LIBRARY UNIVERSITY O CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO yc ■M m&> 5S WITH AN AWFUL SINKING AT HEART, THEY SAW HIM PASS THROUGH THE SPOT WHERE THE MIST WAS THINNEST. Page 143. ST. WINIFRED'S oa THE WORLD OF SCHOOL FIY * REDERIC W< FARRAR, D. D. ■SAJTER OF MARinOROCSH C0LLE8K ; Al'fHOR OP "THE LIFE OF CBU3I 'jULiJtt HOME," " ERIC ; OR, LITTLE BY LITTLE" *TC. NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 31 West Twenty-third Street 1893. SACRED MEMORY derson's exuberant spirits prevented his ever speaking with- out giving vent to slang, bad puns, or sheer good-humored nonsense. " Aren't you in that form, Kenrick," asked Walter, as he saw him diverging to the right. " Oh, no ! dear me, no ?" said Henderson ; "7 am, but the eternal friend is at least two forms higher ; he, let me tell you, is a star of no ordinary magnitude ; he's in the Thicksides" — meaning the Thucydides' class. "You'll require no end of sky-climbing before you reach his alti- tude. And now, victim, behold your sacrificial priest," he said, placing Walter at the end of a table among some thirty boys who were seated in front of a master's desk in the large schoolroom, in various parts of which other forms were also beginning work under similar superintendence. When all the forms were saying lessons at the same time it may be imagined that the room was not very still, and that a master required good lungs who had to teach and talk there for hours. Not that Mr. Paton's form contributed very much to the quota of general noise. Although Henderson had chaffed Daubeny on his virtuous stillness, yet all the boys sat very nearly as quiet as Dubbs himself during school hours. Even Henderson and such mercurial spirits were awed into silence and sobriety. You would hardly have known that in that quarter of the room there was a form at all. Quicksilver itself would have lost its volatility under Mr. Paton's manipulation. It was hard at first sight to say why this was. Certainly Mr. Paton set many punishments, but so did other masters who had not half his success. The secret was, that Mr, Paton was something of a routinier, and that was the word, which, if he had known it, Kenrick would have used MR. P4T0N. 39 to describe him. If he set an imposition, the imposition must be done, and must be done at a certain time, without appeal. Mr. Paton was as deaf as Pluto to all excuses, and as inexorable as Rhadamanthus in his retributive (lis pensations. As for remitting a lesson, Mr. Paton would not have done it if St. Cecilia had offered him the whole wreath of red and white roses which the admiring angcla twined in her golden hair. Mr. Paton's rule was not the leaden * rule of Lesbos ; it could not be bent to suit the diversities of individual character, but was a rule iron and inflexible, which applied equally to all. His measure was that of Procrustes ; the cleverest boys could not stretch themselves beyond it, the dullest were mechanically pulled into its dimensions. Hence some fared hardly under it ; yet, let me hasten to say that, on the whole, with the great number of average boys, it was a success. The discipline which he established was perfect, and though many boys winced under it at the time, it was valuable to all of them, especially to those of an idle or sluggish tendency. After a time the form went up to eay a lesson. Each boy was put on in turn. When it came to Walter's turn Mr. Paton first inquired his name, which he entered with ex- treme neatness in his class-book — a book in which there was not a single blot from the first page to the last. He then put him on as he had put on the rest. " I had no book, sir, and didn't know what the lesson was," said Walter. " Excuses, sir, excuses 1" said Mr. Paton sternly; "you mean that you haven't learnt the lesson." " Yes, sir." "A bad beginning, Evson; bring me no excuses in future. You must write the lesson out." And an omin- * Arist. Nic. Eth , v. 14. 40 LAMENT FOB BLISSIDAS. ous entry implying this fact was written by Walter's freshly entered name. On this occasion Henderson was also turned, and with him a boy named Bliss. It was quite impossible for Hen- derson to be UDemployed on some nonsense, and heedless of the fact that he was himself Bliss's companion in misfortune, he opened a poetry-book, and taking Lycidas as his model, sate unusually still, while he occupied himself in composing a " Lament for Blissidas," beginning pathetically — " Poor Blissidas is turned ; turned ere hia prime Young Blissidas, and hath not left his peer; Who would not weep for Blissidas ? He knew Himself to say his Rep — but give him time — He must not quaff his glass of watery beer [Tnchaffed, or write, his paper ruled and lined. Without the meed of some melodious jeer/' " I'll lick you, Flip, after school," said the wrathful Bliss, shaking his fist, as Henderson began to whisper to him this monody. " Why do they call you Flip ?" asked Walter, laughing. " Short for Flibbertygibbet," said Bliss. "Bliss, Henderson, and Erson, do me two hundred lines each," said Mr. Paton ; and so on this, his first morning in school, a second punishment was entered against Wal- ter's name. " Whew-w-w . . . abomination of . . . spoken of by . . hush !" was Henderson's whispered comment. " I call that hard lines." But he continued his " Lament for Blis- sidas," notwithstanding, introducing St. Winified and othei mourners over Bliss's fate, and ending with the adinocitiou that in writins; the lines he was — a o To touch the tender tops of various quills, And mind and dot his quaint enamelled i's." A SYSTKM. 41 When Walter asked his tutor for the .aper on which to write his punishment, Mr. Robertson said to him, " Al- ready, Evson 1" in a tone of displeasure, and with a sar- casm hardly inferior to that of Talleyrand's celebrated " Deja." " Two hundred lines and a lesson to write out already .'" The days that began for Walter from this time were days of darkness and disappointment. He was not defi- cient in natural ability, but he had undergone no special training for St. Winifred's school, and consequently many things were new to him in which other boys had been pre- viously trained. The practice of learning grammar by means of Latin rules was particularly trying to him. He could have easily mastered the facts which the rules were intended to impress, but the empirical process suggested for arriving at the facts he could not remember, even if he could have construed the crabbed Latin in which it was conveyed. His father, too, had never greatly cultivated his powers of memory, and hence he felt serious difficulty at first with the long lessons that had to be learned by heart. Mr. Patou's system was simply this. If a boy failed in a lesson from any cause whatever, he had to write it out ; if he failed to bring it written out, he had to write it twice ; if lie was turned in a second lesson he was kept in during play hours ; if this process was long continued he was sent to the head-master in disgrace, and ran the chance of being flogged as an incorrigible idler. Mr. Paton made no allowance for difference of ability, or for idiosyncraciea of temperament. Now, the way the system worked on Walter was this . He failed in lessons because they were so new to him that he found it impossible to master them. He was not accus- tomed to work in such a crowded and noisy place as the 42 HOW IT WOKKED. great schoolroom, and the early hour for going to bed left little time for evening work. Accordingly he often failed; and whenever he did, the impositions or detentions, or both, took away from his available time for mastering his diffi- culties, and as this necessitated fresh failures, every single punishment became frightfully accumulative, and, alas 1 be- fore three weeks were over, Walter was " sent up for bad" to the head-master. By this he felt degraded and dis- couraged to the last degree. Moreover, harm was done to him in many other ways. Conscious that all this disgrace had come upon him without any serious fault of his own, and even in spite of his direct and strenuous efforts, he be- came oppressed with a sense of injustice and undeserved persecution. The apparent uselessness of every attempt to shake himself free from these trammels of routine rendered him desperate and reckless, and the serious diminution of his hours for play and exercise made him dispirited and out of sorts. And all this brought on a bitter fit of home-sick- ness, during which he often thought of writing home and imploring to be removed from school, or even of taking his deliverance into his own hands, and running away himself. But he knew that his father and mother were already dis- tressed beyond measure to hear of the mill-round of punish- ment and discredit into which he had fallen, and about which he frankly informed them ; so for their sakes he de- termined to bear up a little longer. Walter was getting a bad name as an idler, and was fast losing his self-respect. Happily our young Walter was saved by other influences from losing his self-respect. He was saved from it by one or two kindly and genial friendships ; by success in other lines, and by the happy consciousness that his presence at St. Winifred's was a help and comfort to some who needed such assistance with sore need. KIND FRIENDS. 43 One afternoon he was sitting disconsolately on a bench which ran along a blank wall on one side of the court, do- ing absolutely nothing. He was disgusted with the w)rld and with himself. It was three o'clock, and the court was deserted for the playground, as a match had been an- nounced that afternoon between the sixth form and the school, at which all but a very few (who never did any- thing but loaf about), were either playing or looking on. To sit with his head bent down, on a bench in an empty court doing nothing while a game was going on, was very unlike the Walter Evson of six weeks before ; but at that moment Walter was weary of detention which was just over ; he was burdened with punishments, he was half sick for want of exercise, and he was too much out of spirits to do anything. Keurick and Henderson had noticed and lamented the change in him. Not exactly knowing the causes of his ill- success, they were astonished to find so apparently clever a boy taking his place among the sluggards and dunces. On this day, guessing how it was likely to be, Kenrick had proposed not to join the game until detention was over, and then to make Evson come up and play ; and Hender- son had kindly offered to stay with him, and add his per- suasions to his friend's. As they came out ready dressed for football they caught sight of him. " Come along, old fellow ; you're surely going to fight for the school against the sixth," said Kenrick. " Isn't it too late ?" "No; any one is allowed a quarter of an hour's grace," t through the same mesh that barely admits a sprat." " I'll think of what you say ; but 1 must leave him in Dr. Lane's hands now," said Mr. Paton. " Who, I heartily hope, won't flog him," said Mr. Per- rival. " Why ? I don't see how he can do otherwise." " Because it will simply drive him to despair ; because, rf I know anything of his character, it will have upon him an effect incalculably bad." " I hope not," said Mr. Patoa The conversation dropped, and Mr. Percival resumed his newspaper. When Walter went to Dr. Lane in the evening, the Doctor inquired kindly and carefully into the nature of his offence. This, unfortunately, was clear enough, and Walter was far too ingenuous to attempt any extenuation of it. Even if he had not been intentionally idle, it was plain, on his own admission, that he had been guilty of the greatest possible insubordination and disrespect. These offences were rare at St. Winifred's, and especially rare in a new boy. Puzzled as he was by conduct so unlike the boy's apparent character, and interested by his natural and manly manner, yet Dr. Lane had in this case no alternative but the infliction of corporal punishment. Humiliated again, and full of bitter anger, Walter re- tarned to the great school-room, where he was received with sympathy and kindness by the others in his class. It was the dark part of the evening before tea-time, and the ooys, sitting idly round the fire, were in an apt mood for folly and mischief. They began a vehement discussiou about Paton's demerits, and called him every hard name they could invent. Walter took little part in this, for he «vas smarting too severely under the sense of oppression to SO "paying out." find relief in mere abuse ; but, from his flashing eyes and the dark scowl that sat so ill on his face, it was evident that a bad spirit had obtained the thorough mastery over all his better and gentler impulses. " Can't we do something to serve the fellow out V* said A nthony, one of the boys in Walter's dormitory. " But what can we do ?" asked several. " What, indeed ?" asked Henderson, mockingly ; and as it was his way to quote whatever he had last been read- ing, he began to spout from the peroration of a speech which he had seen in the paper — " Aristocracy, throned on the citadel of power, and strong in" " What a fool you are, Henderson," observed Franklin, another of the group ; " I'll tell you what we can do ; we'll burn that horrid black book in which he enters the detentions and impositions. " Foor book J" said Henderson ; " what pangs of con- science it will suffer in the flames ; give it not the glory of such martyrdom. Walter," he continued, in a lower voice, " I hope that you'll have nothing to do with this humbug ?" " I will though, Henderson ; if I'm to have nothing but canings and floggings, I may just as well be caned ano. flogged for something as for nothing." u The desk's locked," said Anthony ; " we shan't be able to get hold of the imposition book." '■ I'll settle that," said Walter ; " here, just hand me the poker, Dubbs." " I shall do no such thing," said Daubeny quietly, and his reply was greeted with a shout of derision. " Why, you poor coward, Dubbs," said Franklin, " you couldn't get anything for handing the poker." " I never supposed I could, Franklin," he answered ; 14 and as for being a coward, the real cowardice would ba THE DESK SMASHED. 61 to do what's absurd and wrong for fear of being laughed at or being kicked. Well, you may hit me," he said quietly, as Franklin twisted his arm tightly round, and hit him on it, " but you can't make me do what I don't choose." " We'll try," said Franklin, twisting his arm still more tightly, and hitting harder. " You'll try in vain," answered Daubeny, though the tears stood in his eyes at the violent pain. " Drop his arm, you Franklin," indignantly exclaimed Henderson, who though he was always teasing Daubeny, was very fond of him, " drop his arm, or, by Jove, you'll find that two can play at that. Dubbs is quite right, and you're a set of fools if you think you'll do any good by burning the punishment book. I've got the poker, and you shan't have it to knock the desk open. I suppose Patou can afford sixpence to buy another book ; and enter a tole- rable fresh score against you for this besides." " But he won't remember my six hundred lines, and four or live detentions," said Walter ; " here, give me the poker." " Pooh 1 pooh ! Evson, of course he'll remember them ; here, I'll help you with the lines ; I'll do a couple of hun- dred for you, and the rest you can write with two pens at a time ; it won't take you an hour. I'll show you the two-pen dodge ; I'll admit you into the two-pen-etralia. Like Milton, you shall ' touch the slender tops of various quills.' No, no," he continued, in a playful tone, iu order not to make Walter in a greater passion than he was, " you can't have the poker." " It doesn't matter ; this'll do as well ; and here goes," Baid Walter, seizing a wooden stool. " There's the desk open for you," he said, as he brought the top of the stool with a strong blow against the lid, and burst the ock witb a great crash. 62 LEAF BY LEAF. " My eyes ! we shall get into a row," said Franklin, opening bis eyes to illustrate his exclamation. " Well, what's clone's done ; let's all take our share," said Anthony, diving his hand into the desk. " Here's ths imposition-book for you, and here goes leaf number one into the fire ; you can tear out the next if you like, Frank- lin." " Very well," said Franklin ; " in for a penny in for a pound ; there goes the second leaf." " And here the third ; over ankles over knees," said Burton, another of those present. " Proverbial Fool-osophy," observed Henderson, con- temptuously, as Burton handed him the book. " Shall I be a silly sheep like the rest of you, and leap over the bridge because your leader has ? I suppose I must, though it's very absurd." He wavered and hesitated ; sensible enough to disapprove of so useless a proceeding he yet did not like to be thought afraid. He minded what fellows would think. " Do what's right," said Daubeny, " and shame the devil ; here, give me the book. Now, you fellows, you've torn out these leaves, and done quite mischief enough, Let me put the book back, and don't be like children who hit the fender against which they've knocked their heads." " Or clogs that bite the stick they've been thrashed with," said Henderson. " You're right, Dubbs, and I ro Bpect you ; aye, you fellows may sneer if you like, but I advised you not to do it, and I won't make myself an idiot because you do." " Never mind," drawled Howard Tracy ; " I hate Paton, and I'll do anything to spite him ;" whereupon he snatched the book from Daubeny, and threw it entire into the flames. Poor Tracy had been even in more serious scrapes with Mr. Paton than Walter had ; his vain manner was peculiarly IN THE FLAMES. 63 abhorent to the master, who took every opportunity of snubbing him ; but nothing would pierce through the thick cloak of Tracy's conceit, and fully satisfied with himself, his good looks, and his aristocratic connections, he sat down in contented ignorance, and despised learning too much to be in the least put out by being invariably the last in his form. " What, is there nothing left for me to burn V said Walter, who sate glowering on the high iron fender, and swinging his legs impatiently. " Let's see what else there is in the desk. Here are a pack of old exercises appa- rently, they'll make a jolly blaze. Stop, though, are they old exercises ? Well, never mind ; if not, so much the better. In they shall go." " Stop, what are you doing, Walter !" said Henderson, catching him by the arm ; " you know these can't be old exercises. Paton always put them in his wastepaper basket, not in his desk. Oh, Walter, what have you done ?" " The outside sheets were exercises anyhow," said Wal- ter, gloomily ; " here, it's no good trying to save them now, whatever they were" (for Henderson was attempting to rake them out between the bars) ; " they're done for now," and he pressed down the thick mass of foolscap into ohe reddest centre of the fire, and held it there until nothing remained of it but a heap of flaky crimson ashes. A dead silence followed, for the boys felt that now at any rate they were " in for it." The sound of the tea-bell prevented further mischief; and as Henderson thrust his arm through Walter's, he said, " Oh, Evson, I wish you hadn't done that ; I wish Fd got you to come away before. What a passionate fel- low you are." " Well, it's done now," said Walter already beginning to soften, and to repent of his fatuity. 6i " IN FOE IT." ''What can we do ?" said Henderson, anxiously. " Take the consequences ; that's all," answered Walter " Hadn't you better go and tell Paton about it at once, instead of letting him find it out ?" " No," said Walter ; " he's done nothing but bully me, and I don't care." " Then let me go," said his friend, earnestly. " I know Paton well ; I'm sure he'd be ready to forgive you, if I ex- plained it all to him." " You're very good, Flip ; but don't go ; it's too late." " Well, Walter, you mustn't think that I had no share in this because of being afraid. I was one of the group, and I'll share the punishment with you, whatever it is. I hope for your sake it won't be found out." It was noised through the school in five minutes, that Evson, one of the new fellows, had smashed open Paton's desk, and burned the contents. " What an awful row he'li get into," was the general comment. Walter heard Ken- rick inquiring eagerly about it as they sate at tea ; bu« Keurick didn't ask him about it, though they sate so neai each other. After the foolish, proud manner of sensitive boys, Walter and Keurick, though each liked the other none the less, were not on speaking terms. Walter, less morbidly proud than Keurick, would not have suffered this silly alienation to continue had not his attention been occu- pied by other troubles. Neither of them, therefore, liked to be the first to break the ice, and now in his most serious difficulty Walter had lost the advice and sympathy of his most intimate friend. The fellows seemed to think that he must inevitably be expelled for this fracas. The poor boy's thoughts were very, very bitter as he laid his head that night on his rest less pillow, remembered what an ungovernable fool he had deen, and dreamt of his happy and dear-loved heme. Ho\» REPENTANCE. 65 strangely lie seemed to have left his old innocent life behind him, and how little he would have believed it possible, two months ago, that he could by any conduct of his own him bo soon incurred, or nearly incurred, the polity of expul- sion from St Winifred'* *«hool CaAPTiiK THE EIGHTH. THE BURNT MANUSCRIPT. IT may be supposed that during chapel the next morni ag, and when he went into early school, Walter was in an agony of almost unendurable suspense ; and this sus- pense was doomed to be prolonged for some time, until at ]ast he could hardly sit still. Mr. Paton did not at once notice that his desk was broken. He laid down his books, and went on as usual with the morning lesson. At length Tracy was put on. He stood up in his usual self-satisfied way, looking admiringly at his boots, aud run- ning his delicate white hand through his scented hair. Mr Paton watched him with a somewhat contemptuous expres- sion, as though he were thinking what a pity it was that any boy should be such a little puppy. Henderson, with his usual quick discrimination, had nick-named Tracy the " Lisping Hawthornbud." " Your fifth failure this week, Tracy ; you must do the usual punishment," said Mr. Paton, taking up his key to unlock the desk. " Now for it," thought all the form, looking on with great anxiety. The key caught hopelessly in the broken lock. Mr. Pa ton's attention was aroused ; he pushed the lid off the lesk, and saw at once that it had been broken open. " Who has broken open my desk ?" No answer. He looked very grave, but said nothing, looking for his tmposition-book. G6 BUKNT. 61 11 Where is my imposition-book ?" No answer. " And where is my ?" Mr. Paton stopped, and looked with the greatest eager- ness over every corner of the desk. " Where is the manuscript I left here with my imposition- book ?" he said, in a tone of the most painful anxiety. " I do hope and trust," he said, turning pale, " that none of you have been wicked enough to injure it," and here his voice faltered. " When I tell you that it was of the utmost value, I am sure that if any of you have concealed or taken it, you will give it back at once." There was a deep silence. " Once again," he asked, " where is my imposition- book ?" " Burnt, sir ; burnt, sir," said one or two voices, hardly above a whisper. " And my manuscript ?" he asked, in a louder voice, and in still greater agitation. " Surely, surely, ycu cannot have been so thoughtless, so incredibly unjust, as to" Walter stood up in his place, with his head bent, and his face covered with an ashy whiteness. " I burnt it, air," he said, in an almost inaudible voice, and trembling with fear. " Come here," said Mr. Paton, impetuously ; " I can't hear what you say. Now, then," he continued, as Walter crept up beside his desk. " I burnt it, sir," lie said, in a whisper. " You — burnt — it 1" said Mr. Paton, starting up in un- controllable emotion, which changed into a burst of auger, »s he gave Walter a box on the ear which sounded all over the room, and made the boy stagger back to his place, But the flash of rage was gone in an instant ; and the next moment Mr. Paton, afraid of trusting himself any longer, 68 THE MANUSCEIPT. left his desk and hurried out, anxious to recover in solitude the calmness of mind and action which had been so terribly disturbed. Mr. Percival, who taught his form in another part of the room, seeing Mr. Paton box Walter so violently on the ear, and knowing that this was the very reverse of his nsual method, since he had never before touched a boy in anger, walked up to see what was the matter, just as Mr. Paton, with great hurried strides, had reached the door. " What is the matter with Mr. Paton ?" he asked. There was a general murmur through the form, out of which Mr. Percival caught something about Mr. Paton'a papers having been burnt. Anxious to find him, to ask what had happened, Mr. Percival, leaving the room, caught sight of him, pacing with hasty and uneven steps, along a private garden walk which belonged to the masters. " I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred," he said, over- taking him. " Oh, nothing, nothing," said Mr. Paton, with quivering lip, as he turned aside. And then, suppressing his emotion by a powerful effort of self-control ; " it is only," he caid, " that the hard results of fifteen years' continuous labor are now condensed into a heap of smut and ashes in the school- room fire." " You don't mean to say that your Hebrew manuscripts are burnt ?" asked Mr. Percival in amazement. " You know how I have been toiling at them for years, Percival ; you know that I began them before I left col- lege, that I regarded them as the chief work of my life, and that I devoted to them every moment of my leisure. Yon know, too, the pride and pleasure which I took in their progress, and the relief with which I turned to them from the vexatious and anxieties of one's life here. To work at WHAT IT WAS. 08 them has been for years my only recreation and delight Well, they were finished at last ; I was only correcting them foi tne press ; they would have gone to the printel in a month, and I should have lived to complete a toilsome and honorable task. Well, the dream is over, and a hand fill of ashes represents the struggle of my best years." Mr. Percival knew well that he had been working for years at a commentary on the Hebrew text of the Four Greater Prophets. It had been the cherished and chosen task of his life ; he had brought to it great stores of learn- ing, accumulated in the vigor of his powers, and the enthu- siasm of a youthful ambition, and he had employed upon it every spare hour left him from his professional duties. He looked to it as the means of doing essential service to the church of which he was an ordained member, and, second- arily, as the road to reputation and well-merited advance- ment. And in five minutes the hand of one angry boy had robbed him of the fruit of all his hopes. " If they wanted to display the hatred which I well know that they feel," said Mr. Paton, bitterly, " they might have chosen any way, literally any way, but that. They might have left me, at least, that which was almost my only plea- sure and object in life, and which had no connection with them or their pursuits." And his face grew haggard as he stopped in his walk, and tried to realize the extent of what he had lost. " I would rather have seen everything I pos- sess in the whole world destroyed than that," he said, slowly. and with strong emotion. " And was it really Evson who did this ?" asked Mr. Percival, filled with the sincerest pity for his colleague's wounded feelings. " It matters little who did it, Percival ; but, yes, it wa >>our friend Evson." " The little graceless, abominable wretch !" exclaimed 70 A LIFERS WOKK. Mr. Percival, with anger, " he must be expelled. But can't you recommence the task ?" " Recommence !" said Mr. Patou, in a hard voice ; " and who will give me back the hope and vigor of the last fifteen years ? How shall I have the heart again to toil through the same long trains of research and thought? Where are the hundreds of references which I had sought out and verified with hours of heavy midnight labor ? How am I to have access again to the scores of books which I consulted before I began the work ? The very thought of it sickens me. Youth and hope are over. No, Percival, there is no more to be said. I am robbed of a life's work Leave me, please, alone for a little, until I have learnt to say less bitterly. ' God's will be done.' " " He needeth not Either man's work or his own gifts ; who best Bear his mild yoke they please him best," said Mr. Percival, in a tone of kind and deep sympathy, as he left him to return to the school-room. But once in sight of Mr. Paton's open and rifled desk, Mr. Percival's pent-up indignation burst forth into clear flame. Stopping in front of Mr. Paton's form, he ex- claimed, in a voice that rang with scorn and sorrow — " You boys do not know the immense mischief which your thoughtless and worthless spite and folly have caused. 1 say, boys — but I believe, and rejoice to believe, that one only of you is guilty, and I rejoice, too, that that one is a new boy, who must have brought here feelings and pas- sions more worthy of an ignorant and ill-trained plough- boy than of a St. Winifred's scholar. The hand that would burn a valuable manuscript would fire a rick of hay," " Oh, sir," said Henderson, starting up and interrupting aim, " we were all very nearly as bad. It was the rest of MR. 1'KKCIVAL. 71 Qb thai burnt the imposition-book ; Evson had nothing to do with that." Henderson had forgotten for the moment that lie at least had had no share in burning the imposition- book, for his warm, quick heart could not bear that these blows should fab unbroken on his friend's head. But his generous eifort failed ; for Mr. Percival, barely noticing the interruption, continued — " The imposition- book ? I know nothing about that. If you burnt it you were very foolish and reckless ; you deserve no doubt to be punished for it, but that was comparatively nothing But do you know, bad boy," he said, turning again to Walter, "do you know what you have done? Do you know that your dastardly spitefulness has led you to de- stroy writings which had cost your master years and years of toil that cannot be renewed ? He treated you with un- swerving impartiality ; he never punished you but when you deserved punishment, and when he believed it to be for your good, and yet you turn upon him in tins adder-like way ; you break open his desk like a thief, and, in one mo- ment of despicable ill-temper, you rob him and the world of that which had been the pursuit and object of his life. You, Evson, may well hide your face" — for Walter had bent over the desk, and in agonies of shame and remorse had covered his face with both hands ; — " you may well be ashamed to look cites: at me or at any honest and manly, and right-minded boy among your companions. Yon have done a wrong for which it will be years hence a part of your retribution to remember, that nothing you can ever do can repair it, or do away with its effects. I am more than disappointed with you You have done mischief which the utmost working o.' all your powers cannot for years counterbalance, if, instead of being as base and idle as you now appear to be, you were to devote your whole heart to work. I don't know what will be done to vou : 72 CRUSHED. T, for my part, hope that you will not be suffered to remain with us ; but if you are, I am sure that you will receive, aa you richly deserve, the reprobation and contempt of every boy among your school-fellows who is capable of one spark of zionor or right feeling." Every word that Mr. Percival had said came to poor ♦Valter with the most poignant force ; all the master's ve.- proaches pierced his heart and let blood. He sat there not stirring, stunned and crushed, as though he had been beaten by the blows of a hammer. He quailed and shud- dered to think of the great and cruel injustice, the base and grievous injury into which his blind passion had be- trayed him, and thought that he could never hold up his head again. Mr. Percival's indignant expostulation passed over the other culprits, who heard, it like a thunder-storm. There was a force and impetuosity in this gentleman's manner, when his anger was kindled, which had long gained for him among the boys, with whom he was the most popular of all the masters, the half-complimentary sobriquet of " Thun- der-and-lightning." But none of them had ever before heard him speak with such concentrated energy and pos- sion, and all except generous little Henderson were awed by it into silence. But Henderson at that moment was wholly absorbed in Walter's sorrows. " Tell him," said he in Walter's ear, " tell him it was all a mistake, that you thought the papers were old exercises. Dear Walter, tell him before he goes." But Walter still rested with his white cheeks on hia hands upon the desk, and neither moved nor spoke. And Mr. Percival, turning indignantly upon his heel, with one last glance of unmitigated contempt, had walked off to hia own form. " Walter, don't take it to heart so," said Henderson ALONE WITH KEMOESE. 73 putting Ills arm round his neck ; " you couldn't help it ; you made a sad mistake, that's all. Go and tell l'aton so, and I'm sure he'll forgive you." A slight quiver was all that showed that Walter heard Henderson would have liked to see his anguish relieved by a burst of tears ; but the tears did not come, and Walter did not move. At last a hand touched him, and he heard the voice of the head-boy say to him, " Get up, Bvson, I'm to take you to Dr. Lane with a note from Mr. Percival." He rose and followed mechanically, waiting in the head- master's porch, while the monitor went in. " Dr. Lane won't see you now," said Seiners, coming out again. "Croft" (addressing the school Famulus), "Dr. Lane says you're to lock up Mr. Evson by himself in the private room." Walter followed the Famulus to the private room, a lit- tle room at the top of the house, where he knew that boys were locked previous to expulsion, that they might have no opportunity for doing any mischief before they went. The Famulus left him here, and returned a few minutes after with some dry bread and milk, which he placed on the deal table, which, with a wooden chair, constituted the sole furniture of the room ; he then locked the door, and left Walter finally to his own reflections. Then it was that flood after flood of passionate tears seemed to remove the iron cramp which had pained his heart. He flung himself on the floor, and as he thought of the irreparable cruelty which he had inflicted on a mai- who had beou severe indeed, but never unkind to him, and of the apparent malignity to which all who heard it would attribute what he had done, he sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would break. At one o'clock the Famulus returned with some dinner 4 T4 kenrick's note. He foimd Walter sitting at a corner of the room, his head resting against the angle of the wall, and his eyes red and inflamed with long crying. The morning's meal still lay uutasted on the table. He looked round with a commiserating glance. " Comt, come, Master Evson," he said, " you've no call to give way so, sir. If you've done wrong, the wrong's done now, and frettin' wont help it. There's them above as'll forgive you, and make you do better next time, lad, if you only knew it. Here, you must eat some of this dinner, Master Evson, and leave off cryin' so ; cryin' 's no comfort, sir." He stood by and waited on Walter with the greatest kindness and respect, till he had seen him swallow some food, not without difficulty, and then with encouraging and cheerful words left him, and once more locked the door. The weary afternoon wore on, and Walter sat mourn- fully alone with nothing but miserable thoughts — miserable to whatever subject he turned them, and more miserable the longer he dwelt on them. As the shades of evening drew in, he feit his head swimming, and the long solitude made him feel afraid as he wondered whether they would leave him there all night. And then he heard a light step approach the door, and a gentle tap. He made no answer, for he thought he knew the step, and he could not summon up voice to speak for a lit of sobbing which it brought on. Then he heard the boy stoop down, and push a note under the door. He took it up when he heard the footsteps die away, and by the fast failing light was just able to make it out. It ran thus : " Dear Walter — You can't think how sorry, how very; very sorry I am for you. I wish I could be with you and take part of your punishment. Forgive me for being coid PITILESS. 75 fcnd proud to you. I have been longing to speak to you all the time, but felt too shy. It was all my fault. I will never break with you again. Good bye, dear Walter, from your ever and truly affectionate, " Harry Kenrick." " He will never break with me again," thought Walter. " If I'm to go to-morrow I'm afraid he'll never have the chance." And then his saddest thoughts reverted to the home which he had left so recently for the first time, and to which he was to return with nothing but dishonor and disgrace. At six o'clock the kind-hearted Famulus brought him a lamp, some tea, and one or two books, which he had no heart to read. No one was allowed to visit the private room under heavy penalties, so that Walter had no other visitor until eight, when Somers, the monitor who had taken him to Dr. Lane, looked in and icily observed, " You're to sleep in the sick-room, Evson ; come with me." " Am I expelled, Somers ?" he faltered out. " I don't know," said Somers in a freezing tone ; " you deserve to be. At any rate, I for one won't have you as a fag any longer, and I shouldn't think that any one else would either." With which cutting remark he left Waltei to his re flections. CHAPTER THE NINTH. PENITENCE. \ TEXT morning Walter was reconducted to the privatt \ room, and there, with a kind of dull paiu in head ■*- ' and heart, awaited the sentence which was to decide his fate. His fancy had left St. Winifred's altogether ; it was solely occupied with Sernlyn, and the dear society of home. Walter was rehearsing again and again in his mind the scene of his return ; what he should say to his father ; how he should dry his mother's tears ; and how he should bear himself, on his return, towards his little brothers and sisters. Would he, expelled from St. Winifred's, ever be able to look any one in the face again at home ? While he was brooding over these fancies, some one, breathless with haste, ran up to his room, and again a note was thrust underneath the door. He seized it quickly, and read — " Dear Walter — I am so glad to be the first to tell you that you are not to be expelled. Paton has begged you off. No time for more. I have slipped away before morn- ing school to leave you this news, and can't stay lest T should be caught. Good bye, from your ever affectionate friend, H. K.» The boy's heart gave one bound of joy as he read this. If he were not expelled he was ready to bear meekly any oilier punishment appointed to his offence. But his ban aliment from the school would cause deep affliction to FACE TO FACE. 77 Others besides himself, and this was why he had dreaded it with such a feeling of despair. Alone as he was in the little room, he fell on his knees, and heartily and humbly thanked God for this answer to his earnest, passionate, reiterated prayer ; and then he read Kenrick's note agaiu. " Paton has begged you off." He repeated this sen teuce over and over again, aloud and to himself, and seemed as if he could never realise it. Paton — Paton, the very man whom he had so deeply and irreparably in- jured — had begged him off, and shielded him from a pun- ishment which no one could have considered too severe for his fault. Young and inexperienced as Walter Evson was, he could not of course fully understand and appreciate the amount of the loss, the nature and degree of the injury which he had inflicted ; but yet, he could understand that he had done something which caused greater pain to his master than even the breaking of a limb, or falling ill of a severe sickness. And he prayed for himself, praying also that Mr. Paton's misfortune might in some way be allevi- ated ; and that he, Walter, might himself have some share in rendering it more endurable. What had been done could never be undone. And " Paton had begged him off." It was all the more won- erful to him, and he was all the more deeply grateful for t, because he knew that, in Mr. Paton's views, the law of punishment for every offence was as a law of iron and ada- mant. A slow and hesitating footstep — the sound of the key turning in the door — a nervous hand resting on the handle — tnd Mr. Paton stood before him. In an instant Walter was on his knees beside him, his Head bent over his clasped hands ; " Oh, sir," he exclaimed, '* please forgive me ; I have been longing to see you, sir, '(& ".NEQUE DIYFINGET to implore you to forgive me ; for when yoa have forgiven me I shan't mind any tiling else. Oh, sir, forgive me, if you can." " Do you know, Evson, the extent of what you hava done ?" said Mr. Paton in a constrained voice. " sir, indeed I do," he exclaimed, bursting into tears : " Mr. Percival said I had destroyed years and years of hard work ; and that I can never, never, never make up for it, or repair it again. sir, indeed I didn't know how much mischief I was doing ; I was in a wicked passion then, but I would give my right hand not to have done it now. sir, can you ever forgive me ?" he asked, in a tone of pitiable despair. '' Have you asked God's forgiveness for your passionate and revengeful spirit, Evson ?" said the same constrained voice. " O sir, I have, and I know God has forgiven me. In- deed, I never knew, I never thought before, that I could grow so wicked in a day. sir, what shall I do to gain your forgiveness ; I would do anything, sir," he said in a voice thick with sobs ; " and if you forgave me, I could be almost happy." All this while Walter had not dared to look up in Mr. Paton's face. Abashed as he was, he could not bear to meet the only look which he expected to find there, the old cold uupitying look of condemnation and reproach. He dared not look up through his eyes swimming with tears ; but he had not expected the kind and gentle touch of the trembling hand that rested on his head as though h, blessed him, and that smoothed again and again his dark hair, and wiped the big drops away from his cheeks. Ho aad not expected the arm that raised him up from his kneel- ing position, and the fingers that pushed back his hair from 'lis forehead, and gently bent back his head ; or the pitying INFECTUMQLK KKDDET." 79 3yes. themselves dim, as though they were about to well Dver with compassion — that looked so sorrowfully, yet so kindly iuto his own. He could not bear this. If Mr. Pa- ton had struck him, as he did in the first moment of over- whelming anger ; if lie had spurned him away, and ordered him any amount of punishment, it would have been far easier to bear than this Christian gentleness ; this ready burying in pity and oblivion of the heaviest and most un- deserved calamity which the master had ever undergone at the hands of man. Walter could not bear it ; he flung himself on his knees again in a passion of weeping, and clasped Mr. Paton's knees, uttering in broken sentences, " I can never make up for it, never repair it as long as I live." For a moment more the kind hand again rested on the boy's head, and gently smoothed his dark hair ; and then Mr. Paton found voice to speak, and lifting him up, and seating him upon his knee, said to him — ■ " I forgive you, Walter ; forgive you freely and gladly. it was hard, I own, at first to do so, for I will not disguise from you that this loss is a very bitter thing to bear. I have been sleepless, and have never once been able to banish the distress of mind which it has caused since it oc- curred. And yet it is a loss which I shall not feel fully all at once, but most and for many a long day when I sit. down again, if God gives me strength to do so, to recover the lost stores and rearrange the interrupted thoughts. But I too have learnt a lesson, Walter ; and when yoa have reached my age, my boy, you too, I trust, will have learnt to control all evil passions with a strong will, and to bear meekly and patiently whatever God sends. And you >oo, Walter, learn a lesson. You have said that you would give anything, do anything, to undo this wrong, or to repair it ; but you can do nothing, my child, give nothing, for it canuot be undone. Wrong rarely can b« SO FORGIVENESS. mended. Let this very helplessness teach yo-i a truth that may remain with you through life. Let it ch( ck you in wilful impetuous moments ; for what lias once been done remains irrevocable. You may rue for years and years the work of days or of moments, and you may never be able to avoid the consequences, even when the deed itself has been forgotten by the generous and forgiven by the just." A nd all this so kindly, so gently, so quietly spokeu ; every word of it sank into Walter's heart never to be for- gotten, as his tears flowed still but with more quiet sadness now. " Yes, Walter, this occurrence," continued Mr. Paton in a calm low voice, " may do us both good, miserable as it is. I will say no more about it now, only that I have quite forgiven it. Man is far too mean a creature to be justified in withholding forgiveness for any personal wrong. It is far more hard to forgive one's-self when one has done wrong. I have determined to bury the whole matter in oblivion, and to inflict no punishment either on you or on any of the other boys who were concerned in this folly and bin. I will not forgive by halves. But, Walter, I will not wrong you by doubting that from this time forward you will advance with a marked improvement. You will have something to bear, no doubt, but do not let it weigh on you too heavily ; and as for me, I will try henceforth to be your friend." What could Walter do but seize his hand and clasp it earnestly, and sob out the broken incoherent thanks wkbh were more eloquent than connected words. "And now, Walter, you are free." said Mr. Paton " From us you will hear no more of this offence. It is nearly dinner time. Come ; I will walk with you to hall." He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, and they walked CNPITIED. 81 down stairs and across the court. Walter was deeply grateful that he did so, for he had heard rumors of the scorn and indignation with which the news of his conduct had been received by the elder and more influential portions of the school. He had dreaded unspeakably the first oc- casion when it would be necessary to meet them again, but he felt that Mr. Paton's countenance and kindness had paved the way for him, and smoothed his most formidable trial. It had been beyond his wannest hopes that he should be able to face them so. He had never dared to expect this open proof, that the person who had suffered chiefly from his act would also be the first to show that he had not cast him off as hopeless or worthless, but was ready to receive him into favor once again. The corridor was full of boys waiting for the dinner bell, and they divided respectfully to leave a passage for Mr. Paton, and touched their hats as he passed them with his hand still on Walter's shoulder, while Walter walked with downcast eyes beside him, not once daring to look up. And as the boy passed them, humbled and penitent, with Mr. Paton's hand resting upon him, there was not one of those who saw it that did not learn from that sight a lesson of calm forgiveness as noble and as forcible as any lesson which they could learn at St. Winifred's school. Walter sat at dinner, pale and crying, but unpitied. The worst construction had assiduously been put upon what he had done, and nearly all the boys hastily condemned it, as an inexcusable and unpardonable act. One after another, as they passed him after dinner, they cut him dead. Seve- ral of the masters, including Mr. Percival, whom Walter had hitherto loved and respected more than any of them. because he had been treated by him with marked kindness, did the same. Walter met Mr. Percival in the playground and touched his cap ; Mr. Percival glanced at him con 4* 32 DARK DAYS. tempt uously for a moment, and the:', turned his head aside without noticing the salute. All that any one took the trouble to know or to believe about Walter's scrape was, that he had broken open a master's private desk, and in revenge had purposely burnt a most valuable manuscript ; f.nd for this, sentence was passed upon him broadly and in the gross. Poor Walter 1 those were dark days for him ; but Hen- derson and Kenriek stuck fast by him, and little Arthur Eden still looked up to him with unbounded gratitude and affection, and he felt that the case was not hopeless. Ken- rick, indeed, seemed to waver once or twice. He sought Walter and shook hands with him at once, but still he was uot with him, Walter fancied, so much as he had been or might have been, till, after a short struggle, his natural impulse of generosity won the day. As for Henderson, Walter thought he could have died for him, so much he loved him for his kindness in this hour of need ; and Edeu never left his side when he could creep there to console him by merry playfulness, or to be his companion when he would otherwise have been alone. The boys had been truly sorry to hear of Mr. Paton's loss ; it roused all their most generous feelings. That evening, as they came out of chapel, they all gathered round the iron gates. The intention had been to groan at poor Walter. He knew of it perfectly well, for Henderson had prepared him lor it, and expressed his determination to walk by his side. It was for him a moment of keen an- guish, and that anguish betrayed itself in his scared and Agitated look. But he was spared this last drop in the cup of punishment. The mere sight f him showed the boys that he had suffered bitterly enough already. When they looked at him, they had not the heart to hurt and aha me him any more. Mr. Pa ton's open forgiveness of thai THE INTERVIEW. 83 which had fallen most severely on himself changed the cur- rent of their feelings. Instead of groaning Walter they let him pass by, and waited till Mr. Patou came out of the chapel door, and, as he walked across the court, the boys all followed him with hearty cheers. Mr. Paton did not like the demonstration, although he appreciated the kindly and honorable motives which had given rise to it. He was not a man who courted popular- ity, and this external sign of it was, as he well knew, the irregular expression of an evanescent feeling. So he took no further notice of the boys' cheers than by slightly rais- ing his cap, and by one stately inclination of the head, and then he walked on, with his usual quiet dignity of manner, to his own rooms. But after this, he every now and then took an opportunity to walk with Walter ; and almost every Sunday evening he might have been seen with him pacing, after morning chapel, up and down the broad walk of the masters' garden, while Walter walked unevenly be- side him, in vain endeavors to keep step with his long slow stride. A letter from Dr. Lane brought Walter's father to St. Winifred's the next day. Why dwell on their sad and painful meetiug ? But the pain of it soon wore off as they interchanged that sweet and frank communion of thoughts and sympathies that still existed as it had ever done, be- tween them. They had a long, long walk upon the shore, aud at every step Walter seemed to inbreathe fresh strength, and hope, and consolation, and Mr. Evson seemed to ac- quire new love for, and confidence in, his unhappy little son ; so that when in the evening he kissed him and said "goodbye," at the top of the same little hill where they had parted before, Mr. Evson felt more happily and grate- fully secure of his radical integrity, now that the boy had acquired the strength which conies through trial, through 64 mk. r axon's failure, and through suffering, than he had done before when lie left him only with the strength of early principle and untested innocence of heart. But long years after, when Walter was a man, and when he had been separated for years from all intelligence of Mr Paton, there emanated from a quiet country vicarage a now celebrated edition of the " Major Prophets" — an edi- tion which made the author a high reputation, and secured for him in the following year the Deanery of . Ana in the preface of that edition the reader may still find the following passage, which, as Walter saw even then, those long years after, he could not read without a thrill of happy, yet penitent emotion. It ran thus : "This edition of the 'Major Prophets' has been the chosen work of the author's leisure, and he is almost afraid to say how many of the best years of his life have been spent upon it. A strange fortune has happened to it. Years ago it was finished; it was written out, and ready for the press. At that time it was burnt — no matter under what circumstances — by a boy's hand. At first, the au- thor never hoped to have the courage or power to resume and finish the task again. But it pleased God, who sent him this trial, to provide him also with leisure, and oppor- tunity, and resolution, so that the old misfortune is now at last repaired. It is for the sake of one person, and one person only, that these private matters are intruded on the reader's notice ; but that person, if his eye should ever fall on these lines, will know also why the word 'repaired' has been printed in larger letters. And I would also tell him, with all kindness, that it has pleased God to bring out of the rash act of his boyhood nothing but good. The follow- ing commentary is, I humbly trust, far more worthy of its high subject, now that it has received the maturer consider- ation of my advancing years, than it would have been had PKKFAUE. 