attention was attrac- ted by a noise outside. We listened, and heard a heavy footstep on the newly-laid gravel beneath our window. "Who's that?" asked I, in surprise. "I don't know, but we'll see," replied Phillips, getting up and going to the window, which was already open. But we could see nothing, so dark was the night. We could hear plainly enough, however, that there THE BURGLAR. 69 was some one beneath, where no one had any business to be, and both of us were a little startled. "Who's there?" challenged Phillips. There was no answer, but we heard sounds beneath which showed us that our unexpected visitor was trying to remove the bars of one of the ground-floor windows. "I say! it's a robber," exclaimed Phillips, in a loud whisper. "What shall we do? He's trying to get into the house, and there's no one at home but Mrs Bramble and the servants." "Run and wake them up," I suggested, feeling quite as much alarmed. "All right-stop! it's no use. The door at the bottom of the stairs is locked, and we should have to howl for half-an-hour before any one would hear. What shall we do? Oh, I say! he'll get inside in another minute! He's filing at the bars!" "No, he's not. He is trying the door now, I think." "I say go away!" cried Phillips, loudly. I have sent a messenger for four policemen, and they will be here directly." Then dropping his voice, he again whispered to me, "What shall we do ?" "The pistol !" "I forgot all about it. Here it is. Shall we- -will you fire ?" ' 70 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "No-you. Try to frighten him first, but look sharp." By this time Phillips had begun to understand that he was in possession of a splendid opportunity fbr playing the hero, so advancing to the window, he addressed our assailant with great firmness- "You had better go away. Help is at hand, and we have three loaded revolvers here. Leave the door alone, villain !" A strange sound, like a low chuckle, was heard in answer to this address; then the robber seemed to be moving about on the gravel, and suddenly a number of small stones were thrown up at the window. Thereupon Phillips drew the trigger, and the silence of the night was stirred by a sharp report. He paused for a minute, as if frightened by the sound, and then fired again several times. By the red flashes of the pistol we thought we saw. the robber staggering about as if he was wounded; but the fact is, we were both so excited, that I am not sure if I know exactly what now took place. Of course the alarm soon spread; we heard shouts and footsteps from the road; a window was flung up in the servants' part of the schoolhouse, and Mrs Bramble's well-known voice was heard shouting forth, THE BURGLAR. 71 "Thieves! murder! police!" and other sentiments appropriate to the occasion. "I believe he is down-no he isn't-I see him there -there's two more of them behind the tree. Load again-load it quick !" cried Phillips, handing me the pistol with trembling hands. I hastened to do as he told me, though in my hurry and alarm I think I put in two or three of the exploded cartridges, and all the while Phillips kept crying out, Quick, quick!" as he eagerly peered out into the darkness. "They are coming again Give it me, whether all the barrels are loaded or not;" and he snatched the pistol from my hands and again fired it as often as it would go off, with an accompaniment of redoubled shrieks from the servants and Mrs Bramble. But in vain; the robber or robbers seemed to advance with undaunted courage, and we heard that a vigorous effort was being made to burst in the door. He'll get at us in a minute," cried Phillips, himself essaying to load, but in his agitation first upsetting the box of cartridges, and then letting the pistol drop on the floor, where it went off, and the bullet whizzed close to my naked leg. This was too much for me. Exclaiming that the burglars had got into the house, 72 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. and were coming up the stairs, I was for bolting out of the room ; but Phillips, pale and determined, stood his ground like a man, and called out to me to stay, for the police were coming. Help was really at hand now. The voices and footsteps came quite close, and we saw the welcome flash of a bull's-eye, and took courage. "This way!" shouted Phillips. "Don't let them escape! Hold them tight! Down beneath the win- dow here! You're just in time! Seize them!" And each sentence of this address was punctuated by a scream from Mrs Bramble, coming in at in- tervals. "Shall we go down and help them?" proposed Phillips, boldly putting on his trousers and shoes, and I made haste to follow his example. We ran down-stairs, and found that the key had been left in the door of the boys' entrance, so in one moment we were standing outside, where we found quite a small crowd assembled. Some were running about in search of the robbers, but the greater part, with the policeman, were examining the doors and windows. "Have you caught them? Don't bring them up here !" screamed Mrs Bramble, from above. THE BURGLAR. 