Parkhurst BoysAnd other stories of School Life

By Talbot Baines Reed________________________________________________________________________This is a collection of short stories and articles, mostly about boys atschool. There are four groups of these stories: seven about a schoolcalled Parkhurst, detailing major events such as matches and boat races. 

The second section consists of eleven discourses on different types ofboy, such as "The Sneak". The third section contains twelve storiesabout boys who have played their part in English History, such as thetwo young "Princes in the Tower", Dick Whittington, Edward the Sixth, and so on. 

The final section consists of seven general stories of greater lengththan the foregoing. 

The whole book, though not really long, is quite amusing, though ofcourse very dated. You'll enjoy it. I personally prefer to listen tothese books. NH. ________________________________________________________________________

PARKHURST BOYSAND OTHER STORIES OF SCHOOL LIFE

BY TALBOT BAINES REED

Part one. Parkhurst Sketches. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

MY FIRST FOOTBALL MATCH. 

It was a proud moment in my existence when Wright, captain of ourfootball club, came up to me in school one Friday and said, "Adams, yourname is down to play in the match against Craven to-morrow. "

I could have knighted him on the spot. To be one of the picked"fifteen, " whose glory it was to fight the battles of their school inthe Great Close, had been the leading ambition of my life--I suppose Iought to be ashamed to confess it--ever since, as a little chap of ten, I entered Parkhurst six years ago. Not a winter Saturday but had seenme either looking on at some big match, or oftener still scrimmagingabout with a score or so of other juniors in a scratch game. But for along time, do what I would, I always seemed as far as ever from thecoveted goal, and was half despairing of ever rising to win my "firstfifteen cap. " Latterly, however, I had noticed Wright and a few othersof our best players more than once lounging about in the Little Close, where we juniors used to play, evidently taking observations with an eyeto business. Under the awful gaze of these heroes, need I say I exertedmyself as I had never done before? What cared I for hacks or bruises, so only that I could distinguish myself in their eyes? And never wasmusic sweeter than the occasional "Bravo, young 'un!" with which some ofthem would applaud any special feat of skill or daring. 

So I knew my time was coming at last, and only hoped it would arrivebefore the day of the Craven match, the great match of our season--always looked forward to as _the_ event of the Christmas term, whenvictory was regarded by us boys as the summit of all human glory, anddefeat as an overwhelming disgrace. 

It will therefore be understood why I was almost beside myself withdelight when, the very day before the match, Wright made theannouncement I have referred to. 

I scarcely slept a wink that night for dreaming of the wonderfulexploits which were to signalise my first appearance in the GreatClose--how I was to run the ball from one end of the field to the other, overturning, dodging, and distancing every one of the enemy, finishingup with a brilliant and mighty kick over the goal. After which I was tohave my broken limbs set by a doctor on the spot, to receive a perfectovation from friend and foe, to be chaired round the field, to be the"lion" at the supper afterwards, and finally to have a whole column ofthe _Times_ devoted to my exploits! What glorious creatures we are inour dreams!

Well, the eventful day dawned at last. It was a holiday at Parkhurst, and as fine a day as any one could wish. 

As I made my appearance, wearing the blue-and-red jersey of a "firstfifteen man" under my jacket, I found myself quite an object ofveneration among the juniors who had lately been my compeers, and Iaccepted their homage with a vast amount of condescension. Nothing wastalked of during the forenoon but the coming match. Would the Cravenfellows turn up a strong team? Would that fellow Slider, who made thetremendous run last year, play for them again this? Would Wright selectthe chapel end or the other, if we won the choice? How were we offbehind the scrimmage?

"Is Adams to be trusted?" I heard one voice ask. 

Two or three small boys promptly replied, "Yes"; but the seniors saidnothing, except Wright, who took the opportunity of giving me a littlegood advice in private. 

"Look here, Adams; you are to play half-back, you know. All you've gotto take care of is to keep cool, and never let your eyes go off theball. You know all the rest. "

A lecture half an hour long could not have made more impression. Iremembered those two hints, "Keep cool, and watch the ball, " as long asI played football, and I would advise every half-back to take them toheart in like manner. 

At noon the Craven team came down in an omnibus, and had lunch in hallwith us, and half an hour later found us all in a straggling procession, making for the scene of conflict in the Great Close. There stood thegoals and the boundary-posts, and there was Granger, the ground-keeper, with a brand-new lemon-shaped ball under his arm. 

"Look sharp and peel!" cried our captain. 

So we hurried to the tent, and promptly divested ourselves of our outergarments, turned up the sleeves of our jerseys, and tied an extra knotin our bootlaces. As we emerged, the Craven men were making theirappearance on the ground in battle array. I felt so nervous myself thatI could not, for the life of me, imagine how some of them could look sounconcerned, whistling, and actually playing leapfrog to keep themselveswarm!

An officer in the Crimean War once described his sensation in some ofthe battles there as precisely similar to those he had experienced whena boy on the football field at Rugby. I can appreciate the comparison, for one. Certainly never soldier went into action with a more solemndo-or-die feeling than that with which I took my place on the field thatafternoon. 

"They've won the choice of sides, " said somebody, "and are going to playwith the wind. "

"Take your places, Parkhurst!" shouted our captain. 

The ball lies in the centre of the ground, and Wright stands ten yardsor so behind it, ready for the kick-off. Of our fifteen the tenforwards are extended in a line with the ball across the field, ready tocharge after it the moment it goes flying. The two best runners of ourteam are stationed quarter-back, where they can skirmish on theoutskirts of the scrimmage. I am posted a little in rear of them athalf-back--an unusual post for so young a player, but one which wasaccorded to me by virtue of my light weight and not inconsiderablerunning powers. Behind me are the two backs, on whom, when all elsefails, the issue of the conflict depends. The Craven players aresimilarly disposed, and waiting impatiently for our captain's kick. 

"Are you ready?" he shouts. 

Silence gives consent. 

He gives a quick glance round at us, then springs forward, and in aninstant the ball is soaring high in the direction of the Cravens' goalamid the shouts of onlooking friend and foe. 

Our forwards were after it like lightning, but not before a Craven backhad got hold of it and run some distance in the direction of our goal. He did not wait to be attacked, but by a clever drop-kick, a knackpeculiar to all good backs, sent it spinning right over the forwards'heads into the hands of one of our quarter-backs. He, tucking it underhis arm and crushing his cap on to his head, started to run. Goingslowly at first, he steered straight for the forwards of the enemy tillwithin a pace or two of them, when he doubled suddenly, and amid theshouts of our partisans slipped past them and was seen heading straightfor the Craven goal. But although he had escaped their forwards, he hadyet their rearguard to escape, which was far harder work, for was notone of that rearguard the celebrated Slider himself, who by his prowesshad last year carried defeat to our school; and the other, was it notthe stalwart Naylor, who only a month ago had played gloriously for hiscounty against Gravelshire?

Yet our man was not to be daunted by the prestige of these distinguishedadversaries, but held on his way pluckily, and without a swerve. It wasa sight to see those two cunningly lay wait for him, like two spidersfor a fly. There was nothing for it but to plunge headlong into theirweb in a desperate effort to break through. Alas! brave man! Naylorhas him in his clutches, the Craven forwards come like a deluge on thespot, our forwards pour over the Craven, and in an instant our hero andthe ball have vanished from sight under a heap of writhing humanity. 

"Down!" cries a half-choked voice, from the bottom of the heap. It wasrather an unnecessary observation, as it happens, but it served as asignal to both parties to rise to their feet and prepare for a"scrimmage. "

Now, if truth must be told, our school always had the reputation ofbeing second to none in "going through a scrimmage, " so while theplayers are scrambling to their feet, and waiting for the ball to be"grounded, " I will explain what our method of doing the thing was. 

It was nothing more nor less than a carrying out of the principle of thewedge. The ball formed the apex; the fellows got up close to it, so asnever to let it out of reach of their four feet. Behind these two camethree with locked arms, and behind the three, four. The men in themiddle pushed straight ahead, and those at the sides inwards towards theball, while the two or three remaining forwards lent their weight to oneside or other of the base, according as the exigencies of the scrimmagedemanded. Thus our wedge, embodying a concentrated pressure in thedirection of the ball, the farther it advanced the farther it scatteredasunder the foe, who fell off from its gradually widening sides withouthope of getting again within reach of the ball except by retreating tothe rear and beginning the struggle over afresh. When this manoeuvrewas well executed, it was almost certain to carry the ball through thescrimmage, and when that happened, then was the time for us half andquarter-backs to look out for our chance. 

Our men went at it with their customary vigour and address, andpresently the ball emerged on the far side of the scrimmage. In aninstant it was caught up by one of the Craven quarter-backs, and in aninstant our men were upon him again before he could get a start for arun. Scrimmage after scrimmage ensued, the ball was constantly inChancery, but each crush brought us a yard or so nearer the enemy's goalthan we had been before. 

All this time I was little better than a spectator, for the ball neveronce came within reach of my fingers, and I was beginning to think that, after all, a big match was not so exciting a thing as one is apt toimagine. 

At last, however, after one scrimmage more desperate than any that hadgone before, the ball flew out suddenly, and bounded off one of theCraven men into my grasp. Now was my chance. "If only I could--"

The next thing I was conscious of was that about twenty people hadfallen to the ground all of a heap, and that I and the ball were at thebottom. 

"Down!" I cried. 

"Pack up there, Parkhurst!" sang out Wright. 

I extricated myself as quickly as I could, and got back to my place inthe rear, thinking to myself, after all, there _was_ some littleexcitement in football. 

At last the ball got well away from the scrimmage, and who should secureit but the redoubtable Slider! I felt a passing tremor of deep despair, as I saw that hero spring like the wind towards our goal. 

"Look out, Adams!" shouted Wright. 

Sure enough he was coming in my direction! With the desperation of adoomed man I strode out to meet him. He rushed furiously on--swervingslightly to avoid my reach, and stretching out his arm to ward off mygrasp. I flung myself wildly in his path. There was a heavy thud, andthe earth seemed to jump up and strike me. The next moment I wassprawling on my back on the grass. I don't pretend to know how it allhappened, but somehow or other I had succeeded in checking the onwardcareer of the victorious Slider; for though I had fallen half stunnedbefore the force of his charge, he had recoiled for an instant from thesame shock, and that instant gave time for Wright to get hold of him, and so put an end for the time to his progress. 

"Well played!" said some one, as I picked myself up. So I wascomforted, and began to think that, after all, football was rather afine game. 

Time would fail me to tell of all the events of that afternoon--howWright carried the ball within a dozen yards of our opponents' goal; howtheir forwards passed the ball one to another, and got a "touch-down"behind our line, but missed the kick; how Naylor ran twenty yards withone of our men hanging on his back; how our quarter-back sent the ballnearly over their goal with as neat a drop-kick as ever it has been mylot to witness. 

The afternoon was wearing. I heard the time-keeper call out, "Fiveminutes more!" The partisans of either side were getting frantic withexcitement. Unless we could secure an advantage now, we should be asgood as defeated, for the Craven had scored a "touch-down" to ournothing. Was this desperate fight to end so? Was victory, after all, to escape us? But I had no time for reflection then. 

"Now, Parkhurst, " sang out Wright, "pull yourselves together for once!"