85 it seen tlie light at St. Winifred's long ago. I write this for the sake of the boy who then wept for what seemed an irreparable fault ; and I add thankfully, that never for a ELoment have J retracted nry then' forgiveness; that I think af his after efforts with kindliness and affection ; and that he has, and always will have, my best prayers for his inte- rest and welfare. " H. Paton " CHArTER THE TENTH UPHILLWARDS. WALTER said nothing to exculpate his conduct, ortc shield himself from the silent indignation, half real and half-affected, which weighed heavily against him. The usual consequences followed ; the story of his misdo- ing was repeated and believed in the least mitigated form, and this version gained credence and currency because it was uncontradicted. The school society bound his sin upon him ; they retained it, and it was retained. It burdened his conscience with a galling weight. He had not only lost all immediate influence, but as he looked forward through the vista of his school life, he feared that he should never entirely regain it. Even if he should in time become a monitor, he felt as if half his authority must be lost while this stigma was branded so deeply on his name. Yet it was a beautiful sight to see how bravely and manfully this young boy set himself to reestablish the re- putation he had destroyed ; to see with what touching humility he accepted undeserved scoru, and with what touching gratitude he hailed the scantiest kindness ; to see now he bore up unflinchingly under every difficulty, ac- cepted his hard position among unsympathiziug schoolfel- lows, and made the most of it, without anger and without complaint. Perhaps the strain would have been too great for his youthful spirits, and might have left on Lis character an impress of permanent melancholy, derived *rom thus being YEAK8 WHICH THE LOCDST HATH EATEN. 87 perpetually reminded that he had gone wrong, but for a school sermon which Mr. Paton preached about this time, and which Walter felt was meant in part for him. It was on the danger and unwisdom of brooding continually on what is over ; and it was preached upon the text, "I will restore to you the years which the locust hath eaten, the canker-worm, the caterpillar, and the palmer-worm, my great army." " The past is past," said the preacher ; " its sins and sorrows are irrevocably over ; why dwell upon it now ? Do not waste the present, with all its opportu- nities, in a hopeless and helpless retrospect. The worst of us need not despair, much less those who may have been betrayed into sudden error by some moment of unguarded passion. There lies the future before you ; — onwards then, and forwards ! it is yet an innocent, it may be a happy future. Take it with prayerful thankfulness, and fling the withered part aside. Thus, although thus only, can you recover your neglected opportunities. Do this in hope and meekness, and God will make up to you for the lost past ; He who inhabiteth eternity will stretch forth out of His eternity a forgiving hand, and touch into green leaf again the years which the locust hath eaten " How eager Wal tcr Evson drank in those words 1 That day at least he felt that man doth not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. If Walter had been old enough to be an observer of character, he might have gathered out of his difficulties the materials for some curious observation on the manner in which he was treated by different boys. Many, like H/ir pour and Cradock, made, of course, no sort of difference si their behavior towards him, because they set up no pre- tence of condemnation ; others, like Anthony and Frank- lin, had been nearly as bad as himself in the matter, and therefore their relations to him remained quite unaltered. 88 REGINALD POWKR. But there were many boys who, like Jones, cither cut him or were cold to him, because he was, for the time, unpop- ular, aud they did not care to be seen with an unpopular boy. On the other hand, through a feeling, which at the time they could not understand, a few of the very best boys, some of the wisest, the steadiest, and noblest, seemed drawn to him by some new tie ; and in a very short time he began to know friends among them in whose way he might not otherwise have been thrown. Daubeny, for in- stance, sought Walter out on every possible occasion, and when they were alone spoke to him, in his gentle and hon- est way, many a cheering and kindly word. Another friend of this sort (whom Walter already knew slightly through Kenrick, who was in the form below him) was a boy named Power. There was something in Power most attractive ; his clear eyes, and innocent expression of face, his unvary- ing success in all school competitions, his quiet and graceful maimers, and even the coldness aud reserve which made him stand somewhat aloof from the herd of boys, mixing with very few of them, firmly and unobtrusively assuming an altogether higher tone than theirs, and bestowing his confidence and friendship on hardly any — all tended tu make him a marked character, and to confer on his inti- macy an unusual value. Walter, to whom as yet he had hardly spoken, thought him self-centered and reserved, and yet saw something beautiful and fascinating even in his exclusiveness ; he felt that he could have liked him much, but, as he was several forms lower than Power, never ex- pected to become one of his few associates. But during his troubles Power so openly showed that he regarded him with respect and kindness, and was so clearly the first to make advances, that Walter gladly and gratefully accepted the proffered friendship. It haDDened thus : One day, about a fortnight after hi* ON THE WANDS. 89 last escapade, Walter was amusing himself alone, as he often did, upon the shore. The shore was very dear to nim. I almost pity a boy whose school is not by the sea- Bide. He found on the shore both companionship and oc- cupation. He never felt lonely there, ne could sit there by the hour, either in calm or storm, watching the sea-birds dip their wings which flashed in the sunlight, as they pounced down on some unwary fish ; or listening to the silken rustle and sweet monotony of the waves plashing mu- sically upon the yellow sands on some fine day. On this evening the tide was coming in, and Walter had amused himself by standing on some of the lumps of granite tossed about the shore until the advancing waves encroached upon and surrounded his little island, and gave him just room to jump to land. He was standing on one of these great stones, watching the sunset and laughing to himself at the odd gambols of two or three porpoises that kept rolling about in a futile manner across the little bay, when he heard a pleasant voice say to him — " I say, Evson, are you going to practise the old stylo of martyrdom — tie yourself to a stake and let the tide gra- dually drown you ?" Looking round, he was surprised to see Power standing alone on the sands, and to see also that his little island was so far surrounded that he could not get to shore without being wet up to the knees. " Hallo !" he said, " I see I must take off my shoes and stockings, and wade." But on the slippery piece of rock upon which he was standing he had no room to do this without losing his ba- lance and tumbling over ; so Power had in a moment taken off his own shoes and stockings, turned up his trousers above the knees, and waded up to him. "Now," he said, "get on my back, and I'll ?arry vou in unwetted." 9(. A NEW FRIEND. " Thanks, Power," lie said, as Power deposited hiui on the sand ; " I'm much obliged." Not knowing whether Power would like to be seen with •n'm or not, he looked at him shyly, and was walking off in another direction, when Power, who was putting on his stockings again, said to him playfully : " What, Walter ; haven't you the grace to wait for me, after my having delivered you from such a noyade ? Ex- cuse my calling you Walter ; I hear Kenrick and Hender- son do it, and somehow you're one of those fellows whom one meets now and then, whose Christian name seems to suit them more naturally than the other." " By all means call me Walter, Power ; and I'll wait for you gladly if you like," said Walter, blushing as he added, " I thought you might not like to walk with me." " Not like ? Nonsense. I should like it particularly. Let's take a turn along the shore ; we shall just have time before roll-call." Walter pointed out to him the droll porpoises which had absorbed his attention, and while they stood looking and laughing at them, Henderson came up unobserved, and patting Walter on the back, observed poetically : " Why are your young hearts sad, oh beautiful children of morning! Why do your young eyes gaze timidly over the sea ?" "Where did you crib that quotation from, Flip?" asked Power, laughing. "Your mind's like a shallow brook, and the color of it always shows the stratum through which you have been flowing last." " Shallow brook, quotha ?" said Henderson ; " a deep and mighty river, sir, you menu; irresistible by any Power." 'Oh, do shut up. Why was I born with a name that ?ould be punned on ? No more puns, Flip, if you love me." said Power ; and they all three walked under the nobis Norman archway that formed the entrance to the school. STEP BY STEP. 91 " By tLo powers I" said Henderson to Walter, as the other left them, you have got a new friend worth having, Walter. He doesn't make himself at home with every one> [ can. tell you; and if he and Dul'.bs cultivate you, I should think it's about time for any ons else to be ashamed of cut- ting you, my boy." " I'm quite happy now," said Walter, " with you and Kenrick and him for friends. I don't care so much for the rest. I wonder why he likes me ?" "Well, because he thinks the fellows a great deal too hard on you for one thing. How very good and patient you've been, Walter, under it all." "It's hard sometimes, Flip, but I deserve it. Only now and then I'm afraid that you and Ken will get quite tired of me, I've so few to speak to. Harpour and that lot would be glad enough that I should join them, I know, and but for you and Ken I should have been driven to do it." " Never mind, Walter, my boy ; the fellows '11 come round in time." So, step by step, with the countenance of some true and worthy friends, and by the help of a stout heart, by pen- itence and by kindliness, did our brave little Walter win his way. He was helped, too, greatly by his achievements in the games. At football he played with a vigor and earnestness which carried everything before it. He got several bases, and was the youngest boy in the school who ever succeeded in doing this. Gradually but surely his temporary unpopularity gave way ; and even before he be- gan to be generally recognised again, he bade fair ulti- mately to gain a high position in the estimation of all his school-fellows. There was one scene which he long remembered, ana which was very trying to go through. One fine afternoon 92 THE JUMPING PRIZE. tne boys' prize for the highest jump was to be awarded, and as the school were all greatly interested in the competi tion, they were assembled in a dense circle in the green playground, leaving space for the jumpers in the middle. The fine weather had also tempted nearly all the inhabitants of St. Winifred's to be spectators of the contest, and num- bers of ladies were present, for whom the boys had politely left a space within the circle. When the chief jumping prize had been won by an active fellow in the sixth form, another prize was proposed for all boys under fifteen. " Bliss, Franklin, and two other boys, at once stepped into the circle as competitors, and threw off their jackets. ." You must go in for this, Walter," said Henderson. " You're sure to get it." " Not I. I won't go in, Flip," said Walter, who was naturally in a desponding mood, as he looked round on those four hundred faces, and saw among them all scarcely one sympathizing glance. You go in and win ; and never mind talking to me up here, Henderson, it can't be pleasant for you, I know, when all the other fellows are cutting me." " Pooh, Walter 1 They're in the wrong box, not you and I. Do go in for the prize." Walter shook his head, gloomily. " I don't like to, be fore all these fellows. They'd hiss me, or something." " Well if you won't, / won't ; that's flat." " Oh do, Henderson. I'm sure you'd get it. Don't ask me to go in ; that's a good fellow." " None but these four going in for the little jump \ What ! only four ?" said one of the young athletes, who carried little blue flags, and arranged the preliminaries " Come in some more of you." "Here are two more," said Henderson. "Stick dowr our names — Henderson and Evson ;" and pulling Waltei forward with him inside the circle, he sat down and begai HIE JUMPING PRIZE. 93 to take off his shoes, that he might run and jump more easily on the turf. Thus prominently mentioned, Walter could hardly draw back, so putting the best face on it he could, he, too, flung off his jacket and shoes. The movable spar of wood over which the boys jumped was first put at a height of three feet, which they could all easily manage, and the six, one after another, cleared it lightly. Even then, however, it was pretty easy to judge by their action which was the best jumper, and the con- noisseurs on the field at once decided that the chance lay between Henderson and Walter. Walter was by far the most active and graceful juniper, but Henderson had the advantage of being a little the taller of the two. The spar was raised half an inch each time; and when it had attained the height of three feet and a half, two of the candidates failed to clear it after three trials. Bliss was the next to break down. His awkward jumps had excited a great deal of laughter, and when he finally failed, Henderson found time even then to begin a line or two of his monody on Blissidas, which was a standing joke against poor Bliss, who always met it by the same invari- able observation of " I'll lick you afterwards, Flip." Only three competitors were now left — Franklin, Hen- derson, and Walter — and they jumped on steadily till they had reached the height of four feet and one inch, and then Franklin broke down, but recovered himself in a second chance. The struggle now became very exciting, and as Frank- lin and Henderson again cleared the bar at the height of four feet four, each of them were loudly clapped. But Walter ^-who jumped last always, because he had been the last candidate to come forward — although he cleared it with an easy bound, received no sign of encouragement from an? 94 UNDER DIFFICULTIES. of the boys. He cleared it in perfect silence, only broken by Mr. Paton, who was looking- on with a group of other masters, and who said, encouragingly — " Very well done, Evson ; capital 1" The bar was raised an :nch, and again the three boys cleared it, and again the first two were greeted with aj> plause, and Walter was left unnoticed, except by Powei and Kenrick, who applauded him heartily, and patted him on the back. But indeed their clapping only served to throw into stronger relief the loud applause which the others received. Waiter almost wished that they would desist. He was greatly agitated, and his friends saw that he was trembling with emotion. He had been much mor- tified the first time to be thus pointedly scorned in so large a crowd of strangers, and made a marked object of repro- bation before them all ; but that this open shame should be thus steadily and continuously put upon him, made his heart swell with sorrow and indignation at the ungenerous aud unforgiving spirit of his school-fellows. Once more the bar was raised an inch. The other two got over it amid a burst of applause ; and this time Wal- ter, who was unnerved by the painful circumstances iu which he found himself, brushed against it as he came over, and knocked it off. The bar was replaced, and at his second trial (for three were allowed) he jumped so well that he flew easily over it. Always before, a boy who had recovered himself after a failure had been saluted with double cheering; but again Walter's proceedings were ob- served by that large crowd in dead silence, while he could not help overhearing the whispered queries which asked an explanation of so unusual a circumstance. "Why don't they cheer him as well as the others?" asked a fair young girl of her brother. " He looks such o U>«*e boy." A TRYING SCENE. 95 ** Because he did a very shabby thing not long ago," ras the reply. He could stand it no longer. He glanced round at the speakers more in sorrow than in anger, and then, instead of returning to the starting-point, he turned hastily aside, and, declining the contest, plunged into the thickest of the °.rowd. " Evson's giving it up. What a pity !" said several boys. "No wonder he's giving it up," said Power, indignantly, "after the way you fellows treat him. Nevermind them, Walter," he said, taking him by the arm ; " they will be ashamed of themselves by-aud-by." " You're not going to withdraw, Evson ?" asked one cf the chief athletes, in a kind tone. " Yes," said Walter, retiring still farther to hide himself amid the crowd. " Nonsense !" said Henderson, who had heard the an- swer ; " come, Walter, it'll spoil all the fun if you don't go on." " I can't, Flip," said Walter, turning aside, and hastily brushing away the tears which would come into his eyes. " Do, Walter, they all wish it," whispered Henderson ; " be brave, and get the prize in spite of all ; here's Paton coming round ; I'm sure it's to cheer you up." " V r ery well, Flip, I will if it pleases you ; but it's rather hard," he said, fairly bursting into tears. " Remember, it's only for your sake I do it, Flip." " Go on, Walter ; don't give way," said Mr. Paton aloud, in his gentlest and most encouraging voice, as the boy hastily reentered the arena, and took his place. This time Fiankliu finally broke clown, Henderson barely scrambled over, and Walter, nerved by excitement and indignation, cleared the bar by a brilliant flying leap. There was no mistake about Hie applause this time. The 96 THE PRIZES. boys had seen how their coolness had told on him. Thej were touched by the pluck he showed in spite of his dejected look, and as though to make up for their former deficiency, they clapped him as loud as either of the others. And now a spirited contest began between Henderson and Walter. Four feet six and a half they both accom plishcd — Walter the first time, and Henderson the third When Henderson, at the last trial, barely succeeded, a loud shout rose from the field, quite enthusiastic enough to show that the wishes of the school were on his side. This decided Walter, for he too was anxious that Henderson, who had set his heart upon the prize, and was now quite eager with emulation, should be the successful competitor. At four feet seven, therefore, he meant to break down, but, at the same time, to clear the bar so nearly each time of trial, that it might not be obvious to any one that he was not putting forth his best strength. The first time, how- ever, he jumped so carelessly that Henderson suspected his purpose, and, therefore, the second time he exerted him- self a little more, and, to his own astonishment, accom- plished the leap without having intended to do so. Hen- derson also just succeeded in managing it, and as Walter refused to try another half inch, the prize was declared, amid loud cheers, to be equally divided between them, after the best competition that ever had been known. The boys and the spectators now moved off to the pavi- lion, where the prizes were to be distributed by Mrs. Lane. But when Walter's name was called out with Hinderson's. the latter only stepped forward. Walter had disappeared; and the boys were again made to feel, by his voluntary absence, what bitterness of heart their unkind conduct paused him. Henderson took the prize for his friend, when he re- ceived his own. The prizes were a silver-mounted riding DEJECTION. 97 whip, and a belt with a .silver clasp, and Mrs. Lane tola Henderson that she was sorry for the other victor's ab- sence, and that either of them might choose whichever prize he liked best. When the crowd had dispersed, Hen- derson, knowing Walter's haunts, strolled with Kenrick to a little fir-grove on the slope of Bardlyn Hill, not far above the sea. Here, as they expected, they found Walter. He was sitting in a listless attitude, with his back towards them, and he started as he heard their footsteps. " You let yourself be beaten, Evson Walter, And afterwards you proved a base defaulter," said Henderson, who was in high spirits, as he clapped hi* hands on Walter's shoulders, and continued — " Behold I bring you now the silver prizes, Meant to reward your feels and exercises." Even Walter could not help smiling at this sally, but he said at once, " You must keep both prizes, Flip ; I don't mean to take either — indeed I won't ; I shouldn't have gone in at all but for you." " 0, do take one," said Kenrick ; the fellows will think you too proud if you don't." " I don't care what they think of me, Ken ; you saw how they treated me.' Flip, I'd take the prize in a minute to please you, but indeed, it would only remind me con- btantly of this odious jumping, and I'd much rather not." " I can't take both prizes, Walter," said Henderson. "Well, I'll tell you what — give one to Franklin; he jumped very well, and he's not half a bad fellow. Don't press me, Flip ; 1 can't refuse you anything if you do, be- cause you've been so very, very kind ; but yc i don't know how wretched I feel." 6 98 NOBLE EFFORTS. Henderson, who had looked annoyed, cleared up in a moment. " All right, Walter ; it shall be as you like. Franklin Bhall have it. You've had quite enough to bear already So, cheer up, and come along." It was soon known in the school how Walter had yielded the prize to Franklin, and it was known, too, that next day he had gone to jump with Henderson, Franklin, and some others, and had cleared the bar at four feet eight, which none of them had been able to do. The boys ad- mired his conduct throughout ; and from that day forward many were as anxions to renew an acquaintance with him, as they had previously been to break it off. And there was an early opportunity of testing this ; for a i'ew days after the scene just described the champion race for boys under fifteen was tried for, and when Walter won it by accomplishing the distance in the shortest time that had yet been known, and by distancing the other runners, he was received with a cheer, which was all the more hearty because the boys were anxious to do him a tardy justice. If Walter had not been too noble to be merely patronized, and too reserved to be "hail-fellow-well-met" with every one, he would have fallen more easily and speedily into the position which he now slowly but honor- ably recovered. It need hardly be said that, in his school-work, Waller struggled with all his might to give satisfaction to Mr. Paton, and to spare him from all pain. There was some thing really admirable iD the way he worked, and taxed tiimself even beyond his strength, to prove his regret fo* Mr. Paton's loss, by doing all that was required of him Naturally quick and lively as he was, he sate as quiet and attentive in school, as if he had been gifted with a dispo. eition as unmercurial as that of Daubeny himself. In order IN THE CHOIR. 93 to make sure of his lessons, he went over them with Hen- derson (who entered eagerly into his wishes) with such care, that they, both of them, astonished themselves with their own improving progress. If they came to any insu' perable difficulties, Kenrick or Power gladly helped them, and explained everything to them with that sympathetic clearness of instruction which makes one boy the best teacher to another. The main difficulty still continued to be the repetition, and grammar rules ; but in order to know them, at least by rote, Walter would get up with the earliest gleam of daylight, and would put on his trowsera and waistcoat after bed-time, and go and sit, book in hand, under the gas-light in the passage. This was hard work, doubtless ; but it brought its own reward in successful en- deavor and an approving conscience. Under this discipline his memory rapidly grew retentive ; no difficulty can stand the assaults of such batteries as these, and Walter was soon free from all punishments, and as happy as the day was long. One little cloud alone remained — the continued and ob- vious displeasure of his tutor, and one or two of Mr. Pa ton's chief friends among the masters. One of these was Mr. Edwards, who, among other duties, had the manage- ment of the chapel choir. But at length Mr. Edwards gave him a distinguished proof of his returning respect. He sate near Walter in chapel, and the hymn happened to be one which came closely home to Walter's heart after his recent troubles. This made him join with great feeling in the singing, zind the choir master was struck with the strength and rare sweetness of his voice. As he left the Chapel, Mr. Edwards said to him, " Evson, there is a va- cancy for a treble in the choir ; I heard you sing in chapel to-day, and I think that you would supply the place verv well. Should you like to join?" 100 THE LAST 'JO FOKGIVE. Walter very gladly accepted the offer ; partly because he hailed the opportunity of learning a lit -ie about music, and because the choir boys were allowed several highly, valued and exceptional privileges ; but chiefly because they were always chosen by the masters with express reference to character, and therefore the invitation to join their number was the clearest proof that could be given him that the past was condoned. The last to offer him the right hand of forgiveness, but the best and warmest friend to him when once he had done bo, was Mr. Percival. He still passed him with only the coldest and most distant recognition, for he not only felt Mr. Paton's loss with peculiar sorrow, but was also vexed and disappointed that a boy whose character he had openly defended should have proved so unworthy of his encomium. It happened that the only time that Walter was ever again sent to detention, was for a failure in a long lesson, includ- ing much which had been learnt on the morning that he was out of school, which, in consequence, he found it im- possible, with all his efforts, to master. Mr. Paton saw how mortified and pained he was to fail, and when he sent him to detention, most kindly called him up, and told him that he saw the cause of his unsuccess, and was not in th, least displeased at it, although, as he had similarly punished othei boys, he could not make any exception to the usual rule of punishment. On this occasion, it was again Mr. Percival's turn to sit with the detenus, and seeing Walter among them, he too hastily concluded that he was still con- tinuing a career of disgrace. " What 1 you here again ?" he said with chilling scorn, as he passed the seat where Walter sate writing. " After what has happened, I should have been ashamed to be sent here, if I were you." After his days and nights of toil, after his long, manly AN INVITATION. 101 noble struggle to show his penitence, after his heavy and disproportionate punishment, it was hard to be so addressed by one whom he respected, in the presence of all the idles! in the school, and in consequence of a purely accidental and isolated failure. Walter looked up with an appealing iook in his dark blue eyes ; but Mr. Percival had passed on, and he bent his head over his paper with the old sense that the past could never be forgotten, the recollection of his disgrace never obliterated. No one was observing him ; and as the feeling of despair grew in him, a large tear dropped down upon his paper ; he wiped it quietly away, and continued writing, but another and another fell, and he could not help it. For Mr. Percival was almost the only master whose good-will he very strongly coveted, and whose approval he was most anxious to attain. When next Mr. Percival stopped and looked at Walter, he saw that his words had wounded him to the heart, and knew well why the boy's lines were blurred and blotted, when he showed them up with a timid hand and downcast look. He was touched. " I have been too hard on you, Ev« bou," he said. "I see it now. Come to tea with mo aftei chapel this evening ; I want to speak with yon." CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. HAPPIER HOURS. WHEN chapel was over, "Walter, having brushed Ills hair, and made himself rather neater and more spruce than a schoolboy usually is at the middle of a long half, went to Mr. PercivaFs room. Mr. Percival, having been detained, had not yet come in ; but Hender- son, Kenrick, and Power, who had also been asked to tea, were there waiting for him when Walter arrived, and Hen- derson was, as usual, amusing the others and himself with a flood of mimicry and nonsense. "You know that mischievous little Peukridge," saia Kenrick ; " he nearly had an accident this morning. We were in the class-room, and Edwards was complaining of the bad smell of the room " " Bad smell 1" interrupted Henderson, " I'll bet you what you like Edwards didn't say bad smell. He's not the man to call a spade a spade ; he calls it an agricultural implement for the trituration of the soil." " Why, what should he say ?" asked Kenrick, " if he didn't say « bad smell V " " Why, ' What a malodorous effluvium 1' " said Hender- son, imitating exactly the master's somewhat drawling tone ; ' what a con-cen-trra-ted malarious miasma ;' I say, Power, give us the Greek, or Hebrew, or Kamschatkan for ♦smell.' " " 'Odax^," suggested Power. " That's it to a T,'' said Henderson. Un THE YOUNG MIMIC. 103 •' Well, I believe lie did say something of the kind," said Kenrick, laughing ; " at least I know he called it Stygian Dad Tartarean. But, as I was saying, he set Penkridge (who happened to be going round with the lists) to exam- ine the cupboards, and see if by chance some inopportune rat had died there ; and Penkridge, opening one of them where the floor was very rotten, and poking about with his foot, knocked a great piece of plaster off the great school- room ceiling, and was as nearly as possible putting his foot through it." " Fancy if he had," said Walter, how astonished we should have been down below. I say, Henderson, what would Paton have said ?" " Oh 1 Paton," said Henderson, delighted with any op- portunity for mimicry, " he'd have whispered quietly, in an emotionless voice, ' Penkridge, Penkridge, come here — come here, Penkridge. This is a very uuusual method, Penk- ridge, of entering a room — highly irregular. If you haven't broken your leg or your arm, Penkridge, you must write me two hundred Hues.' " " And Robertson ?" asked Kenrick. " Oh 1 Robertson — he'd have put up his eye-glass," said Henderson, again exactly hitting off the master's attitude, " and he'd have observed, 'Ah ! Penkridge has fallen through the floor ; probably fractured some bones. Slippery fellow, he won't be able to go to the Fighting Cocks t/ris afternoon, at anyratc.' Whereupon Stevens would have gone up to him with the utmost tenderness, and asked him if he was hurt ; and Penkridge, getting up, would, by way of grati- tude, have grinned in his face." " Well, you'd better finish the scene," said Power ; " what would Percival have said ?" " Thunder and lightning ? Oh 1 that's easy to decide ; nc'd have made two or three quotations ; he'd have name- 104 st. winifrel.'s. iiately called the attention of the form to the fact thai Penkridge had been ' flung by angry Jove 4 Sheer o'er the crystal battlements ; from morn Till noon he fell, from noon till dewy eve ; A winter's day, and as the tea-bell rang, Shot from the ceiling like a falling star On the great school-room floor.' " " Would he, indeed ?" said Mr. Percival, pinching Hen- derson's ear, as he came in just in time to join in the laugh which this parody occasioned. Tea at St. Winifred's is a regular and recognized insti- tution. There are few nights on which some of the boya do not adjourn after chapel to tea at the masters' houses, when they have the privilege of sitting up an hour and a half later. The masters generally adopt this method of seeing their pupils and the boys in whom they are interested. Tiie institution works admirably ; the first and immediate result of it is, that there boys and masters are more inti- mately acquainted, and being so, are on warmer aud friend- lier terms with each other than perhaps at any other school — certainly on warmer terms than if they never met ex- cept in the still and punishment-pervaded atmosphere of the school-rooms ; and the second and remoter result is, that not only in the matter of work already alluded to, but also in other and equally important particulars, the tone and character of St. Winifred's boys is higher and purer than it would otherwise be. There is a simplicity and manliness there which cannot fail to bring forth its rich fruits of dili- gence, truthfulness, and honor. Many are the boys who have come from thence, who, in the sweet yet sober dignity of their life and demeanor, go far to realize the beautiful ideal of Christian b( yhood. Many are the boys there why H0ME8. 105 are walking, through the gates of humility and diligence, to certain and merited, and conspicuous honor. Walter and the others spent a very happy evening with Mr. Percival. When tea was over they talked as freely with him, and with each other in his presence, as they would have done among ■ themselves ; and the occasional society of their elders and superiors was in every way good for them. It enlarged their sympathies, widened their knowledge, and raised their moral tone. Among many other subjects that evening they talked over one which never fails to interest deeply every right- minded boy — I mean their homes. It was no wonder that, as Walter talked of the glories of Semlyn lake and its sur- rounding hills, his face lighted up, and his eyes shone with pleasant memories. Mr. Percival, as he looked at him, felt more puzzled than ever at his having gone wrong, and more confirmed than ever in the opinion that he had beeu hard and unjust to him of late, and that his original esti- mate of him was the right one after all. Power's home was a statelier one than Walter's. His father, Sir Lawrence Power, was a baronet, the owner of broad acres, whose large and beautiful mansion stood on one of the undulations in a park shadowed by ancestral trees, under whose boughs the deer fed with their graceful fawns around them. Through the park flowed a famous river, of which the windings were haunted by herons and kingfishers, and the pleasant waters abounded in trout and salmon. And to this estate and title Power was heir ; though of course he did not tell them this while he spoke of the lovely scenery around the home where his fathers had bo long lived. Henderson, again, was the son of a rich merchant, who had two houses — one city and one suburban. He was a regular little man of the world. After the holidays he had 5* 106 kenrick's home. always seen the last feats of Saltori, and heard the roost recent strains of Tiralirini. He always went to a round of entertainments, and would make you laugh by the hour while he sang the songs or imitated the style of the last comic actor or Ethiopian minstrel. While they were chatting over their holiday amusements and occupations, Kenrick said little ; and, wondering at his silence, Mr. Percival asked him in what part of the world he lived. " I, sir ?" he said, as though awakened from a reverie ; " Oh, I live at Fusby, a village on the border of the fens, and in the very middle of the heavy clays." And Kenrick turned away his head. " Don't abuse the clay," said Walter, to cheer him up ; " I'm very fond of the clay ; it produces good roses and good strawberries — and those are the two best things go- ing, in any soil." " Half-past ten, youngsters," said Mr. Percival, holding up his watch ; " off with you to bed. Let yourselves in through the grounds ; here's the key. Good night to you. Walter," he said, calling him back as he was about to leave, " oue word with you alone ; you three wait for him a moment outside. I wanted to tell you that, although I have seemed harsh to you, I dare say of late, yet now I hear that you are making the most honorable efforts, and I have quite forgotten the past. My good opinion of you / Walter, is quite restored ; and whenever you want to be quiet to learn your lessons, you may always come and sit hi Diy room." Mr. Percival was not the only St. Winifred's master who thus generously abridged his own leisure and privacy to assist the boys in whom he felt an interest. Walter thanked him with real gratitude, and rejoined the othei three. " He's let me sit in his room," said Walter. A DISCOVERY. 107 " Has he ?" said Henderson ; " so he has ine. How jolly ! we shall get on twice as well." " What's that ?" said Power, pointing upwards, as they walked througli the garden to theii house door. Glancing in the direction, Walter saw a light suddenly go out in his dormitory, and a great bundle (apparently) disappear inside the window, which was then shut down. " I'll go and see," he said. " Good night, you fel- lows." All was quiet when he reached his room, but one of the candles, ineffectually extinguished, was still smoking, and when he looked to Eden's bed he saw, by the gaslight that shone through the open door, that the child was awake, and crying bitterly. " What's the matter, Eden ?" he said kindly, sitting down upon his bed. " If you peach," said Harpour and Jones together ; " you know what you'll get.'* " Have you fellows been bullying poor little Eden ?" asked Walter indignantly. " I've not," and " I've not," said Anthony and Franklin, who were better than the rest in every way ; and " I haven't touched the fellow, Evson," said Cradock, who meant no harm, and at Walter's earnest request had never again annoyed Eden since the first night. " Poor little Eden — poor little fiddlestick," said Jones ; " it does the young cub good." " Send him home to his grandmamma, and let him have his bib and his night-cap," growled Harpour ; " is he made of butter, and are you afraid of his melting, you Evson, that you make such a fuss with him ? You want your lickings yourself and shall have them if you don't look out." " I don't care what you do to me, Harpour," rejoined 108 AN ALTERCATION. Walter, " and I don't think you'll do very much. But 1 do tell you that it's a blackguard shame for a great big fellow like you to torment a little delicate chap like Eden ; and what's more, you shan't do it." " Shan't ! my patience, I like that ! why, who is to pre- vent me ?" " I suppose he'll turn sneak, and peach," said Jones ; " he'd do anything that's mean, we all know." Walter was always liable to that taunt now. It was a part of his punishment, and the one which lasted longest. From any other boy he might have winced under it ; but really, coming from Jones, it was too contemptible to notice. " You shut up, Jones," he said angrily ; " you shan't touch Eden again, I can tell you, whatever Harpour does, and he'd better look out what he does." " Look out, yourself," said Harpour, flinging a foot-ball boot at Waiter's head. " You'll find your boot on the grass outside to-morrow morning," said Walter, opening the window, and dropping it down. He wasn't a bit afraid, because he always went on the instinctive and never-mistaken assumption, that a bully must be a coward in his inmost nature. Cruelty to the weaker is incompatible with the generosity of all true courage. " By Jove, I'll thrash you for that to-morrow," shouted Harpour. " To-morrow .'" said Walter, witli great contempt. " Oh, don't make him angry, Walter," whispered Eden ; " you know what a strong fellow he is (Edcu shuddered, aa though he, had reason to know) ; " and you can't fight him ; and you mustn't get a thrashing for my sake. I'm not worth that. I'd rather bear it myself, Walter ; — in- deed I would." " Good night, poor little Eden," said Walter ; " you're ARTHUR EDEN. 10$ eafe to-night at anyrate. Why, how cold you are ! What have they been doing to you V *' I daren't tell you, to-night, Walter ; I will to-rnorrow," he answered in a low tone, shivering all over. " Well, then, go to sleep now, my little man, ana don't you be afraid of Harpour or any one else. I won't let them bully you if I can help it." Eden squeezed Walter's hand tight, and sobbed big thanks, while Walte: gently smoothed the child's pillow and dried his tears. CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. MY BROTHER'S KEEPER. AS Walter lay awake for a few quiet moments before h« sent his thoughts to rest, he glanced critically over the occurrences of the day. He could not but rejoice that the last person for whom he felt real regard had forgiven him his rash act, and that his offence had thus finally been absolved on earth as in heaven. He rejoiced, too, that Mr. Percival's kind permission to learn his lessons in his room would give him far greater advantages and opportunities than he had hitherto enjoyed. Yet Walter's conscience was not quite at ease. The last scene had dis- turbed him. The sobs and shiverings of little Eden had fallen very reproachfully into his heart. Walter felt that he might have done far more for him than he had done. He had, indeed, even throughout his own absorbing trou- bles, extended to the child a general protection, but not a special care. The truth was that he had found Eden unin- teresting, because he had not taken the pains to be inte- rested in him. Eden's had been a very unhappy lot. Bullied, teased, and persecuted by the few among whom accident had first thrown him, and judged to belong to their set by othera who on that account considered him a boy of a bad sort, he was almost friendless at St. Winifred's. Aud the lone- liness, the despair of this feeling, weighing upon his heart, robbed him of all courage to face the difficulties of work. 90 that in school as well as out of it, he was always in trou- ble lie was forever chmsily scrawling in his now illegi no edkn's troubles. Ill hie hand the crooked and blotted lines of punishment which his seeming ignorance or sluggishness brought upon him ; and although he was always to be seen at detention, he almost hailed this disgrace as affording him at least some miserable shadow of occupation, and a refuge, however un- desirable, from the torments of those degraded few to whom his childish tears, his weak entreaties, his bursts of impotent passion, caused nothing but low amusement. Out of school his great object always was to hide himself ; any- where, so as to be beyond the reach of Jones, Harpour, and other bullies of the same calibre. For this purpose he would conceal himself for a whole afternoon at a time up in the fir groves; or, when he feared that these resorts would be disturbed, he would choose some lonely place, un- der the shadow of the mountain cliffs, and sit there for hours together. Under continued trials like these he be- came quite changed. The childish innocence and beauty of countenance, the frankness and gaiety of heart, the quick- ness and intelligence of understanding, were exchanged for vacant looks, stupid indifference, and that half-cunning ex- pression which is always induced by craven fear. Accus- tomed, too, to be waited upon and helped continually in the home where his mother had petted and spoiled him, he became slovenly and untidy in dress and habits. He rarely found time or heart to write home, and even when he did, he well knew that his mother was incapable of compre- hending his sufferings, and only knew that he was a very friendless, unhappy, unpitied little boy. Six weeks after Arthur Eden, a merry, bright-eyed child, alighted from his mother's carriage at the old gate of St. Winifred's school, no casual stranger would have recognised him again in the pale and moping little fellow who seemed to be afraid of every one whom he met. " Come a stroll, Eden, before third school, and let's 112 my brother's keeper. have a talk," lie said, as they came out from dinner in th6 hall next day. Eden looked up happily, and was proud to be seen bj Walter's side in the throng of boys, ao they passed out, and across the court, and under the shadow of the arch towards Walter's favorite haunt, the sea-shore. Walter never felt weak or unhappy when the sweetness of the sea wind was on his forehead, and the song of the sea waves in his ear. A run upon the shore in all weathers, if only for five minutes, was his daily pleasure and resource. They sate down, Walter full of healthy enjoyment as he breathed the pure atmosphere, and felt the delicious wind upon his glowing cheeks, and Eden happy to be with him, and to sit quietly by his side. " Eden," said Walter, after a few moments, " I'm afraid you've not been happy lately." " The poor child shook his head, and answered, " No one cares for me here ; every one looks down on me, and is unkind ; I have no friends." " What 1 don't you count me as a friend, then ?" " Yes, Walter, you're very kind. I'm sure I couldn't have lived here if it hadn't been for you ; but you're so much above me, and" Walter would not press him to fill up the omission ; he could understand the rest of the sentence for himself. " You mustn't think I don't feel how good you've been to me, Walter," said the boy, drawing near to him, and taking his hand ; " but " " Yes, yes," said Walter ; " I understand it all. Well, never mind, I will be a friend to you now." A tear trembled on Eden's long eyelashes as he looked op quickly into Walter's face. " Will you, Walter ? thank you, I have no other friend here ; and please" " Well, what is it ?" LET DOWN. 118 " Will you call me Arthur, as thev do at home ?" " Walter smiled. " Well now," he said, " tell me what they were doing to you last night." *' You won't tell them I told you, Walter," he answered, looking round, with the old look of decrepit fear usurping his face, which had brightened for the moment. " No, no," said Walter, impatiently. " Why, what a little coward you arc, Eden." The boy shrank back into himself as if he had received a blow, and relaxed his grasp of Walter's hand; but Wal- ter, struck with the sensitive timidity which unkindness had caused, and sorry to have given him pain in all his troubles, said, kindly — " There, Arty, never mind ; I didn't mean it ; don't be afraid ; tell me what they did to you. I saw a light in our dormitory as I was coming back from Percival's, and I saw something dragged through the window. What was it?" " That was me," said Eden, naively. " You ?" " Yes ; poor me. They let me down by a sheet which they tied round my waist." " What 1 from that high window ? I hope they tied you tight." " Only one knot. I ever so nearly slipped out of it last night ; and that's what frightened me so, Walter." " How horribly dangerous," said Walter indignantly. " 1 know it is horribly dangerous," said Eden ; " and I dream about it all night," he said, bursting into tears ; " and I know — I know that some day I shall slip, or the knot will come undone, and I shall fall and be smashed to atoms. But what do they care for that ? and I sometimes wish J were dead myself, to have it all over." " Hush, Arty 1 don't talk like that," said Walter, as he felt the little soiled hand trembling with passion and eruo 114 dan's. tiou in his own. " But what on earth do they let yon down for V 44 To go to — but you won't tell V he said, looking round again. " Oh, I forgot, you didn't like my saying that. But it's they who have made me a coward, Walter; mdccd it is." " And no wonder," thought Walter to himself. "But you needn't be afraid any more," he said aloud ; I promise you that no one shall do anythiug to you winch they'd be afraid to do to me." " Then I'm safe," said Eden, joyfully. " Well, they made me go to — to Dan's." " Dan's ? What, the fisherman's just near the shore ?" 44 Yes: ugh !" 44 But don't you know, Arty, that Dan's a brute, and a regular smuggler, and that if you were caught going there you'd be sent away ?" 41 Yes ; you can't think, Walter, how I hate, and how frightened I am to go there. There's Dan, and there's that wicked son of his ; and they're always drunk, and the hut — it's so nasty ; and last night Dan seized hold of me, and wanted me to drink some gin, and I shrieked. Well, then, after that I was nearly caught. I think, Walter, that even you would be a coward if you h^d such long, long frights. You know that to get to Dan's after the gates are locked, the only way is to go over the railing, and through Dr. Lane's garden, and I'm always frightened to death lest his great dog should be loose, and should catch hold of me. He did growl last night. And then, as I was hurrying back — you know it was rather moonlight last uight, and not very cold — and who should I see but the Doctor himself walking up and down the garden. I crouched in a minute behind a thick holly tree, and I sup- pose I made a rustle, though I held my breath, for the FRIGHTEN KD. 115 Doctor stopped and shook the tre€ and said, ' shco, as though he thought a cat were hidden there. I was half dead with fright, though I did hope, after all, that he would catch me, and that I might be sent away from this horrid place. But when he turned round, I crept away and made the signal, and they let down the sheet ; and then, as they were hauling me up, I heard voices — I sup- pose they must have been yours and Kenrick's ; but they thought it was some master, and, oh ! so nearly let me fall. So, Walter, please don't despise me, or be angry with me, because you found me crying and shivering in bed. The cold made me shiver, and I couldn't help crying ; indeed I couldn't." " Poor Arty 1 poor Arty I" said Walter, soothingly. " But have they ever done this before ?" " Yes ; once, when you were at the choir-supper one night." " They never shall again," said Walter, frowning, as he thought how detestably cruel they had been. " But what did they send you for V " For no good," said Eden. "No; I knew it would be for no good, if it was to Dan'a that they sent you." "Well, Walter, the first time it was fcr some drink; and the second time for some more drink," he said, after a little hesitation. Walter looked serious. " But don't you know, Arty," he said, " that it's very wrong to get such things for them. If they want to have any dealings with Dan, who's not fit to speak to, let them go themselves. Arty, it's very wrong; vou mustn't do it." " But how can I help it ?" said the boy, looking fright- ened and ashamed. " Oh ! must I always be blamed by every one ?" he said, putting his hands to his eyes. " It isn't my sin, Walter, it's theirs. They made me." 116 THJE, PATH OF DUTY. " Nobody can ever make, any one else do what's wrongs Arty." " Oh, yes ; it's all very easy for you to say that, Wal- ter, who are so strong and good, and whom no one dares bully, and who are not laughed at, and made a butt of, as I am." " Look at Power," said Walter, " or look at Dubbs. They came as young as you, Arty, and as weak as you, but no one ever made them do wrong. Power somehow looks too noble to be bullied by any one : they're afraid of him, I don't know why. But what had Dubbs to pro- tect him ? Yet not all the Harpours in the world would ever make him go to such a place as Dan's." Poor Eden felt it hard to be blamed for this. " But they'd half kill me, Walter," he said, plaintively. " They'll have much more chance of doing that as it is," said Walter. " They'd thrash you a little, no doubt, but respect you more for it. And surely it would be better to bear one thrashing, and not do what's wrong, than to do it and to go two such journeys out of the windows, and get the thrashing into the bargain. So, even on that ground you ought to refuse. Eh, Arty ?" " Yes, Walter, he said, casting down his eyes. " Well, next time either Harpour, or any one else, tries to make you do what's wrong, remember they can't make you, if you don't choose ; and say flatly, No ! and stick to it in spite of everything, like a brave little man ; will you T " 1 did say No ! at first, Walter ; but they threatened to frighten me," he said. " They knew I daren't hold out." Yes ; there was the secret of it all. Walter saw that they had played on this child's natural terrors with such refinement of cruelty, that fear had become the master principle in his mind ; Walter's only surprise was that tw A TRUE FBIKND. 