73 "All right, marm You've no call to be afraid," said the imperturbable policeman. "There's nothing broken into here," he added to those around. "I dare say all this row is about nothing." "Indeed it is not," said Phillips, indignantly. "They were trying to break open the door; I shot one of them, and then the rest ran away." "Oh! you've been dreaming, my lad," said the incredulous policeman. Phillips turned away from him with dignified con- tempt, and at that moment a cry was raised- Here he is! Here's the body!" Every one ran off to the spot, and sure enough there was the body of- a man lying helplessly against the railings. "He's alive!" He is moaning !" He is trying to speak!" No, he isn't." "Where's the wound ?" "I can't see one." "The bullet must have gone through his head !" His face is blackened !" "What a ruffian !" Let us chase the others !" S" How lucky we happened to come up !" 74 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. "This way, policeman!" "Fetch a stretcher!" Without paying much attention to the opinions and suggestions which were showered upon him from every side, the policeman elbowed his way through the crowd, calling upon them to stand back, and flashed his lantern upon the man's face. Phillips and I, who had followed him closely, were horrified to re- cognise the dark features of Uncle Ned, and began to feel alarmed at what we had done. "Oh, he's dead! " "Dead !" said the policeman, scornfully. "Yes, dead drunk, that's about it. Get up, my man, and see if you can't walk as far as the station-house." What's the meaning of all this ?" demanded a too- well-known voice, and looking up, we saw Mr Vialls standing beside us. He was in full evening-dress, having just returned home. Our knees shook under us, our tongues were glued in our mouths, and the policeman began to explain, and- Surely my readers don't want to hear any more! I suppose I had better finish my story, and yet I can scarcely bear to tell how we were laughed at by everybody except Mr Vialls, who stormed dread- fully and took away our precious pistol, and how Mrs THE BURGLAR. Bramble gave us a long lecture, and how we slunk off home with shamed faces, and how the affair got into the county paper, and how, in fact, we learned on all sides that we had made fools of ourselves, though we had nobody's blood on our consciences, for luckily not a single shot had taken effect. We were glad the boys had gone home, for we could not have faced them after what had happened; but when the holi- days were over, we had to go through it all, and never heard the end of that story about our desperate en- counter with a burglar. It was a desperate encounter, if we are to believe Phillips' account of it, which I read the other day in a magazine, and which gives a much higher estimate of the courage and coolness that we were called upon to display on the occasion. But this account did not appear for many years afterwards, and Phillips by that time had, no doubt, fully persuaded himself of its truth somehow or other, just as they say that George the Fourth, towards the end of his life, brought him- self to believe that he had actually been at the battle of Waterloo. Phillips always had a strong imagina- tion. So long as we were at school, however, we heard nothing of his version of the story; and certainly mine is the true one. 76 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. Good often comes out of evil, and it was so in this case. When Uncle Ned grew sober, and learned the risk he had run in his drunken fit, he was so much impressed that he resolved never to let himself be in such a condition again. He took the pledge at once, and I believe he kept it so long as I remained at Whitminster School. TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. SHERE is a lucky sort of people upon whom some godmother Fortune seems to have be- stowed a most valuable gift. While other men possess talents, virtues, accomplishments, muscles, good looks, good connections, good digestion, good temper, and other earthly goods, these favoured individuals are specially gifted with nothing more nor less than a natural character for respectability. They are not wiser or better than other men, often worse and more foolish, but by dint of good broad- cloth, spotless linen, clean-shaved faces, and a quiet demeanour, they contrive to pass through life in such wise as to be blamed by no man, and assume un- questioned a clear right to look down upon unfortunate outcasts, who are always getting into jail, or debt, or 80 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. other trouble, seem more acquainted with rags than razors, and know nothing of fine linen, except now and then by stealing it, but perhaps are no less worthy than some of the wearers of purple. This is the case in the great world, as has frequently been remarked by moralists of more authority than the present writer; and in the little