A Craven man is standing to throw the ball out of "touch, " and eitherside stands in confronting rows, impatient for the fray. Wright is atthe end of the line, face to face with Naylor, and I am a little behindWright. 

"Keep close!" exclaims the latter to me, as the ball flies towards us. 

Wright has it, but in an instant Naylor's long arms are round him, bearing him down. 

"Adams!" ejaculates out captain, and in a trice he passes the ball intomy hands, and I am off like the wind. So suddenly has it all been donethat I have already a yard or two start before my flight is discovered. There is a yelling and a rush behind me; there is a roar from the crowdson either side; there is a clear "Follow up, Parkhurst!" from Wright inthe rear; there is a loud "Collar him!" from the Craven captain ahead. I am steering straight for their goal; three men only are between me andit--one, their captain, right back, and Slider and another man in frontof him. 

I see at a glance that my only hope is to keep as I am going and wasteno time in dodging, or assuredly the pursuing host will be upon me. Slider and his companion are closing in right across my path, almostclose together. With a bound I dash between them. Have they got me, orhave I escaped them? A shout louder than ever and a "Bravo!" fromWright tell me I am clear of that danger, and have now but their lastdefence to pass. He is a tall, broad fellow, and a formidable foe toencounter, and waits for me close under their goal. The pace, I feel, is telling on me; the shouting behind sounds nearer, only a few yardsdivides us now. Shall I double, shall I venture a kick, or shall Icharge straight at him?

"Charge at him!" sounds Wright's voice, as if in answer to my thought. I gather up all my remaining force, and charge. There is a flash acrossmy eyes, and a dull shock against my chest. I reel and stagger, andforget where I am. I am being swept along in a torrent; the waters witha roar rush past me and over me. Every moment I get nearer and nearerthe fatal edge--I am at it--I hang a moment on the brink, and then--

"Down!" shouts a voice close at my ear, and there is such a noise ofcheering and rejoicing that I sit up and rub my eyes like one wakingbewildered from a strange dream. 

Then I find out what has happened. When I charged at the Craven captainthe shock sent me back staggering into the very arms of Wright and ourforwards, who were close at my heels, and who then, in a splendid andirresistible rush, carried me and the ball and the half of the otherside along with them right behind the enemy's goal-line, where we fall_en masse_ to the earth--I, with the ball under me, being at the bottom. 

Even if I had been hurt--which I was not--there was no time to be wastedon condolences or congratulations. The time-keeper held his watch inhis hand, and our goal must be kicked at once, if it was to be kicked atall. So the fifteen paces out were measured, the "nick" for the ballwas carefully made, the enemy stood along their goal-line ready tospring the moment the ball should touch the earth. Wright, cool andself-possessed, placed himself in readiness a yard or two behind theball, which one of our side held an inch off the ground. An anxiousmoment of expectation followed; then came a sharp "Now!" from ourcaptain. The ball was placed cunningly in the nick, the Craven forwardsrushed out on it in a body, but long before they could reach it, Wright's practised foot had sent it flying straight as an arrow over thebar, and my first football match had ended in a glorious victory for theOld School. 

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The terms used here describe the Rugby game as it used to be playedprior to 1880. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE PARKHURST PAPER-CHASE. 

"The meet is to be at one o'clock, sharp, in the Dean's Warren--don'tforget!"

So said Forwood, the "whipper-in" of the Parkhurst Hare and Hounds Club, to me, one March morning in the year 18--. I had no need to be remindedof the appointment; for this was the day of the "great hunt" of theyear, always held by the running set at Parkhurst School to yield ininterest to no other fixture of the athletic calendar. 

In fine weather, and over good country, a paper-chase is one of thegrandest sports ever indulged in--at least, so we thought when we wereboys--and the "great hunt" was, of course, the grandest run of the year, and looked forward to, consequently, with the utmost eagerness by alllovers of running in our school. 

This year, too, I had a special interest in the event, for it was myturn to run "hare"--in other words, to be, with another fellow, theobject of the united pursuit of some twenty or thirty of myschoolfellows, who would glory in running me down not a whit less than Ishould glory in escaping them. 

For some weeks previously we had been taking short trial runs, to testour pace and powers of endurance; and Birch (my fellow-"hare") and I hadmore than once surveyed the course we proposed to take on the occasionof the "great hunt, " making ourselves, as far as possible, acquaintedwith the bearings of several streams, ploughed fields, and high walls tobe avoided, and the whereabouts of certain gaps, woods, and hollows tobe desired. We were glad afterwards that we had taken this precaution, as the reader will see. 

I can't say if the Parkhurst method of conducting our "hunts" was theorthodox one; I know _we_ considered it was, as our rules were our ownmaking, or rather a legacy left to us by a former generation of runnersat the school. 

We were to take, in all, a twelve miles' course, of nearly an ovalshape, six miles out and six miles home. Any amount of dodging ordoubling was to be allowed to us hares, except crossing our own path. We were to get five minutes' clear start, and, of course, were expectedto drop our paper "scent" wherever we went. 

Luckily for me, Birch was an old hand at running hare, and up to allsorts of dodges, so that I knew all it was needful for me to do was tohusband my "wind, " and run evenly with him, leaving him to shape ourcourse and regulate our pace. 

It was a lively scene at the Dean's Warren, when we reached it a fewminutes before the appointed time that afternoon. The "pack"--that is, the twenty or thirty fellows who were to run as "hounds"--were fastassembling, and divesting themselves of everything but their lightflannels. The whipper-in, conspicuous by the little bugle slung acrosshis shoulders, and the light flag in his hand, was there in all theimportance of his office; and, as usual, the doctor and a party ofvisitors, ladies and gentlemen, had turned out to witness the start. 

"Five minutes, hares!" shouts Forwood, as Birch and I came on the spot. 

We use the interval in stripping off all unnecessary apparel, andgirding ourselves with our bags of "scent, " or scraps of torn-up paper, which we are to drop as we run. Then we sit and wait the moment forstarting. The turf is crisp under our feet; the sun is just warm enoughto keep us from shivering as we sit, and the wind just strong enough tobe fresh. Altogether it is to be doubted if a real meet of real houndsto hunt real hares--a cruel and not very manly sport, after all--couldbe much more exciting than this is. 

"Half a minute!" sings out the whipper-in, as we spring to our feet. 

In another thirty seconds we are swinging along at a good pace down theslope of the warren, in the direction of Colven meadows, and the hunthas begun. 

As long as we were in sight of the pack we kept up a good hard pace, buton reaching cover we settled down at once to a somewhat more sober jog-trot, in anticipation of the long chase before us. 

We made good use of our five minutes' start, for by the time a distantbugle note announced that the hounds were let loose on our track we hadcovered a good piece of ground, and put several wide fields and ditchesand ugly hedges between us and our pursuers. 

Now it was that Birch's experiences served us in good stead. I neverknew a fellow more thoroughly cunning; he might have been a fox insteadof a hare. Sometimes he made me run behind him and drop my scent on thetop of his, and sometimes keep a good distance off, and let the windscatter it as much as it could. When we came to a gap, instead ofstarting straight across the next field he would turn suddenly at rightangles, and keep close up under the hedge half-way round before strikingoff into the open. Among trees and bushes he zigzagged and doubled toan alarming extent, so that it seemed as if we were losing ground everymoment. So we should have been if the chase had been by sight insteadof by _scent_; but that would have been against all rules. 

If the hounds were to see the hares twenty yards in front of them, andthe scent lay half a mile round, they would be bound, according to ourrules, to go the half-mile, however tempting the short cut might seem. 

It was after a very wide circuit, ending up on the top of a moderaterise, that we first caught sight of our pursuers. As they were a fullsix minutes behind us, we agreed to sit down under cover for a minuteand watch them. 

At that moment they had evidently lost the scent, and were ferretingabout among some low trees and bushes in search of it. We saw the flagof the whipper-in marking the spot where it was last visible, and roundthis, on all sides, the hounds were exploring busily in search of the"new departure. " Then, presently, came a cry of "Forward!" and off theyall started in our direction; and as the scent after that seemed to liepretty clear we considered it high time for us to resume our flight. 

So we made off again, and being refreshed by our brief halt, made over acouple of ploughed fields, which Birch suggested "would make a few ofthe hounds look foolish"; and so on till we reached the first water wehad encountered since the start. This was a trout-stream, well known tosome of us who were fond of fishing--nowhere more than half a foot deep, and in some places easily passable, dry shod, on stepping-stones. Birch, however, avoided these, and boldly splashing into the stream overhis ankles, bade me follow. 

"We'll soon dry up, " he said, "and this will gain us a minute or two. "

Instead of going straight across, the wily hare began to paddle up themiddle of the stream for twenty or thirty yards, and, of course, in sodoing our scent was soon drifted away down the current. So we flatteredourselves, when we at last did make the opposite bank, that our pursuerswould be puzzled for a minute or two to know what had become of us. 

After a further quarter of a mile we thought we might venture to takeanother brief halt on the strength of this last manoeuvre. We wereunable to do so where we could command a view of the hounds, but as wereckoned we had at least gained three minutes, we felt we could quiteafford to take it easy for that length of time. 

Fancy, then, our horror when, after about a couple of minutes, we hearda cry of "Forward!" close to us, and evidently on this side of thestream. 

Off we dashed like mad, in a regular panic, and never checked our pacetill we had put three ploughed fields and a couple of wide ditches toour credit. We did not discover till it was all over how it was ourcunning scheme to perplex the hounds had thus miscarried. Then we weretold that some of the scent, instead of dropping into the water, as weintended, had lodged on the top of some stones in mid-stream, and thishad at once betrayed our dodge to the practised eyes of the foremosthounds. It was a caution to be more careful another time. 

We had to work hard to make up for the ground we had lost by thismistake, but our next sight of the hounds showed that we were fairlyahead again, and that the ploughed fields had (as Birch predicted) toldon a good portion of the pack, who now (at least, those of them who wereat all well up) scarcely numbered a dozen. 

Half a mile farther brought us to Wincot village, down the main streetof which we sped, greatly to the admiration of the inhabitants, whoturned out in force to see the sport. 

By this time we had fairly got our "second winds, " and began to realisethe benefit of the steady training of the past fortnight. At anordinary pace, with the second wind well laid on, we felt we ought to beable to hold out for the run home, unless some very unexpected accidentshould intervene. 

Past the village, we rattled on till we came to the railway embankment, across which we trespassed, not without some difficulty, as it was steepand railed off on either side by high palisades. Once over this, weturned at right angles, and ran for half a mile close alongside theline, and past Wincot station. Here it was necessary to recross theline (down a cutting this time), and as we were doing so we caughtsight, on our left, of the leading hounds scrambling to the top of theembankment, which we had passed only a minute or two before. 

Clear of the railway, there remained a good steady piece of work cut outfor us to reach home, across an awful country, full of hedges andditches, and as hilly as a pie-crust. 

But Birch and I were well in the humour of the thing by this time, anddetermined it should not be our fault if the "great hunt" of this yearended in a victory for the hounds. So we spurted for nearly a mile, jumping most of the narrow ditches and low hedges that crossed our path, and making as straight a course as the hilly ground allowed of. But, despite all our efforts, the occasional glimpses which we caught of ourpursuers showed us that we were unable to shake off four or five of theleading hounds, who, with Forwood at their head, were coming on at agreat pace, and, if not gaining on us, at least not losing ground. 