117 nad ±sl been made an idiot already. Poor child ; it was no wonder that he was becoming more stupid, cunning, un« tidy, and uninteresting, every day. What was Walter to do ? He thought, as he raised his eyes for one instant to Heaven in silent supplication, and made a strong resolve that he would use every endeavor to save this poor unhappy child. " I'm not blaming you, Arthur," he said, but I like you, and don't want to see you go wrong, and be a tool in bad boys' hands. I hope you ask God to help you, Arthur ?" Eden looked at him but said nothing. " Listen to me, Arthur — ah! there I hear the third school bell, and we must go hi — but listen ; I'll be your friend ; I want to be your friend. I'll try and save you from all this persecution. Will you always trust me ?" Eden's look of gratitude more than repaid him, and Walter added, " And, Arty, you must not give up your prayers. Ask God to help you, and to keep you from going wrong, and to make you brave. Won't you, Arty ?" The little boy's heart was full even to breaking with ita weight of happy tears ; it was too full to speak. He pressed Walter's hand for one moment, and walked in hy bis side, without a word. CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. DAUBENY. I SUPPOSE that no days of life are so happy as those in which some great sorrow has been removed. Certainly Walter's days as his heart grew lighter and lighter with the consciousness that Mr. Paton had forgiven him, that all those who once looked on him coldly had come round, that his difficulties were vanishing before steady diligence, and that, young as he was, he was winning for himself a name and a position in the school, were very full of peace. To Walter at this time life itself was an exhilarating enjoy- ment. To get over his lessons easily and successfully, and receive Mr. Paton's quiet word of praise ; to shake with laughing over the flood of nonsense with which Henderson always deluged every one who sat near him at breakfast time ; to help little Eden in his morning's work, and to see with what intense affection and almost adoration the child looked up to him ; to stroll with Kcnrick under the pine woods, or have a pleasant chat in Power's pretty little study, or read a book in the luxurious retirement of Mr. PercivaPa room, or, if it were a half holiday, to join in the skating, hare and hounds, football, or whatever game might be on hand ; — all these things were to Walter Evson one long unbroken pleasure. At this time he was the brightest, and pleasantest, and happiest of all lighthearted and happy English boys. The permission to go, whenever he liked, to Mr. Perci* vol's room was his most valued privilege. There he could always secure such immunity from disturbance as enabled 116 DAUIiENY. 119 him to learn his lessons in half the time he would otherwise have been obliged to devote to them ; and there too he could always ask the master's assistance when he came to any insuperable difficulty, and always enjoy the society of Henderson and the one or two other bovs who were al- lowed by Mr. Percival's kindness to use the same retreat. From the bottom of his form he rapidly rose to the top, and at last was actually placed first. A murmur of pleas- ure ran through the form on the first Sum lay when his name was read out in this honorable position, and it gave Walter nearly as much satisfaction to hear Henderson's name read out sixth on the same day ; for before Walter came, Hen- derson was too volatile ever to care where he stood in form, and usually spent his time in school in drawing caricatures of the masters, and writing parodies of the lessons or epi- grams on other boys ; up till this time Daubeny had always been first in the form, and he deserved the place if any boy did. He was not a clever boy, but nothing could exceed his well-intentioned industry. Like Sir Walter Raleigh he " toiled terribly." It was an almost pathetic sight to see Dubbs set about learning his repetitions ; it was a noble sight too. There was a heroism about it which was all the greater from its being unnoticed and unrecorded. Poor Dubbs had no privacy except such as the great school-room "tould afford, and there is not much privacy in a room, how- ever large, which is the common habitation of fifty boys. Nevertheless the undaunted Daubeny would choose out the quietest aud loneliest corner of the room, and with elbows on knees and hands over his ears to shut out the chaotic noises which surrounded him, would stay repeating the lines to himself with attention wholly concentrated and absorbed, until, after perhaps an hour's work, he kuew enough of them to enable him to finish mastering them the next morning. Next morning he would be up with the earliest dawn, and l'jO TOILING TERRIBL5T, IN SPITE OF FAILURE. would again set himself to the task with grand determina- tion, content if at the end of the week he gained the dis- tinguished reward of being head in his form, and could al- low himself the keen pleasure of writing home to tell hia mother of his success. When Daubeny had first come to St. Winifred's, he had been forced to go through very great persecution. As he 6at down to do his work he would be pelted with orange peel, tilted oft° the form on which he sat, ridiculed, and sometimes chased out of the room. All this he had en- dured with admirable patience and good humor ; in short so patiently and good humoredly that all boys who had in them a spark of sense or honor very soon abandoned this system of torment, and made up for it as far as they could by respect and kindness, which always, however, took more or less the form of banter. Nothing could daunt this young martyr- -not even failure itself. If he were too much an- noyed to get up his lesson overnight, he would be up by five in the morning working at it with unremitting assiduity. Very often he overdid it, and knew his lesson all the worse in proportion as he had spent upon it too great an amount cf time. Without being positively stupid, his intellect was somewhat dull, and as his manner was shy and awkward he had not been quite understood at first, and no master had taken him specially in hand to lighten his burdens. His bitterest trial, therefore, was to fail completely every now and then, and be reproached for it by some master who little knew the hours of weary work which he had devoted to the unsuccessful attempt. This was particularly the case during his first half-year, during which he had been in Mr. Robertson's form. It happened that, from the very weariness of brain induced by his working too hard, he had failed in several successive lessons, and Mr. Robertson had made some very cutting remarks upon him, and sent hire POWKR AND DAUBENY. 121 to detention — a punishment which, caused to his sensitive mind a, pain hardly less acute than the master's pungent aud undeserved sarcasm. This mishap, joined to his low weekly placing, very nearly tilled him with despair, and this day might have turned the scale, and fixed him iu the po- sition of a heavy and disheartened boy, but for Power, who had come to St. Winifred's at the same time with Daubeny, and who, although in his unusually rapid progress he had long left Daubeny behind, was then hi the same form aud the same dormitory with him, and kuevv how he worked. Power used always to say to his friends that Dubbs was the worthiest, the bravest, the most upright and conscien- tious boy in all St. Winifred's school. Daubeny, on the other hand, had for Power the kind of adoration of the savage for the sun ; he was the boy's beau-ideal of a per- fect scholar and a perfect being. It was a curious sight to see the two boys together — Power with his line and thought- ful face beaming with intelligence, Dubbs with large heavy features and awkward gait ; Power sitting down with his book and perfectly mastering the lesson in a quarter of an hour, and then turning round to say, with a bright arch look, "Well, Dubbs, Pve learnt the lesson ; how far are you?" " Learnt the lesson ? O lucky fellow ; — I only know one stanza, and that not perfectly ; let me see — no ; 1 don't know even that, I see." " Here, let me hear you." Whereupon Dubbs would begin again, and flounder hope- lessly at the end of the third line, and then Power would continue it all through with him, fix the sense of it in his memory, read it over, suggest little mnemonic dodges and associations of particular words aud lines, and not leate him until he knew it by heart, and was ready with grati- tude enough to pluck out his right eye and give it to Power, If needed, there aud then. 122 HEAVY DISCOURAGEMENT. The early failures we have been speaking of took place when Power had been staying- out of school whh a severe cold, and being in the sick-room, had not seen Daubeny at all. He had come out again on the morning when, after Daubeny's failure, Mr. Robertson had called him incorrigi bly slothful and incapable. As he listened to the master'*, remarks, although he knew that they only arose from mis conception, Power's cheeks flushed up with painful surprise, and his eyes sparkled with indignation for his friend. He wanted Daubeny to tell Mr. Robertson how many hours he had spent in being "incorrigibly slothful" over that par- ticular lesson, but this at the time he could not get him to do. " Besides," said Daubeny, " if he knows me to be quite hopeless" — and here the poor boy grew scarlet as ho recalled the undeserved insult — " it's no disgrace to me to fail." "When detention was over, Power sought out his friend, and found him sitting on the top of a little hill by the side of the river alone, and with a most forlornly disconsolate air. Power saw that he had been crying bitterly, but had too much good taste to take any notice of the fact. " Well, Power, you see what credit I get, and yet you know how I try. I'm a ' bad, idle boy,' it seems, and ' in- corrigibly slothful,' and ' hardly fit for the school,' and ' I must be put down to a lower form if I don't make more effort ;' — oh ! I forgot though, you heard it all yourself. So you know my character," he said, with a melancholy smilo. "Never mind, old fellow. You've done your best and cone of us can do more. You know the soldier's epitaph — Here lies one who tried to do his duty;' — a prince could not have better, and you deserve that if any one ever did." " I wish I were you, Power," said Daubeny ; " you are so clever, you can learn the lessons in no time ; every one SYMPATHY. 123 likes you, and you get no end of credit, while I'm a mere butt, when I've worked hard." " Pooh, Dubbs," said Power, kindly putting his arm on nis shoulder ; " you're just as happy as I am. A fellow with a clear conscience can't be in low spirits very long. Don't you remember the pretty verse I read to you the other day, and which made me think of you while I read it : " ' Days, that, in spite Of darkness, by the light Of a dear mind are day all night ?' " " Don't think I envy you Power — you won't think that, will you ?" said Dubbs, with the tears glistening in his eyes. " No, no, my dear old boy. Such a nature as yours can't envy, I know ; I'm sure you're as happy when I suc- ceed as when you succeed yourself. I think I've got the secret of it, Dubbs. You work too much ; you must take more exercise — play games more — give less time to the work. I'm sure you'll do better then, for half is better than the whole sometimes. And, Dubbs, I may say to you what I wouldn't say to any other boy in the whole school — but I've found it so true, and I'm sure you will too, and that is, ' To have played well, is to have studied well.' " Dubbs pressed his hand in silence. The hard thoughts which had been gathering were dissipated in a moment, and as he walked back to the school and to new heroic efforts, by Power's side, he felt that he had learnt a secret full of Btrength. He did better and better. He broke the neck of his difficulties one by one, and had soon surpassed boys who were far more brilliant, but less industrious, than him- self. Thus it was that he fought his way up to the posi- tion of one of the steadiest aud most influential boys 124 WORK. among those of his own standing, because all knew biro to be sterling in his virtues, uuswerving in his rectitude, most humble and most sincere. Walter, like all other sensitive boys, felt for Daubeny a very sincere admiration and regard. Daubeny' s fearless rectitude, on the night when his own indulged temper led him into such suffering, had left a deep impression on his mind, and, since then, Dubbs had always been among the number of his more intimate friends. Hence, when Waltel wrested from him the head place, he was half sorry that he should cause the boy to lose his well-merited success, and almost wished that he had come out second, and left Dau- beny first. He knew that there was not in his rival's nature a particle of envy, but still he feared that he might suffer some disappointment. But in this he Avas mistaken ; Daubeny was, under the circumstances, quite as happy to be second as to be first ; and among the many who con- gratulated Walter, none did so with a heartier sincerity than this generous and single-minded boy. The pleasant excitement of contending for a weekly posi- tion made Daubeny work harder than ever. Indeed, the whole form seemed to have received a new stimulus lately. Henderson was astonishing everybody by a fit of diligence, and even Howard Tracy seemed less totally indifferent to his place than usual. So willingly did the boys work, that Mr Paton had not half the number of punishments to set, and perhaps his late misfortune had infused a little more tenderness and consideration into a character always some- what stern and unbending. But, instead of rising, Daubeny only lost places by his increased work; he was making himself ill with work. At the end of the next week, in- stead of being first or second, he was only fifth ; and when Mr. Percival, who always had been his friend, rallied him on this descent, he sighed deeply, and complained that ho PERSEVERANCE. 125 bad been suffering lately from headaches, and supposed that they had prevented him from doing so well as usual. This remark rather alarmed the master, and on the Sun day afternoon he asked the boy to come a walk with him, for the express purpose of endeavoring to persuade him to relax efforts which were obviously being made to the injury of his health. When they had once fairly reached the meadows by the river side, Mr. Percival said to him : " You are overdoing it, Daubeny. I can see myself that your mind is in a tense, excited, nervous condition from work ; you must lie fallow, my dear boy." " Oh ! I am very strong, sir," said Daubeny ; " I've a cast-iron constitution, as that amusing plague of mine, Hen- derson, always tells me." " Never mind, you must really work less. I won't have that getting up at five in the morning. If you don't take care, I shall forbid you to be higher than twentieth in your form under heavy penalties, or I shall get Dr. Keith to send you home altogether, and not let you go into the examination." " Oh 1 no, sir, you really mustn't do that. I assure you that I enjoy work. An illness I had when I was a child hindered and threw me back very much, and you can't think how eager I am to make up for that lost time." " The time is not lost, my dear Daubeny, if God de- manded it in illness for his own good purposes. Be per- suaded, my boy ; abandon, for the present, all struggle to take a high place until you feel quite well again, and then you shall work as hard as you like. Remember knowledge itself is valueless in comparison with health." Daubeny felt the master's kind intention ; but he could not restrain his unconquerable eagerness to get on. He would have succumbed far sooner, if Walter and Powei 126 OVERTASKED had not constantly dragged bira out with them, almost bj lorce, and made him take exercise against his will. But, though he was naturally strong and healthy, he began to look very paie, and hid best friends urged him tc go home and take a holiday. CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. APPENFELL. IT was some weeks before the examination, and the close of the half-year, when one day Walter, full of glee, burst out of the school-room at twelve, when the lesson was over, to tell Kenrick an announcement just made to the forms, that the next day was to be a whole holi- day. " Hurrah |» said Kenrick. " What's it for V " Oh 1 Somers has got no end of a scholarship at Cam* bridge, and Dr. Lane gave a holiday directly he got the telegraph announcing the news." " Well done, old Somers I" said Kenrick. " What shall we do ?" 11 Oh 1 I've had a scheme for a long time in my head, Ken. I want you to come with me to the top of Appen- fell." " Whew-w-w ! but it's a tremendous long walk, and no one goes up in winter." " Never mind, all the more fun and glory, and we shall have the whole day before us. I've been longing to beat that proud old Appenfell for a long time. I'm certain we can do it." " But do you mean that we two should go alone ?" " Oh, no ; we'll ask Flip to amuse us on the way." " And may I ask Power ?" " If you like," said Kenrick, who was, I am sorry to say, not a little jealous of the friendship which had sprung up between Power and Walter 128 THE PARTY. " And would you mind Daubeny joining us V "Not at all; and he's clearly overworking himself. It'll do him good. Let me see — you, Power, Flip, Dubbs, and me; that'll be enough, wont it ?" " Well, I should like to ask Eden." " Eden !" said Kenrick, with the least little touch of contempt in his tone of voice. " Poor little fellow 1" said Walter, smiling sadly ; " so you, too, despise him. No wonder he doesn't get on." " Oh 1 let him come by all means, if you like," said Kenrick. " Thanks, Ken — but now I come to think of it, it's too far for him. Never mind ; let's go before dinner, and order some sandwiches for to-morrow, and fornge generally, at Cole's." Power and Daubeny gladly consented to join the excur- sion. At tea, Walter asked Henderson if he'd come with them; aud he, being just then in a, phase of nonsense, which made him speak of everything in a manner intended to be Homeric, answered, with oracular gravity : u Him addressed in reply the laughter-loving son of Hender: Thou aske.st me, Evides, like to the immortals, Whether thee I will acompany, and the much-enduring Dubbs, And the counsellor Power, and the revered ox-eyed Kenrick, To the tops of thousand-crested, many -fountained Appenfell." " Grotesque idiot 1" said Kenrick, laughing, " cease this Teak, washy, everlasting flood of twaddle, and tell us whether you'll come or no." Him sternly eyeing, addressed in reply the mighty Hendcrides, Hsavy with tea, with the eyes of a dog, and the heart of a reitt deer : What word has escaped thee, the barrier of thj teeth ? Contrary to right, not accordii g to ''ight, hast thou spoken." TIRED 129 " For goodness' sake shut up before you've driven us stark raving mad," said Walter, putting his hands over Hender- son's lips. Now, yes or no ; will you come ?" "Thee will I accompany," said Henderson, struggling to get clear of Walter, "to niany-fountained Appen- fell » ''• Hurrah 1 that'll do. Wo have got an answer out of you at last ; and now go on spouting the whole Iliad if you like." Full of spirits, they started after breakfast the next morning, and as they climbed higher and higher up the steep mountain side, the keen air exhilarated them, and showed, as through a crystal glass, the exceeding glory of the hills flung on every side around them, and the broad living sparkle of the sea, caught here and there in glimpses between the nearer peaks. Walter, Henderson, and Ken- rick were in front, while at some distance behind them, Power helped on Daubeny, who soon showed signs of fatigue." "Look at that happy fellow Evsou," said Daubeny, sighing; " how he is bounding along in front. How active he is." " You seem out of spirits," said Power, kindly ; " what's the matter ?" "Oh, nothing. A little tired; that's all." " You're surely not fretting about having lost the head place." " Oh, no. ' Palmam qui meruit ferat.'* As Robertson said the other day, in Ids odd, fantastic way of expressing hie thoughts, " In the amber of duty you must not always expect to find the curious grub success.' " " Depend upon it, you'd be higher if you worked less, * Let him who has merited bear the nalm. 6* 130 GRASS ON THE HOUSETOPS. my dear fellow. Let me persuade you — don't work for examination any more." " You all mistake me. It's not for the place tbat I work, but because I want to know, to learn ; not to grow up quite stupid and empty-headed as I otherwise should do." " What a love for work you have, Daubeny." " Yes, I have now ; but do you know it really wasn' natural to me. As a child, I used to be idle and get on very badly, and it used to vex my poor father, who was then living, very much. Well, one day, not long before he died, I had been very obstinate, and would learn nothing. He didn't say much, but in the afternoon, when we were taking a walk, we passed an old barn, and on the thatched roof was a lot of grass and stoneerop. He plucked a hand- ful, and showed me how rank and useless it was, and then, resting his hand upon my head, he told me that it was the type of an idle, useless man — ' grass upon the housetops, withered before it groweth np, wherewith the mower filleth not his hand, nor he that gathereth the sheaves his bosom.' Somehow the circumstance took hold of my imagination ; it was the last scene with my poor father which I vividly remember. I have never been idle since then." Power mused a little, and then said — " But, dear Dubbs, you'll make your brain heavy by the time examination be- gins : you won't be able to do yourself justice." He did not answer; but a weary look, which Power had often observed with anxiety, came over his face. " I'm afraid I must turn back, Power," he said j " I'm quite tired — done up." " I've been thinking so, too. Let me turn back with fOU." " No, no ! I won't spoil your day's excursion. Let mo go alone." " Hi, you fellows 1" said Power, shouting to the threo TURNING BACK. 131 in front They were too far iu advance to hear him, so lie told Daubeny to sit down while he overtook them, and asked if any of them would prefer to turn back. " Dubbs is too tired to go any farther/' he said, when be reached them, breathless with his run. " I don't think ne's very well, and so I'll just go back with him." " Oh, no ; you really mustn't, / will," said each of the other three, almost in a breath. Every one of the fom was most anxious to get on, and reach the top of Appen- fell, which was considered a very great feat among the boys even in summer, as the climb was dangerous and se- vere ; and yet each generously wished to undergo the self- denial of turning back. As their wills were about equally strong, it would have ended in all of them accompanying Daubeny, had he not, when they reached him, positively refused to turn on such conditions, and suggested that they should decide it by drawing lots. Power wrote the names on slips of paper, and Walter drew one at hazard. The lot fell on Henderson, so he at once took Daubeny's arm, relieving his disappointment by turning round, shaking his fist at the top of Appenfell, and saying, " You be hanged ! I wish you were rolled out quite Jlat and planted with potatoes !" "There," said Power, laughing, "I should think that was about the grossest indignity the Genius of Appenfell ever had offered to him ; so now you've had your revenge, take care of Dubbs. Good-bye." " How very kind it is of you to come with me, Flip," said Daubeny ; " I don't think I could manage to get home without your help ; but I am quite vexed to drag you back. Good-bye, you fellows." Walter, Power, and Kenrick, found that to reach the cairn on the top of Appenfell taxed all their strength. The mountain seemed to heave before them a successiou of 132 A FAVOR. huge shoulders, and each one that they surmounted showed them only fresh steeps to cihnb. At last they reached the piled confusion of rocks, painted with every gorgeous and brilliant color by emerald moss and golden lichen, which marked the approach to the summit ; and Walter, who was a long way the first to get to the top, shouted to en- courage the other two, and, after resting a few minutes, clambered down to assist their progress. Being accustomed to the hills, he was far less tired than they were, and could give them very efficient help. At the top they rested for some time, eating their scanty lunch, chatting, and enjoying the matchless splendor of the prospect which stretched in a cloudless expanse before them on every side. " Power," said Walter, in a pause of then- talk, " I've long been meaning to ask you a favor." " It's granted then," said Power, " if you ask it, Walter." " I'm not so sure ; it's a very serious favor, and it isn't for myself; moreover, it's very cool." " The greater it is, the more I shall know that you trust my friendship, Walter ; and, if it's cool, it suits the time and place." " Yet, I bet you that you'll hesitate when 1 propose it/ " Well, out with it ; you make me curious." " It is that you'd give little Eden the run of your Btudy." " Little Eden the run of my study 1 Oh, yes, if you wish, it," said Power, not liking to object after wha' he had said, but flushing up a little, involuntarily. It was indeed a great favor to ask. Power's study was a perfect sanc- tum ; he had furnished it with such rare good taste, that, when you entered, your eye was attracted by some pretty print or neat contrivance wherever you looked It was Power's peculiar pride and uleasure to beautify :ds littk one another's burdens. 133 room, and to sit there with any one w horn he liked ; but to give up his privacy, and let a little scapegrace like Eden have the free run of it, was a proposition which took bin; by surprise. Yet it was a good deal for Power's own sake that Walter had ventured to ask it. Power's great fault was his over-refinement ; the fastidiousness which marred his proper influence, made him unpopular with many boys, and shut him up in a reserved and introspective habit of mind. By a kind of instinct, Walter felt that it would be good to disturb this epicurean indifference to the general interests of the school, and the kind of intellectualism which weakened the character of this attractive and affectionate, yet shy and self-involved boy. " Ah, I see," said Walter, archly ; you're as bad as Kenrick." " But I don't see what I could do for him," said Power; " I shouldn't know what to talk to him about." " Oh yes, you would ; you don't know how his gratitude would pay you for the least interest shown in him. He's been so shamefully bullied, poor little chap, I hardly like to tell you even the things that that big brute Harpour has made him do. He came here bright and neat, and merry and innocent ; and now " He would not finish the sentence, and his voice faltered ; but checking himself, he added, more calmly — " This, remember, haa been done to the poor little fellow here, at St. Winifred's ; and when I remember what I might have been myself by this time, but for — but for one or two friends, my heart quite bleeds for him. Anyhow, I think one ought to do what one can for him. I wish I'd a study, I know, and he shouldn't be the only little fellow who should share it. Fv« got so much good from being able to learn my own lessons in Percival's room, that I'd give anything to be able to dfl as much for some one else." 134 A. NEW DUTY. " He shall come, Walter," said Power, " with all my neart. I'll ask him directly we get back to St. Winifred's." " Will you ? I thank you. That is good of you ; I'm sure you won't be sorry in the long run." Power and Kenrick were both thinking that this new friend of theirs, though he had been so short a time at St. Winifred's was teaching them some valuable lessons Neither of them had previously recognized the truth whi2h Walter seemed to feel so strongly, that they were to some extent directly responsible for the opportunities which they lost of helping and strengthening the boys around them. Neither of them had ever done anything, worth speaking of, to lighten the heavy burden laid on some of the little boys at St. Winifred's ; aud now they heard Walter talk- ing with something like remorse about a child, who had no special claim whatever ou his kindness, but whom he felt that he might more efficiently have rescued from evil asso- ciates, evil words, evil ways, and all the heart-misery they cannot fail to bring. The sense of a new mission, a neg- lected duty dawned upon them both. They sate for a time silent, aud then Kenrick, shaking off his reverie, pointed down the hill and said — " Do look at those magnificent clouds ; how they come surging up the hill in huge curving masses." " Yes," said Power ; " doesn't it look like a grand charge of giant cavalry ? Why, Walter, my dear fellow, how frightened you look." " Well, no," said Walter, " not frightened. But I say, you two, supposing those clouds which have gathered sc suddenly don't clear away, do you think that you could find your way clown the hill ?" " I don't kuow ; I almost think so," said Kenrick, du- biously. " Ah, Ken, I suspect you haven't had as much, experi CLOUDS. 135 encc of mountain-mists as I have. "We may find our way Bomehow ; but " " You mean," said Power, with strange calmness, " that there are lots of precipices about, and that shepherds have several times been lost on these hills ?" " Let's hope that the mist will clear away, then," said Walter ; " anyhow, let's get on the grass, and off these awkward boulders, before we are surrounded." " By all means," said Kenrick ; " charges of cloud-ea «- airy are all very well in their way ; but " CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. IN THE CLOUDS. THE three boys scrambled with all their spejcl, Walfcei helping the other two down the vast prime! al heap of many-tinted rock-fragments which form the huge summit of Appenfell, and found themselves again on the short slippery grass, hardened with recent frosts, that barely covered the wave-like sweep of the hill-side. Mean- while the vast, dense masses of white cloud gathered below them, resting here and there in the hollows of the moun- tains like gigantic walls and bastions, and leaning against the abrupter face of the precipice in one great unbroken barrier of opaque, immaculate, impenetrable pearl. As you looked upon it, the chief impression it gave you was one of immense thickness and crushing weight. It seemed so compressed and impermeable that one could not fancy how even a thunderbolt could shatter it, or the wildest blast of any hurricane dissipate its enormous depth. But as yet it had not enveloped the peaks themselves. On them the sun yet shone, and where the boys stood they were still bathed in the keen yet blue and sunny air, islanded far up above the noiseless billows of surging cloud. This was not for long. Gradually, almost impercepti- bly, the clouds stole upon them — reached out white arms and enfolded them in sudden whirls of thin and smoke- like mist ; eddied over their heads and round their feet ; swathed them at last as in a funeral pall, blotting from their sight every object save wreaths of dank vapor, ren« dering wholly uncertain the direction in which they trera 188 IN THE CLOUDS. 137 moving, and giving a sense of doubt and danger to every step they took. Kenrick had only told the master who had given them leave of absence from dinner that they meant to go a long walk. He had not mentioned Appen- fell, not from any want of straightforwardness, but because they thought that it might sound like a vainglorious at- tempt, and they did not want to talk about it until they had really accomplished it. But in truth if they had men- tioned this as their destination, no wise master would have given them permission to go, unless they promised to be accompanied by a guide ; for the ascent of Appenfell, dan- gerous even in summer to all but those who well knew the features of the mountain, became in winter a perilous and foolhardy attempt. The boys themselves, when they started on their excursion, had no conception of the amount or extent of the risk they ran. Seeing that the morning gave promise of a bright and clear day, they had never thought of taking iuto account the possibility of mists and storms. The position in which they now fonnd themselves was enough to make a stout heart quail. By this time they were hopelessly enveloped in palpable clouds, and could not Bee the largest objects a yard before them. In fact, even to see each other they had to keep closely side by side ; for once, when Kenrick had separated from them for a little distance, it was only by the sound of his shouts that they found him again. After tins they crept on in perfect si- lence, each trying to conceal from the other the terror which lay like frost on his own spirits ; unsuccessfully, for the tremulous sound which the quick palpitation of their hearts gave to their breathing showed plainly enougli that all three of them recognized the frightfulness of their danger. Appenfell was one of those mountains, not unfrequent, 138 THE KAZOK. which is on one side abrupt and bounded by a wall of al most fathomless precipice, and on the other descends to the plain in a cataract of billowy undulations. It had one feature which, although peculiar, is by no means unprece- dented At one point, where the huge rock wall towers up from the ghastly depth of a broad ravine, there is a lateral ridge — not unlike the Mickledore of Scawfell Pikes — running right across the valley, and connecting Appen- fell with Bardlyn, another hill of much lower elevation, towards which this ridge runs down with a long but gra- dual slope. This edge was significantly called the Razor, and it was so narrow that it would barely admit the pas- sage of a single person along its summit. It was occasion- ally passed by a few shepherds, accustomed from earliest childhood to the hills, but no ordinary traveller ever dreamed of braving its real dangers, for, even had the path been broader, the horrible depth of fall on either side was quite sufficient to render dizzy the steadiest head, and if a false step were taken, the result, to a; absolute certainty, was frightful death. For so r.arly perpendicu- lar were the sides of this curious partition, that the narrow valley below, offering no temptation to any one to visit it, had not been trodden by any human foot. To add to the horror inspired by the Razor, a shepherd had recently fallen from it in a summer storm ; his body had been abandoned as unrecoverable, and the ravens and wild cats had fed upon liim. " Are you sure that we are on the right path, Walter ?" asked Power, trying to speak as cheerfully and indifferently us he could. " Certain," said Walter, pulling out of his pocket the little brass pocket-compass which had been his invariable companion hi his rambles at home, and which he had fortu- oa:ely brought with him as likely to be useful in the loueh DANGER. 139 tracts which surrounded St. Winifred's. '■ The bay lies due west from here, and I'm sure of the general direction." " But I think we're keeping too much to the right, Walter," said Keurick. "Look here," said Walter, stopping; "the truth is — and we may just as well be ready for it — that we're be* tween two dangers. On the right is Bardlyn rift ; on the left we have the sides of Appenfell, and no precipices, but" " I know what you're thinking of — the old mines." " Yes ; that's why I've been keeping to the right. I think even in this mist we could hardly go over the rift, for I fancy that we could at least discover when w r e were get- ting close to it ; but there are three or four old mines ; we don't know in the least where they lie exactly, and one might stumble over one of the shafts in a minute." " What in the world shall we do ?" said Power, stopping, as he realised the full intensity of peril. " As it is we can't Bee where we're going, and very soon we shall have dark- ness as well as mist. Besides, it's so frightfully cold, now that we are obliged to go slowly." " Let's stop and consider what we'd best do," said Ken- rick. " Walter, what do you say ?" " We can only do one of two things. Either go on, and trust to God's mercy to keep us safe, or sit still here and hope that the mist may clear away." " That last'll never do," answered Kenrick ; " I've seen the mist rest on Appenfell for days and dayT r " Besides," said Power, " unless we move on, at all ha* Bards, night will be on us. A December night on Appen- fell, without food or extra coverings, and the chance of being kept indefinitely longer" The sentence ended in a shudder. " Yes ; I don't know what we shoidd look like iu the i4o " stop r rnornina;," said Kenrick. " Let's move cm at all events better that than the chance of being frozen and starved to death." They moved on again a little way through the clouds with uncertain and hesitating steps, when suddenly Walter cried out in an agitated voice, " Stop 1 God only knows where we are. I feel by a kind of instinct that we're some- where near the rift. I don't know what else should make me tremble all over as I am doiug ; I seem to hear the rift somehow. For God's sake stop. Just let's sit down a minute till I try something." " But it's now nearly four o'clock," said Kenrick, in a querulous tone, as he halted and pulled out his watch, hold- ing it close to his face to make out the time. " An hour more and all daylight will be gone, and with it all chance of beiDg saved. Surely we'd better press on. That's uncer- tain danger, but to stop is certain" " Certain death," whispered Power. " Just listen then, one second," said Walter ; and, dis- embeddiug a huge piece of stone, he rolled it with all lus force to their right, listening with senses acutely sharpened by danger and excitement. The stone bounded once, then they heard in their ears a rush, a shuffling of loose stones aud sliding earth, the whirring sound of a heavy falling body, and then for several seconds a succession of distant crashes, startling with fright the rebounding mountain echoes, as the bit of rock whirled over the rift and was shattered into fragments by being dashed against the sides of the precipice. " Good God !" cried Walter, clutching both the boys aud dragging them hurriedly backwards, " we are standing at this moment on the very verge of the chasm. It won't do to go on ; every step may be death." A pause of a'most unspeakable hefror followed his DESPAIE. 141 words ; after the fall of the rock had revealed to them hoMt frightful was the peril which they had escaped, all three of them for a moment felt paralyzed in every limb, and after looking close into each other's faces, blanched white by a deadly fear, Kenrick and Power sat down in an agony of despair " Don't give way, you fellows," said Walter, to whom they both seemed to look for help ; " our only chance is to keep up our hope and spirits. I think that, after all, we must just stay here till the mist clears up. Don't be fright- ened, Ken," he said, taking the boy's hand ; " nothing can happen to us but what God intends." '' But the night," whispered Kenrick, who was most overpowered of the three ; " fancy a night spent here. Mist and cold, hunger and dark. this horrible uncer- tainty and suspense. O for some light," he cried in an agony ; " 1 could almost die if we had but light." " God, give us light 1" murmured Walter, echoing the words, and uttering aloud unconsciously his intense prayer; and then he fell on his knees, and the others, too, hid their faces in their hands as they stood upon the bleak mountain side, and prayed to Him whom they knew to be near them, though they were there alone, and saw nothing save the ground they knelt upon, and the thick clammy fog moving slowly around and above them in aimless and monotonous change. And soon, as though their passionate prayer had been heard, and an angel had been sent to rend the mist, the wind rushing up from the ravine, tore for itself a narrow passage, and a gleam of waving light broke in upon them through the white folds of that deathful curtain, showing them the wall of sunken precipice and the dark outline of Bardlyn hill. If this had been a moment in which they could have admired one of Nature's most awfully majestic Bights, they would have gazed with enthusiastic joy on the 142 A SUGGESTION. diorama of valley and mountain revealed through this mighty rent in the side of their misty pavilion, filled up by the blue far-ofl' sky ; but at this moment of dominant terror they had no room fcr any other thoughts but how to save their lives from the danger that surrounded them. " Light 1" cried Walter, springing up eagerly; " thank God ! Perhaps the mist is goiug to clear away." But the hope was fallacious ; for in the direction where their path lay all was still dark, and the chilly mist soon closed again, though not so densely, over the wound which the breeze from the chasm below them had momentarily made. "Did you see that we are close to the Razor 1" said Walter, who alone of the three maintained his usual cour- age, because custom had made him more familiar with the danger of the hills. " Now a thought strikes me, Ken and Power. If you like we'll make an attempt to cross the Razor. The only thing will be not to lose one's footing ; one can't miss the way at any rate ; and when once we get to Bardlyn, it's as easy to get down to the road which runs round it to St. Winifred's as it is to walk across the school court." " Cross the Razor 1" said Kenrick. " Why, none but some few shepherds ever dare to do that." 1 True ; but what man has done, man can do. I'm cer- tain it's our best chance." " Not for me ;" " Or for me," said the other two. " Well, look here," said Walter ; it would be very dan- gerous, of course, but while we talk our chance of safety lessens. You two stay here. I'll try the Razor ; if I get Bate across I shall reach Bardlyn village in no time, and there I could get some men to come and help you over. Dc f ou mind ? I won't leave you if you'd rather not. " Oh, Walter, Walter, don't run the risk !" said Power; u it's too awful." " It's lighter thai ever on that side," said Walter. " I'm RUNNING THE ItlSK. 143 not a bit afraid. " I'm certain we could not get safe down the other way, and we should die of exposure if we spent the night here. Remember, we've only had one or two sandwiches apiece. It's the last chajice." " Oh, no, you really shan't, dear Walter. You don't know how terrific the Razor is. I've often heard men say that they wouldn't cross it for a bag of gold," said Power " Don't hinder me, Power ; Pve made up my mind, Good-bye, Power; good-bye, Ken," he said, wringing their bauds hard. " If I get safe across the Razor, I shan't be more than an hour and a half, at the very latest, before 1 stand here with you again, bringing help. Good-bye. God bless you both ! Pray for me, but don't fear." So saying, Walter tore himself away from them, and with an awful sinking at heart they saw him pass through the spot where the mist was thinnest, and plant a steady step on the commencement of the Razor path. CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. ON THE RAZOR, THE brave boy knew well that the fate of the olher^ as well as his own, hung on his coolness and steadi- ness, and stopping for one moment to see that he would hare light enough to make sure of his footing all along the path, he turned round, shouted a few cheery words to his friends, and stepped boldly on the ledge. He was accustomed to giddy heights, and his head had never turned as he looked down the cliffs at St. Winifred's, or the valleys at home. But his heart began to beat verv last with the painful sense that every step which he accom- plished was dangerous, and that the nerve which would readily have borne him through a brief effort would here have to be sustained for fully twenty minutes, which would be the least possible time in which he could make the transit. The loneliness, too, was frightful. In three minutes he was out of sight of his friends ; and to be there without a companion, in the very heart of the mighty mountains, traversing this haunted and terrible path, with not an eye to see him if he should slip and be dashed to atoms on the unconscious rocks. This thought almost overmastered Inm, unmanned him, filled him with a weird sense of indescrib- able horror. He battled against it with all his might, but it came on him / like a foul harpy, again and again, sicken- ing his whole soul, making his forehead glisten with the damp dews of anticipated death. At last he came to a itunted wiliow which had twisted its dry roots into the thin tioil, and, clinging to the stem of it with both arms, he was 14* HELP 149 ger and shuddering with the December air, their limbs felt quite benumbed, their teeth were chattering lugubriously,, and their faces were blue and pinched with cold. They eagerly devoured the brown bread and potato-cake which the man had brought, and let him and Walter chafe a little life into their shivering bodies. By this time fear was suf- ficiently removed to enable them to feel some sort of appre- ciation of the wild beauty of the scene, as the moonlight pierced on their left the flitting scuds of restless mist, and on their right fell softly over Bardlyu hill making a weird contrast between the tender brightness of the places where it fell, and the pitchy gloom that hid the depths of the rift, and brooded in those undefined hollows over which the precipices leaned. To return clown Appenfell was (the experienced shepherd informed them), quite hopeless. In such a mist as that, which might last for an indefinite time, even he would be totally unable to find his way. But now that they were warm and satisfied with food, and confident of safety, they even enjoyed the feeling of adventure when Giles tied them together for their return across the Devil's Way. First lie tied the rope round his own waist, then round Power's and Kcnrick's, and finally, as there was not enough left to go round Walter's waist, he tied the end round his right arm Thus fastened, all danger was tenfold diminished, if nol wholly removed, and the two unaccustomed boys felt a happy reliance on the nerve and experience of Giles and Walter, who were in front and rear. It was a scene which they never forgot, as the four went step by step through the moonlight along the horrible ledge, safe only in each other's help, and awestruck at their position, not daring to glance aside or to watch the colossal grandeur of their own shadows as they were flung here and there against some protruding rock. Power was next to Walter, and when 150 SAFE. they reached the spot beneath which the whiteness glinted and the rags fluttered in the wind, Walter, in spite of him- self, could not help glancing down, and whispering " Look/' in a voice of awe. Power unhappily did look, and as all the boys at St Winifred's were familiar with the story of the shepherd's fate, and had even known the man himself, Power at once was seized with the same nervous horror which had agitated Walter — grew dizzy, stumbled, and slipped down, jerking Kenrick to his knees by the sudden strain of the rope. Happily the rope checked Power's fall, and Kenrick's scream of horror startled Giles, who, without losing his presence of mind, instantly seized Kenrick with an arm that seemed as strong and inflexible as if it had been hammered out of iron, while at the same moment Walter, conscious of his rashness, clutched hold of Power's hand and raised him up. No word was spoken, but after this the boys kept close to their guides, who were ready to grasp them tight at the first indication of an uneven footstep, and who almost lifted them bodily over every more difficult or slippery part. The time seemed very long to them, but at last they had all reached Bardlyn hill in safety, and placed the last step they ever meant to place on the narrow and dizzy passage of the Razor's edge. And stopping there they looked back at the dangers they had passed — at Appenfell piled up to heaven with white clouds ; at Bardlyn rift looming iu black abysses beneath them ; at the thin broken line of the Devil's Way. They stood silent till Power said, in ejaculations of in- tense emphasis, " Thank God !" and then pointing down- wards with a shudder, " Oh, Walter !" and then once again, "Thank God !" — which Walter and Kenrick echoed; and then they passed on without another word. But those two words, so uttered, were enough. The man, who was more than repaid by the sense tha> A.T HOME. 151 he had rendered them a most important aid, and who had been greatly fascinated by their manly bearing, entirely refused to take any money in payment for what he had done, " Nay, nay," he said ; " we poor folks are proud too, Find I won't have none of your money, young gentlemen. But let me tell you that you've had a very narrow escape of your lives out there, and I don't doubt you'll thank the good God for it with all your hearts this night ; and if you'll just say a prayer for old Giles too, he'll vally it more tiian all your monies. So now, good night to you, young gentlemen, for you know your way now easy enough. And if ever you come this way again, maybe you'll come in and have a chat for remembrance sake." " Thank you, Giles, that we will," said the boys. " And since you won't take any money you'll let me give you this," said Walter. " You must let me give you this , it's not worth much, but it'll show you that Walter Evson didn't forget the good turn you did us." And he forced on the old shepherd's acceptance a handsome knife, with several strong blades, which he happened to have in his pocket ; while Power and Kenrick, after a rapid whis- pered consultation, promised to bring him in a few days a first rate plaid to serve him as a slight reminder of their gratitude for his ready kindness. Then they all shook hands with many thanks, and the three boys, eager to Qnd sympathy iu their perils and deliverance, hastened to St. Winifred's, which they reached at eight o'clock, just w hex their absence was beginning to cause the most serious anxiety. They arrived at the arched gateway as the boys wero pouring out of evening chapel, and as every one was doubt- fully wondering what had become of them, and whether 'hey had encountered any serious mishap. When the Famulus admitted them, the fellows thronged round them 152 WALTER A HEKO. in crowds, pouring into their ears a succession of eager questions. The tale of Walter's daring act flew like wild* fire through the school, and if any one still Retained against him a particle of ill-feeling, or looked on his character with suspicion, it was this evening replaced by the convic- tion that there was no more noble or gallant boy than Walter among them, and that if any equalled him in merit it was one of those whose intimate friendship foj him had on this day been deepened by the grateful know ledge that to him, in all human probability, they owed their preservation from an imminent and overpowering peril. Even Somers, in honor of whose academic laurel the whole holiday had been given, and who that evening returned from Cambridge, was less of a hero than either of the three who had thus climbed the peak of Appenfell and braved so serious an adventure ; far less crowned with schoolboy admiration than the young boy who had thrice crossed and recrossed the Devil's Way, and who had crossed it first unaided and with full knowledge of its hor- rors, while the light of winter evening was dying away, and the hills around him reeked like a witch's caldron with wintry mists. Walter, grateful as he was for each pat on the back and warm pressure of the hand, which told him how thorouo-hlv and joyously his doings were appreciated, was not intoxi. cated by the enthusiasm of this boyish ovation. It was indeed a proud thing to stand among those four hundred schoolfellows, the observed of all observe.