world of school it is no other- wise. There such stripes as may be going have a knack of somehow falling often on the same shoulders; while other reputations, more or less worthily, seem to have the faculty of flourishing like a green bay- tree. Tom gets the credit of being a good boy; Dick and Harry get all the thrashing they deserve, and nobody pities them; nor, in all cases, are they so much to be pitied. The Tom of my story was such a Tom as I speak of. Not that he was called Tom, for nobody ever thinks of calling such a boy Tom; but his Christian name was certainly Thomas. In the registers of Whitminster School he was set down as "Thomas Bredgman." In the conversation of his schoolfellows he was rather mentioned as "The Crocodile," or still more commonly as "Crock." I don't know that the crocodile's character for respectability stands any higher in his own country than it does in tales and TOM, DICK, AND HARR Y. 81 books ,of travel; but I am sure nobody could have called Thomas Bredgman anything but an eminently respectable boy. At first sight he struck you in this light. He had a fat, placid, dutiful, meek look, that could not fail to set any master's mind at rest. He was never rash or defiant; he ran no risks of getting into trouble; an extreme caution marked his dealings in all matters that might be likely to lead him into contact with the ruling powers. He did not do much work, and he did not try to do much; but he said that he did, and that answered just as well in the case of a boy with such a reputation for propriety. Not that Master Bredgman sought to be distinguished for a high standard of virtue either among boys or masters. Rather he strove not to be discovered in any offence, and, like a juvenile Horace, counted himself happy if he might pass quietly through the trials of school life and escape unnoticed. Dick was a very'different sort of boy; but before I say what sort of boy he was, I must tell you why he was called Dick, for he was called Dick. There are two reasons for which one might expect to be called Dick, and neither of these applied to the present Richard. If there are a pair of brothers in a small school, one or both of them may come to be F 82 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. called by his Christian name; but our Dick, poor fellow, had neither brother nor sister in the wide world. Then, again, a boy who is a great favourite among his companions, or a pet of his masters, may be addressed in some such affectionate way; but I don't know that this Dick was a favourite with any one, certainly not with his masters. No; Dick was called Dick because you couldn't call him anything else. His surname was De Wilton, nothing less. Now, at the high-flown name of Richard de Wilton, we picture to ourselves a haughty, handsome,, noble-minded, Grecian-nosed, aristocratic youth, with thin white hands and smooth flaxen hair. But, in fact, this boy was stumpy, scrubby, sallow, snub-nosed, sandy- haired, with hands always spotted by ink, nails always bit to the quick, trousers always splashed to the knees, hair always in a mess, and a collar almost always crushed. It was said that a clean shirt was served out to De Wilton every Sunday and Thursday, but most observers must have held the existence of this garment to be as fabulous as that of the phoenix. There also went a report that on Sunday morning De Wilton's jacket was not covered with dust, nor his boots with mud, but few would have taken it upon them to affirm this fact TOM, DICK, AND HARR Y. with any confidence. His skin was one of those which have the mysterious property of attracting dirt from all quarters, and yet, as a sort of compensa- tion, are never dirtier in appearance than when they are clean. And if ever he did get a new suit of clothes, I am sure he never felt happy till he had torn or stained, or otherwise spoiled it for use by any person except a Dick or a Diogenes. Altogether, Master De Wilton was a very untidy, unruly, unlucky boy, and was, therefore, naturally called Dick. Neither gods, men, nor schoolmasters are kind to Dicks as a rule; nor do they do justice to themselves. They never get on so well as your steady Roberts and your solid Johns and your sen- sible Williams. They are a scatterbrained set. Dick always comes in for a greater share of the kicks than of the halfpence that may be going. Wherever there are puddles or troubles, he stumbles into them. He is caught in every scrape and in every shower. So it is little wonder if, on their passage through life, these Dicks can seldom manage to keep their coats clean or their skins tender. As example, let us take one of Dick's school-days, and mark how he was wont to fare at the hands of the'masters, and other powerful persons. He began 84 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. by being unlucky, for somebody had hid his stockings, or, at least, he couldn't find them, and was late for breakfast, and had a hundred lines for that. Then, at prayers, Bredgman