This would never do. It would be all up if things went on so, we couldsee; so the cunning Birch had once again to resort to his dodges to gaintime. 

Suddenly altering our track, and leaving the fields, he struck a dustylane, which wound in and out in the direction of Parkhurst. Now, asthis was a very dusty and a very chalky lane, and as the wind wasblowing the dust about very freely, it was easy to see why the artfulBirch made use of it on the present occasion. Our white scraps ofpaper, falling on the white road, and being fallen on by the white dust, had a good chance of escaping detection, unless looked after verycarefully; and to make matters more secure, we dodged off into thefields, and back again into the lane, pretty often, leaving our pursuersa ditch to jump each time. 

This manoeuvre answered fairly well, for the next time we saw the houndsthey were searching about by the side of a ditch for our track, a goodway to the rear. 

We had now to face the hardest bit of work of the afternoon. The lasttwo miles home were over a perfectly flat bit of country--so flat thatthe hounds would have us in view nearly all the way, and, consequently, to dodge or double would be simply useless. Our only course was astraight hard run for it, trusting to our legs and our wind to pull usthrough. So we settled down to the task with a will. Scarcely had weemerged into the open ground for a couple of minutes, when we saw afigure dash out of the lane in full cry after us. 

It was Forwood, the whipper-in, a terrible "scud" across country, and hewas only fifty yards or so ahead of three others, also celebrated fortheir pace. So we hares had our work cut out for us, and no mistake!

For a mile we ran as hard as we well could, turning neither to right norleft, and halting neither at ditch nor dyke. Parkhurst Towers rosebefore us in the distance, and more than one boy was already strollingout in our direction to witness the finish. 

How we wished we were as fresh as they!

"Put it on, hares!" shouted the first who met us, "you'll do it yet. "

"Hounds are gaining!" cried the next we passed--a young urchin sittingon a bank and eating toffee. 

And now there met us not single spectators only, but groups, who cheeredloudly, backing, some the hares and some the hounds, till we hardly knewwhere we were. Some even began to run along with us, at a respectfuldistance, in order to be "in at the death. "

The playground wall was now visible only half a mile away, on the otherside of the Gravelshire Canal, which had to be crossed by a bridge whichwe were fast approaching. 

I gave a rapid look back. Forwood was now only a hundred yards behindus, with lots of running still in him. He would certainly run us downin the next half-mile. 

"Birch, " I said, as I ran beside him, "are you good for a swim?"

"Rather!" he exclaimed; "if you are. Quick!"

We swerved suddenly in our course, and, to the amazement of allspectators, left the bridge on our left. In another minute we were onthe margin of the canal, and the next moment the splash of a double"header, " and the shouts of the assembled onlookers, proclaimed that wehad made a plunge for it. The canal was only about thirty feet wide, and we were across it in a twinkling, our light flannel clothes scarcelyinterfering with our swimming, and certainly not adding much to theweight we carried after being soaked through. 

Three hundred yards now! Ah! that cheer behind means that Forwood hasfollowed our plunge. What are they laughing at, though? Can he havefoundered? No! Another shout! That means he is safe over, and hard atour heels. 

For the last three hundred yards we run a regular steeplechase. Themeadows are intersected with lines of hurdles, and these we take oneafter another in our run, as hard as we can. Only one more, and then weare safe!

Suddenly I find myself on my face on the grass! I have caught on thelast hurdle, and come to grief!

Birch in an instant hauls me to my feet, just as Forwood rises to theleap. Then for a hundred yards it is a race for very life. What ashouting there is! and what a rushing of boys and waving of caps passbefore our eyes! On comes Forwood, the gallant hound, at our heels; wecan hear him behind us distinctly!

"Now you have them!" shouts one. 

"One spurt more, hares!" cries another, "and you are safe!"

On we bound, and on comes the pursuer, not ten yards behind--not _ten_, but more than _five_. And that five he never makes up till Birch and Iare safe inside the school-gates, winners by a neck--and a neck only--ofthat famous hunt. 

The pack came straggling in for the next hour, amid the cheers andchaffing of the boys. Three of them, who had kept neck and neck all theway, were only two minutes behind Forwood; but they had shirked theswim, and taken the higher and drier course--as, indeed, most of theother hounds did--by way of the bridge. Ten minutes after them oneother fellow turned up, and a quarter of an hour later three more; andso on until the whole pack had run, or walked, or limped, or riddenhome--all except one, little Jim Barlow, the tiniest and youngest andpluckiest little hound that ever crossed country. We were all anxiousto know what had become of this small chap of thirteen, who, some onesaid, ought never to have been allowed to start on such a big run, withhis little legs. "Wait a bit, " said Forwood; "Jim will turn up beforelong, safe and sound, you'll see. "

It was nearly dusk, and a good two hours after the finish. We weresitting in the big hall, talking and laughing over the events of theafternoon, when there came a sound of feet on the gravel walk, accompanied by a vehement puffing, outside the window. 

"There he is!" exclaimed Forwood, "and, I declare, running still!"

And so it was. In a minute the door swung open, and in trotted littleJim, dripping wet, coated with mud, and panting like a steam-engine, butotherwise as self-composed as usual. 

"How long have you fellows been in?" he demanded of us, as he sat downand began to lug off his wet boots. 

"Two hours, " replied Birch. 

The little hero looked a trifle mortified to find he was so far behind, and we were quite sorry for him. 

"Never mind, " he said, "I ran on the scent every inch of the way, andonly pulled up once, at Wincot, for five minutes. "

"You did!" exclaimed one or two voices, as we all stared admiringly atthis determined young hound. 

"Yes; and a nice dance you gave a chap my size over the railway andacross those ditches! But I didn't miss a single one of them, all thesame. "

"But what did you do at the canal?" asked Forwood. 

"Why, swam it, of course--obliged to do it, wasn't I, if the hares wentthat way? I say, is there any grub going?"

Plucky little Jim Barlow! After all, he was the hero of that "bighunt, " though he did come in two hours late. 

This was the last big "hare and hounds" I ever ran in. I have many atime since ridden with a real hunt over the same country, but never haveI experienced the same thrill of excitement or known the same exultationat success as when I ran home with Birch, two seconds ahead of thehounds, in the famous Parkhurst Paper-chase of 18 hundred and something. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE PARKHURST BOAT-RACE. 

"Adams is wanted down at the boat-house!" Such was the sound whichgreeted my ears one Saturday afternoon as I lolled about in theplayground at Parkhurst, doing nothing. I jumped up as if I had beenshot, and asked the small boy who brought the message who wanted me. 

"Blades does; you've got to cox the boat this afternoon instead ofWilson. Look sharp!" he said, "as they're waiting to start. "

Off I went, without another word, filled with mingled feelings ofwonder, pride, and trepidation. I knew Wilson, the former coxswain ofthe school boat, had been taken ill and left Parkhurst, but this was thefirst I had ever heard of my being selected to take his place. True, Ihad steered the boat occasionally when no one else could be got, and onsuch occasions had managed to keep a moderately good course up the TwoMile Reach, but I had never dreamed of such a pitch of good fortune asbeing called to occupy that seat as a fixture. 

But now it wanted only a week of the great race with the Old Boys, andhere was I summoned to take charge of the rudder at the eleventh hour, which of course meant I would have to steer the boat on the occasion ofthe race! No wonder, then, I was half daft with excitement as I hurrieddown to the boathouse in obedience to the summons of Blades, the strokeof the Parkhurst Four. 

I should explain that at Parkhurst we were peculiarly favoured in thematter of boating. The River Colven flowed through the town only half amile from the school boundaries, and being at that place but a shortdistance from the sea, it was some fifty yards broad, a clear, deepstream, just the sort of water one would choose for rowing. There wasno lock for six miles or so up, and the few craft which came in from thesea rarely proceeded beyond Parkhurst; so that we had a long, uninterrupted stretch of water for our boats, which, as soon as ever thespring set in, and the weather became too hot for football and hare andhounds, appeared in force every half-holiday on its surface. 

Some of the fellows on such occasions used to amuse themselves bystarting off for a long, leisurely grind up-stream; or else with setsail to tack down the lower reaches towards the sea; but most of us wholaid claim in any degree to the name of enthusiastic oarsmen, confinedour operations mainly to the Two Mile Reach, on which most of the clubraces were rowed, chief of which was the Old Boys' Race, alreadyreferred to. 

This race had been instituted some years before my time at the school, by an old Parkhurstian, who presented a cup, to be rowed for annually, between the best four-oared crew of the present school, and any crew ofold pupils who had been at Parkhurst within two years. 

This race was the all-absorbing topic in our boat-club for several weeksbefore the event. How carefully the crew were selected, how strictlythey trained, how patiently Mr Blunt, one of the masters, and an oldCambridge oar, "coached" or tutored them; how regularly the boat wentover the course morning after morning, before breakfast; how eagerly thefellows criticised or commended the rowers; how impatiently we alllooked forward to the coming contest!

This year our prospects were doubtful. The Old Boys had got together astrong crew, who were reported by some who had been over to see them tobe very fast, and in splendid form; while we, at the last moment, hadhad the disadvantage to lose our coxswain and have to fill his placewith a less experienced hand. Still, the school "four" was a good one, carefully drilled, with plenty of power; one which Mr Blunt pronouncedought to hold its own with any other average crew. So, on the whole, there was no saying how the chances stood. 

I found I had all my work before me to get accustomed to my new dutiesbefore the day of the race. Daily I was out with the four, and severaltimes besides I was taken over the course in a punt, and carefully shownall the shallows, and bends, and eddies of the stream, and made familiarwith the ins and outs of either bank. 

Luckily, I was a light weight to begin with, so that I did not lose muchby my limited period of training, being indeed not so heavy as theformer coxswain of the boat, whom I had succeeded. 

Well, the eventful day came at last. The Old Boys arrived the daybefore, and from the two trial rows which they took over the course, wecould see they were a first-rate crew and formidable opponents. Stillour "coach, " who had watched them minutely, told us we had the betterstroke of the two, and if we could only hold out, ought to win afterall. This was comforting information, for the showy style of ouropponents had struck terror into not a few of those whose sympathieswere on the side of the present boys. 

The school turned out in force to witness the event. The towing-pathwas lined with spectators, many of them from a distance, attracted bythe prospect of an exciting race. A goodly muster of old fellowsrevisited the haunts of their school days, and congregated about thewinning-post, while others, of a more athletic turn, prepared to runalong with the race from beginning to end. 

Meanwhile, in the boat-house, we had stripped for action and launchedour boat. As we were ready to put off, and make for the starting-point, Mr Blunt came up and said to Blades, our "stroke", --

"Now remember, row a steady stroke all through. Don't be flurried ifthey get the best of the start. If you can stick to them the first halfof the way, you ought to be able to row them down in the last; and mind, Adams, " he said, addressing me, "don't let them force you out of yourstraight course, and don't waste time in trying to bother them. Keep asstraight as an arrow, and you can't go wrong. "

As our fellows put off for the starting-place, their long clean strokeelicited no little admiration from the onlookers, who saw much in itthat augured well for the success of our boat. Thanks to Mr Blunt, ourcrew had learned to master that steady, strong sweep of the oars whichis universally admitted to be the perfection of rowing style and themost serviceable of all strokes. Rowed well through from first to last, gripping the water the instant the oar is back and the body and armsforward, and dragged clean through without jerk or plunge, the swing ofthe bodies regular as clockwork, the feather clear and rapid--thisessentially is the kind of rowing which not only puts most pace into theboat, but is capable of being sustained far longer than any other. 