-s. greeted on every side by happy, smiling, admiring faces, with every one pressing forward to give him a friendly grasp, everv one anxious to claim or to form his acquaintance, and many addressing him with the kindliest greetir gs whose very faces he hardly knew ; — but the deeper and more silent gratitude tf his chosen friends, and the manly sense of something IN THE COURT. 153 bravely and rightly done, was more to him than this. Yet this was something very sweet. When the admiration of boys is fairly kindled it is the brightest, the most genial the most generously hearty in the wcrld. Few succeed in winning it ; but he who has been a hero to others in man hood only, has had but a partial taste of the rich triumph experienced by him who has had the happiness in boyhood of being a hero among boys. Uere let me say how one or two people noticed Walter when they first saw him that evening. While numbers of boys were shaking hands with him, whom he hardly saw or recognised in the crowd by the mingled moonlight and lamplight that streamed over the court where they stood, Walter felt one squeeze that he recognised and valued. Looking among the numerous faces, he saw that it was Henderson who was greeting him without a word. No nonsense or joke this time, and Wal- ter noticed that the boy's lips were trembling with emotion, and that there was a light as of tears in his laughter-loving eyes. " Ah, Henderson !" said Walter, in that tone of real regard and pleasure which is the truest sign and pledge of friendship, and which no art can counterfeit, " I'm so glad to see you again : how did you and Dubbs get on ?" " All right, Walter," said Henderson ; "but he's gone to bed with a bad headache. Come in and see him before you go to bed. I know he'd like to say good-night." 11 Well done, Evson — well done indeed," was the remark of Somers, as he noticed Walter for the first time since the scene of the Private Room. " Excellent, my gallant little Walter," said Mr. Percival, as he passed by. Mr. Paton, who was with him, said nothing, but Walter knew all that he would have expressed when he caught his quiet approving smile, and felt his ham) 7* 154 L»R. LANE. rest for a moment, as with the touch of Cliristain blessing on his head. It is happiness at all times to be loved, and to deserve the love ; but happiest of all to enjoy it after sorrow and Bin. " Dr. Lane wants you," said the Famulus, just in time to save the tired boys from their remorseless questioners. They went at once to the head-master's house. He re- ceived them with a stately yet sincere kindness ; questioned them on the occurrences of the day ; warned them for the future against excursions so liable to accident as the winter ascent of Appenfell ; and then spoke a few kindly words to each of them. For both Kenrick and Power he had a strong personal regard, and for the latter especially a feel- ing closely akin to friendship and affection. After they were gone he kept Walter behind, and said, " I am indeed most sincerely rejoiced, Evson, to meet you again under circumstances so widely different from those in which I saw you last. I have heard for some time past how greatly you have improved, and how admirably you are now doing. I am glad to have the opportunity of assuring you myself how entirely you have succeeded in winning back my ap> probation and esteem." Walter attended with a glistening eye, and the master shook hands with him as he bowed and silently withdrew. " Tea has been ordered for you in Master Power's study, said the footman, as they left the master's house. CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. THE GOOD RESOLVE. LET'S come and see Dubbs before tea," said Walter, or rejoining the other two ; " Henderson told me he was ill in bed, poor fellow." They went at once to the cottage, detached from the rest of the school buildings, to which all invalids were removed, and they were allowed to go to Daubeny's room ; but, al- though he was expecting their visit, he had fallen asleep They noticed a worn and weary expression upon his coun- tenance, but it was pleasant to look at him ; for although he was a very ordinary-looking boy, with somewhat heavy features, yet whatever beauty can be infused into any face by honesty of purpose and innocence of heart, was to be found in his ; and you could not speak to Daubeny for five minutes without being attracted by the sense that you were talking to one whose character was singularly free irom falsehood or vanity, and singularly unstained by evil thoughts. " There lies one of the best and worthiest fellows in the school," whispered Power, as he raised the candle to look at him. Low as he had spoken, the sound awoke the sleepet. He opened his eyes dreamily at first, but with full recogni- tion afterwards, and said, " you fellows, I'm so delighted to see you ; when I saw Henderson last, he told me that you hadn't come back, and that people were beginning ta fear some accident ; and I suppose that's the reason whj 156 L5t> A FIRESIDE TALK. I've been dreaming so uneasily, and fancying that I saw you tumbling down the rift, and all kinds of things." " Well, we were very near it, Dubbs ; but thanks to Walter, we escaped all right," said Power. Daubeny looked up inquiringly. " We must tell you all about it to-morrow," said Power. " How are yon feeling ?" " Oh, I don't know ; not very well ; but it's no matter ; I dare say I shall be all right soon." " Hush, you young gentlemen," said the nurse ; " this'l] never do ; you oughtn't to have awoke Master Daubeny just as he was sleeping so nice." " Very sorry, nurse ; good night, Dubbs •, hope you'll be ail right to-morrow," said they, and then adjourned to Power's study. The gas was lighted in the pretty little room, and the matron, regarding them as heroes, had sent them a very tempting tea. They ate it almost in silence, for they were quite tired out. It seemed an age since they had started in the morning with Henderson and Daubeny. Directly tea was finished, Kenrick, exhausted with fatigue and ex- citement, fell asleep in his chair, with his head throwD back and his lips parted. " There, I think that's a sign that we ought to be go- ing to bed," said Walter, laughing as he pointed at him. " no," said Power, " not yet ; it's so jolly sitting here ; don't wake him, but come and draw your chair next to mine by the fire and have a chat." Walter obeyed the invitation, and for a few minutes they both sate gazing into the fire, reading faces in the embers, and pursuing their own thoughts. Each of them was happy ; n the other's presence ; and Walter, though more than a year Power's junior, and far below him in the school, was delighted with the sense of fully possessing in the friendship A FIKESIDE TALK. 157 of this most promising and gifted boy, a treasure which anj one in the world might well have envied him. " It's been a strange day, hasn't it, Walter ?" said Power at last, laying his hand on Walter's, and looking at him. " I shall never forget it ; you have thrown a new light on one's time here." " Have I, Power ? How ? I didn't know it." " Why, on the top of Appenfell there, you opened my eyes to the fact that I have been living here a very selfish life. I know that I get the credit of being very conceited and exclusive, and all that sort of thing ; but being natu- rally shy, I thought it better to keep rather aloof from all but the very few towards whom I felt at all drawn. I see now," he said, sadly, " that at the bottom this was mainly selfishness. Why, Walter, all the time I've been here, I haven't done as much for any single boy as you, a new fel- low, have done for little Eden this one half-year. But there's time to do better yet ; and by God's help I'll try. I'll give Eden the run of my study to-morrow ; and as there's plenty of room, I'll look out for some other little chap who requires a refuge for the destitute." " Thank you, for Eden's sake," said Walter ; " I'm sure you'll soon begin to like him, if he gets at home with you." " But that's the worst of it," continued Power ; " so few ever do get at home with me. I suppose my manner's awkward — or something ; but I'd give anything to make fellows friendly in five minutes as you do. How do you manage it ?" " I really don't know ; I never think about my own manner, or anything else. I suppose if one feels the least interest in any fellow, that he will probably feel some inter- 3st in me ; and so, somehow, I'm on the best terms with all I care to know." 158 A GOOD RESOLVE. " Well, Ken and I had a long talk after you left us, tc cross the Devil's Way ; and I hope that the memory of that may make us three friends firm and fast, tender and true, as long as we live. We were in a horrible fright about you ; and I suppose that, joined to our own danger, gave a solemn cast to our conversation ; but we agreed that if we three, as friends, were united in the silent reso lution to help others, and especially new fellows and young, as much as ever we can, we might do a great deal. Tell rae, Walter, didn't you find it a very hard thing wheu you first came, to keep right among all sorts of tempta- tions ?" " Yes, I did, Power, very hard : and I confess, too, that I sometimes wondered that not ore boy, though there are, as I see now, lots of thoroughly good and right fellowa here, ever said one word, or did one thing to help me." " It's all wrong, all wrong," said Power ; " but it was you first who made me see it. Walter, I shall pray to- night that God, who has kept us safe, may teach and help us here to live less for ourselves. Who knows what we might not do for the school ?" " But you seem to aim higher than I do, Power," said Walter ; " I certainly found lots of wickedness going ou tere, but I never hoped to change that. All I hoped to do was to save one or two fellows from being cruelly bul- lied and spoiled. We can't alter the wrong tone which nearly all the fellows have on some matters." " Yet," said Power, " there was once a man, a single man, in a great corrupted host, who stood between the liv- ing and the dead, and the plague was stayed." " Then rose up Phinees and prayed, and so the plague ceased," whispered Walter to himself. All farther conversation was broken by Kenrick, who at this moment awoke with a great yawn, and looking at TO BED. 159 his watch, declared that they ouglt to have been iu bed long ago. " Good-night, Ken ; I hope we shall sleep as sound as you," said Power. " Walter here will dream of skeletons and moonlit pre- cipices, I bet," said Kenrick. " Not I, Ken ; Fra far too tired. Good-mght, both." Sleepy as they were, two of those boys did not fall asleep that night till they had poured out with all the passion of full hearts, words of earnest supplication for the future, of trembling gratitude for the past. Two of them — for Ken- rick, with all the fine points of his character, was entirely destitute of any sense of religion. When Walter reached his room, the rest were asleep, but not Eden. He sate up in his bed directly Walter entered, and his eyes were sparkling with animation and pleasure. " Walter," he said, " I couldn't go to sleep, for joy Every one's praising you to the skies. I am so proud of you, and it is so very good of you to be friends with me." " Tush, Arty," said Walter, smiling, " one would think I'd done something great to hear you talk, whereas really it was nothing out of the way. I meant to have taken you with us, but I thought it would be too far for you." " Taking me with you, and Kenrick, and Power !" said Eden, opening his large eyes ; " how kind of you, Walter 1 but only fancy Power or Kenrick walking with me 1" " Why not, Arty ? Power's going to ask you to-rnor row to sit in his study, and learn your lessons there when jver you like." " Power ask me .'" «' You 1 Why not ?" " Why, he's such a swell." " Well, then, you must try and be a swell too." 1 60 EDEN. " No, no, Walter ; I am doing ten times as well as 1 did, but I shall never be a swell like Power, said the child simply. " And I know it's all your doing, not his. Oh, how shall I ever learn to thank and pay you for all you do for me ?" " By being a good and brave little boy, Arty. Good tught, and God bless you." " Good-night. Walter " CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. THE MARTYR-STUDENT. JTI^HE days that followed, as the boys resumed the regulai routine of school work, passed by very rapidly and J- pleasantly — rapidly, because the long-expected Christ- inas holidays were approaching ; pleasantly, because the boys were thoroughly occupied in working up the subjects for the final examination. For Walter especially, those days were lighted up with the warm glow of popularity and success. He was aiming, with boyish eagerness, to win one more laurel by gaining the first place in his form ; and whenever he was not taking exercise, either in some school game or by a ramble along his favorite cliffs and sands, he was generally to be found hard at work in Mr. Percival's rooms, learning the voluntary repetitions, or going over the trial subjects with Henderson, who had now quite passed the boundary line which separated the idle from the indus- trious boys. One morniDg Henderson came in chuckling and laughing to himself. " So Power's taking a leaf out of your book, Walter. I declare he's becoming a regular sociable gros- beak." " Sociable grosbeak ? what do you mean ?" " Oh, don't you know that I am writing a drama called the ' Sociable Grosbeaks,' in which you, and Ken, and I are introduced. I didn't mean to introduce Power — he wasn't gregarious enough ; but I shall now, and he shall prologise." " But why is he more sociable now ?" 102 CONFIRMATION. "Why, he's actually let one of the — oh, I forgot, 1 mustn't call names — well, he's given Eden the run of his study." " Oh, yes ; I knew that," said Walter, smiling. " At first it was the funniest thing to see them together, they were both so shy ; but after a day or two they were quite friends ; and now you may find Eden perched any day in Power's window-seat, grinding away at his Greek verbs, and as happy as a king. Power helps him in his work, too. It'll be the making of the little fellow. Already he's com- ing out strong in form." " Hurrah for the grosbeaks 1" said Henderson. " I did mean to chaff Power about it, but I won't, for it really is very kind of him." " Yes ; and so it is of Percival to let us sit here ; but I wish that dear old Dubbs could be doiug trial-work here with us." " He's very ill," said Henderson, looking serious — u very ill, I'm afraid. I saw him to-day for a minute, but he seemed too weak to talk." " Is he ? poor fellow ! I knew that he was staying out, but I'd no notion that it was anything dangerous." " I don't know about dangerous, but he's quite ill. Poor Daubeny ! you know how very patient and good he is, yet even he can't help being sad at falling ill just now. You know he was to have been confirmed to-morrow week, and he's afraid that now he won't be well enough, and will have to put it off." " Yes ; he's mentioned his confirmation to me several times. Lots of fellows are going to be confirmed this time —about a hundred, I believe — but I don't suppose one of them thinks of it so solemnly as dear old Dubbs — unless, Indeed, it's Power, who also is to be confirmed." The confirmation was to take place on a Sunday, and the DAUBENY. 163 candidates had long been engaged in a course of piepara* tiou. Tlie intellectual preparation was carefully undertaken by Dr. Lane and the tutors of the boys. To this confirmation some of the best boys, like Power and Daubeny, were looking forward, not with any exagge- rated or romantic sentimentality, but with a deep humility, a manly exultation, an earnest hope. " Do you think it would be possible to see Dubbs ? 1 should so like to see him," said Walter. " Let's ask Percival, he's in the next room ; and if Dubbs is well enough, I know he'd give anything to see you." " Please, sir," said Walter, after knocking for admission at the door of the inner room, " do you think that Hender- son and I m.ght go to the cottage and see Daubeny ?" " I don't know, Walter ; but I want very much to see him myself, if Dr. Keith will let me, so I'll come with you and inquire." Mr. Percival walked with the two boys to the cottage, and, after an injunction not to stay too long, they were ad- mitted to the sick boy's bedside. At first, in the darkened room, they saw nothing ; but Daubeny's voice, weak and low, but very cheerful, at once greeted them. " Oh, thank you, sir, for coming to see me ! Hallo ! Walter, and Flip too ; I'm so glad to see you — you in a sick room again, Flip I" 11 We would have come before if we had kuown that we might see you," said the master. " How are you feeling,, my dear boy ?" " Not very well, sir ; my head aches sadly sometimes, and I get so confused." " A.h, Daubeny, it's the over-work. " Didn't I entreat you, my child, to slacken the bent bow a little ? You'll be wiser in future ; will you uot ?" 164 HENDERSON. " Iu future ! — oh, yes, sir. If ever I get well, I'm afraid,' he said, with a faint smile, " that you'll find me stupider thau ever." " Stupid, my boy ! noue of us ever thought you that. It is not the stupid boys that get head removes as you have done the last term or two. I should very much enjoy a talk with you, Daubeuy, but I mustn't stay uow, the doctor says, so I'll leave these two fellows with you, and give them fcen minutes — no longer — to tell you all the school news." " Iu future wiser — in future !" repeated Daubeny, iu a low voice to himself once or twice. " Ah, yes, too late now 1 I don't think he knows lrow ill I am, Walter. My mother's been sent for ; I expect her this evening. I shall at least live to see her again." " Oh, don't," said Henderson, whose quick and sensitive nature was easily excited — don't talk like that, Daubeny ; we can't spare you ; you must stay for our sake." " Dear old fellow 1" said Daubeny, " you'll have nobody left to chaff ; but you can spare me easily enougli ;" and he laid his fevered hand kindly on Henderson's, who imme- diately turned his head and brushed away a tear. " Oh, don't cry," he added, in a pained tone of voice ; " I never meant to make you cry. I'm quite happy, Flip." " Oh, Daubeny, we can't get on without you !" said Hen- derson. " Daubeny I I hardly know the name," said the sick boy. smiling. " No, Flip, let it be Dubbs, as of old — a nice heavy name to suit its owner ; and you gave it me, you know, so it's your property, Flip, and I hardly know myself by any other now." " Oh, Dubbs, I have plagued you so !" said Henderson, sobbing as if his heart would break ; " I've never done any- thing but teaze you, and laugh al you, and you've always been so good and so patient to me. Do forgive me." A GREAT DREAD. 10 K " Pooh !" said Daubeny, trying to rally him. " Listen to him, Walter ; who'd think that Flip was talking ? Teazed me, Flip ?" he continued, as Henderson Etill tobbed at intervals ; " not you ! I always enjoyed your chaff, and I knew you liked me at heart. You have all been very kind to me, Walter, I'm so glad I got to know you before I , It's so pleasant to see you here. Give me your hand ; no, Flip, let me keep yours too ; it's getting dark. I like to have you here. I feel so happy. I wish Power and Ken would come too, that I might see all my friends." " Good-night, Daubeny ; I can't stay — I mustn't stay," said Henderson ; and, pressing his friend's hand, he hurried out of the room to indulge in a burst of grief which he could not contain ; for, under his trifling and nonsensical manner, Henderson had a very warm, and susceptible, and feeling heart ; and though he had always made Daubeny a subject of ridicule, he never did it with a particle of ill-na- ture, and felt for him — dissimilar as their characters were — a most fervent and deep regard. " Look after him when I'm gone, Walter," said Dau- beny, sadly, when he had left the room. " Ho is a dear good fellow, but so easily led. Poor Flip ! he's immensely changed for the better since you came, Walter." " I have been very fond of him all along," said Walter : " he is so full of laughter and fun, and he's very good with it all. But, Dubbs, you are too desponding. We shall have you here yet for many pleasant days." " I don't know ; perhaps so, if God wills. I am very young. I should like to stay a little longer in the sunshine. Walter, I should like to stay with you. I love you more, I think, than any one, except Power ;" and as he spoke, i quiet tear rolled slowly down Daubeny's face Walter only pressed his hand. " You can't think how I pitied you, Walter, in that accident about Patou's manu 166 ASLEEP. script. When all the fellows were cutting you, and abusing you, my heart used to bleed for you; you used to go about looking so miserable, so much as if all your chances of life were over. I'm afraid I did very little for you then, but I would have done anything I felt as if I could have given you my right hand " " But, Dubbs, you were the first who spoke to me after that happened; the first who wasn't ashamed to walk with me. You can't think how grateful I felt to you for it. It rolled a cold weight from me. It was like stretching a Hav- ing hand to one who was drowning ; for every one knew how good a fellow you were, and your countenance was worth everything to me just then." "You really felt so?" said Daubeny, brightening up, while a faint flush rested for a moment on his pale face. " Oli, Walter, it makes me happy to hear you say so !" There was a silence, and, with Walter's hand still in his, he fell into a sweet sleep, with a smile upon his face. When he was quite asleep, Walter gently removed his hand, smoothed his pillow, looked affectionately at him for a mo- ment and stole silently from the room. "How did you leave him?" asked Henderson, eagerly, when Walter joined him in Mr. Percival's room. " Sleeping soundly. I hope it will do him good. I did not know how much you cared for him, Flip." " That's because I always made him a butt," said Hen- derson, remorsefully ; " but I didn't really think he minded it, or I wouldn't have done so. I hardly knew myself that 1 liked him so. It was a confounded shame of me to worry him as I was always doing. Conceited donkey that I was, I was always trying to make him seem stupid ; yet all the while 1 could have stood by him cap in hand. O Walter, [ hope ho is not going to die 1" " (), no I hope not ; and don't be miserable at the OVERWORK. 167 thought of teazing him, Flip ; it was all in fun, and he was never wounded by any word of yours. Remember how he used to tell you that he was all the time laughing at you, not you at him." Come a turn on the shore, and let's take Power or Ken with us." " Sociable grosbeaks, again," said Henderson, laughing in the midst of his sorrow. " Yes," said Walter ; " never mind. There are but few birds of the sort after all." They found Eden with his feet up, and his hands round his knees, on the window-seat, perfectly at his ease, and chattering to Power like a young jackdaw. A thrill of pleasure passed throughWalter's heart, as a glance showed him how well his proposal had succeeded. Power evidently had had no reason to repent of his kindness, and Eden looked more like the bright and happy child which he had once been, than ever was the case since he had come to St. Winifred's. He was now clean and neat in dress, and the shadows of fear and guilt which had begun to darken his young face were chased away. Power readily joined them in their stroll along the shore, and listened with affect!ouate sympathy to their account oi Daubcnv. " What is it that has made him ill ?" he asked. " There's no doubt about that," answered Walter ; " it's overwork which has brought on a tendency to brain fever." " I was afraid so, Walter. I've never had but one feel- ing about him myself ; and that was a feeling almost like reverence. I hope and trust that he'll be well enough for to-morrow week. I always looked forward to kneeling next to him when we were confirmed." " Ah, you loved him, Power," said Henderson, " be- cause your tastes were like his. But I owe a great deal tc 168 NOT IN VAIN. him ; — more than I can ever tell you. I don't feel as if J could tell you now, while he lies there so ill, poor fellow. He has saved me more than once from vigorous efforts to throw myself away. But for him I should have gone to the devil long, long ago. I was very near it once." He sighed, and as they walked by the violet margent of the evening waves, he offered up in silence an earnest prayei that Daubeny might live. The blind old poet would have said, that the winds car- ried the prayer away and scattered it. But no winds can scatter, no waves can drown, the immortal spirit of one true prayer. Unanswered it may be — but scattered ani fruitless, not I I CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. THE SCHOOL BELL. 'VE got a good piece of news for you, Master Dan- beny," said the kind old school-nurse. " What is it ? is my mother here ?" he said eagerly, " Oh 1 let her come and see me." She was at the door, and the next moment his arms were round her neck in a long embrace. " Darling, darling mother," he exclaimed, " now I shall be happy, now that you have come. Nay, you mustn't cry, mother," he said, as he felt one of her fast-flowing tears upon his forehead ; " you've come to help me in bearing up." " Dearest Johnny," she said, " I trust yet that God will spare the widow's only son ; He who raised the son of the widow of Nain wijl pity us." " His ways are not ours, mother dear ; I do not think that I shall recover. My past life hangs before me like a far off picture already ; I lie and look at it almost as if it were not mine, and my mind is quite at peace ; only some- times my head is all confused." " God's will be done, Johnny," sobbed the poor lady " But I do not think I can live, if vou be taken from me." " Taken — but not forever, mother," he said, looking up into her face. " Johnny, why, why did you not spare yourself, and work less ? It is the work which has killed you." " Only because it fell heavier on me than on other boys They got through it quickly, but I was not so clever, and it cost me more to do my duty. I tried to do it, mothel 8 169 170 THE MOTHER. dear, and God helped rue. All is well as it is. Oh, qij- head, my head !" " You must rest, darling. My visit and talk has excited you. Try to go to sleep." " Then sit there, mother, opposite me, so that I may see you when I wake " She kissed his aching brow, aud sat down, while he com- posed himself to rest. She was a lady of about fifty, with bands of silver hair smoothed over her calm forehead, and in appearance not unlike her son. But there was some- thin"" very sweet and matronly about her look, and it was impossible to see her without feeling the respect and honor which were her due. And she sate there, by the bedside, looking upon her only son, the boy who had been the light of her life ; and she knew that he was dying — she knew that he was fading away before her ey^s. Yet there was a sweet and noble resignation in her anguish ; there was a deep and genuine spirit of submission to the will of heaven, and a perfect faith in God's love, whatever might be the issue, in every prayer she breathed, as with clasped hands, and streaming eyes, and moving lips, she gazed upon his face. He might appear dull and heavy to others, but to her he was dear beyond all thought ; and now she was to lose him. In her inmost heart she knew that she must suffer that great pang ; that God was taking to himself the son who had been so good and true to her, so affectionate, so sweet- tempered, so unselfish, that even from his gentle and quiet infancy, he had never by Ills conduct caused her a mo- ment's pain. She had long been looking forward to the btrong and upright manhood which should follow this pure boyhood ; but thai dear boy was not destined to be the staff of her declining years ; her hands were to close his eyes in the last long sleep, aad she was to pass alone under WANDEKING. I 71 the overshadowing rocks that close around the valley of human life. God help the mother's heart who must pass through scenes like this ! Poor Daubeny could not sleep. Brain-fever is usually accompanied by delirium, and as he turned restlessly upon his pillow, his mind began to wander a ,,r ay to other days and scenes. " Stupid, sir ? yes, I know I am, bat I can't help it ; I've really done my best. I was up at five o'clock this morning, trying, trying so hard to learn this repetition. Indeed, indeed, I'm not idle, sir. I'll try to do my duty if I can. Oh, Power, I wish I were like you ; you learn so quickly, and you never get abused as I do after it all." And then the poor boy fancied himself sitting under the gas-lamp in the passage as he had so often done, and try- ing to master one of his repetition lessons, repeating the lines fast to himself as he used to do : 11 How does it go ? Oh, what does come next ?" and he stopped with an expression of pain on his face, pressing his hands tight over his brow. " Don't go on with the repetition, Johnny, dear," said the poor mother. " I'm sure you know it enough now." " Oh, no ! not yet, mother ; I shall be turned, I know I shall to-morrow, and it makes him so angry ; he'll call me idle and incorrigible, and all kinds of things." And then he began again : " Oh, I shall break down, I know I shall ;" and he burst into tears. " It's no good trying to help me, Power, I can't learn it." " Leave off for to-night at least, Johnny," said his mo '.her, in a tone of anguish; " you can learn the rest to-mor- row. Oh, what shall I do ?" she asked, turning to the Durse ; " I cannot bear to hear him go on like this." " Be comforted, ma'am," said the nurse, wiping awaj 172 MORE CALM. her own tears. " He's a dear good lamb, and he'll come to hisself soon afore lie goes off." "Musi he die, then?" she asked, trembling in every limb. " Hush, good lady ; we never know what God may please to do in His mercy. We must bow to His gracioua will, ma'am, as you knows well, I don't doubt. He's fitter to die than many a grown man is, poor child, and that's a blessing. I wish though he wasn't a repeating of that there heathenish Latin." But Daubeny's voice was still huniming fragments of Horace lines, sometimes with eager concentration, and then with pauses at parts where his memory failed, at which he would grow distressed and anxious : " Oh, I cannot learn this. I think I am getting more stupid every day." " If you love me, Johnny, give it up for to-night ; that's a darling boy," said his mother. " But, mother, it's my duty to know it. You wouldn't have me fail in duty, mother dear, would you ? Why, it was you who told me to persevere, and do all things with my might. Well, I will leave it for to-night." Then, still unconscious of what he was doing, the boy got up and prayed, as it was evident that he had done mauy a time, that God would strengthen his memory and quicken his powers, and enable him to do his duty like a man. It was inexpressibly touching to see him as he knelt there — thin, pale, emaciated, the shadow of his former self, kneeling in his delirium to oiler up his old accustomed prayer. And when he got into bed again, although his mind still wandered, he was much calmer, and a new direction seemed to have been given to his thoughts. The prayer had fallen \ke dew on his aching soul. He fancied himself in Power's study, where for many a Sunday the two boys had been ASLEEP. 173 nsed to sit, and where they had often learnt or read to each other their favorite hymns. Fragments of these hymns ne was now repeating, dwelling on the words with an evi- dent sense of pleasure and relief : " ' A noble army — men and :oys, The matron and the maid, Around the Saviour's throne rejoice, In robes of light arrayed. " ' They climbed the steep ascent of heaven, 'Mid peril, toil, and pain ; God, to us may strength be given, To follow in their train. Isn't that beautiful, Power ? 'And when on ioyful wing, Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upward I fly ; Still ail my song shall be Nearer, my God to thee, Nearer to thee.' " And as he murmured to himself, in a soothed tone of voice, these verses, and lineh of " Jerusalem the Golden," and "O for a closer walk with Godl" and " Rock of Ages," the wearied brain at last found repose, and Daubeuy fell asleep. He lingered on till the end of the week. On the Satur- day he ceased to be delirious, and the lucid interval began which precedes death. It was then that he earnestly en- created to be allowed to see those school-friends whose names had been so often on his lips — Power, Walter, and Henderson. The boys, who had daily and eagerly inquired for him, entered with a feeling of trembling solemnity the room of sickness The near presence of death tilled then; 174 FAREWELL FOE EVKR. with an indescribable awe, and they felt desolate at the s.p proaching loss of a friend whom they loved so well. " I sent to say good-bye," he said, smiling sweetly " You must not cry and grieve for me. I am happier thau I ever felt before. Good-bye, Walter. It's for a long, long, long time ; but not for ever Good-bye, my dear old Flip — naughty fellow to cry so, when I am happy ; and when I am gone, Flip, think of me sometimes, and of talks «e've had together, and take your side manfully for God and Christ. Good-bye, Power, my best friend ; we meant to be confirmed together, you know, but God has ordered it otherwise. And then he whispered low : " ' Lord, shall we come — come yet again ? Thy children ask one blessing more? To come not now alone, but then When life, and death, and time are o'er; Then, then, to come, Lord, and be Confirmed in heaven — confirmed by Thee? Oh, Power, that line fills me with hope and joy ; think of it for me when I am dead ;" and his voice trembled with emotion as he again murmured, " Confirmed in heaven — confirmed by Thee. I'm afraid I'm too weak to talk any more. Oh, what a long, long good-bye it will be, for years, and years, and years ; to think that when you have gone out of the room we shall never meet in life again, and I shall never hear your pleasant voices. Oh, Flip, you make me cry against my will by crying so ! It's hard to say, but it must be said at last ; — Good-bye, God bless you, with all my heart !" He laid his hand on their heads as they bent 3ver him, and once more whispering the last " Good-bye," turned away his face and made the pillow wet with his warm tears. The sound of his jiother's sobs attracted him. " Ah FAREWELL FOlt EVEK. 175 mother, darling - , we are alone now ; you will stay with mo till I die ! I am tired." " I feared that their visit would excite you too much, my child." " no, mother ; I couldn't bear to die without seeing them, I loved them so much. Mother, will you sing to mf a little ? Sing me my favorite hymn." She began, in a low, sweet voice, " My God, my Father, while I stray, Far from my home in life's rough way, teach me from my heart to say, Thy will be done, Thy will he ; ' She stopped, for sobs choked her voice. "I am sorry 1 cannot, Johnny. But I cannot bear to think how soon we must part." " Only for a short time, mother — a short time. I said a long time just now, but now it looks to me quite short, and I shall be with God. I see it all now so clearly. Do you remember those lines — ' The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.' '£>' How true they are ! Oh, darling mother, how very, very good you have always been to me, and I pay you with all rny heart's whole love !" He pressed upon her lips a long, long kiss, and said, " Good-night, darling mother. I am falling asleep I think." His arms relaxed their loving embrace, and glided dowu from her shoulder ; his head fell back ; the light faded from his soft and gentle eyes, and he was asleep. Rightly he said "asleep" — the long sleep that is the sweetest and happiest, after which the eves open upon the 176 THE SCHOOL BELL light of immortality, and the weary heart rests upon the bosom of its God. Yes, Daubeny had fallen asleep. God help thee, widowed mothei ! The daily endear ments, the looks of living affection, the light of the boy's presence , are for thee and for thy home no more. There lies the human body of thy sou ; his soul is with the white- robed, redeemed, innumerable multitude, iu the Paradise of God. For hours, till the light faded into darkness, as this young life had faded into death, she sate fixed in that deep grief which finds no utterance, and knows of no allevia- tion, with little consciousness save of the dead presence, and of the pang that benumbed her aching heart. And outside rang the sound of games and health, and the mur- mur of boy-voices came to her forlorn ear. There the stream of life was flashing joyously and gloriously iu the sunshine, while here, in this darkened room, it had sunk and lost itself under the shadow. But she was a Christian ; and as the sweet voices of memory, and conscience, and hope, and promise whispered to her, in her loneliness, their angel messages, her heart melted and the tears came, and she knelt down and took the dead hand of her son in hers, and said, between her sobs, while her tear-stained eyes were turned to heaven, " O God, teach me to understand thy will !» And through the night the great bell of the church of St. Winifred's tolled the sound of death ; and, mingled with it, stroke for stroke, iu long, tremulous, trilling notes that echoed through the silent buildings, rang out the thin clear bell of St. Winifred's school. The tones of that school bell were usually only heard as they summoned the boys to lessons, with quick and hurried beatings. How different now were the slow, occasional notes — each note trembling itself out witli undisturbed vibrations, which quivered long TOLLS. 177 upon the air — with which it told that foi one at least whom it had been wont to warn, hurry was possible no longer, and there was boundless leisure nowl There was a strange pulse of emotion in t'.ie hearts of the listening boys, when the sound of those two passing bells struck upon their ears as they sate at evening work, and told them that the soul of their school-fellow had passed away, and that God's voice had summoned his young servant to his side. " You hear it, Henderson,'' said Walter, who sate next to him. " Yes," answered Henderson, in an awe-struck voice, " Daubeny is dead." " The rest of that evening the boys sat silent and motion- less, full of the solemn thoughts which can never be forgot- ten. And for the rest of that evening the deep church-bell todfcd, and the shrill school-bell tolling after it, shivered out into the wintery night air its tremulous message, that the w»' cf Daubeuv had passed away. CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. FAREWELL. INHERE was a very serious look on the faces of all the boys as tliey thronged into chapel the next morning - for the confirmation service. It was a beautiful sight to see the subdued yet noble air, full at once of humility and hope, wherewith many of the youthful candidates passed along the aisle, and knelt before the altar, and with clasped hands and bowed heads awaited the touch of the hands that blessed. As those young soldiers of Christ knelt meekly in their places, resolving with pure and earn- est hearts to fight manfully in His service, and praying with child-like faith for the aid of which they felt their need, it was indeed a spectacle to recall the ideal of virtu- ous and Christian boyhood, aud to force upon the minds of many the contrast it presented with the other too familiar spectacle of a boyhood coarse, brutal, ignorant, yet con- ceited. When the good bishop, in the course of his address, alluded to Daubeny's death, there waa throughout the cha- pel instantly that silence that can be felt — that deep un- broken hush of expectation and emotion which always pro- luces so indescribable an effect. " There was one," he said, " who should have been con- firmed to-day, who is not here. He has passed away from us ; he will never be present at an earthly confirmation ; he is ' confirmed in heaven — confirmed by God.' I hear, and I rejoice to hear, that for that confirmation he was in- 178 the bishop's sermon. 179 deed prepared, and that be looked forward to it with some of liis latest thoughts. I hear that he was preeminent among you for the piety, the purity, the amiability of his life and eharaeter, and his very death was caused by the in- tense earnestness of his desire to use aright the talents which God had entrusted to him. Oh ! sucb a death of one so young yet so fit to die is far happier than the long- est and most prosperous of sinful lives. Be sobered but not saddened by it. It is a proof of God's merciful and tender love that this one of your school-fellows was taken in the clear and quiet dawn of a noble and holy life. Be not saddened therefore at the loss, but sobered by the warning. The fair, sweet, purple ilower of youth falls and fades, my young brethren, under the sweeping scythe of death, no less surely than the withered grass of age. Oh I be ready — be ready with the girded loins and lighted lamp — to obey the summons of your God. Who knows for which of us next, or how soon, the bell of death may toll ? Be ye therefore ready, for ye know not at what day or at what hour the voice may call to you 1" Tho loss of a well-known companion whom all respected and many loved — the crowding memories of school life — the still small voice of every conscience, gave strange mean- ing and force to the bishop's simple words. As they lis- tened, many wept in silence, while down the cheeks of Wal- ter, of Power, and of Henderson, the tears fell like sum- mer rain. On the following Tuesday our boys saw the dead body of their friend. The face of poor Daubcny looked singu- larly beautiful with the placid lines of death, as all inno- cent faces do. It was the first time they had seen a corpse; and as Walter touched the cold cheek, and placed a spray of evergreen in the rigid hand, he was almost overpowered with an awful sense of the sad sweet mystery of death. 180 AWED INTO SILENCE. " It is God who has taken him to Himself," said Mrs Daubeny, as she watched their emotion. " I shall not be parted from him long. He has left you each a remem- brance of himself, dear boys, and you will value them, I know, for my poor child's sake, and for his widowed mo- ther's thanks to those who loved him." For each of them he had chosen, before he died, one of his most prized possessions. To Power he left his desk ; to Henderson, his microscope ; to Kenrick, a little gold pencilcase ; and to Walter, a treasure which he deeply valued, a richly-bound Bible, in which he had left many memorials of the manner in which his days were spent ; and iu which he had marked many of the rules which were the standard of bis life, and the words of hope which sustained his gentle and noble mind. The next day he was buried ; only the boys in his own house, and those who had known him best, followed him to the grave. They were standing in two lines along the court, and the plumed hearse stood at the cottage door. Just at that moment the rest of the boys began to flock out of the school, for lessons were over. Each as he came out caught si that he now stood second only, or even third, in Walter's estima- tion, and that Power and Henderson had deposed bun from the place which he once held as his chief friend ; and that Walter had also usurped his old place in their affections. This displeased him greatly, for he was not one who could contentedly take the second place. He could not have had a more excellent companion than the manly and upright Whalley ; but in his close intimacy with him he had ra- ther hoped to pique Walter, and show him that his society tvas not indispensable to his happiness. But Walter's opev 206 A HASTY INFERENCE. and generous mind was quite incapable of understanding this unworthy motive, and with feelings far better trained than those of Kenrick, he never felt the slightest qualm of this small jealousy. " Never mind, my dear fellow," said Whalley, patting him on the back ; " why should you care so much because two such fellows as Whitefeather and Varnish try to be impudent ? I shouldn't care the snap of a finger for any- thing they could say." " It isn't that, Whalley, it isn't that," said Kenrick, proudly, drying his tears. " But how did those fellows know the things they were hinting at ? Only one person ever heard them, and he must have betrayed them to laugh at me behind my back. It's that that makes me miserable." " But whom do you mean ?" " The excellent Evson," said Kenrick, bitterly, " And mark me, Whalley, I'll never speak to him again." " Evson'!" said Whalley, " I don't believe he's at all the fellow to do it. Are you certain ?" " Quite. No one else could know the things." " But surely you'll ask him first ?" " It's no use," answered Kenrick. gloomily ; " but I will, in order that he may understand that I have found him out." CHAPTER THE TWENTY THIRD. A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. EENRICK did not happen to meet Walter during the remainder of that Sunday, because Walter wag chiefly sitting in Mr. Percival's room, but the next day, still nursing the smouldering fire of his anger, he de- termined to get the first opportunity he could of meeting him, in order that he might tax him with his supposed false friendship and breach of confidence. Accordingly, when school was over next day, he 'went with Whalley to look for him in the playground. Walter was walking with Henderson, never dreaming that anything unpleasant was likely to happen. Henderson was the first to catch sight of them, and as he never saw Whalley with- out chaffing him in some ridiculous way or other — for Whalley's charming good humor made him a capital sub- ject for a joke — he at once began to sing — w hereupon his song was interrupted by Whalley r s giving chase to him, which did not end till he had been led a dance half round the school buildings, while the ground was left clear for Kenrick's expostulations. Walter came up to him as cordially as usual, but stop- ped short in surprise, when he caught the scornful, lower- ing expression of his friend's face ; but as Kenrick did not speak at once, he took him by the hand and said, " Why, Ken, what's the matter ?" Kenrick very coldly withdrew his hand " Evson, I came to ask you if — whether — if you've beeD 208 A SERIOUS CHARGE telling to any of the fellows all about me ; — all I told yon about my father ?" As Walter instantly remembered that he had mentioned the story to Power, he could not at once say " No," but was about to explain. "Telling any of the fellows all about you and your father ?" he repeated ; " I didn't know" " Please, I don't want any excuses. If you haven't, it's easy to say No ; if you have, I only want you to say Yes." " But you never told me that I wasn't to" " Yes or no ?" said Kenrick, with an impatient gesture. " Well, I suppose I must say Yes, then ; but hear me explain. I only mentioned it to" " That's enough, thank you. I don't want to hear any more. I don't want to know whom you mentioned it to ; ,; and Kenrick turned short on his heel, and began to walk off " But hear me, Ken," said Walter eagerly, walking after him, and laying his hand on his shoulder. " My name's Kenrick," said he, shaking off Walter's hand. " You may apologise if you like ; but even then I shan't speak to you again." " I have nothing to apologise for. I only told" " I tell you I don't care whom you ' only' told. It's ' only' all over the school. And it's not the ' only' time you've behaved dishonorably." " I don't understand you," said Walter, who was rapidly getting into as great a passion as Kenrick. " Betraying confidence is almost as bad as breaking open desks, and burning" Such a taunt, coming from Ken- rick, was base and cruel, and he knew it to be so. " Thank you for the allusion," said Walter ; " I deserve [t, I own, but I'm surprised, Kenrick, that you, of all others, should make it. That, I admit, was an act of sin and strange folly for which I must always feel humiliated separate™ veky friends. 209 and implore to be forgiven And every generous person has long ago forgiven me and forgotten it. But in this case, if you weren't in such a silly rage, I could show you that I've done nothing wrong. Only I know you wouldn't listen now, and I shan't condescend" " Condescend ! I like that," said Kenrick, interrupting him with a scornful laugh, which made Walter's blood tin- gle. " You condescend to me, forsooth." Higher words might have ensued, but at this moment Henderson, still pursued by Whalley, came running up, and seeing that something had gone wrong, he said to Kenrick — " Hallo, Damon ! what has Pythias been saying to you V Kenrick vouchsafed no answer, but turning his bach on them, went off abruptly. " He's very angry with you, Evson, said Whalley, " be- cause he thinks you've been telling Jones and that lot his family secrets." " I've done nothing whatever of the kind," said Walter, indignantly. " I admit that I did thoughtlessly mention it to Power ; and one other overheard me. It never occur -ed to me for a moment that Kenrick would mind. You know I wouldn't dream of speaking about it ill-naturedly, and if that fellow wasn't blind with rage I could have ex- plained it to him in five minutes." " If you merely mentioned it to Power I'm sure Kenrick would not so much mind. I'll tell him about it when he's .ooler," said Whalley. " As you like, Whalley ; Kenrick has no business to suspect me in that shameful way, and to abuse me, and treat me as if I was quite beueath his notice, and cast old faults in my teeth," answered Walter, with deep vexatiou. " Let him find out the truth for himself ne can, if he takes the trouble." Both the friends were thoroughly angry with each othei 210 THE FIRST ADVANCE. each of them imagined himself deeply wronged by the other, and each of them, in his irritation, used strong and un- guarded expressions which lost nothing by repetition. Thus the " rift of difference" was cleft deeper and deeper between them ; and, chiefly through Kenrick's pride and precipitancy, a disagreement which might at first have been easily adjusted, became a serious, and threatened to become a permanent quarrel. " Power, did you repeat what I told you about Kenrick to any one ?" asked Walter, next time he met him. " Repeat it ?" said Power ; " why, Walter, do you sup- pose I would ? What do you take me for ?" " All right, Power ; I knew that you couldn't do such a thing ; but Kenrick declares I've spread it all over the school, and has just been abusing me like a pickpocket." Walter told him the circumstances of the case, and Power, displeased for Walter's sake, and sorry that two real friends should be separated by what he could not but re- gard as a venial error on Walter's part, advised him to write a note to Kenrick, and explain the true" facts of the case a^ain. " But what's the use, Power ?" said Walter ; " he would not listen to my explanation, and said as many hard things of me as he could."' " Yes, in a passion. He'll be sorry for them directly he's calm ; for you know what a generous fellow he is You can forgive them, I'm sure, Walter, and win the plea- sure of beimr the first to make an advance." Walter, after a little struggle with his resentment, wrote a note, and gave it to Whalley to give to Kenrick next time he saw him. It ran as follows : ' My dear Kenrick — I think you are a little hard upon me. Who can have told Jones anything about you and UNFORGIVING. 