asked him a question, and he answered, and the head-master saw him, and Dick had a lecture before the whole school, and the Cate- chism to write out by next Saturday. I need not say that he broke down in his repetition, and had twenty-two mistakes in his exercise, and was kept in. Bredgmari had twenty-four mistakes, but he wasn't kept in, as he protested he had been "doing his best." This injustice moved Dick, when they got out, to snatch off Bredgman's cap and kick it round the playground, and where should he kick it but into the face of Charteris, the great, the bewhiskered, the collared, the tail-coated, the champion of the sixth form, who immediately waxed wroth, and resented this insult to his dignity by an unceremonious but effectual thrashing. After that Dick made friends again with the Crocodile, and they were walking home together, and munching the pie of peace in com- pany, when they were encountered by Mr Vialls, who gave Dick an hour's detention for demeaning the school by eating pastry in public. Bredgman had been cunning enough to pop the evidence of his guilt TOM, DICK, AND HARR Y. under his jacket, and as Dick had paid for both tarts, perhaps it was fair that he only should be punished. After dinner he wrote an imposition, and had ten minutes over in which to play ball in a place where to play ball was forbidden. In these'ten minutes he managed to break a window as well as a rule, and had a "row" from Mrs Pearson, and a threat that his pocket-money should be stopped. At afternoon school he did not fail to get into more trouble. He was caught prompting another boy, and caned. This infliction settled him for a little, but soon he began to pluck up spirit and to draw a caricature of Mr Williamson on his slate, and of course Mr William- son was looking over his shoulder. Here you would think his troubles were finished for the day, but it was not so. In the evening, at the schoolhouse, some boys were impudent to the matron, and she reported Dick as the worst of them to Mr Vialls, and he was sent for to be caned again, and then it was discovered that his hands were quite black, and that he had been illegally forging in the coal-hole, and caught it all the worse, as soon as he had removed from his poor paws the slight protection afforded by a coating of dirt. Then he went in to preparation, and sowed for himself a crop of fresh troubles to come up next day. 86 STORIES OF WHITMINSTER. For, instead of learning his own lessons, he either essayed to help his neighbours with a sort of despon- dent yet resigned air of sulky good-nature, which only those who knew Dick can picture to themselves, or, sadly and solemnly, as was his wont, he took his pastime in throwing paper pellets across the room, and more likely than not-for this also was his wont- got caught, and was again consigned to the tender mercies of the furies of schoolboy life. But you are not to understand that he was as un- happy as he was unfortunate. At the best of times he seemed to wear a gloomy, care-worn look ; but at the worst, I don't think that he was really very wretched, though he was perhaps not so cheerful as a Dick ought to be. Schoolboys have a great deal of a very useful sort of philosophy, which enables them to get through their troubles with less pain than might be supposed. The boy, boyish and determined to enjoy his boyish- ness, not the zeal of masters ordering hard things, not the frown of the tyrant standing over him, can shake from his healthy mind, neither the Rev. Smith, the turbid ruler of the unquiet fourth form, nor even the great hand of the head-master, wielding no brutum fulmen. If, as we have been assured upon excellent authority, the efforts of a whole legion of titled and TOM, DICK, AND HARR Y. talented philanthropists are unavailing to make one shoeblack truly happy, it is no less a fact that to make one Dick utterly miserable is beyond the compass of human power, far as the ingenuity of the scholastic world has gone towards it, with such instruments as Latin Grammar and Greek Delectus. So this Dick would dry his tears and exhibit his bruises, and hope for the day when he should be a man, and should be able to play ball from morning till night, and in the meantime go off to amuse himself by getting into some fresh scrape. A very different day, you may be sure, had been passed by his companion, Mr Bredgman. He also began the morning by being late, but then he managed to persuade the master that he had come down in time, and had only gone back to get his pocket-hand- kerchief. At school he looked proper and attentive; indulging in no unseemly vagaries without making quite sure that so to do was quite safe under the cir- cumstances. He certainly broke down in his lessons, and said he was very sorry, and would try not to do it again, and looked like it; and offered with much politeness to carry some books for the master, and got the credit of being a dutiful, well-meaning fellow, who gave little trouble. In the afternoon, he walked |