Not long after us our opponents embarked, and we had an opportunity ofcriticising their style as they paddled up to where we lay waiting forthem. It certainly looked pretty and taking. The stroke was quickerthan ours, and equally regular, but it seemed to end in a spasmodic jerkas the oars left the water, which, though it succeeded in making theboat travel quickly, appeared to try the powers of the rowers rathermore than our style did. Still, there was no mistaking that they were afast and a powerful crew, and I remember to this day the passingthought, "I wish we were at the end of it!" that flashed through my mindas I gathered my rudder lines together, ready for the start. 

Mr Blunt is to act as starter, and is coming towards us in a boat, withhis watch in his hand. Our rivals' boat is lying close beside ours, andI can see their stroke is leaning forward and saying something to thecoxswain. I wonder it it's about me? Perhaps he is telling him to pushme out of my course, or perhaps they are saying how nervous I amlooking! Well, I _am_ nervous. I begin to think I shall forget whichway I have to go. Perhaps I shall pull the right-hand line instead ofthe left; or possibly I shall omit to pull either line at all! Whatlasting disgrace will then be mine! Then suddenly I remember what MrBlunt said, that it's all up with a race if the "cox" loses his head, and by a violent effort I banish my qualms, and resolve, come what may, _nothing_ shall unsteady me. Still, my hands tremble as I grasp thelines. 

"Adams, " says Blades, "make my stretcher fast, will you?"

The voice of a human being close to me, somehow, has the effect ofhelping me to recover my wits completely; and as I kneel and make fastthe stretcher, and then once again take my seat in the stern of theboat, I feel quite myself again, and wonder at myself for being such anass. 

"Back water half a stroke!" calls out Mr Blunt to us from his skiff. 

We obey him, and then find the other boat is a little in front of us. We therefore move a quarter of a stroke forward. Still the boats arenot quite level. The other boat must come back a foot or two. Notquite enough; our boat must advance a few inches. There, now they arelevel. 

"Are you ready?" No, our boat has drifted forward again, and must bemoved back. All this takes time, but presently we are once again level, and the question is repeated--

"Are you ready?"

The only answer this time is the leaning forward of both crews, witharms stretched and oars well back, in readiness for the signal. 

What ages it seems! And there I actually the wind has blown our rivals'bows across the stream, and before we start another two minutes must bespent in manoeuvring her back into position. Once again--

"Are you ready?"

No answer, save the quick reach forward and silent suspense. 

"Then go!" and I feel the boat half lifted in the water under me. Thefirst stroke is rather a scramble, and so is the second, but by thethird the boat has begun to get its "way" on, and in a stroke or twomore our men have settled down to their customary swing. 

But what of our opponents? At the first stroke their boat had dashedaway an inch or two in advance of ours, at the third that distance hadbecome a foot, and presently they were far enough ahead to enable me tocatch sight of their coxswain's back. As we both settled down to work, they were rowing at a considerably quicker pace than we, wrenching theboat forward at each stroke, and inch by inch improving their advantage. 

All this I noticed before the shout with which the spectators hailed thestart had died away. I had a dim vision of a body of runners startingalong with us on the banks, and of eager cries to one crew or the otherfrom sympathising onlookers; but I had enough to do to keep my eye fixedahead, without gaping at the crowd. 

Remembering Mr Blunt's advice, I selected a landmark in front, andsteered our course direct for it; a plan of which I had cause to be gladpretty early in the race. For the Old Boys' boat, drawing steadilyahead to about half a boat's length, began very gradually to insinuateits nose a little over in our direction, so that, had I not had a fixedpoint on which to steer, I should have been strongly tempted to give wayunwittingly before it, and so abandon an inch or two of the water thatfairly belonged to our boat. As it was, however, I was able both todetect and defeat this manoeuvre, for, keeping on a perfectly straightcourse, the others were obliged to draw in their horns, and return to astraight course too, having lost some little ground in the process. Still, they seemed to be forging ahead, and the shouts from the banksannounced that thus far, at any rate the Parkhurst boat was getting theworst of it. 

I stole a look at Blades. His face was composed and unconcerned, and itwas easy to see he knew what he was about. He kept up his long steadyswing, being well backed up by the three men behind him, and lifted theboat well at the beginning of the stroke, never letting it down till theend. I could see that he knew exactly how far the others were ahead, and at what rate they were rowing; and yet he neither quickened noraltered his stroke, but plodded on with such a look of easy confidencethat I at once felt quite satisfied in my own mind as to the result. Itwas not long before our opponents gave indication of abating somewhatthe quick stroke they had hitherto maintained, and by virtue of whichthey had already got nearly a boat's length ahead. At the same momentBlades slightly quickened his stroke, and instantly our boat began tocrawl up alongside that of our rivals, amid the frantic cheers of theonlookers. Slowly and surely we forged ahead, till our stroke's oar waslevel with their coxswain. Then a spurt from the Old Boys kept the twoboats abreast for a few seconds, but it died away after a little, andonce more their boat travelled slowly back, as we drew level, and beganin our turn to take the lead. Now was our time to--

What is that ahead on the water, drifting right across the bows of ourboat? A shout from the banks apprises me that others besides myselfhave taken the sudden alarm. An empty boat, insecurely moored to thebank, has got adrift, and is calmly floating up with the tide in mid-stream along our very course! What is to be done? The other boat, being on the opposite side, can easily clear the obstacle, but not soours. Either we must put our bows across our enemy's water, and so runthe risk of a "foul, " and consequent defeat, or else we must lose groundby slackening our pace and going out of our course to avoid the unluckyboat. There are not ten seconds in which to decide; but that sufficesme to choose the latter alternative, trusting to the rowing powers ofour crew to make up the disadvantage. 

"Look to your oars, stroke side!" I cry, and at the same time pull myrudder line quickly. 

It was as I expected. The boat lost ground instantly, and I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the Old Boys' boat shoot forward with aquickened stroke, and hear the triumphant shouts of their partisans. 

A second or two sufficed to get past the obstructing boat, our oars onthe stroke side just scraping it as we did so; but as we headed againinto our proper course, we saw our opponents two clear boats' lengths infront, their men pulling with all the energy of triumph and confidence. 

It was a sight to make one despair. How were we ever to make up thattremendous gap?

"How much?" Blades inquires, as he swings forward towards me. 

"Two!" I reply. 

He sets his face determinedly, and quickens his stroke. The men behindhim do not at first get into the altered swing, and for a moment or twothe rowing is scrambling, and our boat rolls unsteadily, a spectaclehailed with increased joy by the partisans of the Old Boys' boat. 

"Steady now!" cries Blades, over his shoulder, and next moment the boatrights itself; the four oars dip and feather simultaneously. I, sittingin the stern, can feel the swing as of one man, and the boat dashesforward like a machine. Our fellows on the banks mark the change andcheer tremendously. 

"Well spurted, Parkhurst!" "Put it on now!" "You're gaining!" "Rowedindeed!" Such were the cries which, as I heard them, set my bloodtingling with excitement. 

It was a long time before any perceptible gain was noticeable from whereI sat. The Old Boys had taken advantage of their lead to come acrossinto our water, and all I could see of them was the blades of their oarson in front, which rose and fell swiftly and with a regular beat. 

Still the shout from the bank was, "You're gaining!" and presently I sawtheir boat edging off again into their own water, by which I concludedwe had pulled up sufficiently to make this necessary to avoid a foul. 

Our men pulled splendidly. Cool, determined, and plucky, each rowed hisbest, his eyes fixed on the back of the man before him, keeping perfecttime, and pulling each stroke through with terrible energy. I could seeby their pale looks that they shared the common excitement, but therewas no sign of flurry or distress, nothing but a quiet determination, which augured better for the result of their efforts than all the shoutsof the onlookers. 

Where are we now? Those willows on my left are, I know, just half amile from the winning-post. Shall we, in that distance, be able to pullup the length which now divides us and our rivals? There is a chanceyet! The leading boat is not going as fast as it was a minute ago. Ican tell that by the eddies from their oars which sweep past. 

"How much?" inquired Blades again, as he swung forward. 

"One!" I replied. 

I could see by the gleam in his eyes that he had hope still of makingthat one length nothing before the winning-post was reached. 

That shout from the bank means something, surely!

"Well rowed indeed, Parkhurst!"

"They're overlapped!"

Yes, those who could see it were watching the little pink flag at theprow of our boat creeping, inch by inch, up the stern of our rivals'. The eddies from their oars came past nearer now, and the "thud" of theiroutriggers sounded closer. 

Yes, we are gaining without doubt; but shall we overtake them in time toavoid defeat? I can see a mass of people ahead on the banks, and knowthat they are gathered opposite the winning-post. It can't be a quarterof a mile off now!

Again that shout from the bank. Ah, yes, our bow oar is level withtheir stroke. "Now you have it!" shout our fellows. 

Blades turns his head for half a second, and cries to his men as hequickens up to his final spurt. 

What a shout then rent the air! Our boat no longer crawled up besidethe Old Boys, but began to fly. On, on! Their coxswain seems to begliding backwards towards me. In vain they attempt to answer our spurt;they have not the rowing left in them to do it. Nothing can stop us!In another moment we are abreast, and almost instantly there come suchcheers after cheers from the bank that even the dash of the oars wasdrowned in it. 

"Parkhurst's ahead!"

"Ah, well rowed!"

"Now, Old Boys!"

"It's a win!"

On, on! What sensation so glorious, so madly exciting, as that of oneof the crew of a winning boat within twenty yards of the goal? I amtempted to shout, to wave my hat, to do something ridiculous, but I setmy teeth and sit still, holding my breath. Four strokes more will doit. One! I am level with the stroke of the Old Boys' boat. Two! Ourfellows pull as if they had another half-mile to go still. Three! Thejudge at the winning-post is lifting his hand and cocking his pistol. Four! Crack goes the signal! and as our men cease rowing, and the boatshoots forward with the impetus of that last terrific stroke, amid thecheers and shouts of the assembled crowd, I breathe again, knowing thatthe Parkhurst boat has won, by three yards, the grandest race in whichit was ever my lot to take part. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

PARKHURST VERSUS WESTFIELD. 

"Now, Parkhurst, turn out sharp! They are going in first. " So shoutedSteel, the captain of our eleven, putting his head in at the door of thetent in which we were arraying ourselves in flannels and spiked shoes, and otherwise arming for the great match against Westfield School, whichwas now about to commence. 

We always looked upon these Westfield fellows as our most dangerousrivals on the cricket field (much in the light in which we esteemedCraven where football was concerned), and the match in which ourrespective pretensions were yearly settled was, I need hardly say, regarded as _the_ match of the season, and made the object of untiringpractice and feverish excitement. 

Year after year, for twelve years, our rival elevens had met, always onthe last Saturday of June, one year at Parkhurst and the next atWestfield, and so far the result had been that each school had won sixmatches. Fancy then the state of our feelings this year, as we startedoff in the early morning on our omnibus from Parkhurst, to engage in thedecisive contest which (unless it ended in a draw) must turn the balanceeither in favour of our school, or to the glorification of our rivals. We could not bear to think of the possibility of a defeat; it would betoo tragical, too shameful. So as we drove over to Westfield thatmorning, we talked of nothing but victory, and felt very like thosedetermined old Spartans who, when they went to the wars, made a vow theywould return either with their shields or on them. 