211 four homo secrets I don't know. He could not have learnt them through me. It's true I did mention something about vour father to Power when I was talking in the most aft'eo tionate way about you. I'm very sorry for this, but I aever dreamt it would make you so angry. Power is the last person to repfa -1 such a thing-. Pray forgive me. and believe me always to be — Your affectionate friend, " Walter Evson." Keurick's first impulse on receiving this note was to seek Walter on the earliest occasion, and "make it up" with him in the sincerest and heartiest way he could. But sud- denly the sight of Jones and Mackworth vividly reminded his proud and sensitive nature of the scene that had caused him such acute pain. He did not see how Jones could have learnt about the vehicle, at any rate, without Walter hav- ing laughed over it to some one. Instead of seeking fur- ther explanation, he again gave reins to his anger and sus- picion, and wrote : " I am bound to believe your explanation as far as it goes. But I have reason to know that something more must have passed than what you admit yourself to have said I am astonished that you should have treated me so unwor- thily. I would not have done so to you. I will try to for- get this unpleasant business ; but it is only in a sense that I can sign myself again — Your affectionate friend, " H. Kenrick. Walter had not expected this cold, ungracious reply. When Whalley gave him Keurick's note he tore it open eagerly, anticipating a frank renewal of their former friend- ship ; but a red spot rose to his cheeks as he saw the in- sinuation that he had not told the whole truth, and as ho 212 A NOTE LOST *, tore up the note, be indignantly determined to take no fur ther step towards a reconciliation. Yet as he thought how many pleasant hours they had gpent together, and how firmly, on the whole, Kenrick had stood by him in his troubles, and how loveable a boy he really was, Walter could not but grieve over this difference. He found himself yearning to be on the old terms with Kenrick. He felt that at heart he still loved him well ; and after a few days he again stifled all pride, and wrote : " Dear Ken — Is it possible that you will not believe mv word ? If you still feel any doubt about what I have said, do come and see me in Power's study. I am sure that I would convince you in five minutes that you must be un- der some mistake ; and if I have done you any wrong, or if you think that I have done you any wrong, Ken, I'll apologize sincerely, without any pride or reserve. I niiss your society very much, and I still am, and shall be, whatever you may think and whatever you may say of me, " Yours, affectionately, " W. E." As he naturally did not wish any third person to know what was passing between them, he did not entrust his note to any one, but himself placed it between the leaves of an Herodotus which he knew that Kenrick would use at the next school. He had barely put it there, when a boy who wanted an Herodotus happened to come into the class- room, and seeing Kenrick's lying on the table, coolly walked off with it, after the manner of boys, regardless of the inconvenience to which the owner might be put. Aa this boy was reading a different part of Herodotus from that which Kenrick was reading, Walter's note lay between AND A FRIEND LOST. 213 the leaves where it had been placed unnoticed. When ne book was done with, the boy forgot it, and left it in school, where, after kicking about for some days unowned, it was consigned, with other stray volumes, to a miscellaneous cup- board. Kenrick supposed that it was lost, or that some one had "bagged" it ; and, unknown to Walter, his note never reached the hands for which it had been destined. I q vain he waited for a reply ; in vain he looked for some word or sign to show that Kenrick had received his letter. But Kenrick still met him in perfect silence, and with averted looks ; and Walter, surprised at his obstinate un- kindness, thought that he could do nothing more to disa- buse him of his false impression, and was the more ready to forego a friendship which by every honorable means he had endeavored to retain. Poor Kenrick 1 he felt as much as Walter did that he had lost one of his truest and most pleasant friends, and he, too, often yearned for the old intercourse between them. Even his best friends, Power, Henderson, and Whalley, all thought him wrong ; and in consequence a coolness rose between them and him. He felt thoroughly miserable, and did not know where to turn ; yet none the less he ostenta- tiously abstained from making the slightest overture to Walter ; and whereas the two boys might have enjoyed to- gether many happy hours, they felt continual embarrass ment at being obliged to meet each other very frequently in awkward silence, and apparent unconsciousness of each other's presence. This silent annoyance recurred continu- ally, at all hours of the day. Twice did chance throw the friends into situations in which a reconciliation would have been easy. Once, when die school was assembled to hear the result of some compo- sition prizes, they found themselves accidentally seated, one on each side of Power. The mottos on the envelopes which 214 by daubeny's gkave. were sent in with the successful exercises were always read out before the envelope was opened ; and in one of the prizes for which there had been many competitors, the pun- ning motto told them at once that Power had again achieved a brilliant success. The Great Hall was always a scene for the triumphs of this happy boy. Both Walter and Keurick turned at the same moment to congratulate him, Walter seizing his right hand and Keurick his left Power, after thanking them for their warm congratula< tions, grasped both their hands, and drew them towards each other. Keurick was aware of what he meant, and his heart fluttered as he now hoped to regain a lost friend ; but just at that moment Walter's attention happened to be attracted by Eden, who, though sitting some benches off, wished to telegraph his congratulations to Power. Unfor- tunately, therefore, Walter turned his head away, before he knew that Kenrick's hand was actually touching his. He did not perceive Power's kind intention until the oppor- tunity was lost ; and Keurick, misinterpreting his conduct, had flushed with sudden pride, and hastily withdrawn his hand. On the second occasion, Walter had gone up the hill to the churchyard, by the side of which was a pleasant stile, overshadowed by aged elms, on which he often sat reading or enjoying the breeze and the view. It suddenly occurred to him that he would look at Daubeny's grave, to see if the stone had yet been put up. He found that it had just been raised, and he was sorrowfully reading the inscription, when a footstep roused him from his mournful recollections A glance showed him that Keurick was approaching, evi- dently with the same purpose. He came slowly to the grave and read the epitaph. Their eyes met in a friendly e;aze. A sudden impulse to reconciliation seized them both, and they were on the verge of shaking hands, when STILL ESTRANGED. 215 three boys came sauntering through the churchyard ; — ono of them was the ill-omened Jones. The association jarred on both their minds, and turning away without a worrs that they should thrash any one at all ? He had never heard that they were of particularly good families, FKANKLIN AND POWER. 211 or 'that they had anything whatever which gave them a claim to interfere with other fellows. The quest on was, whether a parcel of monitors were to domineer over the 6chool ?" " The question was nothing of the kind," said Franklin, very bluntly ; " it was, whether big bullies, like Harpour, were to be at perfect liberty to frighten fellows into idiots, or beat them into mummies, at their own will and pleasure ? That was the only question. Harpour or Somers — bullies or monitors, which will you hove, boys ?" And after this arose a perfect hubbub of voices. Some got up and ridiculed the monitors ; others extolled Har- pour, and tried to make out that he was misused for being called to account for a mere frolic ; others taunted Evson and Henderson with a conspiracy against their private ene- mies. On the whole, they were nearly unanimous in agree- ing that the school should preveut the monitors from any exercise of their authority. And then, in the midst of the hubbub, Power rose, " in act more graceful," and there was an immediate and gene- -al call for silence. To the great majority of the boys, Power was hardly known except by name and by sight ; but his school successes, his rare ability, his stainless cha- racter, and many personal advantages, commanded for him the highest admiration. His numerous slight acquaint- ances in the school all liked his pleasant and playful cour- tesy, and were proud to know him ; his few friends entertained for him an almost extravagant affection. His ancient name, his good family, and the respect due to his high position in the school, would alone have been suffici- ent to gain him a favorable hearing ; but, besides this, h« had hitherto come forward so little, that there was a strong curiosity to see what line he would take, and how he would be able to speak. There were indeed a few who were mos: 11 242 POWEK T S SPEECH anxious to silence him as quickly as possible, knowing vhat effect his words would be likely to produce ; and when he began, they raised several noisy interruptions ; but Ken- rick, for very shame, was obliged at first to demand for hira the attention which, after the first sentence or two, his quiet, conciliatory, and persuasive manner effectually secured. Reviewing the whole tumultuary discussion, he began by answering Kenriek. After alluding to the long course of bullying which had been ended in this manner, he appealed to the common sense of the meeting whether the thing could be regarded as a mere joke, when they remembered Eden's tender age, and highly susceptible nature ? Was it not certain, and must it not have been obvious to the bul- lies, that serious, if not desperately dangerous results must follow ? Wliat those results had beeu was well known, and in describing what he had seen of them in the sick- room only half an hour before, Power made a warm appeal to their feelings of pity and indignation — an appeal which every one felt to be manly, and which could not fail of being deeply touching, because it was both simple and natural. " Then," said Power, " the next speaker talked about sneaking and cowardice. Well, those charges had been sufficiently answered by Whalley, and, indeed, on behalf of his friends Evson and Henderson, he perhaps need hardly condescend to answer them at all. His friend Henderson had been long enough among them to need no defence, and if he did, it would be sufficiently supplied by the high ecu- rage, of which they had just seen a specimen. As for fcivson, any boy who had given as many proofs of honor and manliness as he had done during his two terms at St, Winifred's certainly required no one's shield to be thrown over him. Would any of them show their courage by A YOUNG ORATOR. 243 walking across the Razor on some dark foggy winters night ? and would they find in the school any other fellow of Evson's age who would not shrink from standing up iu a regular fair fight with another of twice his own strength and size ? Those charges he thought he might throw to the winds ; he was sure that no one believed them ; but there was, he admitted, one cowardice of which his two friends had often been guilty, and it was a cowardice for which they need not blush ; he meant the cowardice, the arrant, the noble cowardice of being afraid not to do what they thought right, and of being afraid to do what they knew to be base and wrong." Iu these remarks Power quite carried his audience away with him ; the strain was of a higher mood than boys had often heard from boys, and it was delivered with an elo- quence and earnestness that raised a continuous applause. This, however, Power checked by going on speaking until he was obliged to stop and take breath ; but then it burst out in the most unmistakable and enthusiastic manner, and entirely drowned the few and timid counter-demonstrations of the Jones and Mackworth school. " Now I have detained you too long," said Power, " and \ apologise for it (go on 1 go on ! shouted the boys) ; but as so many have spoken on the other side, and so few on this, perhaps you will excuse me (yes, yes !) Well, then, Tracy has asked, ' Who are the monitors ? and what right have they to interfere V I answer, that the monitors are our school-fellows, and are simply representatives of the most mature form of public school opinion. They have ail l»eeu lower boys ; they have all worked their way up to the foremost place ; they are, in short, the oldest, the ch> verest, the strongest, and the wisest among us. And theii rie;ht depends on an authority voluntarily delegated to them by the masters, by our parents, and by ourselves — a right 244 MONITORS. originally founded on justice and common sense, and vene- rable by very many years of prestige and of success. At any rate, a fellow who behaves as Harpour has done, haa the least right to complain of this exercise of a higher authority. If he had a right — and he has no right except brute strength, if that be a right — to bully, beat, torment and perhaps injure for life a poor little inoffensive child, and by doing so to render the name of the school infamous, I maintain that the monitors, who have the interest of the school most at heart, who are ranged ex officio on the side of truth, of justice, and of honor, have infinitely more right to thrash him for it. Supposing that there were no moni- tors, what would the state of the school be ? above all, what would be the condition of the younger and weaker boys ? they would be the absolutely defenceless prey of a most odious tyranny. Let me say then, that I most dis- tinctly and emphatically approve of the manner in which my friends have acted ; that I envy and admire the moral courage which helped them to behave as they did ; and that if the school attempts on this occasion to resist the legitimate and most wholesome exercise of the monitors' power, it will suffer a deep disgrace and serious loss. I oppose Kenrick's motion with every feeling of my heart, and with every sentiment of my mind. I think it .langerous, I think it useless, and I think it most un- just." A second burst of applause followed Power's energetic words, and continued for several minutes. He had utterly changed the opinions of many who were present, and Ken- rick felt his entire sympathy and admiration enlisted on behalf of his former friend. He would at the moment have given anything to get up and retract his previous re- marks, and beg pardon for them. But his pride and pas- sion were too strong for him, and coldly rising, he put it to THE RESULT. 2-A5 the meeting, " whether they decided that che monitors had the right to interfere or not." Jones, Mackworth, Harpour, and others, were eager)) canvassing for votes, and when Kenrick demanded a shew of hands, a good many were raised on their side. When the opposite question was put, at first only Power, Render son, Whalley, and Franklin held up their hands ; but they were soon followed by Bliss, then by Anthony and Cradock, and then by a great many more who took courage when they saw what champions were on their side. The hands were counted, and there was found to be an equal number on both sides. The announcement was received with dead silence. " The chairman of course has a casting vote," said Mack- worth. Kenrick sat still for a moment, not without an inward conflict ; and then, afraid to risk his popularity with those whom he had now adopted as his own set, he said, rising — " And I give it against the right of the monitors." A sceue of eager partisanship and loud triumph ensued, during which Power once more stood forward, and ob- served — " You must allow me to remind you that the present meeting in no way represents the sense of the school. I do not see a dozen boys present who are above the lowest fifth form ; and I do earnestly entreat those who have gained this vote not to disturb the peace and comfort of the school by attempting a collision between themselves and the mouitors, who will certainly be supported by the uearlj ananhnous opinion of the upper fifth forms." " We shall see about that," answered Kenrick in a con fident tone. " At any rate, the vote is carried." He left ♦he chair, and the boys broke up into various groups stilj 246 POWER AND KENRICK. eagerly discussing the rights and wrongs of the question which had beeo stirred. "So, Power," said Kenrick with a sneer, which he as- sumed to hide his real feelings, " all your fine eloquence is thrown away you see. We've carried the day after all, in spite of you." " Yes, Ken," said Power, gently. " How conies Ken- rick to be on the same side as Jones, Mackworth, arid Harpoor 1"' CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. THE MONITORS. frUIE meeting over, Henderson, who had not seen Wakei since morning, flew up to the sick-room to tell him the -*» news, which he was sure would specially interest him. As he entered, the same spectacle was before him which .Power had already seen — little Eden restless, and some- times wandering — Walter seated silently by the bed watch- ing him, his legs crossed, and his hands clasped over one knee. The curtains were drawn to exclude the glare. Walter could read but little, for his eyes were weak after the fight ; but his thoughts and his nursing of his little friend kept him occupied. Henderson, fresh from the hot excitement of the meeting, was struck with the deep con- trast presented by this painfully quiet scene. He was advancing eagerly, but Walter rose with his finger on his lip, and spoke to him in a whisper, for Eden had just dropped oft' to sleep. Henderson shook him warmly by the hand, and whis- pered — " I've such lots to tell you ;" and, sitting down by Walter, he gave him an account of what had just taken place. " You should have heard Power, Walter ; upon my word he spoke like an orator, and regularly bowled the Harpour lot off their legs. It's splendid to see him coming out so ia the school — isn't it ?" " It is indeed ; and thanks to you, to:, Flip, for sticking up lor me." " Oh, what I did was just nothing. But ordy fancy that Vellow Kenrick fighting against us like this, and giving hu 248 m THE SICK-ROOM. casting vote against Harpour's being thrashed ! You've no idea, Walter, how that fellow's changed." He was interrupted, for Eden woke with a short scream, and, starting up in bed, looked round with a scared expres- sion, shuddering and moaning as he fell back again on his pillow. " Oh, don't, don't, don't frighten me," he said appeal- ingly, while the perspiration burst out over his pale face ; " please, Harpour, please don't. Oh, Walter, Walter, do help me." " Hush, my poor, little fellow, I'm here," said Walter, tenderly, as he smoothed his pillow; "don't be afraid, Arty, you're quite safe, and I am staying with you. They only put on masks to frighten you ; it was nothing but that." Bending over the bed, he talked to him in a gentle, sooth- ing voice, and tried to make him feel at ease, while the child flung both his arms round his neck, sobbing, and still clung tight to his hand when Walter had succeeded in al- laying the sudden paroxysm of terror. Henderson, deeply touched, had looked on with glisten- ing eyes. " How kind you are, Walter," he said, taking his other hand, and affectionately pressing it. " I should just like to have Kenrick here, and show him what his new friends have done." " Don't be indignant against him, Flip. I wish, indeed, he would but come into this room, and make it up with us, and be what he once was. But he did not even take the slightest notice of the letter I wrote him, entreating him to overlook any fault I had been guilty of, however uncon- sciously. I never meant to wrong him, and I love him as much as ever." "Love him [" said Hei Person, "/ don't ; his new liue Isn't half to my fancy. He must be jolly miserable, that's one comfort." NEWS 24:9 " Hush ! he was our friend, Flip, remember ; indeed, 1 feel as a friend to him still, whatever his feelings are for ?ne But why do you think he must be miserable ?" " Because you can see in his face and manner, that all the while he knows he's in the wrong, and is thoroughly ashamed at bottom." " Well, let's hope he'll come round again all the sooner. Have you broken with him, then ?" " Well, nearly. We are barely civil to each other, that's all, and I don't suppose we shall be even that now; for 1 pitched into him to-day at the meeting." Walter only sighed, and just then Power stole into the room. " Hallo !" he said, " Flip, I believe you and I shall kill the invalids between us. I just met Dr. Keith on the stairs, and he only gave me leave to come for five minutes, for he says they both need quiet. You, I suspect, Master Flip, took French leave." " I like that," said Henderson, laughing, " considering that this is your second visit, and only my first. I've been telling Walter about the meeting." " The credit — if there be any — is yours, Flip ; you broke the ice, and showed the Harpourites that they weren't going to carry it all their own way as they fancied." "I'm so glad you came out strong, Power," said Walter ; " Flip says you took them all by storm." "That's Flip's humbug," said Power ; "but," he whis- pered, " if I did any good, it's all through you, Walter." " How do you mean ?" " Why, first of all, I wasn't going to hear animals like Mackworth abuse you ; and next, but for you I should have continued my old selfish way of keeping aloof from All school concerns. It cost me an effort to conquer my shy uess, but I remembered our old talk on Apper.fell, T,r niter.* 11* 250 A. NOTICE. Walter smiled gratefully, and Power continued, " But I've come to tell you both a bit of news." " What's that ?" they asked eagerly. " Why, there's a notice on the board, signed by Somers, te say that ' All the school are requested to stay in their places after the master has left the room at two o'clock calling-over.' " " Whew ! what a row we shall have I" said Hender- son. " How I wish I were well enough to be out now," said Walter. " I hate to be shut up while all this is going on.'' " Poor fellow, with that face 1" said Power. " No; you must be content to wait and get well." " It isn't the face that keeps me in, Power; it's the bang on the head, Keith says." " Yes ; and Keith says that he doesn't know when you will be well if these young chatterboxes stay with you," said the good-humored doctor, entering at the moment. " Van ish, both of you." The boys smiled and bade Walter good-bye, as they wished him speedy relief from Dr. Keith's prison. "And when do you think poor little Eden may come and sit in my study again ?" asked Power. " I miss him very much." " You mustn't think of that for a long time," answered the doctor. " How about this two o'clock affair ?" saict Henderson, as they left the room. " Upon my word I don't know. Sit next to me, Flip, in case of a row." " Are the monitors strong enough, do you think ?" " We shall see." The school was in a fever of excitement and curiosity At dinner time nothing else was talked of by the lowei boys, but the upper forms kept a dignified silence. INSUBORDINATE. 25] Two o'clock came. The names of all the school were ualled over, and, amid perfect silence, the master of the week left the hall. Then Somers stood up in the dais and 6aid — " Is Harpoar here ? The rest please 10 keep their places." " I am here. What do you want of me ?" said Harpour sulkily, as he stood up in his place. " First of all, I want to tell you before the whole school that you have been behaving in a most shamefully cruel and blackguard way, and in a way that has produced disastrous consequences to one of the little fellows. A big fellow like you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of such conduct. If you were capable of a blush, you ought to blush for it. It. is our duty as monitors, and my duty as head of the school, to punish you for this conduct, as Dr. Lane has left it in our hands ; and I am going to cane you for it. Stand out." " I won't." A sensation ran through the school at this open defiance; but Somers, quite unmoved, repeated — " I take no notice of your words, but once again I tell you to stand out." Harpour quailed a little at his firni tone, aud at the total absence of all support from his fellows ; but he again flatly refused to stand out. "Very well," said Somers; "you have already defied the authority of one monitor, and that is an aggravation of your original offence. I should have been glad to have avoided a scene ; but if your common sense doesn't make you bear the punishment coolly, you shall bear it by force Will you stand out ? — no ? — than you shall be made. Fetch him here, some one," he said, turning to the sixth fcrm. 252 KENRICK 6 PROTEST. The second monitor, Dan vers, quietly seized llarpour's right arm, and Macon, one of the biggest fellows in the fifth fcrm ; of his own accord got up and seized the other. Har- pour's heart sank at this ; for Dauvers and the other were with him in the cricket eleven, and he was not as strong as either of them singly. " Now, mark," said Somers, " caned you shall be, to re- deem the character of the school ; but unless you take it without being made tc take it, your name shall also be immediately struck off the school list, and you shall leave St. Winifred's this evening, You'll be no great loss, I take it. So much I may tell you as a proof that the head-master has left us to vindicate the name of St. Wini- fred's." Seeing that resistance was useless, Harpour accordingly stood out in the centre of the room, but not until he had cast an inquiring look among those who embraced his side; and these, who, as we have seen, were tolerably numerous, all looked at Kenrick that he might give some hint as to what they should do. Thus appealed to, Kenrick rose and said — " I protest against this caning." " You !" said Somers, turning contemptuously in that direction. " Who are you ?" The general titter which these words caused made Ken rick furious, and he cried out, angrily — " It is against the opinion of the majority cf ihe school." " We shall see," said Somers, with stinging sang froid • " meanwhile, you may sit down, and let the majority of the school speak for themselves, otherwise you may be re- quested to occupy a still more prominent position. I shall have something to say to you presently." " Let's rescue him !" said Kenrick, springing forward HAEPODK CAKED. 253 and several fellows stirred in answer to the appeal ; hut Macon, seizing hold of Tracy with one arm, and Mackworth with the other, thrust them both down on the floor, and Danvers. catching hold of Kenrick, swung him over the form, and pinned him there The general laugh with which this proceeding was received showed that only a small handful of the school were really opposed to the monitors, and that most boys thoroughly concurred with them, and held them to be in the right. So Macon quietly boxed Jones's ears, since Jones was making a noise, and then told him and the others that they might return to their places. Crimsoned all over with shame and anger, Kenrick sat down, and Somers proceeded to administer to Harpour a most severe caning. That worthy quite meant to stretch to the utmost his powers of endurance, and made several scornful remarks after each of the first blows. But Somers had no intention to let him off too easily. Each sneer was followed by a harder cut, and the remarks were very soon followed by a silent but significant wince. It was not until a writhe had been succeeded by a sob, and a sob by a howl, that Somers said to him — " Now you may go." And Harpour did go to his seat, in an agony of mingled pain and shame. He had boasted repeatedly that he would never take a thrashing from any one ; but he had takeu it, and succumbed to it, and that, too, in the presence of the whole school. He was tremendously ashamed : he never for- got the scene, and determined never to lose an opportunity of revenging it. The school felt it to be an act of simple justice, and tha+ the punishment was richly deserved. They looked on in stern silence ; and those lower boys who had in the morn- ing determined to interfere, gazed with some discomfiture Ctpoc their chainpio.' s fall. 254: SOMERS. " And now, Master Kenrick, you sta-nd liere. What, no) Stand here, sir." Kenrick only glared defiance, " Danvers, hand him here." But Danvers stepped up to Somers and whispered : " Don't be too sharp on him, Som- ers, or you'll drive him to despair. Remember, he's high in the fifth, and has been a distinguished fellow. Don't make too much of this one escapade." " All right. Thanks, Danvers," said Somers; and added aloud, in a less sarcastic tone, " Come here, Kenrick ; I merely wish to speak a word with you ;" and then Danvers, kindly but firmly, took the boy's hand, and led him for ward. " You said the majority of the school denied our right to interfere ?" No answer. "Do you consider yourself in person to be the majority of the school, pray ?" No answer. " We are all perfectly aware, sir, of your meeting, and of your precious casting-vote. But you must be informed that a rabble of fourth-form boys do not constitute the school in any sense of the word. Aud understand too that, even if the majority of the school had been against us, we monitors are not quite so ignoraut of our solemn duty as to make that any reason for letting a brutal and cowardly act cf bullying go unpunished. You have been very silly, Ken- rick, and have been just misled by conceit. Yes, you may look angry ; but you know me of old ; you've never re- ceived anything but kindness at my hands since the day you were my fag, and I tell you again that you've just been misled by conceit. Think rather less of yourself, my good fellow. You ought to have known better. Youi friend Power has shown you an infinitely more sensible ex MASTER OF THK SITUATION. 255 ample. You may sit down, sir, with this warning ; and, in the name of the monitors, I beg to thank the other fel- lows, especially Evson and Henderson, who did their best to protect little Eden. They behaved like thorough gentlemen, and it would be well if more of you younger boys were equally alive to the true honor of the 6chool." " I wish he'd be more conciliatory," whispered Dimock to Danvers ; " he's plucky and firm, but so very dictato- rial and unpersuasive. Besides, he's forgotten to thank Power." " Yes," said Danvers, " his tone spoiis all. Somers," he said, " you've omitted to mention Power, and the fellows will be gone in a minute." " Pve been talking so much, you say it." " Not I ; I'm no speaker.- — Here, Dimock will." " Aye, that'll do. One minute more, please," called Somers, raising his hand to the boys, who, during this rap- idly whispered conversation, were beginning to leave their places. " Somers wishes me to add," said Dimock, " that all the monitors and many of the sixth and fifth forms wish to ex- press our best thanks to Power for the exceedingly honor- able and fearless way in which he this morning maintained the rights and duties which belong to us. You younger fellows know very well that we monitors extremely dislike to interfere, that we do so only on the rarest occasions, and that we are always most anxious to avoid caning. Yon know that we never resort to it unless we are obliged to do 80 by the most flagrant offences, which would otherwise sap the honor and character of the school. Let us all be united and work together for the good of St. Winifred's Don't let any interested parties lead you to believe that we either do or wish to tyrannise. Our authority is for youj 256 " intabescantqtje high and direct advantage. I appeal to you whether yoo do not know it." " Yes, yes, Dimock," answered many voices ; and before tbey streamed out of the hall, they gave " three cheers for the monitors," which were so heartily responded to, that the hissing of Harpour, Kenrick, and others, only raised a laugh, which filled to the very brim the bitter cup of hatf and indignation which Kenrick had been forced that day to drink. To be addressed like that before the whole school — snubbed, reproved, threatened — it was intolerable; that he, Kenrick, high in the school, brilliant, promising successful, accustomed only to flattery and praise, should b( publicly set down among a rabble of lower boys — it made him mad to think of it. " A nice tell-tale mess you've made of this business, Power," he said, savagely, the red spot still lingering on his check, as he confronted his former friend. " I hope you're ashamed of yourself." " I, Ken ? No." " Then you ought to be." " Honestly, Ken, who ought to be most ashamed — you, the advocate of Harpour and his set, or I, who merely de- fended my best friend for behaving most honorably, as he always does ?" " Always .'" sneered Kenrick. Power turned on him his clear bright eye, and said nothing for a moment ; but then he laid his arm across his shoulder, in the old familiar manner, and said, " You are r.ot happy now, Ken, as you used to be." " Why the devil not ?" Power shook his head. " Because your heart is nobler fchau your acts ; your nature truer than your conduct ; and that is and will be your punishment. Why do you nurse this bad feeling till it has so mastered you V KELICTA." 257 Kenrick siood still, his cheeks flushed, his eyes down cast ; and Power, as he turned away, sadly repeated, half to himself, the wonderful verse— " Virtutem videant, intabesco.ntque relicta.* Kenrick understood it ; it came to his heart like an ar- row, and rankled there ; it made a wound — the faithful wound of a friend — better than the kisses of an enemy. * They behold virtue, and leaving it behind, may waste iway. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH FALLING AWAY IT was generally on Sundays that boys walked in the croft with those who were, and whom they wished to be considered as their most intimate and confidential friends. To one who knew anything of the boys' charac- ters, it was most curious and suggestive to observe the groups into which they spontaneously formed themselves. The sets at St. Winifred's were not very exclusive or very accurately defined ; and one boy might, by virtue of dif- ferent sympathies or accomplishments, belong to two or three sets at once. Still there were some sets whose out- ermost circles barely touched each other ; and hitherto the friends among whom Kenrick had chiefly moved would never have associated intimately with the fellows among whom Harpour was considered as the leading spirit. It was therefore with no little surprise that Mr. Perci- val, who with Mr. Paton passed through the croft on his Sunday stroll, observed Kenrick — not with his usual com- panions, Power or Walter or Whalley — but arm in arm with Harpour and Tracy, and accompanied by one or two other boys of similar character. It immediately explained to him much that had taken place. He had heard vague rumors of the part Kenrick had taken at the meeting ; he had heard both from him aud from Walter that they were no longer on good terms with each other ; but now it was further plain tc him that Kenrick was breaking loose from all Ins old moorings, and sailing into the cpen sea of wil fulness and pride. 25S A FALL. 259 " What are you so much interested about ?" asked Mr I'atou, as his colleague followed the boys with his glance. " I am wondering how and why this change has come over Kenrick." " What change ?" " Don't you see with whom he is walking ? Oh, I for- got that you never notiee that kind of outer life among the boys ; on the other hand, I always do ; it helps me to understand these fellows, and do more for them than I otherwise could." " You observe them to some purpose, Percival, at any rate, for your influence among them is wonderful — as I have occasion to discover every now and then." " But Kenrick puzzles me. That boy has dropped from the society of such a noble fellow as Power, with his exquisite mind and manners, plumb into the abyss of intimacy with Harpour ! There must be something all wrong." A very little observation showed Mr. Percival that his conjectures about Kenrick were correct. Clever as he was, his work deteriorated rapidly ; the whole expression of his countenance changed for the worse ; he was impli- cated more than once in very questionable transactions ; he lost caste among the best and most honorable fellows, and proportionately gained influence among the worst and lowest lot in the school, whose idol and hero he gradually became. His descent was sudden, because his character had always been unstable. The pride and passion which were mollified and restrained as long as he had moved with wise and upright companions, broke forth with vio- lence when ouce he fancied himself slighted, and had com* nutted himself to a course which he well knew to be wrong. There was one who conjectured much of this at a very early period. It was Kenrick's mcther ; his letters 260 ALL DOWN HILL. always indicated the exact state of bis thoughts and feel- ings ; and Mrs Kenrick knew that the coldness and reck lessness which had lately marked them were proofs that her boy was going wrong. The violence, too, with which he spoke of Evson, and the indications that he had dropped his old friends and taken up with new and worse companions, filled her mind with anxiety and distress ; yet what could she do, poor lady, in her lonely home ? There was one thing only that she could do for him in her weak- ness ; and those outpourings of sorrowful and earnest prayer were not in vain. Mr. Percival tried to make some effort to save Kenrick from the wrong courses which he had adopted ; he asked him quietly to come to his room after dinner ; but the in- terview only made matters worse. Kenrick, not undated by his popularity among the lower forms as a champion of the supposed "rights" of the school, chose to adopt an independent and almost patronizing tone towards his tutor; he entered in a jaunty manner, and glancing carelessly over the table, declined to take any of the fruit to which the master invited him to help himself. He determined to be as uncommunicative as possible ; avoided all conversa- tion, and answered Mr. Percival's questions on all subjects by monosyllables, uttered in a disrespectful and nonchalant tone. Yet all the while he despised himself, and was ill at ease. He knew the deep kindness of the master's in- tentions, and felt that he ought to be grateful for the inte- rest shown towards him. Mr. Percival understood him thoroughly, and saw that he must be left to the bitter teachings of experience. Al- ways fond of Kenrick, he had never been blind to his many faults of character, and was particularly displeased with his present manner, which lit knew to be only adopted on purpose to baffle any approach to advice or warning. A WARNING. 2G1 " Good morning, Kenrick," he said, rising rather ab- ruptly, while a slight smile of pity rested on his lips. " Good morning, sir," said Kenrick ; and as he rose in an airy manner to leave the room, Mr. Percival put a hand on each of the boy's shoulders, and looked him steadily in the face. Kenrick tried to meet the look, not with the old open gaze of frank and innocent confidence, but with an expression half shrinking, half defiant. His eyes fell immediately, and satisfied by this perusal of his features that Kenrick was going wrong, Mr. Percival said on.y this : " Your face, my boy, is as a book where men May read strange matters." Xenrick had tried to be off-hand and patronising in his manner, but the attempt had failed egregiously, and he felt very uncomfortable as he left the room where he had so often met with kindness, and which he iiever entered on the same terms again. Meanwhile our two invalids, Walter and Eden, recov- ered but slowly. But for the kindness of every one about them their hours would have passed very wearily in the sick-room. Their tedium was enlivened by constant visits from Henderson and Power, who never failed to interest Walter by their school news, and especially by telling of those numerous little incidents which tended to show that although after the late excitements there was a certain detumescence, still the general effect had been to arouse a spirit of opposition to all constituted authority. Kenrick'a r.ame was sometimes on their lips, but as they could not speak of him favorably, and as the subject was a painful one, they rarely talked much about him. Among other visitors was Dr. Lane, who, as well as Mrs. Lane, showed great solicitude about them. The doc- tor, who had been told by Dr. Keith that, but for Walter's 262 THE INVALIDS. tender nursing, Eden's case might have assumed a far more dangerous complexion, lent them interesting books and pictures, and often came for a few minutes to ex- change some kind words with them. Mrs. Lane asked them to the Lodge, read to them, sang to them, played chess and draughts with them, and often gave them drives in her carriage. These little gracious acts of simple kind- ness won the hearts of both the boys, and hastened their convalescence. Sometimes Walter was allowed to take Eden for a stroll on the shore during school hours, when there was no dan- ger of their being excited or interrupted by the boister- ous society of other boys. There was one favorite spot where the two often sat reading and talking. It was by the mouth of the little river— a green knoil sheltered under the rising hills, to the very feet of which the little waves came rippling musically as the summer tide flowed in. And here Eden would lie down at full length on the soft grass, and doze quietly, while the gentle breeze lifted his fair hair from his forehead with refreshful coolness ; or he would listen while Walter read to him some stirring ballad or pleasant tale. And thus iu the course of a fortnight Walter *vas him- self again, and Eden, not long after, was so far recovered as to be allowed to join his schoolfellows in the usual rou- tine. He was, however, removed with Walter, and Hen derson, and Power, to another dormitory, which they had to themselves ; and the promise of this, relieving his mind from a constant source of dread, helped him to recover. The boys, too, conscious how great a wrong had been done to him, received him back among them with unusual consideration and delicate kindness. They pitied him heartily. It was impossible not to do so when they looked at his wan, sad face, so changed in expression ; and when ;hev observed his timid, shrinking maimer, and the treuaof IN THE DARK. 2()3 which came over him at any sudden sight or sound. So 3very voice was softened when they spoke to him, and the maimer of even the roughest bovs became to him affection ate and even caressing. If any had felt inclined to side with Harpour against the monitors before, the sight of Eden went very far to alter their conviet'ons. Yet the poor child was never happy except when he was in Walter's society; and in Power's study. Even there he woo changed. The bright, merry laugh which cuce rang out incessantly was rarely or never heard now ; and a somewhat sad smile was all that could be elicited from him. He seemed, too, to have lost for a time all his old interest in worl.. The form competition had no further attraction for him ; the work seemed irksome, and he had no spirits to join in any game. Once Power kindly rallied him on his general listlessness, but Eden only looked up at him appealing]) 7 , and said, while the weak tears overflowed his eyes, " Don't be angry with me, Power, I can't help it; [ don't feel quite right yet. O Power, I'm afraid you'll never like me again as you did." " Why, Arty, your illness is all the more reason why I should." " But, Power, I shall never be the same as I once was. It seems as if some light had gone out and left me in the dark." " Nonsense, Arty ; the summer holidays will bring yon round again." But Eden only shook his head, and muttered something about Colonel Braeinar not being kind to him and his little sister. " Do you think they would let you come and stay part of the holidays with us ?" Eden brightened up in a monie-.it, and promised to write and ask. CHAPTER THE TWENTY- NINTH. WALTER'S HOLIDAYS. ONCE more the end of the half-year saw Po\*er as usual brilliantly successful, and Walter again at the head of his form. Henderson, too, although he could not proceed with Walter, was among the first six, and had gained more than one school distinction. But Kenrick this time had failed as he had never done before ; he was but fourth in his form, and although this was the natural fruit of his recent idleness, it caused him cruel mor- tification. The end of term did not pass off quite so smoothly and pleasantly as it generally did. The opposition to monito- rial authority which Harpour had commenced, and Kenrick abetted, did not pass away at once ; it left a large amount of angry feeling in the minds of numerous boys who had, each of them, influence in their several ways. Kenrick himself always went to the verge of impertinence whenever he could possibly do so in dealing with any of the sixth, and to Somers his manner was always intentionally rude, although he just managed to steer clear of any overt insub- ordination. He could of course act thus without the risk of incurring any punishment, and without coming to any positive collision. Many boys were unfortunately but too ready to imitate his example. These dissensions did not positively break out on the orize day, but they made the proceedings far less pleasant nnd unanimous than they would have been. The cheera usually given to the head of the school were purposely 264 THE PltlZE DAY. 205 omitted, from the fear of provoking any counter-demonstra- tion, and there r< mained an uneasy feeling in many minds. The success of the concert which was yearly given by the school choir after the distribution of prizes was also marred by traces of the same dissension. In this concert Walter had a solo to sing, and although he sang it remarkably well in his sweet ringing voice, he was vexed to hear a few decided hisses among the plaudits which greeted him. Alto- gether the prize day — a great clay at St. Winifred's — was less successful than it had ever been known to be. It brought, however, one pleasure to Walter, in the ac- quaintance of Sir Lawrence and Lady Power, who had heard of him so often in their son's letters, that they beg- ged to be introduced to him as soon as they arrived. He was a great deal with them during the day, and he helped Power to show them all that was interesting about the school and its environs. They saw Eden, too, and Lady Power kindly pressed her invitation on Mrs. Braemar, who was also present, and who was not sorry that Arty could stay with a family so well connected, and of such high po- sition. When Walter left them, Power earnestly asked his mother what she thought of his friend ? " He is the most charming boy I ever saw," said Lady Power, " and I rejoice that you have chosen him as a friend. But you don't tell me anything about Kenrick, of whom you were once so fond ; how is that ?" " I am still fond of him, mother, but he has changed a good deal lately " At that moment Kenrick passed by arm in arm with Harpour, as though to confirm Power's words, and "ecognised him with an ostentatiously careless nod. It was thus that Walter's first year at St. Winifred's ended ; and in spite of all drawbacks he felt that it had been a distinguished and happy year. He was now yearn* 12 266 HOMEWARDS. ing for home, and he felt that he could meet his deal ones with honest pride. He made arrangements to corres- pond with Henderson and Eden in the holidays, and Power promised again to visit him at Semlyn, on condition that he would come back with him and spend a week at Severn Park, that so there might be a double bond of union be- tween them. Very early the next morning the boys were swarm- ing into coaches, carriages, breaks, and every conceivable vehicle which could by any possibility convey them to the nearest station. A hearty cheer accompanied each coach as it rolled off with its heavy and excited freight ; by nine o'clock not a boy was left behind. The great buildings of St. Winifred's were still as death ; the footfall of the chance passer-by echoed desolately among them. It was late in the afternoon when Walter found himself on the top of the hill which looks down over Semlyn Lake. The water lay beneath him a sheet of placid silver ; the flowers were scattered on every side in their beds of erne- raid and sunlit moss ; the air, just stirred by the light breeze, was rich and balmy with the ambrosial scent of the summer groves ; and high overhead the old familiar hills reared their magnificent summits into the deep unclouded blue. But Walters bright eye was fixed on oue spot only of the enchanting scene — the spot where the gables of his father's house rose picturesquely on the slope above the lake, and where a little bay in the sea of dark green firs gave him a glimpse of their garden, in which he could dis- cover the figures of his brothers and sisters at their play. A sense of unspoken, unspeakable happiness flowed into the boy's warm heart, and if at the same moment his eyes were suffused with tears, thev were the tears that always spring up when the fountain of the heart is stirred by any strong emotion to its inmost depths — the tears that come THE TATH THROUGH THE COP8E. 267 even in laughter to show that our very pleasures have then own alloy. The coach was still behind him toiling slowly up the ascent. Leaving it to convey his luggage to the house, he plunged down a green winding path, ankle-deep in soft grasses and innumerable flowers, which led to his home by a short cut down the valley, along the burnside, and under the waving woods. That sweet woodland path, cool and fragrant on the most burning summer day, where he had often gathered the little red ripe wild strawberries that peeped out here and there from between the scented spikes of golden agrimony, and under the white graceful flowers of the circoea, was familiar and dear to him from the earliest childhood. He plunged into it with delight, and springing along with joyous steps, reached in ten minutes the wicket- gate which led into his father's grounds. The first thing to see and recognise him was a graceful pet fawn of his sis- ter's, which at his whistle came trotting to him with de- light, jingling the little silver bell which was tied by a blue riband round its neck. Barely stopping to caress the beautiful little creature's head, he bounded through the orchard into the garden, and the next instant the delighted shout of his brothers and sisters welcomed him back, as they ran up, with all the glee of innocent and happy child- hood, to greet him with their repeated kisses. " Ah, there are papa and mamma," he cried, breaking away from the laughing group, as his mother advanced with open arnis to meet him, and pressed him to her heart iu a long embrace. " I'm first in my form, papa," he said, looking joyously r

272 HARPOUK. markably well. He is now nineteen, and a personage ot immense importance in the school, for he is head of the cricket eleven, Walter being head of the football. Har- pour is quite unchanged, and if he was doing mischief when we knew him two years a£0, he is doino- twice as much mischief now. He is just now stopping for a minute in his game to talk to those three boys, who have been strutting up and down the court arm in arm, and whom we easily recognise. The one with the red puffy face, with an enormous gold pin in his cravat, a bunch of charms hanging to his chain, and a ring on his hand, which he loses no opportunity of display- ing, is our friend Jones, with vulgarity as usual stamped on every feature, and displayed in every movement which he makes ; the tall, slim fellow, with an air of feeble fast- ness, an indecisive mouth, a habit of running his hand through his light-colored hair, and a gaze which usually settles in fixed admiration on his faultless boots, can be no one but Howard Tracy ; the third, a fellow with far more meaning and strength in his face, betrays himself to be Mackworth. And there at last — I thought we should never see him — is our dear young joker of jokes, the same unaltered Flip whom we know, running down the school steps. His face is overflowing with mirth and fun, and now he is stopping and holding both his sides for laughter, while, with little touches of his own, he retails some of the strange blunders which Bliss has made in the examination that morning ; to which his friend Whalley listens with the same good- humored smile which he had of old. Henderson is a per- fect mimic, but never uses his oowers of mimicry in an ill- natured spirit ; and his imitation of Bliss's stolid perplexity and Dr. Lane's comments are very ludicrous. While he is \u the middle of this narrative, Bliss himself appears or ON THE SHORE. 273 the scene, and relieves his feelings by delivering the onlj pun he ever made in his life, and observing, in a solemn tone of voice — " Flip, don't be flippant ;" a remark which he has sub- stituted for the " I'll lick you, Flip" of old days. " You dear old Blissidas, I think I've heard that pun once or twice before," observes llenderson, calmly pulling undone the bow of Bliss's necktie, and running off to escape retaliation, followed at his leisure by Whalley, who knows Bliss to be much too lazy to pursue the chase very far. Let us go and take a breath of delicious pure sea air, and seat ourselves by Walter and Power on the shore. Walter is in good, and even gay spirits, being fresh from Semlyii, but Power seems a little grave and depressed. " Look, Walter," he says, shying a round stone at a bit of embedded rock about twenty yards before them, but missing it ; "I believe it was that identical rock " " That identical rock," said Walter, taking a better shot, and hitting it ; " well, what about it ?" " On which you were standing one autumn evening three years ago, when the tide was coming in " " And to save me wet trousers you took off your shoes and stockings, and carried me in on your back," said Wal- ter. " I remember it well, Rex ; it was a happy day for me. I recollect I'd been very miserable ; it was after the Patou affair, you know, and every one was cutting me. Your coming to speak to me was about the last thing in the world I expected, and the best thing I could have hoped. I'd often wanted to know you, longed to have you as a friend ; but I used to look up to you as such a young swell in those days that I never thought we should meet each other." " Pooh !" said Power ; " but wasn't it gx>d now of me 12* 274 A TALK. to break the ice and speak first ? I declare, I think Fv« never done it with any one else. You'd never have done it — now confess ? Only fancy, we mightn't have known eacn other to this clay." " I shouldn't have done it at that time," said Walter, " because I was in Coventry ; but well, never mind. Rex, we understand each other. I was looking at some porpoises, I remember." " Yes ; happy days they were after that. I wish the time was back again ! Fancy you a monitor, and me head of the school !" " Fancy ! we've got up the school so much faster than we used to expect." " Yes ; but I wish we could change places, and you be head, and I sixth monitor as you are. You'll help me, Walter, won't you ?" " You don't doubt that, Rex, I'm sure ; all the help 1 can give is yours." " If it weren't for that I think I would have left, Walter. I don't think somehow I've influence enough for head. I'm not swell enough at the games." " You play though now, and enjoy them ; and I don't half believe you, Rex, when you talk of having wished to leave. That would have been cowardice, you know, and you're not the boy to leave your post." " Here I am then in my place, armor on, visor down, determined not to fly, like the Roman soldier whose skele- ton was found in the sentry-box at Pompeii," said Power, playfully getting up and assuming a military attitude. " And here am I," said Walter, laughing, as he stood beside him with one foot advanced — " I, your sixth Hype- taspistes." "The sixth ! — the first you mean," said Power. "The "our monitors between you and me, won't, I fear, help us l'KOSl'ECTS. 275 jiuch. Browne is very short-sighted, and always shutting up with a head ache ; Sinythe is a lne.ve book-worm, and a regular butt even among the little fellows — worse than useless — no dignity or anything else ; Keurick — well, you know what Ken is I" " Yes, I know what Ken is now ; he's our chief danger — a doubtful general in the camp. Hallo, Flip, you here V* said he, as Henderson came up and joined them. " Myself, Evides ; who's the doubtful general in the camp ? — not I, I hope." " You, Flip ? no ; but Kenrick. We're talking about the monitors." " A doubtful general ! — a traitor, you mean, an enemy, a spy," said Henderson, hotly. Power's large and gentle mind, and Walter's generous temper, prevented them from joining in Henderson's strong language ; but they felt no less than he did that, if they were to work for the good of the school, Kenrick would be their most dangerous, though not their declared, opponent. " 1 foresee storms ahead," said Power, with a sigh. " Flip, you must stand by me as well as Walter." " Never fear," said Henderson ; "but remember I'm only the junior monitor of the lot, aud I'm so quick-tem- pered, I'm always afraid of stirring up a commotion some day with the Harpoons" — as Henderson had christened the Harpour lot. " You must be like the lightning-kite then," said Power, " and turn the flash away from us." " And dash the beauteous terror to the ground, Smiling majestic " — observed Henderson, parodying the gesture, and making the others laugh. ^7t> FKIENDS AiND FOES. " Do you remember Somers, and Dimock, and Dun vers ? what big fellows the monitors used to be then P said Power. " And do you remember certain boys whom Somers, ant Dimock, and Danvers praised on a certain occasion ?" said Walter. " Come, Rex, don't despoud. We weren't afraid then, why should we be now ?" " But then they had Macon, and fellows like that, to uphold them in the school." " So have we," said Henderson ; " first and foremost Whalley, who's now got his remove into the upper sixth ; then there's dear old Blissadas, who has arms if he hasn't got brains, and who is as staunch as a rock ; and beet of all perhaps, there's Franklin, second in both elevens, brave as a lion, strong as a bull. By-the-by, Mil have a lightning- kite ready made for you no doubt ; he's accustomed to the experiment." " Why, Flip, you talk as if we were going to have a pitched battle," said Power, ignoring his joke about Frank lin. "So we are — practically and morally. Look out for skirmishes from the Haroour lot." A " What do you mean, Flip ?" asked Walter, laughing. " Mean 1 nothing at all — only Tracy, Jones, and Mack- worth." " I'll tell you of two more who won't let the school over- ride us if they can help it," said Walter ; " Oradock and Eden." " Poor Eden, he can't do much for us except look od with large troubled eyes." " Can't he though, Flip ? he's got a good deal of power." " He's got a great deal of good from Power, I know but " EVSOM 8EOUNDU8. 277 " But don't be a donkey, Flip." " Do shut up. Why should you two expect such a dead assault on the monitors this half?" said Power. " Why, the fifth has in it a more turbulent lot just now than I ever knew before ; big impudent fellows, with no good in them, and quite at the beck of the Harpour set,' said Walter. " Yes. and with that fellow Kenrick," said Heudersoa ; " he and Harpour have always been at mischief about the monitors since they caught it so tremendously from Somers. Well, never mind. Why, look, there's Paradise, taking charge as usual of a little new fellow ; who is it ?" " Look and see," said Walter, as a little fellow came up, with an unmistakable family resemblance — a pretty boy, with fresh round cheeks, and light hair, which shone like gold when the sunshine fell upon it. " Why, Walter — why, this must be your brother. Well, I declare I Just what you were the day you came, and made Jones look so small three years ago. How do you do young 'uu ?" He shook him kindly by the hand and said, " You're a lucky little fellow to have a monitor brother, and Eden to look after you from the first. I wish Vd been so lucky, I know." " Oli, Walter, what & jolly place this is," said his little brother — "jollier than Semlyu even." " Wait a bit, Charlie ; don't make up your mind too Boon," said Walter ; while Edeu looked at the boy with a somewhat sad smile playing on his lips. CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST. AMONG THE NO ELITES. THE changes described in the last chapter were not tti€ only ones which seriously affected the prosperity of St. Winifred's school ; for the staff of masters was also partly altered during the last two years, and the altera- tions had not been improvements. Mr. Paton — who had by this time manfully resumed his old theological labors, and who, to please Walter, had often employed him as a willing amanuensis in attempting to replace the burnt man- uscripts — had retired from his mastership to a quiet coun- try living to which he had been presented by Sir Lawrence Power. Strange at it may seem, Mr. Paton chiefly, though of course indirectly, owed this living to Walter, who had first talked to Sir Lawrence about Mr. Paton, in terms of deep regard. The opportunity, therefore, which Walter had sought so earnestly of atoning in some way for the mischief which he had done to his old master, was amply granted to him ; and Mr. Paton never felt more strongly, that even out of the deepest apparent evils God can bring about undoubted blessings. St. Winifred's, however, was the loser by his promotion. The benefit of his impartial justice and stern discipline, and the weight of his firm and manly character in the councils of the school, was gone And St. Winifred's had suffered still greater loss in the departure of Mr. Percival, who had accepted, some months before, the offer of a tutorship in his own university. Had he continued where he was, his influence, his well-deserved popular*' l y, his kind, wise, conciliatory manner, the grati 27S A NEW MASTER. 279 tnde which rewarded his ready and self-denying sympathy, would, in the troubled period which ensued, have been even more useful than his brilliant scholarship and successful method of teaching a form. These two masters had left amid the universal regret of the boys and of their col- leagues, and their places had been filled up by younger, less able, and less experienced men. And more than this, Dr. Lane, soon after the term began, was taken seriously ill, and was ordered to the German baths for two months, during which his work was done by another master, who had not the same influence. From all which causes, this half year at St. Winifred's was the most turbulent, the most riotous, and the most unhappy ever known in that honorable and ancient school. So little Charlie Evson soon found reason to revise and modify his opinions, that St. Winifred's — as he then saw it — was jollier than even Seralyn itself. His name had been entered in the list of Mr. Percival's house, before it was known that he was going to leave. Walter liked Mr. Per- cival so much better than he did his own tutor, Mr. Rob ertson, and had experienced from him so much more kind- ness, that he thought it would be an advantage for Charlio to be placed directly under so wise and kind a friend ; and Mr. Evson, afraid that his little son would be quite over- shadowed by his elder brother, and that Walter's influence, which was very transcendent over Charlie's mind, would make him too dependent on anothei", and prevent him from developing his own natural character, was by no means averse to the arrangement. But since Mr. Percival had left, Charlie, with the other boys in the house, was handed over to the charge of Mr. Noel, a new master, who had to win his way and learn his work, neither of which he sue ceeded in doing until he had committed many mistakes. In this house were Kenriek and Mackworth — Kenrick 380 WILTON. as monitor, was in some measure responsible for the charac- ter of the house, and he had Charlie as one cf his fags. A< this time Kenrick's influence was not only useless for good, but was even positively bad. There was no other monitoi who did not try to be of some use to his fags. Many of the monitors, by quiet kindnesses and useful hints, by judicious help and unselfish sympathy, were of most real service to the boys who nominally " fagged " for them, but who, in point of fact, were required to do nothing, except taking an occasional message, seeing that the study fires did not go out, and carrying up the tea and breakfast for a week each, in order of rotation. Kenrick was quite willing to have placed Charlie Evson in the first of these classes, for he was a boy whom it was impossible to see and not to like. But Kenrick had better reasons for wishing to attach Charlie to himself. Deeply as he had degenerated, disgraceful as his present conduct was, Kenrick, in the secret depths of his soul, sighed and pined for better things ; though vice, and folly, and pride had their attractions for him, he was still sick at heart for the purer atmosphere which he had left. He looked at Charlie with vague hope, for through him he thought that he might yet perhaps, without lowering his pride by actu- ally seeming to have made any advance, bring about a reconciliation with his best and earliest friends, bring about a return to his former and more upright course. But this was not to be. When a boy goes wrong, he strews every step of his downward career with obstacles against his own return ; and he little dreams how difficult of removal some of these obstacles will be. The obstacle in this case was another little fag of Kenrick's named Wil ton. I am sorry to write of that boy. Young in years, he was singularly old in vice. A more brazen, a more im- pudent a more hardened little scapegrace — in schoolboy BAD KXAMPLK8. 281 language, " a cooler hand " — it would have been impossible to find. He had early gained the nickname of Raven from his artful looks. His manner was a mixture of calm an dacity and consummate self-conceit. Though you knew him to be a thorough scamp, the young imp would stare you in the face with the effrontery of a man about town He was active, sharp, and nice-looking, and there was nothing which he was either afraid or ashamed to do. He had not a particle of that modesty which in every good hoy is as natural as it is graceful. He could tell a lie without the slightest hesitation or the faintest blush ; nay, while he was telling it, though lie knew that yon knew it to be a lie, would not abash for an instant the cold glance of his wicked dark eyes. Yet this boy, like Charlie, was only thirteen years old. And for all these reasons, Wilton was the idol of all the big bad boys in the school ; and in spite of all these reasons — for the boy had in him the fascina- tion of a serpent — he was the declared favorite of Kenrick too. The three boys who gave the tone to Mr. Noel's house were Kenrick, Mackworth, and Wilton. They formed as it were an electric chain of bad influences, and as they were severally prominent in the chief divisions of the school, they had peculiar opportunities for doing harm. Kenriek's evil example told with extraordinary power through the whole house, and especially upon the highest boys, who na- turally imitated him. I do not mean to say that Kenrick had sunk so low that wilfully and consciously he loweied the character of the house, which as a monitor he ought to have improved and raised ; but he did so, whether \uth intention or not; he did so negatively, by neglecting all his duties, and by giving no direct countenance to what was right; he did so positively, by not openly discountenancing, and by actually practising, many things which he knew to 282 DEGENERACY. be wrong. The bad work was carried on by Mackworth who was the most prominent fifth-form boy in the house. This boy's ability, and strength of will, and keenness of tongue, gave him immense authority, and enabled him to carry out almost everything he liked. To complete the mischief, among the lower boys Wilton reigned supreme ; and as Wilton was prouder of Kenrick's patronage than of anything else, and by flattery and cajolery could win over Kenrick to nearly anything, the worst part of the charac- ters of these boys acting and reacting on each other, leav- ened the house through and through with all that is least good, or true, or lovely, or of a good report. The mischief began before Mr. Percival left, but it never could have proceeded half so far if Mr. Noel's inexperience, and the very kindness which led him to relax the existing discipline, had not tempted the boys to unwonted presumption. Such was the state of things when Charlie entered Mr. Noel's house. Walter knew that Mr. Percival's promotion had frustrated the plan he had formed when he advised his father to put Charlie in that house, but the step could not now be recalled, nor, indeed, was Walter or any other mon- itor aware how bad the state of things had become. For among other dangerous innovations, Mackworth and Wil- ton had brought about a kind of understanding, that the .louse should, to some extent, keep to itself, resent all in- trusion into its own precincts, and maintain a profound silence about its own secrets. Besides all this, Walter bitterly and sorrowfully felt that for some reason, which he was unable to fathom, the whole school was just then in an unsatisfactory state, and that Charlie, for whom his whole heart yearned with brotherly love and pity, would be exposed to severe temptations in whatever house he should be placed. He hoped too that, as Charlie would always oave the run of his and of Power's study, it would make NEW FELLOWS. 2S3 little difference to him that he was under a different house master. To Mackworth and Wilton the arrival of one ot two new boys was a matter of some importance, but little anxiety The new boys were necessarily young, and in the present united state of the house, it was tolerably certain that they would catch the prevalent spirit, and be quickly assimilated to the condition of the others. The task of moulding them — if they were at all difficult to manage — fell to Wilton, and he certainly accomplished it with astonishing success. A new comer's sensibilities were not too quickly shocked. The Noelites, for their own purposes, behaved very kindly to him at first ; they were first-rate hands at " destroyiug a boy by means of his best affections," at " seething a kid in its mother's milk." The bad language, the school trick- eries and deceits, the dodges for breaking rules and escap- ing punishments, the agreed-on lies to avoid detectiou, the suppers, and brandy, and smoking parties, and false keys to get out after lock up, and all the other detestable symp- toms of a vitiated and depraved set, were carefully kept in abeyance at first. The new fallow was treated very kindly, was sounded and fathomed cautiously, was taught to get up a strong house feeling by perpetual endeavors to wake in him the esprit de corps, was gently ridiculed if he dis- played any good principle, was tremendously bullied if he showed signs of recalcitrance, was according to his temper- ament led, or coaxed, or initiated, or intimidated, into the condition of wickedness required of him before the house could continue to go to the devil, as fast as it wished to do, and was doing before. This was Mackworth's work, and Wilton acted as his Azazel, and Kenrick did not interfere though he knew or guessed all that was going on : he did jot interfere, he did not prevent it, he did not even remon- strate at first, and afterwards he began by acquiescing, he 281 NEW BOYS. ended by — yes, the truth must be told — he ended by join- ing in it all. Kenrick, when human beings meet lace to face before a certain judgment-seat, there are some yount me o'o," he said, struggling to get free. 13 2^0 KENKICK AND WILTON. " Ob, go by all means," said Kenrick, with bis pride all on fire in a moment ; " don't suppose that I want you or care for you :" and he turned bis back on Wilton, to whom he bad never once spoken harshly before. The current of Wilton's thoughts was turned he really loved Kenrick, who was the only person for wlorn he had any regard at all. Besides, Keurick's support and favor were everything to him just then, and he stopped irresolutely at the door, unwilling to leave him in anger. " What do you want ? Why don't you go ?" asked Kenrick, with his back still turned. Wilton came back to the window, and humbly took Ken- rick's hand, looking up at him as though to ask forgiveness. " How odd you are to-day, Raven," said Kenrick, re- lenting. " What were you crying about when I came in ?" " Well, I'll tell you, Ken. I was thinking bow much better some fellows are than I am, and whether it was too late to begin afresh, and whether the door was open to me still, when you came in, and said, ' Too late,' and banged the door, which I took for an answer to my thoughts." They were the first serious words Kenrick had ever heard from Wilton ; but he did not choose to heed them, and only said, after a pause— " Other fellows better than you ? Not a bit of it. Less plucky, perhaps ; greater hypocrites, certainly ; but you are the jolliest of them all, Ra." And with that silly, silly speech Wilton was reassured a gratified smile perched itself upon his lips, and his cyea sparkled with delight ; nor was he soon revisited by any qualms of conscience. CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND. DISENCHANTMENT. HO W do you get on with the young Evson, Ra ?" asked Mackworth of Wilton, with a sneer. "Not at all," said Wilton. "He's awfully par- iicular and straight-laced, just like that brother of his. No more fun while he's in the house." " Confound him," said Mackworth, frowning darkly; " if he doesn't like what he sees, he must lump it. He's not worth any more trouble." " So, Mack, yon, too, have discovered what he's like." " Yes, I have," answered Mackworth, savagely. For all his polish, his courtesies, and civilities had not suc- ceeded in making Charlie conceal how much he feared and disliked him. The young horse rears the first time it hears the adder's hiss, and the dove's eye trembles instinctively when the hawk is near. Charlie half knew and half guessed the kind of character he had to deal with, and made Mack- worth hate him with deadly hatred by the way in which, without one particle of rudeness or conceit, he managed to keep him at a distance, and check every approach to inti- macy. With Kenrick the case was different. Charlie thought that he looked one of the nicest and best fellows in the house, but he could not get over the fact that Wilton waa his favorite. It was Wilton's constant and daily boast that Ken would do anything for him ; and Charlie felt ,hat Wilton was not a boy whom Walter or Power at any 'ate would even have tolerated, much less liked. It was 291 2D2 CHARLIE MAKES ENEMIES. this that made him receive Kenrick's advances with shyness aud coldness ; and when Kenrick observed this, he at once concluded that Charlie had been set against him by Wal- ter, and that he would report to Walter all he did and said. This belief was galling to him as wormwood. Sud- denly, and with most insulting publicity he turned Charlie off from being one of his fags, and from that time never spoke of him without a sneer, and never spoke to him at all, Meanwhile, as the term advanced, St. Winifred's gradu- ally revealed itself to Charlie in a more and more unfavor- able light. The discipline of the school was in a most im- paired state ; the evening work grew more and more disor- derly ; few of the monitors did their duty with any vigor, and the big idle fellows in the fifth set the example of inso- lence towards them and rudeness to the masters. All rules were set at defiance with impunity, aud in the chaos which ensued, every one did what was right in his own eyes. One evening, during evening work, Charlie was trying hard to do the verses which had been set to his form. He found it very difficult in the noise that was going on. Not half a dozen fellows in the room were working or attempt- ing to work ; they were talking, laughing, rattling the desks, playing tricks on each other, and throwing books about the room. The one bewildered new master, who nominally kept order among the two hundred boys in the room, walked up and down in despair, speaking in vain fir.-st to one, then to another, and almost giving up the farce of attempting to maintain silence. But seeing Charlie seri- ously at work he came up and asked if he could give him any assistance ? Charley gratefully thanked him, and the master sat down to try and smooth some of his difficulties. His doing so was the sigr for an audible titter, which there was nc EVENINU WOKK. 293 attempt to suppress ; and when he had passed on, Wil< ton, whose conduct had been more impertinent than that of any one else, said to Charlie — " I say, young Bvson, how are you grinding ?" " I have these verses to do," said Charlie, simply. " Ha ! ha ! ha 1" laughed Wilton, as though he had made some good joke. " Here, shall I give you a wrin- kle V " Yes, if it's allowed." The answer was greeted with another laugh, and Wil- ton said, •' I'll save you all further trouble, young 'uo. Observe the dodge ; we're all up to it." He put up a white handkerchief to his nose, and walk- ing to the master said, " Please, sir, my nose is bleeding May I go out for a minute ?" " Your nose bleeding ? That's the third time your nose has bled this week, and other boys have also come with their noses bleeding." " Do you doubt my word, sir ?" asked Wiltou, his hand- kerchief still held up, and assuming an injured air. " I should be sorry to do so until you give me reason," answered the master, courteously. " It seems a strange circumstance, but you may go." It would have been very easy to see whether his nose was bleeding or not, but the master was trying, very un- successfully at present, whether implicit confidence would produce a sense of honor among the boys. Wiltou went out hardly concealing his laughter, and in ten minutes returned with the verses, finished and written out. " There," he said, " Ken did those for me ; he knocked them off in five minutes. Keu's an awfully clever fellow, though he never opens a book. Don't bore yourself with verses any more ; I'll get them done for you." 294 AN ORDEAL. Charlie glanced at the paper, and s^w at once that the verses were perfectly done. •' Do you mean to show up that copy as your own, Wilton ?" "Of course I do." " Bnt we are marked for them." " Hear, hear ! thanks for the information. So much the oettcr. I shall get a jolly good mark." " Shut up, young Innocence, and don't be a muff," said another Noelite. " We all do the same thing. Take what Heaven senas you and be glad to get it." "Thank you," said Charlie, looking round ; " you may, but I'd rather not. It isn't fair." " Oh, how good we are ! how sweet we are 1 what an angel we are 1" said Wilton, turning up the whites of his eyes, while the rest applauded him. But if they meant their jeers to tell on Charlie's resolution, they were mis- taken. He looked quietly round at them all with his clear eyes, gravely handed the paper back to Wilton, and quietly resumed his work. They were angry to be so foiled, and determined that, if he would not copy the verses, he should \t least do them in no other way. One of them took his paper and tore it, another split up his quill pens by dashing them on the desk, while a third seized his dictionary. The master, observing that something was going on at that desk, came and stood by ; as long as he was there, Charlie managed to write out what he had done, while the others, cunningly inserting an occasional mistake, or altering a few epithets, copied out the verses which Kenrick had done for Wilton. But directly the master turned away again, a boy on the opposite side of the table, with the utmost de« liberation, tc )k hold of Charlie's fair copy, and emptied the inkstand over it in three or four separate streams. Vexed as he was — for until this time he had neve* IS IT TKACE? 295 Known unkindness — he took it quietly and good liumoredly Next morning, before the rest of the boys in his dormitory, who were mainly in his own form, were aware of what he meant to do, lie got up early and went to Walter's study, hoping to write out the verses there from memory. But he found the study in the possession of the housemaid ; chapel- bell rang, and after chapel he went into morning school with the exercise unfinished. For this, he, the only boy in the form who had attempted to do his duty, received a pun- ishment, while the rest looked on unabashed, and got marks for their stolen work. Wilton received nearly full marks for his. The master, Mr. Paton's successor, thought it odd Wilton could do his verses so much better than any of his other work, but he could not detect the cheating, and Wil- ton always assured him that the verses were entirely his own composition. It was about time now, Wilton thought, to hoist his true colors ; but, as he had abundance of brass, he followed Charlie out of the schoolroom, talked to him familiarly as if nothing had happened, and finally took his arm. But this was too much ; for the boy, who was opeu as the day iu all his dealings, at once withdrew his arm. and standing Hill, looked him full in the face. " So 1" said Wilton, " now take your choice — friends or enemies — which shall it be ?" " If you want me to cheat, and tell lies, and be mean — not friends" " So 1 enemies then, mind. Look out for squalls, young Evson. One question, though," said Wilton, as Charlie turned away. " Well ?" " Are you going to sneak about this to your brother V Charlie was silent. Without any intention of procuring Walter's interference, he had meant to talk to him about '296 A PRECAUTION. his difficulties, and to ask his advice. But if this was to be stigmatised as sneaking he felt he had rather not do it, for there is no action a bov fears more, and considers more mean than this. " Oh, I see," said "Wilton ; " you do mean to peach, blab, tell tales, do you ? Well, it don't matter much ; you'll find he can do precious little ; and it will be all the worse for you in the long-run." " I shan't tell him," said Charley, shortly ; and those words sealed his lips, as with a heavy heart he entered the breakfast-room, and meditated on troubles to come. Which troubles came quite fast enough — very fast in- deed. For the house, or rather the leading spirits in it, thought that they had wasted quite enough time, and with quite sufficient success in angling for the new boys, and de- termined to resume without any further delay their ordi- nary courses. If Charlie was fool enough to resist them, they said, so much the worse for him. During the day, indeed, he was saved from many of the annoyances which Walter had been obliged to endure, by escaping from the Great Schoolroom to the happy and quiet refuge of Wal- ter's or Power's, or Eden's study. There he could always be unmolested, and enjoy the kindness with which he was treated, and the cheerful, healthy atmosphere which con- trasted so strangely in its moral sweetness with the turbid and polluted air of Noelite society. . But in the evening at Preparation, and afterwards in the dormitories, he was wholly at the mercy of that bad confedracy which had tried to mould him to its own will. He was in a large dormitory of ten boys, and as this was the principal room in Mr. Noel's house, it formed the regular refuge every night for the idle and the mischievously inclined. When the candles were put out at bed-time it was seldom long before they were lelit in this room — which was somewhat charlik's troubles. 297 remote from the others at the end of a long corridor, and of which the window opened on a secluded part of Dr. Lane's garden. If a scout were placed at the end of the eorridor he could give timely warning of any danger, so chat the chance of detection was very small. Had the candles been relit only for a game of play, Charley would have been the first to join in the fun. But the Noelites were far too vitiated in taste to be lone; content with mere bolstering or harmless games. It seemed to Charlie that the candles were relit chieily for the purpose of eating and drinking forbidden things, of playing cards, or of bullying and tormenting those boys who were least advanced in general wickedness. "I say, young Evson," said Wilton to him one night booh after the fracas above narrated, " we're going to have some fun to-night. Stone, like a brick as he is, has stood a couple of bottles of wine, and Ilanley some cards. We shall have a smoke too." All this was said in a tone of braggadocio, meant to be exceedingly telling, but it only made Charlie feel that he loathed this swaggering little boy with his premature savoir vivre, more and more. He understood too the hint that two of the new fellows had contributed to the house carou- sal, and fully expected that he would be asked next. He secretly, however, determined to refuse, because he knew well that a mere harmless feast was not intended, but rather a smoking and drinking bout. He had subscribed liberally to all the legitimate funds — the football, the rac- quet court, the gymnasium ; but he saw no reason why he should be taxed for things which he disliked and disap* proved. The result of that evening confirmed him in hit resolution. It was a scene of drinking, gluttony, secret fear, endless squabbling, and joyless excitement. " Of course you'll play, and put into the pool V said Wilton 13* £98 "no, thank you.* " No, thank you." '■' No, thank you," said Wilton, scornfully miniickiug nia tone. " Of course not ; you'll do nothing except set your- self up for a saint, and make yourself disagreeable." During the evening Stone brought him some wine, which Charlie again declined, with " No, thank you, Stone." Wilton again echoed the refusal, which was chorused by a dozen others ; and from that time Charlie was duly dubbed with the nickname of No-thank-you. He was forcibly christened by this new name, by being held in bed while half a wineglass of port was thrown in his face. The wine poured down and stained his night-shirt, and then they all began to dread that it would lead to their being discovered, and threatened Charlie with endless penalties if he dared to tell. There was, however, little danger, as the Noelites had bribed the servants who waited on them and cleaned their rooms. The same scene, with slight variations, was constantly repeated, and every fresh refusal was accompanied by a kick or a cuff from the bigger boys, a sneer or an insult from the younger ; for Charlie himself was one of the youngest of them all. One night it was, " I say, you fel- low — you, No-thank-you — will you fork out for some wine to-night ? No ? Well then, take that and that, and be \iung to you for a little muff." Another time it would be, " Hi there, No-thank-you, we want sixpence for a pack of cards. Oh, you won't be so sinful as to part with sixpence for cards ! Confounded little miser ;" " Niggard," said another ; " Skinflint," shouted a third. And a general cry of "Saint," whkh expressed the climax of villany, ended the verbal portion of the contest. And then some one would slap him on the cheek, with "take that," "and that," from another, "and that," from a third — the last being a boot or a piece of soap shied at his head. FOR CONSCIENCE* SAKE. 299 It canuot De more wearisome to the reader than it is to me to linger in these coarse scenes ; but for Charlie it was a long martyrdom most heroically borne. He was almost literally alone and single-handed against the rest of the bouse ; yet he would not give way. Walter, and Power, and Henderson, all knew that he was bullied, sorely bullied ; this they learnt far more from Eden, and from other sources, than from Charlie himself, for he, poor child, held himself bound by his promise to Wilton, and kept his lips resolutely sealed. But these friends knew that he was suffering for conscience' sake ; and Walter helped him with tender, brotherly affection, and Power with brave words and kindly sympathy, as well as by noble example, and Henderson by his cheering and playful manner ; — and this caused him much happiness all day long, until he felt that, with that short but heart-uttered prayer which he breathed so earnestly from " the altar of his own bedside," he had strength sufficient to meet and to conquer the trials which night brought. In the house one boy and one only helped him. That boy ought to have been Kenrick ; his monitorial authority and many responsible privileges were entrusted to him, as ho well knew, for the main express purpose of putting down all immorality, and all cruelty, with a stroug and remorseless hand. It required very little courage to do this ; the sympathies of the majority of boys, unless they be suffered to grow corrupted with an evil leaven, are natu- rally and strongly on the side of right. In Mr. Robert- son's house, for instance, where Walter and Henderson were monitors, such wrong doings could not have gone on with impunity, or rather could not have gone on at all There, a little boy, treated with gross severity or injustice, would uot have hesitated for an instant to invoke the ussistance of the monitors, whom he looked upon as his 300 OTHER HOUSES. natural guardians, and who would be eager to exieud to him a generous and efficient protection. The same was the case in Mr. Edwardes' house, of which Power was the head. Power, indeed, had no coadjutor on whom he could at all rely. One of the monitors associated with him was Legrauge, who rather followed Kenrick's lead, and the other was Brown, who, though well-intentioned, was a boy of no authority. Yet these two houses were in a better condition than any others in the school, because the heads of them did their duty ; and it was no slight credit to Walter and Henderson that their house stood higher in character than any other, although it contained both Har- pour and Jones. This could not have been the case had not those two worthies found a powerful counterpoise in two other fifth-form fellows, Franklin and Cradock, whose excellence was almost solely due to Walter's influence. Kenrick, on the other hand, never interfered in the house, and let things go on exactly as they liked, although they were going to rack and ruin. Charlie's sole friend and helper in the house then was, not Kenrick, but Bliss. Poor Bliss quite belied his name, for his school work, in which he never could by any effort succeed, kept him in a state of lugubrious disappointment. Bliss lived a dim kind of life, seeing all sorts of young boys get above him and beat him in the race, and vaguely groping in thick mental darkness. Do what he would the stream of knowledge fled from his tantalized lip whenever he stooped to drink ; and the fruits, which others plucked easily, sprang up out of his reach when he tried to touch the bough. He was constantly crushed by a desolating sense of his own stupidity, and yet his good temper was charming under all his trials, and he loved with a grateful humility all who tolerated his shortcomings. For this reason he had a sincere affection for Henderson, wh« BLISS 301 plagued him, indeed, incessantly, but never in an unkind or insulting way ; and who more than made up for the teazing by patient and constant help, without which Bliss would not have succeeded even as well as he did. Blisa was a strong active fellow, and good at the games, so that with most of the school he got on very well ; but, never- theless, he was generally set down as nearly half-witted— a mere dolt. Dolt or not, he did Charlie inestimable service; and if any boy is in like case with Bliss, let him take cour- age, for even the merest dolt has immense power for good as well as for harm, and Bliss extended to Charlie a gentle and manly sympathy which many a clever boy might have envied. lie knew that Charlie was ill used. Not beaur iu the same dormitory, and joining very little in the house concerns, he was not able to interfere very directly in his aid ; but he never failed to encourage him to resist iniquity of every kind. " Hold out, young Evson," he would often say to him ; "you're a good, brave little chap, and don't give in ; you're in the right, and they in the wrong ; and right is might, be sure of that." It was something in those days to meet with approbation for well-doing among the Noelites ; and Charlie, with genu- ine gratitude, never forgot Bliss's kind support ; till Bliss left St. Winifred's they continued firm friends and fast. " Have you made any friends in the house ?'* 7 asked Mr. Noel of Charlie on one occasion ; for he often seized an opportunity of talking to his younger boys, for whom he felt a sincere interest, and whom he would gladly have shielded from temptation to the very utmost of his power, had he but known that of which he was unhappily so igno- rant—the bad state of things among the boys under his rare. " Not many, sir," said Charlie. " Haven't you ? I'm sorry to hear that. I like to see 302 chaklie's gratitude. boys forming friendships for future life ; and there are some very nice fellows in the house. Wilton, for instance, ion'1 yon like him ? he's very idle and volatile, I know, but still he seems to me a pleasant boy." Charlie could hardly suppress a smile, but said nothing ; and Mr. Noel continued, " Who is your chief friend, Ev son, among my boys ?" " Bliss, sir." said Charlie, with alacrity. "Bliss!" answered Mr. Noel, in surprise. "What makes you like him so much ? Is he not very backward and stupid V But Charlie would not hear a word against Bliss, and speaking with all the open trustfulness of a new boy, he exclaimed, " Oh, sir ! Bliss is an excellent fellow ; I wish there were many more like him ; he's a capital fellow, sir, I like him very much ; he's the best fellow in the house, and the oidy one who stands by me when I'm in trouble." " Well, I'm glad you've found one friend, Evson," said Mr. Noel ; "no matter who he is." One way in which Bliss showed his friendship was by going privately to Kenrick, and complaining of the way in which Charlie was bullied. " Why don't you interfere Kenrick ?" he asked. " Interfere, pooh! It will do the young cub good; he'a too conceited, by half." " I never saw a little fellow less conceited, anyhow." Kenrick stared at him. " What business is it of yours, [ should like to know ?" " It is business of mine : he is a good little fellow, and he's only kicked because the others can't make him as bad a lot as they are themselves ; there's that Wilton" " Shut up about Wilton, he's a friend of miue." " Then more shame for you," said Bliss. " He's worth fifty such chickens as little Evson, any day," UNDER KEPEOOF. 3U3 " Chickens !" said Bliss, with a tone as nearly like con- tempt as he had ever assumed ; " it's clear you don't know much about him : I wish, Keurick, you'd do your duty more, and then the house would not be so bad as it is." Kenrick opened his eyes wide ; lie had never heard Bliss speak like this before. " I don't want the learned, the clever, the profound Bliss to teach me my duty," he said, with a proud sneer : what business have you to abuse the house, because it is not full of young ninnies like Evson ? You're no monitor of mine, let me tell you." " You may sneer, Kenrick, at my being stupid, if you like ; but, for all your cleverness, I wouldn't be you for something ; and if you won't interfere, as you ought, I will, if I can." And as Bliss said this, with clear (laming anger, and fixed on Kenrick his eyes, which were lighted up with honest purpose, Kenrick thought he had never seen him look so handsome or so fine a fellow. " Yes, even lie is su- perior to me now," he thought, with a sigh, as Bliss left the room. Poor Ken — there was no unhappier boy at St. Winifred's ; as he ate and ate of those ashy fruits of sin, they grew more and more dusty and bitter to his parched taste ; as he drank of that napthaline river of wayward oride, it scorched his heart and did iwt quench his thirst. CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. MARTYRDOM. />f &ADTJALLY the persecutions to which Chailie was I -j subjected mainly turned on one point. His tor- V.A mentors were so far tired of bullying him, that they would have left him in comparative peace if he would have yielded one point, which was this. The Noelites were accustomed now and then to have a grand evening "spread" as they called it; and when they had finished this supper, which was usually supplied by Dan, they generally began smoking, an amusement which they could enjoy after the lights were out. The smokers used to sit in the long corridor, which, as I have said, led to their dormitory, and the scout was always posted to W£.m them of approaching danger ; but as they did not begin operations till the master had gone his nightly rounds, and were very quiet about it, there was not much danger of their being disturbed. Yet although the win- dows of the corridor and dormitory were all left wide open, and every other precaution was taken, it was impossible to get rid of the fumes of tobacco so entirely as to avoid all chances of detection. They had, indeed, bribed the ser- vants to secrecy, but what they feared was being detected by some master. The Noelites, therefore, of that dormi- tory had been accustomed to agree that if they were ques- tioned by any master about the smell of smoking, they would all deny that any smoking had taken place. The other nine boys in the dormitory, with the doubtful excep- tion of Elgood, had promised that they would stick to this 304 FIRM FOR TRUTH. 305 assertion in ease of their being asked. The question was, " Would Charlie promise the same thing ?" If not, the boys felt doubly insecure — insecure about the stability of their falsehood and the secresy of their proceedings. And Charlie Evson, of course, refused to promise this. Single-handed he fought this battle against the other boys in his house, and in spite of solicitation, coaxing, entreaty, threats, and blows, steadily declared that he was no tell-tale, that he had never mentioned anything which had gone on in the house, but that if he were directly asked whether a par- tieular act had taken place or not, he would still keep silent, but could not and would not tell a lie. Now some of the house — and especially Mackworth and Wilton — had determined, by the help of the rest, to crush this opposition, to conquer this obstinacy, as they called it; and, since Charlie's reluctance could not be overcome by persuasion or argument, to break it down by sheer force. So, night after night, a number of them gathered round Charlie, and tried every means which ingenuity or malice could suggest to make him yield en this one point ; the more so, because they well knew that to gain one conces- sion was practically to gain all, and Charlie's uprightuess contrasted so unpleasantly with their own base compli- ances, that his mere presence among them became, from this circumstance, a constant annoyance. One boy, with a high and firm moral standard, steadily and consistently good, can hardly fail to be most unpopular in a large house full of bad and reckless boys. It was a long and hard struggle ; so long that Charlie felt as if it would last for ever, aud his strength would give way before he had wearied out his persecutors. For now it seemed to be a positive amusement, a pleasant occu- pation to them, night after night, to bully him. He Ireaded, be shuddered at the return of evening ; he knew 306 A HARD STRUGGLE. well that from the time when Preparation began, till the rest were all asleep, he could look for little peace. Some- times he was tempted to yield. He knew that at the bot- tom the fellows did not really hate him, that he might be very popular if he chose, even without going to nearly the same lengths as the others, and that if he would but pro- mise Lot to tell, his assent would be hailed with accla- mations. Besides, said the tempter, the chances are very Btrongly in favor of your not being asked at all about the matter, so that there is every probability of your not being called upon to tell the " cram ;" for by some delicate dis- tinction the falsehood presented itself under the guise of " a cram," and not of a naked lie ; that was a word the boys carefully avoided applying to it, and were quite angry if Charlie called it by its right name. One evening the poor little fellow was so weary and hopeless and sad at heart, and he had been thrashed so long and so severely, that he was very near yielding. A paper had been written, the signing of which was tacitly understood to involve a promise to deny that there had been any smoking at night if they were taxed with it ; and all the boys except Elgood and Charlie had signed this paper. But the fellows did not care for Elgood ; they knew that he dared not oppose them long, and that they could make him do their bidding whenever the time came. Well, one evening, Charlie, in a weak mood, was on the verge of signing the paper, and thus purchasing a cessation of the long series of injuries rmd taunts from which he had been suffering. He was sit- ting up in bed, and had taken the pencil in hand to sign his name. The boys, in an eager group round him, were calling him a regular brick, encouraging him, patting him on the back, and saying that they had been sure all along entauce. Aft* Mackworth's expulsion, and under Whalley's good government, the state of the Noelites greatly improved Charlie Evson, for whom, now, by the bye, Kenrick always did everything that lay in his power, became far more a model amoug younger boys than Wilton had ever been, ind there was a final end of suppers, smoking parties, or 348 A NEW TROUBLE. ganised cribbing, and recognised " crams." lint just as the house was recovering lost ground, and had ceased to be quite a byeword in the school, it was thrown into conster- uation by a long continued series of petty thefts. Small sums were extracted from the boys' jacket pockets after they had gone to bed ; from the play boxes which were not provided with good locks and keys ; from the pri- vate desks in the class-rooms, from the dormitories, ami from several of the studies. There was uo clue to the of fender, and first of all suspicion fell strongly on the new boy, little Elgood. A few trifling items of circumstantial evidence seemed to point him out, and it began to be gra- dually whispered, no one exactly knew how or by whom, that he must be the guilty boy. Hiuts were thrown out to him to this effect ; little bits of paper, on which were written the words " Thou shalt not steal," or " The devil will have thieves," were dropped about in his books and wherever he was likely to find them, and whenever the subject was brought ou the tapis his manner was closely watched. The effect was unsatisfactory ; for Elgood was a timid nervous boy, and the uneasiness to which this nerv- ousness gave rise was set down as a sign of guilt. At length a sovereign and a half were stolen out of Whalley's study, and as Elgood, being Whalley's fag, had constant aceess to the study, and might very well have known that Whalley had the money, and in what place he kept it, the prevalent suspicions were confirmed. The boys, with their usual thoughtless haste, leapt to the conclusion that he must have been the thief. The house was in a perfect ferment. However lightly oue or two of them, like Penn, may have thought about taking trifles from small tradesmen, there was not a single one among them, not even Pena himself, whose morality did uot braud this thieving from school-fellows as wicked ELGOOD UNDKR SUSPICION. 349 and mean. The boys felt, too, that it was a stigma on their house, and unhappily just at the time when the ma- jority were really anxious to raise their corporate reputa- tion. Every one was filled with annoyance and disgust, and felt an anxious determination to discover and give up. Ihe thief. At last the suspicions against Elgood proceeded so far, that out of mere justice to him, the heads of the house, Whalley, Kenrick, and Uliss, thought it right that he should be questioned. So, after tea, all the house assem- bled in the class-room, and Elgood was formally charged with the delinquency, and questioned about it, Wilton, in particular, urging him in almost a bullying tone to sur- render and confess. The poor child was overwhelmed with terror — cried, blushed, answered incoherently, and lost his head, but would not for a moment confess that he had done it, and protested his innocence with many sobs and tears. " Well, I suppose if he persists in denying it, we can't go any further," said Kenrick ; " but I am afraid, Elgood, Chat you must have had something to do with it, as every one seems to see ground for suspecting you." " Oh, I hadn't, I hadn't ; indeed I hadn't," wailed El- good ; " 1 wish you would'nt say so, Kenrick ; indeed I'm innocent, and I'd rather write home for the money ten times over than be suspected." " So would any one, you little fool," said Wilton. " Don't bully him in that way, Wilton," said Whalley ; " it's not the way to get the truth out of him. Elgood, I should have thought you innocent, if you didn't behave so oddly." " May I speak ?" modestly asked a new voice. Thf speaker was Charlie Evson. " Yes, certainly," said Kenrick, in an enco.u aging tone 350 chaklie's advocacy. " Wei. then, please, Kenrick, and the whole of you, 1 think you have had the truth out of him ; and I think he it innocent. " Why, Charlie ?" said Whalley ; " what makes you think so ?" " Because I've asked him, and talked to him privately about it," said Charlie ; " when you frighten him he gets confused, and contradicts himself, but he can explain whatever looks suspicious if you ask him kindly and quietly." " Bosh 1" said Wilton ; " who frightened him ?" " Silence, Wilton," said Whalley. " Well, Charlie, will you question him now for us ?" "That I will," said Charlie, advancing and putting his hand kindly round Elgood's shoulder, as he seated himself on the desk by which Elgood was standing. " Will you tell us, as I ask you, all you told me this morning ?" " Yes," said Elgood, eagerly, while his whole mannei changed from nervous tremor to perfect simplicity and quiet now that he had a friend to stand by him. " Well, now, about the money you've been spending lately ?" questioned Charlie, with a smile. " You usen't to be so flush of cash, you know, a month ago." " I can tell you," answered Elgood ; " I had a very large present — large for me, I mean — three weeks ago. My father sent me a pound, because it was my birthday, and my big brother and aunt sent me each a pound too." " I can answer for that being perfectly true," said Charlie, " for I went with my brother to the post-office thia afternoon and asked, and found that Elgood had had three money-orders changed there. And now, Elgood, can you trust me with your purse ?" " Of course I can, Charlie," said Elgood, readily pro iucing it, and almost forgetting that the others were present INNOCENCE CLEARED. 