Of course there was a regular swarm of people to see the match. OldParkhurst "bats, " who had played in the first match, thirteen years ago, were there, with big beards, and very majestic to look at; Old Boys, nowsettled in life, were there with their wives and children; carriagesfull of our own and Westfield's fathers and mothers; and shoals of youngbrothers and sisters, crammed the space beyond the flags; the "doctors, "as usual, had driven over; and almost gave offence to some of our mostenthusiastic partisans by "chumming up" publicly with the head master ofour rivals! And then, besides, there was a host of outsiders, drawntogether by simple curiosity or love of cricket; so that altogether, aswe emerged from our tent in our snow-white flannels and pink belts, wefelt that the eyes of the world were upon us, and were more convincedthan ever that anything short of victory would be the most terrible ofall calamities which could fall on our youthful heads. 

Our great hope was in Steel, our captain, one of the best cricketersParkhurst had ever produced; and for coolness and self-confidencewithout his equal anywhere. We all adored him, for he never snubbedyoungsters, or made light of their doings. If, during practice, afellow bowled, batted, or fielded well, Steel took care to encouragehim; but if any one played carelessly, or bungled, Steel scowled, andthat unlucky man's name disappeared for a season from the list ofcandidates for a place in the first eleven. 

See him now stroll up to the wickets, with his wicket-keeping pads on, talking on the way to one of the two men who are to officiate first withtheir bats on behalf of Westfield. 

We youngsters can't understand such coolness, and keep our eyes on him, as if every moment we expected to see him fell his rival to the earth. It's a great matter to be used to a thing. I, who was now making myfirst appearance in the first eleven, felt as if the world began, continued, and ended within the area of this Westfield meadow; but herewas some one who, to all appearances, made no more of the great matchthan he would of his dinner. 

But away now with all thoughts but cricket! The ball we have beentossing about idly is taken into custody by the umpire; Steel is behindthe wickets, looking round to see if we fielders are all in our places, and motioning one or two of us to stand deeper or closer in, as he deemsadvisable. The Westfield batsman who is to receive the first over isgetting "middle"; our bowler is tucking up his sleeves, and gripping thebrand-new ball in his hand; the ground-keeper is chasing a few smallboys back behind the ropes; and the scorers in the big tent are dippingtheir pens in the ink. 

Altogether, it is a critical moment in my life--a moment that seems aslong as a whole day. 

"Play!" cries the umpire; and our bowler delivers his first ball--not avery alarming one, and evidently meant more as a test of the ball andthe pitch than as a serious attack on the enemy's wicket. My readers ofcourse do not expect me to give a full, true, and particular account ofevery ball bowled on that eventful day. That would be as tedious forthem as for me. But I shall do my best to recall the chief features ofthe game as they presented themselves to me from my post, first atcover-point, and (while our side was batting) from the tent and thewickets. 

The first few overs were not eventful. They rarely are. Our men had toget used to the ground and the ball; and the batsmen chose to beexceedingly careful how they hit out at first. In the third over asingle run was made, and of course the Westfield fellows cheered as ifthe match were already won. Then gradually came one or two moresingles, a two, another one, a three, and then, just as the two batsmenwere getting into good humour and fancying they might lay about them alittle more freely, down went the first wicket amid the cheers of ourfellows, and we saw the figures 12 posted up on the telegraph, asindicating the score so far standing to the credit of Westfield. 

We had not long to wait for the next man in, and still less long to seehim out, poor fellow! for the very first ball sent his bails flying overSteel's head, and he had to trudge back to the tent and take off hispads almost before he had got used to the feel of them on his legs. 

In the over following the arrival of his successor an easy catch bypoint disposed of another wicket. 

"This is something like!" I exclaimed to myself. "Three men out forfourteen runs. If it goes on like this, we shall have it all our ownway"; and in my satisfaction I ventured to communicate my ideas to theman fielding at point. 

"Adams, will you attend to the game?" It was Steel who spoke, and atthe sound of his voice I started like one shot, and discovered that thenext man was in and ready to begin. I stepped back to my place in aninstant, and would sooner have had one of Hurley's swiftest balls catchme on the bare shin than be thus publicly called to order before thewhole field. I can safely say that never in my life since that momenthave I caught myself talking during "play" in a cricket match. 

I felt in disgrace, and got nervous; I dared not look at Steel, for fearof meeting his eye. I wished myself a mile away, and repented of mysatisfaction of being in the first eleven. Most devoutly I hoped noball would chance near me, as I should assuredly miss it. As thethought passed my mind the man who was batting cut a ball hard and lowin my direction. It was so hard and so low that under any circumstancesit would have been a most difficult ball to field, still more to catch. It flew towards me a few inches from the ground, and I was in despair. I knew every eye in the field was on me--Steel's in particular. Herewould be some hundreds of witnesses to my utter imbecility! Would thatthe ground would swallow me! I sprang forward and tripped as I sprang. In my fall the ball dashed into my hand, and fell from it to the earth. I had missed the catch, and my disgrace was complete. Fancy then myastonishment when I heard Steel's awful voice cry, "Well tried, sir!"and when a distant sound of clapping reached me from the tents! I couldnot understand it at first; but I afterwards found out that by my luckytrip I had more nearly succeeded in catching the ball than a moreexperienced player would have done had he kept his balance, and so I gotcredit for a good piece of play which I did not in the least deserve. However, it served to recover me from my nervousness and bad spirits, and incite me to a desire to accomplish something for which I couldhonestly take credit. 

Never was such a determination more called for than now. Driver, thecaptain of the Westfield eleven, was at the wickets, a most tremendoushitter. All bowling came alike to him. The swifter the ball thehappier he was; sending one over the bowler's head, another nearly intothe scorers' tent, another among the spectators behind the ropes. Thescore, hitherto so slow, began to fly up. Forty, fifty, sixty, seventywe saw posted up in rapid succession, and wondered how it all would end. He seemed to have as many lives as a cat. Some easy catches weremissed, and some "runs out" were only just avoided. Still he scored, nomatter who his partner was (and one or two came and went while he wasin); he hit away merrily, and the cheers of Westfield grew almostmonotonous from their frequency. 

We on the "off" side, however, had not much to do, for nearly allDriver's hits were to the "on, " and, curiously enough, nearly all foundtheir way between two of our men, the "mid-wicket on" and the "long on, "just out of the reach of either. I could not help wondering why neitherof these fellows altered his place, so as to guard the weak point. 

It is curious how sometimes in cricket the same thing occurs to twopeople at the same time. While I was inwardly speculating on the resultof this change of position, Steel appeared to become aware of the samenecessity, for I saw him behind the batsman's back silently motioning"mid-wicket on" to stand farther back, and "mid on" to come round to a"square" position. This manoeuvre, however, did not escape the wilyDriver, who sent his next ball to leg, and the next to the identicalspot "mid-wicket on" had just quitted. Still, Steel motioned to them toremain in their new posts. He knew well enough that if a man has ahabit of hitting in any one direction, however studiously he tries toavoid the place. Nature will sooner or later assert herself, and theball will fly where it has been wont to fly. So it was in this case. He could _not_ resist an impulse to lift one specially tempting ball inthe direction of his old haunt, and sure enough in so doing he sent itclean into "long on's" hands, and with his own innings ended, to ourgreat relief, the innings of his side, for a total score of 174, ofwhich he had contributed quite the odd 74. 

It was a good round score to overtake, and things did not promisecheerfully for us at the commencement of our innings. The Westfield menwere happy in possessing two swift bowlers, who made havoc of the firsttwo or three on our side who presented themselves. I was one of these. 

When I started for the wickets, armed with pads and gloves and bat, Idid not feel happy; still, I was in hopes I might at least succeed in"breaking my duck's egg, " which was more than could be said for eitherof my predecessors. 

I felt rather important as I requested the umpire to give me "middle, "and hammered the mark a little with my bat. Still, my feet fidgeted;there was a sort of "cobwebby" feeling on my face, and a ticklingsensation in the small of my back, as I stood ready for my first ball, which convinced me I was by no means at home in my new position. 

"Play!" cries the umpire. 

The bowler starts to run, with arm extended. He makes a sort of curveround the wicket, and balances himself on one foot as he discharges hisball. It comes like lightning, right on to my bat, twisting it in mygrasp, and then is snatched up in an instant by "point, " who tosses itto the wicket-keeper, who returns it to the bowler. All this is veryalarming. Here are eleven men banded together with the one object ofputting me out, and they are all so quiet and determined about it that Ifeel like a guilty thing as I stand there to defend my wicket. 

The bowler starts again for his sinuous run, and again the ball whizzesfrom his hand. I lift my bat in an attempt to strike it; it slips underit; there is a little "click" behind my back, and then the ball fliesaloft, and I discover that my services at the wicket are no longerrequired. 

So ended my first innings. Happily for our side, some of the men whowent in afterwards made a better show than we three unfortunates who hadopened the ball had done. Steel made forty, and two others about twentyeach, which, added to the odds and ends contributed by the rest of ourside, brought the Parkhurst score up to 102--72 runs behind ourcompetitors. 

There was great jubilation among the Westfield partisans, as theirheroes entered on their second innings under such promising auspices, especially when the redoubtable Driver went in first with the bat whichhad wrought such wonders in the former innings. There seemed everyprobability, too, of his repeating his late performance with evengreater vigour, for the first ball which reached him he sent flying farand high right over the tents for six, a magnificent hit, which fairlydeserved the praise it received, not from the Westfield fellows only, but from ours, who for a moment could forget their rivalry to admire agreat exploit. The next three balls were delivered to his partner atthe wickets, who blocked carefully, evidently bent on acting on thedefensive while his companion made the running. From the fifth ball ofthat over a bye was scored, which brought Driver once again to the endfacing the bowler. The next ball came slightly to the "off, " and hetried to cut it. Either he miscalculated, or was careless about thedirection he gave it, for he lodged it clean into my hands, a safe andeasy catch, but a catch of enormous importance to our side, as itdisposed once and for all of our most dreaded opponent. 

Bereft of their champion, the Westfield fellows only succeeded inputting together the moderate score of fifty in their second innings, ofwhich twenty-four were contributed by one man. So our spirits revivedsomewhat, as we discovered we had only 123 to make to win. That wasindeed plenty against such bowling, but it was a good deal less than wehad dreaded. 

Well, the decisive innings began, as soon as we had fortified ourselveswith lunch, provided for us by our hospitable rivals. The afternoon wasgetting on, but still the crowd of spectators kept together patiently, determined to see the end of the match. 

"Shall we do it?" I heard some one ask of Steel. 

"Do what?" was the evasive reply. 

"Win, " said the other. 

"How do I know?" was our captain's curt answer. 

If there was one thing that annoyed Steel above others, it was to beasked foolish questions. 