35} "All, well, now you see I'm going to rifle it. Ah I what have we here ? why, here's a whole sovereign, and eight shillings ; that looks suspicions, doesn't it ?" said Charlie, archly. " No," said Elgood, laughing ; " you went with me yourself when I bought my desk for eighteen shillings, and the rest" " All right," said Charlie. " Look, you fellows : Elgood and I put down this morning the other things he's bought, and they came to fourteen shillings. I know they're right, for I didn't like Elgood to be wrongly suspected, so Walter went with me to the shops ; indeed it was chiefly spent at Coles'" — at which remark they all laughed, for Coles' was the favorite "tuck-shop" of the boys. "Well, now, £1 : 8 : + 18 + 14 makes £3, the sum which Elgood received from home. Is that plain ?" " As plain as a pike-staff," said Bliss ; " and you're a little brick, Evson ; and it's a chouse if any one suspects Elgood any more." Wilton suggested something about Elgood being W bai- ley's fag. " Shame, Raven," said Kenrick ; " why, what a suspi- cious fellow you must be ; there's no ground whatever to suspect Elgood now." " I only want the fellow found out for the honor of the house," said Wilton, with a sheepish look at this third rebuff. " Oh, I forgot about that for the moment," said Charlie ; " Whalley, please, you know the time, don't you, when the money was taken from your desk ?" " Yes ; it must have been between four and six, foi I saw it safe at four, and it was gone when I came back after tea." •' Then all right," said Charlie, joyfully, " for at that 352 WHO IS GUILTY i very time, all of it, Elgood was in my brother's study with me, learning some lessons. Now, then, is Elgood clear ?" " As clear as noon-day," shouted several of them, patting the poor child on the head. " And really, Charlie, we're all very much obliged to you," said Whalley, " for setting this matter straight. But now, as it isn't Elgood, who is the thief? We must all set ourselves to discover." " And we shall discover," said Bliss ; " he's probably here now. Who is it ?" he asked, glancing round. " Well, whoever it is, I don't envy him his sensations at this minute." The meeting broke up, and Kenrick accompanied Whal ley to the study to concert further measures. " Have you any suspicion at all about it, Whalley ?'•' " Not the least. Have you ? No. Well, then, what shall we do ?" " Why, the thief isn't likely to visit your study again, Whalley ; very likely he'll come to mine. Suppose we put a little marked money in the secret drawer. It's rather a joke to call it the secret drawer, for there's no secret about it : anyhow, it's an open secret." " Very good ; and then ?" " Why, you know the money generally goes at one par- ticular time on half-holidays. I'm afraid the rogue, who- ever he is, has got a taste for it by this time, and will come to money like a fly to a jam-pot. Now, outside my room, a few yards off, is the shoe-cupboard ; what if yoa and I, and a few others, agree to shut ourselves up there in turns, now and then, on half-holidays between roil-call and tea-time ?" " I see," said Whalley ; " well, it's horridly unpleasant, " but I'll take my turn first. Isn't the door usually locked though ?" AJS AMBUSCADE. 353 " Yes, but ^o much the better ; we can easily get it left open, and the thief won't suspect an ambuscade. He musi be found out, for the sake of all the boys who are innocent, and to wipe out the blot against the house." " All right ; I'll ensconce myself there to-morrow I say, Ken, isn't young Evson a capital fellow ? how well he managed to clear Elgood, didn't he ? I declare he taught us all a lesson." " Yes," said Kenrick ; " he's his brother all over ; just what Walter was when he came." " What, yon say that ?" said Whalley, smiling and arch- ing his eyebrows. " Indeed I do," said Kenrick, with some saduess ; " I haven't always thought so, the more's the pity ;" and he left the room with a sigh. After his turn for incarceration in the shoe-cupboard, Bliss complained loudly that it wasn't large enough to accommodate him, and that it cramped his long arms and legs, to say nothing of the unpleasant vicinity of spiders and earwigs ! But the others, laughing at him, told him that, if the experiment was to be of any use whatever, they must persevere in it, and Bliss allowed himself to be made a victim. For a time nothing Happened, but they had not to wait very long. One day, Kenrick had been mounting guard for about half an hour, and was getting very tired, when a light and hasty step passed along the passage, and into his room. The boy found the study empty, and proceeded noiselessly to open Kenrick's desk, and examine the contents. At Length he pulled open the secret drawer ; it opened with a little click, and there lay before him two half sovereigns and some silver. lie was a wary fellow, for he scrutinized these all over most carefully to see if they were marked, and finding no mark of any kind on them — for it almost 354 DETECTED. required a microscope to see the tiny scratch between the w.w. on the smooth edge of the neck — he took out his purse, and was proceeding to drop them into it, when a ke.avy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and Kenrick and Wilton — the detected thief — stood face to face. The purse dropped on the floor. For a moment they stood silent, staring at each other, and drawing quick breath. Wilton stood there pale as death, and looked up at Kenrick trembling, and with a frightened stare. It was too awful to be so suddenly sur- prised ; to have had an unknown eye-witness standing by him all the while that, fancying himself unseen, he w-as in the very act of committing that secret deed of sin ; to be arrested, detected, exposed, as the boy whose hidden mis- doings had been, for so long, a source of discomfort, anxiety, and shame. " You, Wilton — you, you ! you the disturber of the house ; you, who have so long been treated by me as a friend, and allowed at all times to use my study ; you, the foremost to throw the suspicion on others !" He stopped, breathless, for his indignation w r as rushing in too deep and strong a torrent to find vent in words. " Kenrick, don't tell of me." " Don't tell of you ! Good heavens ! is that all you can find to say ? Not one word of sorrow — not one vord of shame ? Abandoned, heartless, graceless fellow I" " I was driven to it, Kenrick, indeed I was. I owed money to Dan, and to — to other places, and they threat- ened to tell of me if I didn't pay. Then Harpour and those fellow r s quite cleared me out at cards ; I believe they lid it by cheating. Oh, don't tell of me !" " I cannot screen a thief," w r as the freezing reply : and the change from flame to ice showed into what commotion his feelings had been thrown WILTOX AT BAF. 355 " Well then, if it comes to that," said Wilton, turning sullen, " I'll tell of you. It'll all come out ; remember it was you who first took me to Dan's, and that's not the only thing I could tell of you. O Kenriek, don't tell, or it will get us all into trouble." " This then is the creature whom I have suffered '.o call me friend !" said Kenriek ; " for whom I have given up some of the best friends in the school ! And this is your giatitude ! Why, you worm, Wilton, what do you take me for ? Do you think that fear of your disclosures will make me hush up twenty thefts ? You enlist the whole strength of my conscience against you, lest I should seem to screen you for my own sake. Faugh ! your very touch sickens me ! — go !" " O Kenriek, don't be so angry ; I didn't mean to say it ; I didn't know what I was saying ; I am driven into a corner by shame and misery. I know I have been a mean dog ; but even if you tell of me, don't crush me so with your anger, for indeed, indeed, I have been grateful, anc have loved you, Kenriek. But oh, don't tell, I implore, I entreat you, Ken. How little I thought that I should have to speak to you like this !" But Kenriek could only say — " You the thief; you, the last fellow of all I should have suspected ; you whom 1 have called friend' — heavens ! Yes, I know that I have done you harm by bad example, I kuow that I've much to answer for, but at any rate I never taught you tc be a thief.''' " But one thing comes of another, Ken ; it all came of my being so much with those brutes, and going to Dan's , 't all came of that. I shouldn't have thought myself that I could do it or do half the bad things I have done, two mouths ago. It all came of that ; and you used to go with those "ellows, Ken, and vou went with me to Dan's ;" and tho 356 IN THE ANGUISH .)F boy wrung his hands, and wept, and flung himself on his knees. " I must tell all, if you tell of me." " Say that again," said Kenrick, spurning him scornfully away, " say it once again, and I go straight to Dr Lane. Poor worm, you don't understand me, you don't seem to have the capability of a high thought in you. I tell yon that nothing you can say of me shall shake my purpose. J am going now." But before he could get his straw hat, Wilton had clasped him by the knees, and in a voice of agony was beseeching him to relent. " It's all true, Kenrick ; I am base, I know it ; I have quenched all honor in me. I won't say that again, but do, for God's sake, forgive me this once, and not tell of me. Kenrick, have you never had to say forgive ? Do, do pity me, as you hope to be forgiven ; don't ruin me, and give me a bad name ; I am so young, so young, and have fallen into bad hands from the first." He still knelt on the floor, exhausted with the violence of his passion, hanging his head upon his breast, sobbing as if his heart would break. It was sad to see him, a mere child still, who might have been so different, long a little reprobate, and now a convicted thief. His face bathed in tears, his voice choked with sobs, the memory of the past, consciousness that much which he said was only too true, touched Kenrick with compassion ; the tears rolled down his own face fast, and he felt that, though personal fear could not influence him, pity would perhaps force him to relent, and wring from him in his weakness a reluctant pro- mise not to disclose Wilton's discovered guilt. " What can I say to you, Wilton ? you know that I have «iked you, but I never thought that you could act like this." " Nor I, Kenrick, a short time ago ; but the devi' f-empted me, and I have never learned to resist." REMORSE AND SHAME. 357 " From mj very heart I do pity you ; but I fear I muni tell, I fear it's my duty, and I have neglected so many that I dare neglect no more ; though, indeed, I'd rather have had any duty but this." Wilton was again clasping his knees and harrowing hia fcoul by his wild anguish, imploring to be saved from the horror of open shame ; and, accustomed as Kenrick was to grant anything to this boy, he was reduced to great dis- tress. Already his whole manner had relented from the loathing and anger he first displayed. He could stand uo more at present. " O Wilton," he said, " you will make me ill if you go on like this. I cannot, must not, will not make you any pro- mise now ; but I will think what to do." " I will go," said Wilton, deeply abashed ; " but before I go, promise me one thing, Ken, and that is, even if you tell of me, don't quite cast me off. I shouldn't like to leave and think that I hadn't left one behind me to give me a kind thought sometimes." " Ra, Ra, to think that it was you all the while who were committing all these thefts 1" " You will cast me off, then ?" said Wilton, in a voice broken by penitence. " Oh ! what a bitter, bitter thing it is to feel shame like this." " I have felt it too in my time, Raven. Poor, poor fel low ! who am I that I should cast you off? No, you jnbappy child, I may tell of you, but I will not cease to 6e fond of you. Go, Wilton ; I will decide betweeL this and tea-time ; — you may come and hear about it after tea." He was already outside the door when Kenrick called out, " Wilton, stop 1" " What is it ?" asked Wilton, returning alarmed, foJ conscience had made him a coward. 358 THE THREE COKDniONS. : ' There !" Kenrick only pointed to the purse lying on the floor. " Oh, don't ask me to touch it again, the money is id it," said Wilton, hastily leaving the room. There was dc acting here ; it was plain that he was penitent — plain that he would have given worlds not to have been guilty of the sin. Very sadly, and with pain and doubt, Kenrick thought the matter over, and thus much at least was clear to him •' first, that the house must be informed, though not neces- sarily the masters or the other boys ; secondly, that Wilton must make full and immediate restitution to all from whom he had stolen ; thirdly, there could be no doubt, about it, that Wilton must get himself removed at once. On these conditions he thought it possible that the matter might be hushed up ; but his conscience was uneasy on this point. That unlucky threat or hint of Wilton's that he could and would tell some of his wrong-doings, was his great stum- bling-block ; whenever extreme pity influenced him to screen the poor boy from full exposure, he began to ask himself whether this was a mere cowardly alternative sug- gested by his own fears. But for this, he would have determined at once on the more lenient and merciful course ; but he had to face this question of self-interest very ear- nestly, nor could he come to any conclusion about it until he had determined to take a step in all respects worthy of the highest side of bis character, by going, in any case, spontaneously to Dr. Lane, and laying before him a frank confession of past delinquencies, leaving him to act as he thought fit. Having thus disentangled the question from all its perso- nal bearings, he was able to review it on its merits, and went to ask the counsel of Whalley, to whom he related, in confidence, the whole scene exactly as it had occurred LEANING TO MKROY. 359 Whallcy too, on hearing the alternative conditions which Kenrick had planned, wa& fully inclined to spare Wilton as much as possible; but, as neither of them felt satisfied to do this on their own authority, they sought Power's advice, and, as he too felt very doubtful on the matter, he sug- gested that they should put it to Dr. Lane, without men- tioning any names, as a hypothetical case, and be fiually guided by his directions. Accordingly, Kenrick sought Dr. Lane's study, and laid the entire difficulty before him. He listened attentively, and said, " If the boy is so young, and has been, as you say, misled, and accepts the very sensible conditions which you have proposed, I am inclined to think that the course you have suggested will be the wisest and the kindest one. You have my full authority, Kenrick, to arrange it so, and I am happy to tell you that you have behaved throughout this matter in an honorable and straightforward way." " I fear, sir, I very little deserve your approval," said Kenrick, with downcast eyes. " In coming to ask your advice in this case, I wanted also to say that I have gone so far wrong that I think you ought to be told how badly I have behaved. It may be that after what I say, you may not think right to allow me to stay here, sir ; but at any rate I shall have disburdened my own conscience by telling you, and shall perhaps feel less wretched." " My dear Kenrick," said Dr. Lane, " it was a right and a brave thing of you to come here for this purpose. Con- fession is often the first, as it is one of the most trying parts of repentance ; and I hail this as a new proof of your etrong and steady desire to amend. But tell me nothing, c\y dear boy. It may be that I know more than you sup- pose ; at any rate, I accept the will for the deed, and wish to hear no more, unless, indeed, you desire to consult me as a clergyman, and as your spiritual adviser, rather than as 360 A STERN RESOLVE. your master. I do not seek this confidence ; only if there is anything on your conscience of which my advice may help to relieve you, I do not forbid you to proceed, and I will give you what help I can." " I think it would relieve me, sir," said Kenrick ; " I have no father ; I have, I am sorry to say, no friend in the echool to whom I could speak." " Then sit down, Kenrick, and be assured beforehand of my real sympathy." He sate down, and twitching nervously at the ribbon of his straw hat, told Dr. Lane much of the history of the last two years, confessing, above all, how badly he had behaved as head of the house, and how much harm he feared his example had done. Dr. Lane did not attempt to extenuate the heinousness of his offence, but he pointed to him what were the fruits and the means of repentance. He exhorted him to let the sense of his past errors stimulate him to double future ex- ertions. He told him of many ways in which, by kindness, by moral courage, by Christian principle, he might be a help and a blessing to other boys. He earnestly warned him to look to God for strength, and to watch and pray lest he 6hould enter into temptation. And then promising him a full and free oblivion of the past, he knelt down with him and offered up from an overflowing heart a few words of earnest prayer. " There is nothing like prayer to relieve the heart, Ken- rick," said Dr. Lane ; " and now, good-night, and God bless you." With a far lighter heart, with far brighter hopes, Ken tick left him, feeling as if a great burden had been rolled away, and inwardly blessing the Doctor for his comforting feindness. He found Wilton anxiously awaiting his arrival »n his study ; and thinking that their cases in some respect? WILTON AND KEN KICK. 361 resembled each other, he strove not to be like the unfor- giving debtor of the parable, and spoke to Wilton with great gentleness. " Come here, my poor child ; first of all, let me tell yon that you shall not be reported." Wilton repaid him by a look of grateful joy. " But you must restore all the stolen money, Wilton ; the house must be told privately ; and you must leave at once." " Well, Kenrick, I ask only one favor," said Wilton, after a short pause. " What is that ?" " That the house may not be told who stole the money until it is nearly time for me to go." " No ; it shall be kept close till then, otherwise the next fortnight would be too hard for you to bear." " But must I leave ?" asked Wilton, appealingly. " It must be so, Wilton ; /shall be sorry for you, but it must be settled so. Can you manage it ?" " yes." said Wilton, crying quietly ; " I'll write home and tell my poor mother all about it, and then of course she'll send me some money and take me away at once, to save me from being expelled. My poor mother, how wretched it will make her !" " Sin makes us all wretched, Raven boy. I'm sure it makes me w r retched enough. And that you mayn't think that fear has had anything to do with our letting you off, I must tell you, Wilton, that I have been to Dr. Lane him- self aud told him all the many sins I've been guilty of." " Have you ? Oh ! I am so sorry : it was all through me." " Yes : but I'm not sorry ; I'm all the happier for it, Raven. There's nothing so miserable as undiscovered sin ; — is there ?" 16 362 ACHAN THE SON OF CARMT. " Oli, indeed there isn't. I am sure I feel happier new in spite )f all. No one knows. Ken, how I've suffered thi* last fortnight. I've been in a perpetual fright ; I've had fearful dreams ; I've felt ready to sink for shame ; and I've always been fancying that fellows suspected me. Dc you know, I am almost glad you caught me, Ken. I'm very glad it was you and no oue else, though it was a hor rid, horrid moment when you laid your hand on my shoul d i\ Yet even this isn't so bad as to have gone on nursing the guilt secretly, and not to have been detected." Kenrick was musing ; the boy who could talk like that was clearly one who might have been very unlike what Wilton then was. " Wilton," he sairl, " come here, and draw your chair by mine while I ivad you a little story." " Ken, I'm so grateful that you don't hate and de- spise me though I am a" , he murmured the word " thief" with a shudder, and under his breath, as he drew up his chair, and Kenrick read to him in a low voice the story of Achan, till he came to the verses — " And Achan, the son of Carmi, the son of Zabdi, the Bon of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah, was taken. " And Joshua said, My son, give, I pray thee, glory to the Lord God of Israel, and make confession unto him ; and tell me now what thou hast done, hide it not from me. " And Achan answered Joshua and said, Indeed I have 5. nned against the Lord God of Israel, and thus and thua have I done." And there Kenrick stopped, while Wilton said, " My son I You see Joshua still called him ' my sou ' in spite of all his sin and mis:hief." " Yes, Raven boy ; but that wasn't why I read you th« story which has often struck me. What I wanted you tc eee was this : The man was detected — the thing had been THE TWO DEBTOBS 863 roming, creeping horribly near to him ;- -first his tribe marked by the fatal lot, then his family, then his house, then himself ; and while he's standing there, guilty and detected, in the very midst of that crowd who had been defeated because of his baseness, and when all their eyes were scowling on him, and when he knows that he, and his sons, and his daughters, are going to be burned and stoned i — at this very moment Joshua says to him, ' My son, give, I -pray thee, glory to the God of Israel..' 1 You see he's to thank God for detecting him — thank God even at that frightful moment, and with that frightful death before him as a consequence. One would have thought that it wasn't a matter for much gratitude or jubilation : but you see it was, and so both Joshua and Achan seem to have ad- mitted." " Ah, Kenrick !" said Wilton, sadly, " if you'd always talked to me like that, I shouldn't be like Achan now." Kenrick said nothing, but as he had received infinite comfort from Dr. Lane's treatment of himself, he took Wil- ton by the hand, and, without saying a word, knelt down Wilton knelt down beside him, and he prayed for forgive- ness for them both. A few broken, confused, uncertain words only, but they were earnest, and they came fresh and burning from the heart. They were words of true prayer, and the poor, erring, hardened little boy rose from hia knees too overcome to speak. CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH. THE RECONCILIATION AND THE LOSS. fpiIE termination of Wilton's sojourn at St. Winifred's soon arrived. As yet none but the two head boys in -*- the house knew of his detection. The thefts indeed had ceased ; but the name of the offender was still a mat- ter of constant surmise, and it was no easy task for Wilton — conscious how soon they would be informed — to listen to the strong terms of disgust which were applied to the yet unknown delinquent. The barriers of his conceit, his cool- ness, his audacity, were all broken down ; he was a changed boy ; his manner was grave and silent, and he almost hid himself during those days in Kenrick's study, where Ken- rick, with true kindness, still permitted him to sit. Meanwhile it became generally known that he was going to leave almost immediately ; and as boys often left in this way at the division of the quarter, his departure, though rather sudden, created no astonishment, nor had any one as yet the most distant conjecture as to the reasons which led to it. It is not too much to say, that Wilton was one of the last boys whom the rest would have suspected ; they knew indeed that he never professed to be guided by any strong moral principles ; but they thought him an unlikely fellow to be guilty of acts which sinned so completely against the school-boy's artificial code, and which branded him who committed them with the charge of acknowledged meanness. On the very evening of his departure, the house was Bgain summoned by a notice from Whalley and Kenricb to WHO IS IT 't 305 aicet in the class-rooin after preparation. They came, not knowing for what they were summoned. Whalley opened the proceedings by requesting that any boy who had of late had money stolen from him would stand up. Four or fir« of them rose, and on stating the sums, mostly small, which they had lost, immediately received the amount from Whal- ley, much to their surprise, and no less to their content. The duty which still remained was far less pleasing and more delicate, and it was by Wilton's express and earnest request that it was undertaken by Kenrick and not by Whalley. It was a painful moment for both of them when Kenrick rose, and very briefly, with all the forbearance and gentleness he could command, informed the house that there was every reason to hope that, from that time for- ward, these thefts, which had caused them all so much di> tress, would cease. The offender had been discoverc-d, and he begged them all, having confidence that they would grant the request, not to deal harshly with him, or think harshly of him. The guilty boy had done all that could be done by making full and immediate restitution, so that none of them now need remember any injury received at his hands, except Elgood, on whom suspicion had been unjustly thrown, and whose forgiveness the boy earnestly begged. At this part of his remarks there arose in the deep si- lence a general murmur of " Who is it ? who is it ?" Wiltou ; trembling all over with agitation and excite- ment, was seated beside Kenrick, and had almost cowered behind him for very shame ; but now Kenrick stood aside, and laying his hand on Wilton's head, continued, " He ia one of ourselves, and he is sitting here," while Wilton sovered his face with both hands, and did not stir. An expression of surprise and emotion thrilled over aD the boys present ; not a word was spoken ; and inimedi- ately after Kenrick said to them, " He is punished enough; 366 AN HONORABLE SECRET. you can undoi stand that this is a terrible thing for hiiu He lias made reparation as far as he can, and besides this, he is on this account going to leave us to-day. I may tell you all, too, that he is very, very sorry for what he has aone, and has learned a lesson that he will carry with him to his grave. May I assure him that we all forgive him freely ? May I tell him that we are grieved to part with him, and most of all grieved for this which has caused it ? May I tell him that, in spite of all, he carries with him our warmest wishes and best hopes, and that he leaves no ene- my behind him here ?" " Yes, yes !" was murmured on all sides, and while the Bound of Wilton's crying sounded through the room, many of the others were also in tears. For this boy was popu- lar ; bad as he had been — and the name of his sins was legion — there was something about him which had endeared him to most of them. Barring this last fault, they were generally proud of him ; there had been a certain gene- rosity about him, a gay thoughtlessness, a boyish daring, which won their admiration. He was a promising cricketer, active, merry, full of spirits : before he had been so spoiled by the notice of bigger fellows, there was no one who did not like him and expect that he would turn out well. " Then my unpleasant task is over," said Kenrick, " and I have no more to say. Oh, yes ; I had forgotten, there was one very important thing I had to say, as Whallev reminds me. It is this : You kuow that the Noelites have k<>pt other secrets before now, not always good secrets, I am sorry to say. But will you all now keep this honorable jecret ? Will you not mention (for there is no occasion for it), to any others in the school, who it was that took the money ? The matter will very soon be forgotten ; dc not let Wilton's sin be bruited through the whole school, sc i to give him a bad name for life." FAREWELLS. 367 " Indeed we won't, not one of ns wiL tell," said die boys, and they kept the promise admirably afterwards. " Then we may all separate. You may bid Wilton good-bye now if you wish to do so, for he starts to-night, almost at once ; the carriage is wait'ms? for him now, and you will have no opportunity o*f seeing him again." They flocked round him and said " good-bye," without one word of reproach, or one word calculated to wound his feelings ; many of them added some sincere expressions of their good wishes for the future. As for Wilton himself, he was far too much moved to say much to them, but he pressed their hands in silence, only speaking to beg Elgood to pardon his unkindness, which the little fellow begged him not to think of at all. Charlie Evson lingered among the last, and spoke to him with frank and genial warmth. " How you must hate me, Charlie, for annoying you so, and trying to lead you wrong 1" said Wilton, peni- tently. " Indeed I don't, Wilton," said Charlie ; " I wish you weren't going to leave. I'm sure we should all get on better now." " Don't think me as bad as I have seemed, Charlie. I was ashamed at heart all the time I was trying to persuade you to crib and tell lies, and do like other fellows. I felt all the while that you were better than me." " Well, good-bye, Wilton. Perhaps we shall meet igain some day, and be good friends ; and I wish you happiness with all my heart." Charlie was the last of them, and Kenrick and Wilton were left alone. For Wilton's sake, Kenrick tried to show all the cheerfulness he could, as he went with him through the now silent and deserted court to the gate where the carriage was waiting. 368 GOOD-BYE TO WILTON. " Have you got all jour luggage, and everything all right, Raven ?" " Yes, everything," he said, taking one last long look at the familiar scene. It was dim moonlight ; the lighcs twinkled in the studies where the upper boys were working, and in the dormitories where the rest were now going to bed. The tall trees round the building stood quite black against the faintly-lighted sky, waving their thinned rem- nant of yellow leaves in the November air. In the stillness you heard every slight sound ; and the murmur of boys' voices came mingled with the plashing of the mountain stream, and the moaning of the low waves as they broke upon the shore. A merry laugh rang from one of the dor- mitories, jarring painfully on Wilton's feelings, as he stood gazing round in silence. He got into the carriage, sighing heavily and grasping Kenrick's hand. " Well, good-bye, Ken ; it must be said at last. May I write to you ?" " I wish you would. I shall be so glad to hear of you." " And you will answer me, Ken ?" " Of course I will, my poor child. Good-bye. God bless yon." They still lingered for a moment, and Ken- rick saw in the moonlight that Wilton's face was bathed in tears. " All right, sir ?" said the driver. " Yes," said Wilton : " but it's all wrong, Ken, I think. Good-bye." He waved his hand, the carriage drove off into the darkening night with a little boy alone, and Ken- rick, with a sinking heart, strolled back to his study. Po not pry into his feelings, for they were very terrible ones, as he sat down to his books with the strong conviction that there is nothing so good as the steady fulfilment of duty foi the driving away of heavy thoughts. WORKING FOK THE SCHOLARSHIP. 369 All his time was taken up with working for the scholar- ship. It was a scholarship of ninety pounds a year for four years, founded by a princely benefactor of the school, but only fulling vacant biennially. There were other scholar- ships besides this, but this was by far the most valuable one at St. Winifred's ; the tenure of it was circumscribed by no conditions, and it was therefore proportionally desirable that Kenrick, who was poor, should obtain it. He had, indeed, hardly a chance, as he well knew ; for even if he Bucceeded in beating Walter, he could not expect to beat Power. But Power, though a most graceful and finished scholar, was not strong in mathematics, and as they counted something in the examination, Kenrick's chief chance lay in this, for as a scholar he was by no means to be despised ; and with a just reliance on his own abilities, he hoped, if fortunate, to make up for being defeated in classics, by be- ing considerably ahead in the other branches of the exami- nation. How he longed now to have at his command the time he had so largely wasted ! had he but used that aright he might have easily disputed the palm in any com- petition with Power himself. Few boys had been gifted with stronger intellects or clearer heads than he. But though fresh time may be carefully and wisely used, the past time that has once been wasted can never be recovered or redeemed. And as he worked hard day by day, the time quickly flew by, the scholarship examination took place, and Christina? holidays came on. The result of the competition could not be known until the boys returned to school. Mrs. Kenrick thought that this Christmas was the hap- piest she had known. They spent it, of course, very qui- etly. There were for them none of those happy family gatherings and innocent gaieties that made the time so bright for others, yet still there was something peaceful and i6* 370 KENKIOK AT HOME. something brighter than usual about them. Harry's man ner, she thought, was more affectionate, more tenderly re« spectful, than it often was. There seemed to be something softer and more loveable about his ways. He bore himself with less haughty indifference towards the Fuzbeians ; he entered with more zest into such simple amusements as he could invent or procure ; he condescended to play quite simply with the curate's little boys, and seemed to be more humble and more contented. She counted the clays he spent with her as a miser counts his gold ; and he, when he left her, seemed more sorry to leave, and tried to cheer her spirits, and did not make so light, as his wont had been, of the grief which the separation caused. The first event of importance on the return of the boys to school was the announcement of the scholarship. The list was read from the last name upwards ; Henderson stood sixth, Kenrick third, Evson second, Power first. " But," said Dr. Lane, " Power has communicated to me privately that he does not wish to receive the emoluments of the scholarship, he will therefore be honorary scholar, while the scholarship itself will be held by Evson." Disappointed at the result, as he undoubtedly was, yet, Kenrick would have been glad at that moment to be able to congratulate Walter. He took it very quietly and well. Sorrow and failure had come to him so often lately, that he hardly looked for anything else ; so, when he had heard the result announced, he tried to repress every melan- choly thought, and walking back to his study, resumed hia day's work as though nothing had happened. And as he sat there, making believe to work, but with thoughts which, in spite of himself, sadly wandered, there pras a knock at the door, and to his great joy, no less thau to his intense surprise, Walter Evson entered. " O Evson," he said, blushing with awkwardness, as he RECONCILED AT LAST. 371 remembered how long a time had passed since they had ex- changed a word ; " I'm glad you've come. Sit down. Let me congratulate you." " Thanks, Kenrick," said Walter, holding out his hand ; " I thought we had gone on in this way long enough. I have never had any ill feeling for you. and I feci sure now from your manner that you have none towards me." " None, Walter, none ; I had at one time, but it hag long ceased : my error has long been explained to me. I have done you wrong, Walter, for two years and more ; it has been one of my many faults, and the chief cause of them all. Can you forgive me ?" " Heartily, Ken, if I have anything to forgive. Wo have both been punished enough, I think, in losing the happiness which we should have been enjoying if wc had continued friends." " Ah, Walter, it pains me to think of that irrevokable past." " But, Ken, I have come now for a definite purpose," said Walter. " You'll promise me not to take offence V* " Never again, Walter, with you." " Well, then, tell me honestly, was it of any conse- quence to you to gain this scholarship, in which, so un- expectedly to myself, some accident has placed me above you ?" Kenrick reddened slightly, and made no answer, while Walter quickly continued — " You know, Ken, that I am going to stay here another year ; are you ?" ' I am afraid not ; my guardian does not think that we can afford it." " Well, then, Ken, I think I may say without much presumption, that, as I stay here for certain, I may safeh reckon on getting a scholarship next year. At any rate, tiven if I don't, my father is quite rich enough to bear 872 COALS OF FERE. my university expenses unaided without any inconveni- ence. It would be mere selfishness in me, therefore, ta retain this scholarship, and I mean to resign it at once ; to that let me now congratulate you heartily on being Marsden scholar." " Nay, Walter, I can't have you make this sacrifice for my sake." "You can't help it, Ken ; for this is a free country," Baid Walter, smiling, " and I may waive a scholarship if I like. But it's no siicrifice whatever, my dear fellow ; don't say anything more about it. It gives me ten times the pleasure that you should hold it rather than I. So again I congratulate you ; and now, as you must have had enough of me, I'll say good morning." He rose with a smile to leave the room, but Kenrick, seizing him by the hand, exclaimed — " O Walter, you heap coals of fire on my head. Am I never to receive anything from you but benefits which I can never return V " Pooh, Ken, there are no benefits between friends ; only let us not be silent and distant friends any longer. Power is coming into my study to tea to-night ; won't you join us as in old days ?" " I will, Walter ; but can the ghost of old days be called to life ?" " Perhaps not ; but the young present, which is no ghost, shall replace the old past, Ken. At six o'clock, mind. Good-bye." " Don't go yet ; do stay a little. It is a greater pleasure fchan I can tell you to see you here again, Walter I want to have a talk with you." " To make up for two years' arrears, eh, Ken ? Why, what a pretty little study you've got 1 Isn't it odd that I should never have been in it before? It seems quite OLD FRIENDS. 373 natural to me to be here somehow. You must come and Bee mine this evening ; I flatter myself it equals even Power's, and beats Flip's in beauty, and looks out on the sea: such a jolly view. But you musn't see it till this evening I shall make Charlie put it to rights in honor of youi visit. Charlie beets any fag for neatness ; why did you turn him off, eh ? I've made him my fag now, to keep his hand in." " Let him come back to me now, Walter ; I'm sadder and wiser since those days." " That I will, gladly. I know, too, that he'll be de- lighted to come. Ah, Wilton's photograph, I see," said Walter, still looking about him ; " 1 thought him greatly improved before he left." Kenrick was pleased to see that Walter had no suspicion why he left, so that the secret had been kept. They talked on very pleasantly, for they had much to say to each other, and Walter had, by his simple, easy manner, completely broken the ice, and made Kenrick feel at home with him again. Kenrick was quite loth to let him go and kept detaining him so eagerly that more than half an hour, \*hich seemed like ten minutes, had slipped away before he left. Kenrick looked forward eagerly to meet him again in the evening, with Power, and Henderson, and Eden ; their meeting would fitly inaugurate his return to the better feelings of past days ; — but it was not destined that the meeting should take place ; nor was it till many evenings afterwards that Kenrick sat once more in the pleasant society of his old friends. wi ien Walter had at last made good his escape, play- fully refusing to be imprisoned any longer, Kenrick roso and paced the room. He could hardly believe his own happiness ; it was the mo^t delightful moment he had expe- uenced for many a long day ; the scholarship, so long tV 374 A LETTER. object of his hope and ambition, was now attained ; impofc sible as it had seemed, it was actually his, and, at the same moment, the truest friend of his boyhood — the friend for whose returning respect and affection he so long had yearned — was at last restored to him. With an overflowing heart he sat down to write to h'm ibother, and communicate the good news that he was reconciled to Walter, and that Power and Walter had resigned the scholarship in his favor. He had never felt in happier spirits than just then ; — and then, even at the same moment, the cup of sincere and innocent joy, so long untasted, was, with one blow, dashed away from his lip. For at that momeut the post came in, and one of hia fags, humming a lively tune, came running with a letter to his door. " A letter for you, Kenrick," the boy said, throwing it carelessly on the table, and taking up his merry song as he left the room. But Kenrick's eyes were riveted on the letter : it was edged with the deepest black, and bore the Fuzby post-mark. For a time he sat stupidly staring at it : he dared not open it. At length he made an effort, and tore it open. It was a rude, blurred scrawl from their old servant, telling him that his mother had died the day before. A brief note enclosed in this, from the curate of the place, said, " It is quite true, my poor boy. Your mother died very sud- denly of spasms in the heart. God's ways are not as our ways I have written to tell your guardiau, and he will no doubt meet you here." Kenrick remained stupefied, unable to think, almost un- able to comprehend. He was roused to his senses by the entrance of his fag to remove his breakfast things, which still lay on the table ; and with a vague longing for som« UNSPEAKABLE. 37t iomfort and sympathy, he scut the boy to Walter with the message that Kenrick wanted him. Walter came at once, and Kenrick, not trusting his voice to speak, pushed over to him the letter which con- tained the fatal news. In such a case human consolation cannot reach the sorrow. It passes like the idle wind over the wounded heart. All that amid be done by words, and looks, and acts of sympathy, Walter did ; and then went to arrange for Kenrick's immediate journey, not returning till he came to tell him that a carriage was waiting to take him to the train. That evening Kenrick reached the house of death, winch was still as deatli itself. The old faithful servant o[iened the door to his knock, and using her apron to wipe her eyes, which were red with long weeping, she ex- claimed — " O Master Harry, Master Harry, she's gone. She had been reading and praying in her room, and then she came down to me quite bright and cheerful, when the spasms took her, and I helped her to bed, and she died." Harry flung down his hat in the hall, and rushed up stairs to his mother's room ; but when he had opened the door, he stood awe-struck and motionless ; — for he was alone in the presence of the dead. The light of winter sunset was streaming over her, whoso life had been a winter day. Never even in life had he seen her so lovely, so beautiful with the beauty of an angel, as now with the smiling, never-broken calm of death upon her Over the pure pale face, from which every wrinkle made by care and sorrow had vanished, streamed the last cold radi- ance of evening, illuminating the peaceful smile, and seem- ing to linger lovingly as it lit up strange glories in the jrolden hair, smoothed in soft bands over her brow. There the lay with her hands folced, as though in prayer, upoD 378 A MYSTEKIOUS LIFE. her qaiet breast ; and the fitful fever of life had passot} away. Dead — with the smile of heaven upon her lips, which should never leave them more 1 Hers had been a hard, mysterious life. In all the aweet bloom of ber youthful beauty she had left her rich home, not, indeed, without the sanction, but against the wishes of her relatives, to brave trial and poverty with the man ehe loved. How bitter that poverty, how severe, how un« expected those trials had proved to be, we have seen already ; and then, still young, as though she were meant to tread with her tender feet the whole thorny round of human sorrow, she had been left a widow with an only son. And during the eight years of her widowed loneliness, her relatives had neglected with cold pride both her and her orphan boy ; even that orphan boy, in the midst of all his love for her, had by his pride and waywardness caused her many an anxious hour and many an aching heart, yet she clung to him with an affection whose yearning depth no tongue can utter. And now, still young, she had died sud- denly, and left him on the threshold of dangerous jouth almost without a friend in the wide world ; had passed, with a silence which could never more be broken, into the eternal world ; had left him, whom she loved with such in- tensity of unspeakable affection, without a word, without a look, without a sign of farewell. She had passed away in a moment to the far off untroubled shore, whence waving hands cannot be seen, and no sounds of farewell voices heard. How must that life expand in the unconceived glory of that new dawn — the life which on earth so little Bunshine visited ! She was one of the most sweet, the most pure, the most qnselfish, the most beautifully blameless of all God's child- ten ; and she had lived in hardship, in neglect, in anxiety, in calumny ; she had lived among those mean and wretched TOO LATE. 377 nllagers, and an angel was among them, and they knew it not ; she had tasted no other drink but the bitter watera of affliction : no hope had brightened, no love sustained her earthly course. And now her young orphan sou, nis heart dead within him for anguish, his conscience tortured by re- morse, was kneeling in that agony which no weak words can paint, was kneeling for the last time, too late, beside her corpse. Truly life is a mystery, which the mind of man cann .t fathom till the glory of etetnal truth eulighten it ! CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH THE STUPOR BROKEN. AFTER these days Kenrick returned to St. Winifred'^ as he supposed, for the last time. His guardian, a - stiff, unsyrnpathising man, had informed him, that aa his mother's annuity ceased with her life, there was very little left to support him. The sale, however, of the house at Fuzby, and the scholarship which he had just won, would serve to maintain him for a few years, and mean- while his guardian would endeavor to secure for him a place in some merchant's office, where gradually he would be able to earn a livelihood. It was a very different life from that which this fine, clever, high-spirited boy had imagined for himself, and he looked forward to the prospect with settled despair. But he seemed now to regard himself as a victim of destiny, re- gretting nothing, and opposing nothing, and caring for nothing. He told Walter with bitter exaggeration " that he must indeed thank him for giving up the scholarship, as he supposed that it had saved him from starvation. His guardian, who had a family of his own, didn't seem to care a straw for him ; and he had no friend in the world besides." And as, for days and weeks, he brooded ovor these gloomy thoughts and sad memories, he fell into a weary, broken, aimless kind of life. Many tried to comfort him, bnt they could not reach his sorrow ; in their several ways (lis st-hoo' friends did all they could to cheer him np, but Umy all fa "cd. He grew moody, solitary, silent. WalteJ SETTLED DE8PA1E. 379 ofteu songht bim out, and talked in his lively, cheerful, happj strain ; but even his society Kenrick seemed to shun. He was in that morbid, unhealthy state when to meet others inspires a positive shrinking of mind. He seemed to Lave no pleasure except in shutting himself up in his stndy, and in taking long lonely walks He performed his house duties mechanically, and by routine ; when he read the lessons in chapel, his voice sounded as though it came from afar, like the voice of one who dreamed ; he sat with his books before him for long hours, and made no progress, hardly knowing the page on which he was employed. In school, he sat listlessly playing with his pen, taking no notes, seeming as though he heard nothing, and was Bcarcely aware of what was going on. His friends could not guess what would come of it, but they grew afraid for him when they saw him mope thus inconsolably, and pine away without respite, till his eyes grew heavy, and his face pale and thin. He had changed all his ways ; he seemed to have altered his very nature ; he played no games, took no interest in anything, and dropped all his old pursuits. His work was quite spiritless, and he grew so absent that he forgot the commonest occupations of every day — living as in a waking sleep. Power and Walter, in talking of him, often wondered whether it was the uncertainty of his future prospects wnich had thus affected him ; and in the full belief that this must have something to do with his morbid melancholy, Power mentioned the matter to Dr. Lane as soon as he had the opportunity. Dr. Lane had observed, with much pity, the depression rhich had fastened on Kenrick like a disease. He was not surprised to see him come back deeply affected ; but if " the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." its sor« rows are usually short and transient, and he looked upon 880 NOBLE SCHEMES. it as unnatural that Kenrick's grief should seem thus in- curable, and that a young boy like him should thus refuse to be comforted. It was not long before he introduced the subject, while talking to Power after looking over his composition. " Kenrick has just been here, Power," he said ; " it pains me to see him so sadly altered. I can hardly get him to speak a word ; all things seem equally indifferent to him, and his eyes look to me as though they were always ready to overflow with tears. What can we manage to do f r h'm ? Would not a little cheerful society brighten him up ? We had him here the other day, but he did not speak once the whole evening. Can't even Henderson get him to smile somehow ?" " I'm afraid not, sir," said Power. " Henderson and Evson and I have all tried, but he seems to avoid seeing any one. It makes him ill at ease apparently. I am afraid, for one thing, that he is vexing himself about not being allowed to return, and about being sent into a mer- chant's office, which he detests." " If that is all, there can be no difficulty about it," said the Doctor; " we have often kept deserving boys here, when funds failed, aud I can easily assure his guardian, without his knowing of it, that the expense need not for a moment stand in the way of his return." These generous acts are common at St. Winifred's, for she is indeed an alma mater to all her children ; and since Kenrick had confided his particular sorrow to Walter Walter undertook to remove it by telling him that Di Lane would persuade his guardian to let him return Kenrick appeared glad of the news, as though it brought him a little relief, but it made no long change in his pre- sent ways. Nor even did a still further piece of good fortune, whes CEUBHM) AND STUPEFIED. 38] his guardian wrote and told him that, on condition of his being sent to the University, an unknown and anonymous: friend had placed at his disposal £100 a year, to be con- tinued until such time as he was able to maintain himself ; and that this generous gift would of course permit of his receiving the advantage of an Oxford training, and obvi- ate the necessity of his entering an office, by clearing for him the way to one of the learned professions. This news stirred him up a little, and for a time ; — but not for long. He looked upon it all as destiny : he could not guess, he hardly tried to surmise, who the unknown friend could be. Nor did he know till years afterwards that the aid was given by the good and wealthy Sir Lawrence Power, at his son's earnest and generous request. For Power did this kind deed by stealth, and mentioned it to no one, not even to Walter ; and Kenrick little thought when he told the good news to Power, and received his kind congratula- tions, that Power had known of it before he did himself. But still, in spite of all, Kenrick seemed sick at heart, and his life crept on in a sluggish course, like a river that loses its bright stream in the desert, and all whose silver runnels are choked up with dust and sand. The fact was, that the blows of punishment had fallen on him so fast and so heavily that he felt crushed to the veiw earth. The expulsion of the reprobates with whom he had consorted, his degradation and censure, Wilton's theft -and removal, the violent tension and revulsion of feel ing caused by his awakened conscience, his confession, and the gnawing sense of shame, the failure of his ambition, and then his mother's death coming as the awful climax of the calamities he had undergone, and followed by the cold, un- feeling harshness of his guardian, and the damping of his nopes — all these things had broken the boy's spirit utterly. Disgrace, and sorrow, and bereavement, and the stings 382 A BROKEN SPIRIT. of remorse, and the suffering of punishment — the forfeiture of a guilty past, and the gloom of a lonely future — these things unmanned him, bowed him down, poisoned his tran quillity of mind, unhinged every energy of his soul, seemed to dry up the very springs of life. The hand of man could not rouse him from the stupor caused by the chastisements cf God. But the rousing came at _ast, and in due time ; and it all came from a very little matter — so slight a matter as a little puff of seaward air. A trivial accident, you will say; yes, one of those very trivial accidents that so often affect the destinies of a lifetime, and " Shape our ends, Rough-hew them how we will." Kenrick, as usual, was walking along the top of the cliffs alone — restless, aimless, and miserable — "mooning," as the boys would have called it — unable even to analyse his own thoughts, conscious only that it was folly in him to nurse this long-continued and hopeless melancholy, yet quite incapable of making the one strong effort which would have enabled him to throw it off. And in this mood he sat down near the cliff, thinking of nothing, but watching, with idle guesses as to their destination and his- tory, the few vessels that passed by on the horizon. The evening was drawing in, cold and windy ; and suddenly remembering that he must be back by tea-time, he rose up to return. The motion displaced his straw hat, and the next moment the breeze had carried it a little way ever the edge of the cliff, where it was caught in a low bush of tamarisk. It rested but a few feet below him, and tho chalky front cf the cliff was sufficiently rough to admit of his descent. He climbed to it, and had just succeeded in iiscngaging i with his foot, when, before he had time to A DESCENT. 383 seize it, it again fell, and rolled down some thirty feet Kenrick, finding that he had been able to get down with tolerable ease, determined to continue his descer.t in order to secure it. It never occurred to him that the hat was of no great importance, and that it would have been infi- nitely less trouble to walk home without it, and buy a new one, than to run the risk and encounter the trouble of his climb. However, he did manage to reach it, and put it on with some satisfaction, when, as he was beginning to remount, a considerable mass of chalk crumbled away under his feet, and made him cling on with both hands to avoid being precipitated. He had been able to get down well enough, because, if the chalk slipped, he glided on safely with it, but in climbing up he was obliged to press his feet strongly downwards in order to gain his spring ; and every time he did this, he found that the chalk kept giving way, exhausting him with futile efforts, filling his shoes with dust and pebbles, slipping into his clothes, and blinding his eyes. Every person who has climbed at all, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, knows that it is easy enough to get down places which it is almost impossible to mount again ; and Kenrick, after many attempts, found that he had been most imprudent, and becoming seriously alarmed, was forced, when he had quite tired himself with fruitless exertions and had once or twice nearly fallen, to give up the attempt alto- gether, and do his best to secure another way of escape. This was to climb down quite to the bottom of the cliff, and make his way, as best he could, over rocks and shingle round the bluff which shut in one side of the little bay on which he stood, and along the narrow line of beach, to St Winifred's Head. This was possible sometimes, and he fancied that the tide was sufficiently far out to enable him to do it now. At any rate herein lay, so far as he saw, his only chance of safety. 884 TO the cliff's foot. Down the cliff then he climbed once more, and though it was some ninety feet high, he found no difficulty in doing this, with care, till he came to a place where its surface was precipitous for a height of some ten feet, worn smooth by the beating of the waves. Holding with his hands to the edge, he let himself fall down this height, and found himself standing, a little shaken though unhurt, in a small pebbly bay or indentation of the shore formed by a curve in the line of cliffs, with a series of headlands and preci- pices trending away on one side far to his right, and with the Ness of St. Winifred's reaching out to his left. Once round that headland he would be safe, and indeed if he once got beyond the little pebbly inlet where he stood, he hoped to find some place where he might scale the rocks, and so cross the promontory and get home. There was no time to be lost, and he ran with all his speed over the loose stones towards the bluff, letting the unlucky straw hat drop on the shore, as it had no string, and it impeded him to be obliged to hold it on with one hand. Reaching the end of the shingle, he stumbled with difficulty over some scattered rocks slimy with ooze and seagrass, hoping with intense hope that when he rounded the projection of cliff, he would see a line of beach, narrow indeed, but still wide enough to allow of his running along it before the tide had come in, and reaching some part of St. Winifred's Head which he might be able to scale by means of a sheep-path, or with the help of hands and knees. Very quickly he reached the corner, and hardly dared to look ; but when he did look, a glance showed him that but slender hope was left. At one spot the tide bad already reached the foot of the cliffs ; but if he could get to that spot while the water was yet sufficiently shallow to allow him to ran through it, he trusted that he might yet be §aved. The place was far off. but he ran and ran ; and A RACK WITH THE SEA. 3S5 ever as? lie ran the place seemed to get farther and farther, and his knees failed liira for fatigue, as he sank at every step in the noisy and yielding mixture of sand and pebbles. Reader, have you ever run a race with the sea ? If not, accept the testimony of one who has had to do it more than once, that it is a very painful and exciting race. I ran it once successfully with one who, though we then escaped, has since been overtaken and swallowed up by the great dark waves of that other sea, whose tides are ever advanc- ing upon us, and must sooner or later absorb us all — the great dark waves of Death. But to take your life in youi hand, and run, and to know that the sea is gaining upon you, and that, however great the speed witli which fear wings your feet, your subtle hundred-handed enemy is in- tercepting you with its many deep inlets, and docs not bate an instant's speed, or withhold itself a hair's-breadth for all your danger — is an awful thing to feel. And then to see that it has intercepted you is worst of all ; — it is a moment not to be forgotten. And all this was what Kenrick had to undergo. He ran until he panted for breath, and stum- bled for very weariness ; — but he was too late. A broad sheet of water now bathed the bases of the cliff, and the waves, as though angry with the opposing breeze, was leap- ing up with a frantic hiss, and deluging the rocks with sheets of spray and foam. Experience had taught him with what speed and fury on that dangerous coast the treacherous tide came in. There was not a moment to spare, and as he flew back to the small shelter of the pebbly cove, the water was already gliding close to him, and stretching its arms like a hungry medusa round the seaweed-matted lumps of scattered rock over which he trode. Ilis face wetted with the salt dew, his brown hair scat- tered on the rising wind, he flew rather than ran once moro 11 386 BEATEN. to the place where he had descended, to renew (he wild attempt to scale the cliff which seemed to afford him th« only shadow of a hope. Yet a mere glance might have been enough to show him that this hope was vain. Both at that spot, and as far as he could see, the sheer base of the cliff offered him no place where it was possible to rest a foot, no place where he could mount three feet above the shingle. But his scrutiny brought home to him another appalling fact — namely, that the sea-mark, where the high- est tide fringed its barriers with a triumphal wreath of hanging seaweed, and below which no foliage grew, was high up upon the cliff, far above his head. It w r as too late to curse his rashness and folly, nor would lie even try to face his frightful situation till he had thought of every conceivable means by which to escape. A friend of mine had, and I suppose still has, a pen-and-ink sketch which made one shudder to look at it. All that you see is a long sea-wall, apparently the side of some stone pier, so drawn as to give the impression of great height, and the top of it not visible in the picture ; by the side of this rip- ples and plashes a long dark reach of sea water, lazily waving the weeds which it has planted in the crevices r," stone, and extending, like the Avail itself, farther than yon can guess. The only living thing in the picture is a single, spent, shaggy dog, its paws rested for a moment on a sort of hollow in the wall, and half its dripping body emergent from the dark water. It is staring up with a look of de- spondent exhaustion, yet mute appeal. The sketch power- tilly recalls and typifies the exact position in which poor Kenrick now found himself placed : — before him the hun- gry, angry darkeniug sea, behind him the inaccessible bas- tions of forbidding cliff. It is a horrible predicament, and those can most thrillingly appreciate it who, like the author, have been in it themselves. THE LAST CHANCE. 387 There was yet one thing, and one thing onlj, to be tried, end it was truly the refuge of desperation. Kenriek was an excellent swimmer ; many a time in bathing at St. Willi fred's, even when he was a little boy, he had struck out boldly far into the bay, even as far as the huge tumbling red buoy, that spent its restless life in " ever climbing with the climbing wave." If he could swim for pleasure, could he not swim for life ? It was true that the swim before him was, beyond all comparison, farther and more hazard- ous than he had ever dreamt of. But swimming is an art which inspires extraordinary confidence ; it makes us fancy that drowning is impossible to us, because we cannot imagine ourselves so fatigued as to fail in keeping above water. Kenriek knew that the attempt was only one to be undertaken at dire extremity ; but that extremity had now arrived, and it was literally the last chance that lay between him and — what he would not think of yet. So, in the wintry air, with the strong wind blowing keenly, and the red gleam of sunset already beginning to fail, he flung off his clothes on the damp beach, and as one who rushes on a forlorn hope in the teeth of an enemy, he ran down the rough, uneven shore, hardly noticing how much it hurt his feet, and plunged boldly into the hideous yeast of seething waves. The cold made him shiver and shiver in every limb ; his teeth chattered ; he was afraid of cramp ; the slimy seaweeds that his feet touched, the tangled and rotting strings of sea-twine that waved about his legs, sent a strong shudder through him ; and there was a sick, clammy feeling about the frothy spume through which he had to plunge. But when he had once ploughed his way through all this, and was fairly out of his depth, the exercise warmed him, and lie rose with a swimmer's tri- umphant motion over the yielding waves On and on he awani, thinking only of that, not looking before him ; bui 388 THE BWIMMEK. when he began to feel quite tired, and did look, he saw that he was not nearly half way to the headland. He saw, too, how the breakers were lashing and fighting with the iron shore which he was madly striving to reach. Even if he could swim so far — and he now fdt that he could not — how could he ever land at such a spot ? Would not one of those billows toss him up on its playful spray, and dash him as it dashed its own unpitied offspring, dead upon the rocks ? And as this conviction dawned on him, withering all his energy of heart, the wind wailed over him, the water bubbled in his ears, and the sea-mew, flapping as it flew past him, uttered above his head its plaintive scream. His heart sank within him. With a quick motion he turned in the water, and with arms wearied out he swam back again, as for dear life, towards the little landing-place which alone divided him from instant death ; struggling on heavily, with limbs so weary that he could barely move them through the waves, whose increasing swell often broke around his head. Already the tide had reached the spot where he had let his straw hat drop on the beach ; the sea was scornfully playing with it, tossing it up and down, whirling it round and round like a feather ; the wind blew it to the sea, and the sea, receiving no gifts from an enemy, flung it back again ; but the wind carried the day, and while Keii- rick was wringing the brine out of his dripping hair, and huddling his clothes again over his wet, benumbed, and aching limbs, he saw the straw hat fairly launched, and floating away over the waves. And then it was that, as the vision of Sudden Death glared out before his eyes, and the Horror of it leapt upon him, that a scream — a loud, wild, echoing scream, which Bounded strange in that lonely place, and rose above the rude song that the wind was now singing — broke from his Olanched lips. And another, and another, and then si THE VISION OF SUDDEN DEATH. 389 lence ; for Kenrick was now crouching at the cliff's foot furthest off from the swelling flood, with his eyes flxed motionless in a wild stare on its advancing line of foam. He was conjuring up before his imagination the time when those waves should have reached him ; should have swept him away from the shelter of the shore, or risen above hia Lips ; should have forced him again to struggle and swim, until his strength, already impaired by hunger, and thirst, and cold, and fatigue, should have failed him altogether, and he would sink, and the water girgle wildly in his ears, and stop his breath — and all would be still. And when he had pictured this scene to himself with a vividness which made him experience all its agony, for a time his mind flew back through all the faultful past up to that very day ; memory lighted her lantern, and threw its blaze on every dark corner, on every hidden recess, every forgotten nook — left no spot unsearched, unilluminated with sudden flash ; — all his past sins were before him, words, looks, thoughts, everything. As when a man descends with a light in his diving-bell into the heaving sea, the strange monsters of the deep, attracted by the unknown glimmer throng ami wallow terribly around him, so did uncouth thoughts and forgotten sins welter in fearful multitudes round this light of memory in the deep sea of that poor human soul. And finally, as though in demon voices, came this message whis- pered to him, shouted to him tauntingly, rising and falling with maddening alternation on the rising and falling of the wind : " You have been wasting your life, moodily aban- doning yourself to idle misery, neglecting your duties, let- ting your talents rust — God will take from you the life you know not how to use." And then, as though in answer to this, another voice, low, soft, sweet, that his heart knew well — another voice filling the interspaces of the others with unseen music, whispered to him soothingly : " It shall i J!1)0 THE TWO LISTENERS. be given you again, use it better, use it better ; awake, us« it better, it shall be given you again," Those three wild shrieks of his had been heard ; he did Dot know it, but they had been heard. The whole coast was in general so lonely that you could usually pace it for miles without meeting a single human being, and it never even occurred to him that some one might pass that way. But it so happened that the boisterous weather of the last few days had cast away a schooner at a place some five miles from St. Winifred's, and Walter Evson had walked with Charlie to see the wreck, and was returning along the cliff. As they passed the spot where Kenrick was, they had been first startled and then horrified by those shrieks, and while they stood listening another came to their ears, more piercing, more heart-rending than the rest. " Good heavens, there must be some one down there I" exclaimed Walter. " Why, how could any one have got there ?" asked Charlie. " Well, but didn't you hear some one scream V ' Yes, several times. O Walter, do look here." Charlie pointed to the traces on the cliff that some one had de- scended there. " Who could have wanted to get down there, I wonder ; and for what possible purpose V " Do you see any one, Walter ?" " No, I don't ; there's nothing but the sea," — for Ken- rick, crouching under the cliff, was hidden from sight, and now the tide had come up so far that, from the summit, none of the shingle was visible — " but what's that ?" " Why, Walter, it's a straw hat ; it must be one of onr fellows down there ; I see the ribbon distinctly, dark olu« und white twisted together." THE STRAW HAT. 391 41 Dark blue and while! why, then, it must be some ont in the foot-ball eleven : Charlie, it must be Kenrick I Heavens, what can have happened ?" " Kenrick !" they both shouted at the top of their voices. But the cliff was high, and the wind, momently rising to a blast, swept away their shouts, and although Kenrick might have heard them distinctly under ordinary circumstances, they now only mingled with, and gave new form and body to, the wild madness which terror was be- ginning to kindle in his brain. So they shouted, and no answer came. " No answer comes, Charlie ; but there's some one down there as sure as we are here," said Walter. Charlie had already begun to try and descend the face of the cliff. " Stop, stop, Charlie," said Walter, seizing him and drag- ging him up again, " you mustn't try that ; — nay, Charlie, you really must not. If it's possible, / will." He tried, but three minutes showed him that, however practicable a descent might be, an ascent afterwards would be wholly beyond his power. Besides, if he did descend, what could he do ? Clearly nothing ; and with another plan in view, he with difficulty reached his former position. 11 Nothing to be done that way, Charlie." At that mo- ment another cry came, for Kenrick, in a momentary lull of the wind, had fancied that he had heard sounds and voices other than those of his perturbed and agitated fancy. " Ha ! you heard that ?" said Walter, and he shouted again, but no sound was returned " We must fly to St. Winifred's, Charlie ; there's a boy down on the shore beyond a doubt. You stay behind, if you like, for you can't run as fast as me. I'm afraid, though, it's not the least good. St. Winifred's is three miles from here, and long before I've got help and come Ibree miles back, it's clear that no one cau be alive dowr 392 THE OLD BOAT. there ; still we must try," and he was starting when Charlie seized his arm. " Don't you remember, Walter, the hut at Bryce's cove f there's an old boat there, and it's a mile and a half nearer than St. Win's." " Capital boy, Charlie," said Walter ; " how good of you to think of it ; — it's the very thing. Come." They flew along at full speed, Walter taking Charlie's hand, and saying, " Never mind stretching your legs for once, even if you are tired. How well you run J we shall be there in no time." They gained the cove, flew clown the steep narrow path, and reached the hut door. Their summons was only ans« wered by the furious barking of a dog. No one was in. " Never mind ; there's the boat ; we must take French leave;" and Walter, springing down, hastily unmoored it. " Wah ! what a horrid old tub, and it wants baling, Walter." " We can't stay for that, Charlie boy ; it's a good thing that Semlyn Lake has taught us both to row, isn't it ?" "O yes ; don't you wish we had the little ' Pearl' here now, Walter ? Wouldn't we make it fly, instead of this cranky old wretch ?" " Well, we must fancy that this is the ' Pearl,' and this Semlyn Lake," said Walter, wading up to the knees to launch the boat, and springing in when he had given it the final shove. They were excellent rowers, but Charlie had never tried his skill in a sea like that, and was timid, for which there Was every excuse. " How very rough it is, Walter," he said, as the boat tossed up and down like an egg-shell on the high waves. "Keep up your heart, Charlie, and- row stead ly ; don't be afraid ' TO THE RESCUE. 393 " No, Walter, I won't, as you're with me ; but— Walter ?" " Well V> " It'll be dark in half an hour " " Not quite, and we shall be there by that time ; we needn't go far out, and the tide's with us." So the two brave brothers rowed steadily on, with only one more re- mark from Charlie, ushered in by the word, " Walter ?" " Anything- more to frighten me with, Charlie ?" he ans- wered, cheerily ; " you shan't succeed." " Well, Walter," he answered, with a little touch of shame, " I was only going to say that, if you look, you'll see that your oar's been broken, and is only spliced to- gether." 11 I've seen it all along, Charlie, and will use the oai gingerly ; and now, Charlie, I see you're a little frightened, my boy. I'm going to brace you up. Rest on your oar a minute." He did so. " Now turn round and look." He pointed with his finger to a dark figure, now dis- tinctly seen, cowering low at the white cliff's foot. " Walter, I'm ready ; I won't say a word more ;" and he leant to his oar, and plied it like a man. It is a pretty, a delightful thing, in idle summer-time to lie at full length upon the beach on some ambrosial summer evening, when a glow floats over the water, whose calm surface is tenderly rippled with gold and blue. And while the children play beside you, dabbling and paddling in the wavelets, and digging up the ridges of yellow sand, which take the print of their pattering footsteps, nothing is more pleasant than to let the transparent stream of the quiet tide plash musically with its light and motion to your verj teet ; nothing more pleasant than to listen to its silken 394 WHAT THEY SAW. murmurs, and to watch it flow upwards with its beneficent coolness, and take possession of the shore. But it is a. very different thing when there rises behind you a wall of frown- ing cliff, precipitous, inaccessible, affording no hope of re- fuge ; and when, for the golden calm of summer eventide, you have the cheerless drawing in of a loud and stormy February night ; and when you have the furious hissing violence of rock-and-wind-struck breakers for the violet- colored margin of rippling waves — knowing that the wind Is wailing forth your requiem, and that, with the fall of every breaker, unseen hands are ringing your knell of death. The boy crouched there, his face white as the cliffs above him, his undried limbs almost powerless for cold, and his clothes wetted through and through with spray — pushing aside every moment the dripping locks of hair which the wind scattered over his forehead, that he might look with hollow, staring eyes on the Death which was advancing to- wards him, wrapping him already in its huge mantle-folds, calling aloud to him, beckoning him, freezing him to the very bone with the touch of its icy hand. And the brutal tide coming on, according to the pitiless irreversible certainty of the fixed laws that governed it — coming on like a huge wallowing monster, dumb and blind ■ — knew not, and recked not, of the young life that quivered c«i the verge of its advance — that it was about to devour remorselessly, with no wrath to satiate, with no hunger to appease. None the less for the boy's presence, unregardful of his growing horror and wild suspense, it continued it? uncouth play — leaping about the rocks, springing upwards, and stretching high hands to pluck down the cliffs, seeming to laugh as it fell ba.ck shattered and exhausted, but unsub- dued ; — charging up sometimes like a herd of wild white horses, bounding one over the other, shaking their foamy IN THE WAVES. 395 manes ; — hissing sometimes like a brood of huge sea-ser- pents, as it insinuated its winding streams among tlu boulders of the shore. It might have seemed to be in sport with him as it ran first up to his feet, and playfully splashed him, as a bather might splash a person on the shore from head to heel, and then ran back again for a moment, and then up again a little farther, till, as he sat on the extreme line of the shore and with his back huddled up close against the cliff, it first wetted the soles of his feet, and then was over his shoes, then ankle dee}), then knee deep, then to the waist. Al- ready it seemed to buoy him up ; — he knew that in a few moments more he would be forced to swim, and the last struggle would commence. His brain was dull, his senses blunted, his mind half idiotic, when first (for his eyes had been fixed downwards on the growing, encroaching waters) he caught a glimpse, in the failing daylight, of the black outline of a boat, not twenty yards from him, and caught the sound of its plash- ing oars. He stared eagerly at it, and just as it came beside him he lost all his strength, uttered a faint cry, and slipped down faiutiug into the waves. CHAPTER THE THIRTY -NINTH ON THE DARK SEA. IN a moment Walter's strong arms had caught him, und lifted him tenderly into the boat. While the waves tossed them up and down they placed him at full length as comfortably as they could — which was not 7ery comfort- ably — and though his clothes were streaming with salt water, and his fainting fit still continued, they began at once to row home. For, by this time it was dim twilight ; the wind was blowing great guns, the clouds were full of dark wrath, and the stormy billows rose higher and higher. There was no time to spare, and it would be as much as they could do to provide for their own safety. The tide was al- ready bumping them against the cliff at the place where, just in time, they had rescued Kenrick, and, in order to get themselves fairly off, Walter, forgetting for a moment, pushed out his oar and pressed against the cliff. The damaged oar was weak enough already, and instantly Wal- ter saw that his vigorous shove had weakened and displaced the old splicing of the blade. Charlie too observed it, but neither of them spoke a word ; on the contrary, the little boy was at his place, oar iu rullock, and immediately smote lightly and in good time the surface of the water, splashed it into white foam, and pulled with gallant strokes. They made but little way ; the waves pitched them so high and dropped them with such a heavy fall between their rolling troughs, that rowing became almost impossible, and the miserable old boat shipped quantities of water. At last, after a stronger pull that usual, Walter's oar creaked, 396 TOO YOUNG TO DIE. 397 snapped, and gave way, flinging him on his back. The loosened twine with which it had been spliced was halt rotten with age ; it broke in several places, the oar blade fell off and floated away — and Walter was left holding in both hands a broken and futile stump. " My God, it is all over with us !" was the wild cry that the sudden and awful misfortune wrung from his lips ; while Charlie, shipping his now useless oar, clung round his bro- ther's neck and cried aloud. The three boys — one of them faint, exhausted, and speechless — were in an unsafe and oarless boat on the open tempestuous sea, weltering hope- lessly at the cruel mercy of winds and waves ; a current was sweeping them they k.iew not whither, and the wind, howling like a hurricane, was driving them farther and far- ther away from land. " Walter, I can't die, I can't die yet ; and not out ol this black sea, away from every one !" " From every one but God, Charlie ; and I am with you. Cheer up, little brother, God will not desert us." " Walter, pray to God for you and me and Kenrick ; pray to Him for life." " We will both pray, Charlie ;" and folding his arms round him, for now that the rowing was over and there was nothing left to do, the little boy was frightened at the in- creasing gloom, Walter, calm even at that wild moment, with the calm of a clear conscience and a noble heart, poured forth his soul in words of supplication, while Char- lie, his voice half stifled with tears, sobbed out a terrified response and echo to his prayer. And after the prayer Walter's heart was lightened and his spirit strengthened, till he felt ready in himself to meet anything and brave any fate ; but his soul ached with pitj for his little brother and for his friend. It was his duty tc cheer them both and do what could be done. Kenrick had 398 FROM DEATH TO DEATH. sc far recuvered as to move and say a few words, and ilia brothers were by his side in a moment. " You have saved my life, Walter, when I had given it np : saved it, I hope, to some purpose this time," he whis- pered, unconscious as yet of his position ; and he dragged up his feet out of the pool of water in which they were lying at the bottom of the boat. But gradually the situa tion dawned upon him. " How is it you're not rowing V he asked ; "are you tired? let me try, I think I could manage." " It would be of no use, Ken," said Walter ; " I mean that we can't row," and he pointed to the broken oar. "Then you have saved me at the risk, perhaps at the cost, of your own lives. O you noble, noble Walter 1" said Kenrick, the tears gushing from his eyes. " How awfully terrible this is ! I seem to be snatched from death to death. Life and death are battling for me to-night ; yes, eternal life and death too," he whispered in Walter's ear, catching him by the wrist. " All this danger is for me, Walter, and for my sin. I am like Jonah in the ship ; I have been buffeting death away for hours, but he has been sent for me, he must do his mission. I see that I can- not escape, but, God, I hope that you will escape, Walter. Your life and Charlie's must not ue spilt for mine." It was barely light enough to see his face, but it looked wild and haggard in the ragged gleams of moonlight which the black flitting clouds suffered to break forth at intervals ; and his words, after this, were too incoherent to understand. Walter saw that the long intensity of fear had rendered aim half delirious and not master of himself. Soon after he sank into a stupor, half sleep, half exhaustion, and even the lurching of the boat did not rouse him any more. " Walter, he's asleep, or — oh ! is he dead, Walter 5* asked Charlie, in horror. NIGHT AND STOliM. 399 " No, no, Charlie ; tiiere, put your hand upon his heart fou see it beats ; he is only exhausted, and in a sort of nvoon." "But he will be pitched over, Walter." " Then I'll show you what we'll do, Charlie. We must make the best of everything." Walter lifted up the use- less rudder, pulled out the string of it to lash Kenrick safely to the stern bench by which he lay, and took off his own coat in order to cover him up that he might sleep ; and then, anxious above all things to relieve Charlie's terror, the un- selfish boy, thinking only of others, sat beside him on the centre bench, and encircled him with a protecting arm. And, as though to increase their misery, the cold rain be- gan to fall in torrents. " Walter, it's so cold, and wet, and stormy, and pitch dark. I'm frightened, Walter. I try not to be, bin I can't help it. Take me on your knees and pray for us again." Walter took him on his knees, and laid his head against his own breast, and folded him in his arms, and wiped his tears ; and the little boy's sobs ceased as Walter's voice rose once more in a strain of intense prayer. " Walter, God must grant that prayer ; I'm sure he must ; he can't reject it," said Charlie, simply. " He will answer it in the way best for us, Charlie ; whatever that is." " But shall we die ?" asked his brother again, with a cold shudder at the word. "Remember what you said just now, Charlie, and be brave. Bat even if we were to die, could we die better, little brother, than in doing our duty, and trying to save dearKen's life ? It isn't such a very terrible thing, Charlie, after all. We must all die some time, you know, and boys aave died as young aud younger than you or me " 1:00 OCEAN GRAVES. " Aye, but not like this, Walter : out in these icy, black aorrid waters." " Yes, they have indeed, Charlie ; — little friendless sailoi boys dashed on far-away rocks that splintered their ships to atoms, or swallowed up when their vessels foundered in great typhoons, thousands of miles away from home and England, in unknown seas ; — little boys like you, Charlie ; and they have died bravely, too, though no living soul was near them to hear their cries, and nothing to mark their graves but the bubble for one minute while they sank." " Have they, Walter ?" " Aye, many and many a time they have ; and the same God who called for their lives gave them courage and strength to die, as He will give us if there is need." There was a pause, and then Charlie said, "Talk to me, Walter ; it prevents my listening to the flapping and plung- ing of the boat, and all the other noises. Walter, I think . I think we shall die." " Courage, brother, I have hope yet ; and if we die we will die like this together — I will not let you go. Our bodies shall be washed ashore together — not separated, Charlie, even in death." "You have been a dear, dear good brother to me. How I love you, Walter !" and as he pressed yet closer to him, he said more bravely, " What hope have you then, Walter ?" " Look up, Charlie ; you see that light ?" " Yes ; what is it ?" " Sharksfin Lighthouse ; don't you remember seeing it sometimes at night from St. Win's ? Yes ; and those lights twinkling far off arc St. Win's. Those must be the school lights ; and those long windows you can just see are the chapel windows. They are in chapel now, or the lights wouldn't be there. Perhaps some of our friends — Power, A LAST HOPE. 401 perhaps, and Eden — are praying for us ; they must have missed us since tea-time." " How I wish we were with them !" ■' Perhaps we may be again ; and all the wiser and bet- ter in heart and life for this solemn time, Charlie. If we are but carried by this wind and current within hearing of the lighthouse I" The Sharksfin Lighthouse is built on a sharp high rock two miles out at sea. I have watched it from Bleak Point on a bright, warm summer's day, when the promontory around me was all ablaze with purple heather and golden gorse, and there was not breeze enough to shake the wing of the butterfly as it rested on the blue-bell, or disturb the honey-laden bee as it murmured in the thyme. Yet eveu then the waters were seething and boiling in never-ended tumult about those hideous sunken rocks ; and the ocean all around was hoary as with the neezings of a thousand leviathans floundering in its monstrous depths. You may guess what they are on a wild February night ; — hew, in the mighty rush of the Atlantic, the torn breakers beat about then with tremendous rage, till the whole sea is in angry motion like some demon caldron that seethes over roaring flame. Drifting along, or rather flung aud battered about on the current, they passed within near sight of the lighthouse, and they might have thanked God that they passed no nearer, for to have passed nearer would have been certain doath. The white waves dashed over it, enveloped its tall strong pillar that buffeted them back, like a noble will in the midst of calumny and persecution ; they fell back hiss- ing and discomfited, and could not dim its silver or quench 'ts flame ; but it glowed on with steady lustre in the midst of them — flung its victorious path of splendor over their raging motion, warned from the sunken reef the weary £02 THE LAST HOPE QUENCHED. mariner, and looked forth untroubled with its broad, calm eye into the madness and fury of the tempest-haunted night. Through this broad track of light the boat was driven, and Walter shouted at the top of his voice with all his re- maining strength. The three men in the lighthouse fancied indeed, as they acknowledged afterwards, that they had heard some shouts ; but strange, mysterious, inarticulate voices are often borne upon the wind, and haunt always the lonely wastes of foamy sea. The lighthouse men had often heard these unexplained wailings and weird screams. Many a time they had looked out, and been so continually de- ceived, that unless human accents were unmistakeable and well defined, they attribute these sounds to other agencies, or to the secret phenomena of the worst storms. And even if they had heard, what could they have done, or how have launched their boat when the billows were running mountain-high about their perilous rock ? Charlie had been quiet for a long time, his face hidden on Walter's shoulder ; but he had seen the glare which the light threw across the waves, and had observed that they had gradually been driven through it into blackness again, and he asked, "Have we passed the lighthouse, Walter?" " We have." 44 Oh, I am so hungry and burning with thirst ! Oh, what shall we do ?" " Try not to think about it, Charlie ; — a little fasting won't hurt us much." Another long pause, during which they clung more closelv fco each other, and their hearts beat side by side, and then Charlie said, in a barely articulate whisper — 14 Walter !" 44 1 know what you are going to say, Charlie." 44 The water in the boat is nearly up to ray knees.'' NEAR THE END. 403 " We have shipped a great deal, you know." " Yes ; and besides that " " Yes, it is true ; there is a leak. Do you mind my pub ting you dowu and trying what I can do to bale the watei out ?" " Walter, don't put me off your knee ; — don't let go of me." "Very well, Charlie ; it wouldn't be of much use." " Good God 1" cried the little boy in a paroxysm of agony, " we are sinking — we are foundering !" They wound their arms round each other, and Walter said, " It is even so, my darling brother. Death is near, but God is with us ; and if it is death, then death means rest and heaven. Good-bye, Charlie, good-bje ; we will be close together till the end." CHAPTER THE FORTIETH. WHAT THE SEA GAVE UP. ANXTETY reigned at St. Winifred's, succeeded bj consternation and intense grief. Little was thought of the absence of the three boys at tea-time, but when it came to chapel-tirne and bed-time, and they had not yet appeared, and when next morning it was found that they had not been heard of during the night, every one became seriously alarmed, and all the neighboring country was searched for intelligence. The place on the cliff where Kenrick had descended was observed, but as the traces showed that only one boy had gone down there, the discovery, so far from explaining mat- ters, only rendered them more inexplicable. Additional light was thrown on the subject by the disappearance of Bryce's boat, and the worst fears seemed to be confirmed by his information that it was a ricketty old concern, only intended to paddle in smooth weather close to the shore. But what earthly reason could have induced three boys to venture out in such a tub on so wild a night ? That the) did it for pleasure was inconceivable, the more so as rowing was strictly forbidden ; and as no other reason could be suggested, all conjecture was at fault. The fishermen went out in their smacks, but found no traces, and gained no tidings of the missing boys ; and all through that weary and anxious day the belief that they bad been lost at sea gained ground. Almost all day Power, and Eden, and Henderson, had been gazing out to sea, or wandering on the shore, in the vain hope of seeing them wine rowing across the bay ; but all the sailors on the 404 WHAT THE SEA GAVE UP NEXT DAY. 405 shore affirmed that if they had gone out in an open boat, and particularly in Bryce's boat, it was an utter impossi- bility that they could have outlived the tempest of the preceding night. At last, towards the evening, the sea gave up, not indeed her dead, but what was accepted as a positive proof of their wretched fate. Henderson, who was in a fever of excitement, which Power vainly strove to allay, was walk ing with him and Eden, who was hardly less troubled, along the beach, when he caught sight of something float- ing along, rising and falling on the dumb sullen swell of the advancing tide. He thought and declared at first, with a start of horror, that it was the light hair of a drowned boy ; but they very soon saw that it could not be that, and dashing in waist-deep after it, Henderson brought out the torn and battered fragments of a straw hat. The ribbon, of dark blue and white, though soaked and discolored, still served to identify it as having belonged to a St. Winifred's boy ; and, carefully examining the flannel lining, they saw on a piece of linen sewn upon it — only too legible still — the name " H. Kenrick." Nor was this all they found. The discovery had quickened their search, and soon after- wards Power, with a sudden suppressed cry, pointed to something black, lying, with a dreadful look about it, at a far part of the sand. Again their hearts grew cold, and running up to it they all recognised, with fresh horror and despair, the coat which Walter had last worn. They recog- nised it, but besides this, to place the matter beyond a doubt, his name was marked on the inside of the sleeve. In one of the pockets was his school note-book, with all the notes he had taken, and the playful caricatures which here and there he had scribbled over the pages ; and in the other, Btained with the salt water, and tearing at every touch, were the letters he had last received. 1:06 eden's confidence. All the next day tho doubt was growing into certainty, Mv and Mrs. Evson were summoned from Semlyn, and came with feelings that cannot be depicted. Power gave to Mrs. Evson the coat he had picked up, and he and Hen- derson hardly ever left the parents of their friend, doing all they could to cheer their spirits and support in them the hopes they could hardly feel themselves. To this day Mrs. Evson cherishes that coat as a dear and sacred relic, which reminds her of the mercy which sustained her during the first great agony which she had endured in her happy life. Power kept poor Kenrick's hat, for no relation of his was there to claim it. Another day dawned, and settled grief and gloom fell on. all alike at St. Winifred's — the boys, the masters, the in habitants. The sight of Mr. and Mrs. Evson's speechless anguish oppressed all hearts, and by this time hope seemed quenched for ever. For now one boy only — though young hearts are slow to give up hope — had refused to believe the worst. It was Eden. He persisted that the three boys must have been picked up. The belief had come upon him suddenly, and grown upon him he knew not how, but he was sure of it ; and therefore his society brought most re- lief and comfort to the torn heart of the mother. " What made him so confident V 1 she asked. He did not know ; he had seen it, or dreamt it, or felt it somehow, only he felt unalterably convinced that so it was. " They will come back, clear Mrs. Evson they will come back, you will see," was his repeated asseveration ; and oppressed as her heart was with doubt and fear, she was never weary of those words. And on the fourth day, while Mr. Evson was absent, having gone to make enquiries in London of all the ships which had passed by St. Winifred's on that day, Eden, radiant with joy, rushed into Dr. Lane's drawing-room, OIVKN BACK. 407 where Mrs. Evson was sitting, and utterly regardless of les convenances, burst out with the exclamation, " Oh, Mrs. Evson, it is true, it is true what I always told you. Didn't I say that I knew it ? They have been picked up." " Hush, my boy ; steady," whispered Mrs. Lane ; " you should have delivered the message less suddenly. The revulsion of feeling from sorrow to joy will be too much for her." " Eden, tell me," said the mother faintly, recalling her senses bewildered by the shock of intelligence ; " are you certain ? Oh, where are my boys ?" " You will see them soon," he said very gently ; and the next moment, to confirm his words, the door again flew open, and Charlie Evson was wrapped in his mother's arms, and strained to her heart, and covered with her kisses, and his bright young face bathed in her tears of gra- titude and joy. " Charlie, darling Charlie, where is Walter ?" were her 6rst words. " What, don't you know me then, mother ; and have you no kiss to spare for me ?" said the playful voice of a boy enveloped in a sailor's blue shell jacket ; and then it was Walter's turn to feei in that long embrace what is the agonising fondness of a mother's love. Kenrick was looking on a little sadly — not envious, but made sorrowful by memory. But the next moment Wal- ter, taking him by the hand, had introduced him to his mother, and she kissed him too on the cheek. " Your name is so familiar to me, Kenrick," she said ; " and you have shared their dangers." " Walter has twice saved my life, Mrs. Evson," he ans wered ; " and this time, 1 trust, he has saved it in mora senses than one " 408 the boys' story. The boys' story was soon told. Just as their boat m< as beginning to sink, and the bitterness of death seemed over, Walter caught sight of the lights of a ship, and saw her huge dark outline looming not far from them, and towerinur above the waves. Instantly he and Charlie had shouted with all the frantic energy of reviving hope. By God's mercy their shouts had been heard ; in spite of the risk and difficulty caused by the turbulence of the night, the ship hove to, the long-boat was manned, and the amazed sailors had rescued them not ten minutes before their wretched boat swirled round and sank to the bottom. Nothing could exceed the care and tenderness with which the sailors and the good captain of the " Morning Star" had treated them. The genial warmth of the can- tain's cabin, the food and wine of which they stood so much in need, the rest and quiet, and a long, long sleep, continued for nearly twenty-four hours, had recruited their failing strength, and restored them to perfect health. Past St. Winifred's Bay extends for miles and miles a long range of iron-bound coast, and this circumstance, together with the violence of the breeze blowing away from land, had prevented the captain from having any opportunity of putting them ashore until the morning of this day, when, with kind-hearted liberality, he had also supplied them with the money requisite to pay their way to St. Winifred's. " You can't think how jolly it was on board, mother," said Charlie. " I've learnt all about ships, and it was such fun ; and they were all as kind to us as possible." " Yon mustn't suppose we didn't think of you, mother dearest," said Walter, "and how anxious you would be; but we felt sure you would believe that some ship had picked us up." " Yes, Walter ; and to taste this joy is worth any past REJOICINGS. 409 sorrow," said his mother " You must thank your friend Eden for mainly keeping up my spirits, for he was al- most the only person who maintained that you were still alive." "And now, Mrs. Evson,'' said Power, " you must spare them for ten minutes, for the masters and all the school are impatient to see and congratulate them." The whole story had spread among the boys in ten minutes, and they were again proud to recognise Walter's chivalrous daring. When he appeared in the blue jacket with which Captain Peters had replaced the loss of his coat, with Kenrick's arm in his, and holding Charlie's hand, cheer after cheer broke from the assembled boys ; and finally, unable to repress their joy and euthusiasm. they lifted the three on their shoulders and chaired them all round the court. You may suppose that it was a joyful dinner party that evening at Dr. Lane's. Mr. Evson, as they had conjec- tured, had heard of his sons' safety in London from the captain of the " Morning Star," to whom he had tendered his warmest and most grateful thanks, and to whom, bo- fore leaving London, he had presented, in testimony of his gratitude, an exquisite chronometer. Returning to St. Winifred's, he found his two boys seated happily in the drawing-room awaiting him, each with their mother's harjd in theirs, and in the company of their best boy-friendf-;. Walter was still in the blue shell jacket, which became him weii, and which neither Mrs. Lane nor the boys would suffer him to change. It was indeed an evening never to be forgotten, and hardly less joyous and rememberable was die grand breakfast which the Sixth gave to Walter and Keurick in memory of the event, and to which, by special exception, little Charlie was also invited. The lives of these brave boy.s were saved for greatel 410 FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH. and better things. These three young boys had stood face to face with sudden death. Death, as it were, had laid his hand on their shoulders, had taken them by the hair an i looked upon them, and bade them commune with them- selves ; and, when he released them from that stern, cold grasp, it gave to their lives an awful reality. It did not quench, indeed, their natural mirthfulness, but it filled them with strong purposes and high thoughts. Kenrick returned to St. Winifred's a changed boy ; long-continued terror had quiet altered the expression of his countenance, but, while this effect soon wore off, the moral effects pro- duced in him were happily permanent. He began a life in earnest; for him there was no more lisilessuess, or moody tits of sorrow, or bursts of wayward self-indulgence. He became strenuous, diligent, modest, earnest, kind ; he too like Walter and Charlie, began his career '•from strength to strength.''' Under him, and Power, and Walter, and others, whom their influence had formed or who had been moulded by the tradition they had left behind them, St. Winifred's flourished more and more, and added new hon ors and benefits to its old and famous name. At the end of that half year Power left, but not until he had won the Baiiiol scholarship and carried off nearly all the prizes in the school. Walter succeeded him as head of the school ; and he and Kenrick (who was restored to his old place on the list) worked heart and soul together for tho good of it. In those days it was indeed in a happy and prosperous state — renowned and honored without, well governed and high toned within. Dr. Lane felt and ac- knowledged that much of this success was due to the ex- ample and to the vigor of these head boys. Power, when he left, was loved and distinguished ; Waller and Kenrick trode in his steps. To the boundless delight of the school, they too carried off in one year the highest open scholar CHARLIE HEAD OF THE SCHOOL. 4-11 ship at eacli University ; and when they also left, they had been as successful as Power, and were, if possible, even more universally beloved. Whalley carried on for another year the high tradition, and, in due time, little Charlie also attained the head place in the school, and so behaved as to identify his name and Walter's with some of its happiest and wisest institutions for many years THE END, t* : M% ite ^ J4^ 1 3\Q± /£?A\ £5 Sb3fe*K fe Wm< . #1 m> UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 245 511 1 M