He sent in two steady men first, with orders not to be in a hurry toscore, but to "break the back" of the bowling. And this advice theyfaithfully acted upon. For over after over there was nothing butblocking. In vain the bowlers strained every nerve to get round orunder those stubborn bats. They could not do it! Runs came few and farbetween--the field had nothing to do--and altogether the game becamevery monotonous. But those fellows did better service to our side thanmany who scored more and played in more brilliant style. We could seetheir prolonged stand was not without its effect on the Westfieldbowlers. Their bowling became less and less steady, and their styleseemed to lose its precision, as ball after ball fell hopelessly offthose obstinate bats. This was evidently just what Steel wanted, and wecould tell by his frequent "Played, sir!" how thoroughly he approved ofthe steady discipline of his men. After a time the very monotony of thegame seemed to excite the spectators, who answered each neat "block"with a cheer, which showed they, too, could appreciate the tactics ofour captain. 

It was getting desperate for Westfield, and humiliating too, when one oftheir bowlers happened to change his style. Instead of the slashinground-arm balls which he had hitherto sent in, he suddenly and withoutwarning put in an underhand lob--an easy, slow, tempting ball, apparently bound to rise exactly on the player's bat. 

Our man fell into the snare. I could hear Steel, who was near me, groan, as we watched him lift the bat which had till now remained sowell under control, and stepping forward prepare for a terrific "slog. "Alas! the deceitful ball never rose at all, but pitching quietly a footbefore the crease, shot forward along the ground, and found its way atlast to the wicket, amid the tremendous shouts of all the crowd. 

A parting being thus made between the two steady partners, the survivor, as is so often the case, did not long remain behind his companion, andwhen Steel went in, three wickets had already fallen with only fifteenruns. 

Will our captain save us from defeat? See him stand coolly at thewicket--how sure of himself he seems!--how indifferent to that imposingcombination of bowlers and fielders which surround him! He takes histime to get comfortably settled at his wicket, and kneels down totighten a shoestring, as if nobody was waiting for him. Then pullingdown the peak of his cap to shade his eyes from the sun, he leisurelyturns his face to the bowler, and announces himself ready for the worstthat desperate character can do to him. 

We watched breathlessly the result of his first over, and with anexcitement strangely in contrast with the indifferent and apparentlycareless demeanour of the batsman himself. It was soon apparent, however, that we might dismiss all anxiety from our minds as to hissafety, for he set briskly to work, punishing every ball that came tohim, yet never giving a single chance. I have rarely seen such good"all-round play. " Unlike the Westfield captain, who was strong only onthe leg side of the wicket, he was thoroughly at home from whatever sidethe attack was delivered. Some balls he hit to "leg, " and some he cutwith terrific force past "cover-point. " No ball came amiss to him; hewas up to "twisters, " and "lobs, " and "thunderbolts, " and walked intothem all with faultless dexterity. 

Up went our score. Twenty grew to forty, and forty to fifty. It wasall a matter of time now. If the five remaining men still to go incould together make a stand long enough to enable him to overtake theenemy's score, he would assuredly do it, unless some unforeseen accidentprevented it. Of these five I was next in order; nor was it long beforemy turn arrived, and I found myself sallying forth to join my captain atthe wickets. Remembering the poor figure I had cut in the firstinnings, I was not very sanguine of distinguishing myself on thisoccasion. Still, there was something in being opposite Steel which gaveme confidence, and relieved me of the nervous sensations which marked mylate _debut_. 

The first ball or two after my arrival fell to the lot of Steel, whosent them flying promptly, and gave me some running to do inconsequence. This helped still more to make me comfortable, so thatwhen at last my turn came to be bowled at, I experienced none of thedesolate feeling which had rendered my former brief innings so unhappy. 

I manage to block the first ball, and the second also. Then comes athird, under which I contrive to get my bat and send it flying. 

"Come!" shouts Steel, and I run. 

"Another!" he cries; and I run again, and am safe back before the ballreturns to the wicket-keeper's hands. 

Positively I had scored two! I felt as proud as if I had been electedan M. P. The next ball went for two more, and I could hear a cheer fromthe tent, which made me feel very valiant. I glanced to the signal-board; our score was ninety-six, only twenty-seven to win! Why shouldnot I be able to hold out until Steel made up the figure, and so defeatWestfield by four wickets? At any rate I would try; and I sent my nextball for a single. 

Then it was Steel's turn to bat. Of course he would send it flying. 

Horrors! He has missed it! A deafening shout proclaims that hisglorious innings is at an end, and I feel like an orphan as I watch him, with his bat under his arm, quitting the wicket at which he had puttogether sixty-six runs in as fine a style as any player ever did. Itwas good to hear the applause which welcomed him back to the tent. 

But what was to become of us? Here were twenty-six runs to get, and thefour weakest batsmen of our side to play. However, one can but do hisbest. 

So I played as carefully as I could, becoming gradually accustomed tothe bowling, and knocking an occasional one or two on to the score. Mynew companion, however, kept me company but a short time, and hissuccessor shorter still. This fellow coming in now is our last man. Will he and I ever be able to stick together till these fifteen runswhich are now required can be made up?

"Steady, Tom, " I whisper, as he passes me on the way to his wicket. Hewinks his answer. 

It is a responsible thing for us two youngsters, with the whole fate ofthe school depending on us. But we keep cool, and play our very best. One by one the score runs up. Ten to win--now eight, seven. It isgetting exciting. The crowd hangs eagerly on the result of each ball. Another two from my companion. The Westfield fellows look nervously atthe signal-board, as if by watching it they could make our figure growless. But, no! Another two, from my bat this time, and then a single. Only two to win! The next ball gets past my comrade's bat, and skimswithin a hair's-breadth of his bails. 

"Steady, now!" cries Steel, cheerily. "Mind what you're at!"

Steady it is. The next two balls are blocked dead. 

Then my companion makes a single. Hurrah! We are equal now. At anyrate defeat is averted! Now for victory! It is my turn to bat; butthis ball is not the sort of one to play tricks with; so with an effortI keep my bat square, and stop it without hitting. 

"Played, sir!" cries some one, approvingly, and I feel my self-denialrewarded. 

But the next ball is not so dangerous. I can see it is a careless one, which I may safely punish. Punish it I will; so I step forward, andcatching it on the bound, bang it I know not and care not where. 

What shouting! what cheering as we run, one, two, three, four, fivetimes across the wickets! The match is ours, with a wicket to spare;and as we ride back that evening to Parkhurst, and talk and laugh andexult over that day's victory, we are the happiest eleven fellows, without exception, that ever rode on the top of an omnibus. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

A BOATING ADVENTURE AT PARKHURST. 

Once, and once only, did I play truant from Parkhurst, and thattransgression was attended with consequences so tragical that to thisday its memory is as vivid and impressive as if the event I am about torecord had happened only last week, instead of a quarter of a centuryago. 

I shall recall it in the hope of deterring my readers from following myfoolish example--or at least of warning them of the terrible resultswhich may ensue from a thoughtless act of wrong-doing. 

I have already mentioned that Parkhurst stood some two or three milesabove the point at which the River Colven flows into the sea. From theschool-house we could often catch the hum of the waves breaking lazilyalong the shore of Colveston Bay; or, if the wind blew hard from thesea, it carried with it the roar of the breakers on the bar mouth, andthe distant thunder of the surf on the stony beach. 

Of course, our walks and rambles constantly took the direction of theshores of this bay; and though, perhaps, a schoolboy is more readilyimpressed with other matters than the beauties of nature, I can remembereven now the once familiar view from Raven Cliff as if my eyes stillrested upon it. 

I can see, on a hot summer afternoon, the great curve of that beautifulbay, bounded at either extremity by headlands, bathed in soft blue haze. I can see the cliffs and chines and sands basking, like myself, in thesun. On my right, the jagged outline of a ruined sea-girt castle standsout like a sentinel betwixt is land and water. On my left I can detectthe fishermen's white cottages crouching beneath the crags. I can seethe long golden strip of strand beyond; and, farther still, across thewide estuary of the Wraythe, the line of shadowy cliffs that extend likea rugged wall out to the dim promontory of Shargle Head. 

Above all, I can see again the sea, bluer even than the blue skyoverhead; and as it tumbles languidly in from the horizon, fringing theamphitheatre of the bay with its edge of sparkling white, my ears cancatch the murmur of its solemn music as they heard it in those days longgone by. 

Well I remember, too, the same bay and the same sea; but oh, howchanged!

Far as the eye could reach the great white waves charged towards theland, one upon another, furious and headlong; below us they thunderedand lashed and rushed back upon their fellows, till we who watched couldnot hear so much as our own voices. In the distance they leapt savagelyat the base of the now lowering headlands, and fought madly over thehidden rocks and sands. They sent their sleet and foam-flakes beforethem, blinding us where we stood on the cliff-top; they seethed andboiled in the hollows of the rocks, and over the river bar they dashedand plunged till far up the stream their fury scarcely spent itself. 

At such times no ship or boat ventured willingly into Colveston Bay; orif it did, it rarely, if ever, left it again. 

But such times were rare--very rare with us. Indeed, I had been monthsat Parkhurst before I witnessed a real storm, and months again before Isaw another. So that my acquaintance with the bay was almost altogetherconnected with its milder aspects, and as such it appeared bothfascinating and tempting. 

It was on a beautiful August holiday morning that four of us werelounging lazily in a boat down at the bar mouth, looking out into thebay and watching the progress of a little fishing smack, which wasskipping lightly over the bright waves in the direction of Shargle Head. Her sails gleamed in the sunlight, and she herself skimmed so lightlyacross the waters, and bounded so merrily through their sparklingripples, that she seemed more like a fairy craft than a real yacht ofboards and canvas. "I'd give a good deal to be in her!" exclaimed Hall, one of our party, a sea captain's son, to whom on all nautical matterswe accorded the amplest deference. "So would I, " said Hutton. "Howjolly she looks!"

"Ever so much more fun than knocking about on this stupid old river, "chimed in I. 

"I say, you fellows, " cried Hall, struck by a sudden idea, "whyshouldn't we have a little cruise in the bay? It would be glorious aday like this!"

"I'm not sure old Rogers, " (that was the disrespectful way in which, Iregret to say, we were wont to designate Dr Rogers, our head master)"would like it, " I said; "he's got some notion into his head aboutcurrents and tides, and that makes him fidgety. "

"Currents and fiddlesticks!" broke in Hall, with a laugh; "what does_he_ know about them? I tell you, a day like this, with a good sailingbreeze, and four of us to row, in case it dropped, there'd be no moredifficulty in going over there and back than there would in rowing fromhere back to Parkhurst. "

"How long would it take to get to Shargle?" inquired Hutton. 

"Why, only two hours, and perhaps less. The wind's exactly right forgoing and coming back too. We can be back by four easily, and thatallows us an hour or two to land there. "

It certainly was tempting; the day was perfection, and Colveston Bay hadnever looked more fascinating. The headlands stood out so distinctly inthe clear air that it was hard to imagine Shargle Head was five milesdistant from where we sat. 

When the proposition had first been made I had felt a passinguncomfortableness as to the lawfulness of such an expedition without thedistinct sanction of the head master; but the more I gazed on the bay, and the more Hall talked in his enthusiastic manner of the delights of acruise, and the longer I watched the fairy-like progress of the littlewhite-sailed fishing-boat, the less I thought of anything but thepleasure which the scheme offered. 

So when Hall said, "Shall we go, boys? What do you say?" I for onereplied, "All serene. "

All this while one of our party had been silent, watching the fishing-boat, but taking no part in our discussion. He was Charlie Archer, anew boy at Parkhurst, and some years our junior. But from the first Ihad taken a remarkable fancy to this clever, good-humoured, plucky boy, who henceforth had become my frequent companion, and with me thecompanion of the others who now composed our party. He now looked upand said, greatly to our surprise--

"I say, I don't want to go!"

"Why not?" we all asked. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " he replied, in evident confusion. "I don'twant to spoil your fun, you know, but I'd rather not go myself. "

"Why, what on earth's the matter with you, Charlie?" I asked. "Ithought you were always ready for an adventure. "

"I'd rather not go, please, " he repeated. "You can put me ashore. "

"Why not?" again inquired Hall, this time testily. He never likedCharlie quite as much as Hutton and I did, and was evidently displeasedto have him now putting forward objections to a proposition of his ownmaking. "Why not?"

"Because--because, " began the boy hesitatingly--"because I don't want togo. "

Hall became angry. Like most boys not sure of the honesty of their ownmotives, he disliked to have it suggested that what he was urging waswrong. He therefore replied, with a taunt keener than any persuasion--

"Poor little milksop, I suppose he's afraid of getting drowned, or ofdoing something his mamma, or his grandmamma, or somebody wouldn't liketheir little pet to do. We'd better put him ashore, boys; and mind hisprecious little boots don't get wet while we're about it!"

It was a cruel blow, and struck home at Archer's one weak point. 

Plucky and adventurous as he was, the one thing he could not endure wasto be laughed at. And his face flushed, and his lips quivered, as heheard Hall's brutal speech, and marked the smile with which, I amashamed to say, we received it. 

"I'm _not_ afraid, " he exclaimed. 

"Then why don't you want to go?"

He was silent for some time. A struggle was evidently going on in hismind. But the sneer on Hall's face determined him. 

"I do want to go. I've changed my mind!"

"That's the style, " said Hutton, patting him on the back. "I knew youwere one of the right sort. "

Hall, too, condescended to approve of his decision, and at once began tobusy himself with preparations for our immediate start. 

I, however, was by no means comfortable at what had taken place. It wasplain to see Charlie had yielded against his better judgment, and thatwith whatever alacrity he might now throw himself into the scheme, hismind was not easy. Had I been less selfishly inclined towards my ownpleasure, I should have sided with him in his desire not to engage in aquestionable proceeding; but, alas! my wishes in this case had ruled myconscience. Still, I made one feeble effort on Archer's behalf. 

"Hall, " whispered I, as I stooped with him to disengage the ropes at thebottom of the boat, "what's the use of taking Charlie when he doesn'twant to go? We may as well put him ashore if he'd sooner not go. "

"Archer, " said Hall, looking up from his ropes, "did you say you wantedto go, or not?"

The question was accompanied by a look which made it hard for the boy toreply anything but--

"I want to go. "

"And it's your own free will, eh?"

"Yes. "

So ended my weak effort. If only I had been more determined to doright; if, alas! I had imagined a thousandth part of what that day wasto bring forth, I would have set Archer ashore, whether he would or not, even if to do so had cost me my life. 

But this is anticipating. 

For half an hour we were busy getting our boat trim for her voyage. Shewas a somewhat old craft, in which for many years past we had been wontto cruise down the seaward reaches of the Colven, carrying one lug-sail, and with thwarts for two pairs of oars. She was steady on her keel, and, as far as we had been able to judge, sound in every respect, and agood sailor. Certainly, on a day like this, a cockleshell would havehad nothing to fear, and we were half sorry we had not a lighter boatthan the one we were in to take us across to Shargle. 

Hall, who assumed the command from the first, impressed us not a littleby the businesslike way in which he set to work to get everything ship-shape before starting. He knew clearly the use of each rope and pulley;he knew precisely the necessary amount of ballast to be taken, and theproper place for stowing it; he discoursed learnedly on knots andhitches, and aroused our sympathy by his laments on the absence of abowsprit and foresail. Hutton was sent ashore to buy provisions. Charlie was set to baling out the boat. I occupied myself with moppingthe seats, and generally "swabbing her up, " as Hall called it, so thatin due time we were ready to sail, well provisioned and well equipped, on our eventful voyage. 

Up went the sail; we watched it first flap wildly, and then swellproudly in the wind as the sheet rope was drawn in, and Hall's hand putround the helm. Then, after a little coquetting, as if she were loth toact as desired without coaxing, she rose lightly to the rippling waves, and glided forward on her way. 

"Adams, " said Hall, "you'd better make yourself snug up in the bows;Hutton, sit where you are, and be ready to help me with the sail when wetack. Charlie, old boy, come down astern, beside me; sit a littlefarther over, Hutton. Now she's trim. "

Trim she was, and a strange feeling of exhilaration filled my breast aswe now darted forward before the steady breeze, dancing over the waveswith a merry splash, tossing them to either side of our prow, andlistening to them as they gurgled musically under our keel. 

"There's Neil!" cried Charlie, as we passed the coastguards' boathouse, "spying at us through the telescope. "

"Let him spy, " laughed Hall; "I dare say he'd like to be coming too. It's slow work for those fellows, always hanging about doing nothing. "

"What's he waving about?" inquired I from the bows, for we could seethat the sailor had put down his glass, and was apparently trying tocatch our attention by his gesticulations. 

Hall looked attentively for a moment, and then said--

"Oh, I see, he's pointing up at the flagstaff to show us the wind's inthe north-east. I suppose he thinks no one knows that but himself. "

"Let's see, " said Hutton, "we are going north-west, aren't we?"

"Yes, so we shall be able to make use of the wind both ways, with alittle tacking. "

"He's shouting something now, " said Charlie, with his eyes still onNeil. 

"Oh, he's an old woman, " said Hall, laughing; "he's always wanting totell you this and that, as if no one knew anything about sailing buthimself. " And he took off his hat and waved it ceremoniously to the oldsailor, who continued shouting and beckoning all the while, thoughwithout avail, for the only words that came to us across the water were"fresh" and "afternoon, " and we were not much enlightened by them. 

"I'm afraid he's fresh in the morning, " laughed Hutton. 

A short sail brought us to the bar mouth, over which, as the tide was inand the sea quiet, we passed without difficulty, although Hall had badeus have the oars ready in case of emergency, should it be necessary tolower our sail in crossing. But of this there was no need, and in aminute we were at last in the bay, and fairly at sea. 

"Do you see Parkhurst over the trees there, you fellows?" cried Charlie, pointing behind us. "I never saw the place from the bay before. "

"Nor I, " I answered; "it looks better here than from any other side. "

We were all proud of the old school-house, and fully impressed with itssuperiority over any other building of the kind in the kingdom. 

The view in the bay was extremely beautiful, Shargle Head stood outopposite us, distinct and grand, towering up from the water, andsweeping back to join the moorland hills behind. On our left, closebeside the bar mouth, rose Raven Cliff, where we so often had been wontto lie and look out on this very bay; and one by one we recognised thefamiliar spots from our new point of view, and agreed that from no sidedoes a grand coast look so grand as from the sea. 

Our boat scudded along merrily, Hall keeping her a steady course, wellup to the wind. After a few lessons we got to know our respectiveduties (so we thought) with all the regularity of a trained ship's crew. With the wind as it was, right across our course, we had not much needto tack; but when the order to "stand by" did arrive, we pridedourselves that we knew how to act. 

Hall let go the sheet, and Hutton lowered the sail, Charlie put roundthe helm, and I in the bows was ready to aid the others in shifting thecanvas to the other side of the mast and hauling up the sail again. Then Hall resumed charge of the helm and drew in the sheet, Charlie andHutton "trimmed" over to the other side of the boat, and once again ourlittle craft darted forward. 

We were all in exuberant spirits that lovely summer morning; evenCharlie seemed to have forgotten his uneasiness at first starting, forhe was now the life and soul of our party. 

He told us wonderful stories about this very bay, gathered from some ofhis favourite histories. How, after the defeat of the Spanish Armada, when the proud vessels of Spain were driven partly by tempest, partly bythe pursuit of our admiral, headlong along: this very coast, one of themhad got into Colveston Bay, and there been driven ashore at the base ofRaven Cliff, not one man of all her crew surviving that awful wreck. And he repeated one after another the legends connected with DruceCastle, whose ruined turrets we could discern away behind us, and of allthe coves and crags and caves as we passed them, till, in ourimagination, the bay became alive once more with ships and battle, andwe seemed to watch the gleam of armour on the castle walls, and theglare of beacons on the headlands, and to hear the thunder of cannonfrom the beach; when presently Hall's cheery call to "stand by" wakenedus into a sudden recollection of our present circumstances. And thenwhat songs we sang! what famous sea stories Hall told us! how Huttonmade us roar with his recitations! how the time seemed to fly, and theboat too, and we in it, until at last we found the Great Shargletowering over our heads, and knew we had all but reached ourdestination. 

Hall looked at his watch. 

"That was a good run, boys, " said he; "not quite two hours--anuncommonly good run for an old tub like this. Now where shall we land?"

"I vote we land on Welkin Island, " said Charlie. 

Welkin Island was separate about three-quarters of a mile from themainland, famous for its caves and shells. 

"All serene, " said Hall, putting the boat about; "stand by. "

So we made our last tack, and very soon were close up at the island. After some cruising we selected an eligible creek for landing, intowhich Hall ran our boat as neatly as the most experienced helmsman inHer Majesty's Navy. 

Then we landed, and dragging ashore our hamper of provisions, picnickedat the edge of the rocks, with the water on three sides of us, withShargle Head across the narrow channel rising majestically above us, andthe great amphitheatre of the bay extended like a picture beyond. 

Need I say what a jovial repast it was; what appetites we had, what zestour situation lent to our meal, how each vied with each in merriment!But Charlie was the blithest of us all. 

Then we wandered over that wonderful island. We waded into the caves, and climbed to the cliff tops; we filled our pockets with shells, webathed, we aimed stones into the sea, we raced along the strand, we cutour names in a row on the highest point of the island, in commemorationof our expedition, and there they remain to this day. 

"I say, I hope it's not going to rain, " said Hutton, looking up at theclouds, which had for some time been obscuring the sun. 

"Who cares if it does?" shouted Charlie. "Hullo, there goes my roof!"cried he, as a sudden gust of wind lifted his hat from his head, andsent it skimming down the rocks. 

"I think it's time we started home, " said Hall hurriedly. 

There was something in the uneasy look of his face as he said this whichmade me uncomfortable. 

So we turned to embark once more in our boat. 

We could not conceal from ourselves, as we made our way to the creekwhere we had left her moored, that the weather, which had thus far beenso propitious to our expedition, was not holding out as we could havewished. The wind, which had been little more than a steady breezeduring the morning, now met us in frequent gusts, which made us raiseour hands to our hats. A few ugly-looking black clouds on the horizonhad come up and obscured the sun, threatening not only to shut out hisrays, but to break over the bay in a heavy downpour of rain. Even onthe half-sheltered side of the island where we were, the water, whichhad hitherto moved only in ripples, now began to heave restlessly inwaves, which curled over as they met the breeze, and covered the seawith little white breakers. There was an uncanny sort of moan about thewind as it swept down the hollows of the rocks, and even the seagulls, as they skimmed past us on the surface of the now sombre water, seemeduncomfortable. 

However, the sea was not rough, and though the sun happened to be hiddenfrom us, we could see it shining brightly away in the direction ofParkhurst. The wind, too, though stronger than it had been in themorning, was still not violent, and we had little doubt of making asquick, if not a quicker passage back than we had already made. 

So, although in our secret hearts each one of us would perhaps havepreferred the weather of the earlier part of the day to have continued, we did not let our uneasiness appear to our fellows, or allow it tointerfere with our show of good spirits. 

"I tell you what, " said Charlie, laughing, as we came down to our boat, "it would be a real spree to have a little rough water going back, justfor the fun of seeing old Hutton seasick. "

"I shall be very pleased to give you some amusement, " replied Hutton;"and perhaps Adams will assist, for I saw him looking anxiously over thebows once or twice as we were coming. "

"So did I, " said Charlie; "he must have seen a ghost in the water, forhe looked awfully pale. "

"Shut up, you fellows, " cried I, who was notoriously a bad sailor, andeasily disturbed by a rough sea; "perhaps we shall all--"

"I say, " called out Hall from the boat, where he was busy tying up areef in our sail, "I wish you fellows would lend a hand here, instead ofstanding and chaffing there. "

We obeyed with alacrity, and very soon had our boat ready for starting. 

"Now, Adams and Hutton, take the oars, will you? and pull her out ofthis creek: we had better not hoist our sail till we are clear of theserocks. "

As we emerged from our little harbour the boat "lumped" heavily over thewaves that broke upon the rocks, and we had a hard pull to get her clearof these and turn her with her stern to Shargle. 

"Now stand by, " shouted Hall. 

We shipped our oars, and in a moment the sail, shortened by one reef, was hauled up, and the boat began to scud swiftly forward. 

"You'll have to sit right over, you two, " said Hall to Hutton and me, "to keep her trim. Look sharp about it!"

As he spoke a gust took the sail, and caused the boat to heel over faron to her side. She righted herself in an instant, however, and on wewent, flying through the water. 

"How do you feel, Adams?" called out Charlie mischievously, from his endof the boat. 

"Pleasant motion, isn't it?" put in Hutton, laughing. 

"Look here, you fellows, " said Hall abruptly, "stop fooling now, andlook after the boat. "

"Why, what's the row?" said Hutton, struck with his unusually serioustone. "It's all right, isn't it?"

"It's all right, " said Hall curtly, "if you'll only attend to thesailing. "

Our merriment died away on our lips, for it was plain to be seen Hallwas in no jesting humour. 

Then several things struck us which we had not previously noticed. Onewas that the wind had shifted farther north, and was blowing hard rightinto the bay, gathering strength every minute. Hall, we noticed, wassailing as close as possible up to it, thus making our course far widerthan that which had brought us in the morning. 

"Why are you steering out like that?" I ventured to ask. 

"Because if I didn't-- Look out!" he exclaimed, as a sudden gust caughtthe boat, making her stagger and reel like a drunken man. In an instanthe had released the sheet rope, and the sail flapped with a tremendousnoise about the mast. It was but an instant, however, and then we sawhim coolly tighten the cord again, and put back the helm to its formercourse. After that I did not care to repeat my question. 

Reader, have you ever found yourself at sea in an open boat, a mile orso from land, in a gathering storm; with the wind in your teeth and thesea rising ominously under your keel; with the black clouds musteringoverhead, and the distant coastline whitening with breakers? Have youmarked the headlands change from white to solemn purple? Have youlistened to that strange hiss upon the water, and that moaning in thewind? Have you known your boat to fly through the waves without makingway, and noted anxiously by some landmark that she is rather driftingback with the current, instead of, as it seems, tearing before the wind?

If so, you can imagine our feelings that afternoon. 

It was useless to pretend things were not as bad as they looked; it wasuseless not to admit to ourselves we were fairly in for it now, and mustbrave it out as best we could; it was useless to maintain we had notbeen foolish, wickedly foolish, in starting on so venturesome anexpedition; it was useless to deny that it would have been better had weremained at Shargle, or returned to Parkhurst by land. 

We were in for it now. 

The one thing which gave us confidence was Hall's coolness, now that thedanger was unmistakable. He neither allowed himself to get flurried noralarmed, but sat with closed lips watching the sail--one hand on thetiller and the other grasping the sheet, ready to let it go at amoment's notice. 

As for us, we wished we could do anything more active than sit still andtrim the boat. But even that was some use, and so we remained, watchinganxiously the clouds as they rolled down the sides of the hills and halfobscured Shargle Head from our view. 

Presently, however, Hall said--

"Get the oars out, will you? we haven't made any way for an hour. "

No way for an hour! Had we then been all that time plunging through thewaves for nothing? With what grim earnestness we set to work to rowthrough this unyielding current!

But to no effect--or scarcely any. The little white cottage on Shargle, which we looked round at so anxiously from time to time, to ascertainwhat progress had been made, remained always in the same position, andafter twenty minutes' desperate pulling it seemed as if the totaldistance gained had been scarcely half a dozen yards. 

It was disheartening work, still more so as the sea was rising everyminute, and the rain had already begun to fall. 

"We're in for a gale, " said Hall, as a wave broke over the side, drenching Hutton and me, and half-filling the bottom of the boat withwater. "Look sharp, Charlie, and bale out that before the next comes. "

Charlie set to work with a will, and for a time we rowed steadily on, without saying a word. 

"What's the time?" I asked presently of Hall, as I saw him take out hiswatch. 

"Five, " said he. 

It was an hour after the time we had expected to be back at Parkhurst, and we were not yet clear of Shargle. The same thought evidentlycrossed the minds of the other three, for they all glanced in thedirection of Raven Cliff, now scarcely visible through the heavy rain. 

"I wish we were safe home, " muttered Hutton, the most dispirited of ourcrew. "What fools we were to come!"

We said nothing, but pulled away doggedly at the oars. 

Now it really seemed as if we were making some progress out of thatwretched current, for the white cottage on the cliff appeared fartherastern than it had done since we began to row, and we were beginning tocongratulate ourselves on our success, when Hall, who had for some timebeen anxiously watching the shore, cried out--

"For goodness' sake pull hard, you fellows! we are drifting in fast. Here, Charlie, take the helm, and keep her the way she is, while I getdown the sail. It's no use now. Mind your heads, but don't stoprowing, " he shouted to us, as he let down the sail suddenly, and loweredthe mast. "Keep her head out, Charlie, whatever you do. Let go thatrope beside you. That's right. Now take hold of that end of the mastand slip it under the seat. "

So saying he managed to get down the mast and stow it away withoutimpeding either the rowing or the steering, and immediately theadvantage of the step was manifest in the steadier motion of the boat, although we groaned inwardly at the thought of having now all thedistance to row. At least I groaned inwardly. Hutton was hardly asreserved. 

"I tell you what, " he said to me, stopping rowing, "I don't know whatyou and the other fellows intend to do, but I can't row any more. I'vebeen at it an hour together. "

"What are we to do, then?" inquired I. 

"Why shouldn't Hall take a turn? He's been doing nothing. "

"He's been steering, " replied I, "and he's the only fellow who knowshow, and Charlie's not strong enough to row. "

"Well, all I can say is, I don't mean to row any longer. "

All this had been said in an undertone to me, but now Hall cried out--

"What are you shopping for, Hutton? Pull away, man, or we shall neverget out of this. "

"Pull away yourself!" said Hutton sulkily. "I've had enough of it. Youbrought us here, you'd better take us back!"

Hall's face at that moment was a study. I fancy if this had been a shipand he the skipper, he would not have hesitated an instant how to dealwith this unexpected contingency. But now he did hesitate. It wasbitter enough punishment to him to be there exposed to all the dangersof a sudden storm, with the safety, and perhaps the life, not only ofhimself, but of us whom he had induced to accompany him, on his hands;but to have one of those comrades turn against him in the moment ofperil was more than he had looked for. 

"I'll take an oar, " said Charlie, before there was time to say anything. 

"No, " said Hall, starting up; "take the helm, Charlie. And you, " addedhe, to Hutton, "give me your oar and get up into the bows. "

The voice in which this was spoken, and the look of scorn whichaccompanied it, fairly cowed Hutton, who got up like a lamb and crawledinto the bows, leaving Hall and me to row. 

"Keep her straight to the waves, whatever you do! it's all up if shegets broadside on!" said the former to Charlie. 

And so for another half-hour we laboured in silence; then almostsuddenly the daylight faded, and darkness fell over the bay. 

I rowed on doggedly in a half-dream. Stories of shipwrecks andcastaways crowded in on my mind; I found myself wondering how and whenthis struggle would end. Then my mind flew back to Parkhurst, and Itried to imagine what they must think there of our absence. Had theymissed us yet? Should I ever be back in the familiar house, or--but Idared not think of that. Then I tried to pray, and the sins of myboyhood came up before my mind as I did so in terrible array, so that Ivowed, if but my life might be spared, I would begin a new and betterlife from that time forward. Then, by a strange impulse, my eyes restedon Charlie, as he sat there quietly holding the tiller in his hands andgazing out ahead into the darkness. What was it that filled me withforeboding and terror as I looked at the boy? The scene of the morningrecurred to my mind, and my halfhearted effort to prevent him fromaccompanying us. Selfish wretch that I had been! what would I not nowgive to have been resolute then? If anything were to happen to Charlie, how could I ever forgive myself?

"I think we've made some way, " he cried out cheerily. "Not much, " saidHall gloomily; "that light there is just under Shargle Head. "

"Had we better keep on as we are?" I asked. "I don't see what else isto be done. If we let her go before the wind, we shall get right on tothe rocks. "

"You've a lot to answer for, " growled Hutton from where he lay, half-stupid with terror, in the bows. 

Hall said nothing, but dashed his oar vehemently into the water andcontinued rowing. 

"I wonder if that light is anywhere near Parkhurst?" presently askedArcher. "Do you see?"

We looked, and saw it; and then almost instantly it vanished. At thesame time we lost sight of the lights on Shargle Head, and the rain camedown in torrents. "A mist!" exclaimed Hall, in tones of horror. Wellindeed might he and we feel despair at this last extinguisher of ourhopes. With no landmark to steer by, with wind and sea dead in ourteeth, with the waves breaking in over our sides, and one uselessmutineer in our midst, we felt that our fate was fairly sealed. EvenHall for a moment showed signs of alarm, and we heard him mutter tohimself, "God help us now!" Next moment a huge wave came broadside onto us and emptied itself into our boat, half filling us with water. Inthe sudden shock my oar was dashed from my hand and carried awayoverboard!

"Never mind, " said Hall hurriedly, "it would have been no use; put herround, Charlie, quick--here, give me the tiller!"

In a moment the boat swung round to the wind (not, however, before shehad shipped another sea), and then we felt we were simply flying towardsthe fatal rocks. 

"Bale out, all of you!" shouted Hall; and we obeyed, including evenHutton, who seemed at last, in very desperation, to be awakening to asense of his duty. 

The next few minutes seemed like an age. As we knelt in our half-flooded boat scooping up the water there in our hats, or whatever wouldserve for the purpose, we could hear ahead of us the angry roar ofbreakers, and knew every moment was bringing us nearer to our doom. 

By one impulse we abandoned our useless occupation. What was the use ofbaling out a boat that must inevitably in a few minutes be dashed topieces on the rocks? Hutton crawled back into the bows, and Charlie andI sat where we were on the seat and waited. 

I could not fail, even in such a situation, to notice and admire Hall'sself-possession and coolness. Desperate as our case was, he kept asteady hand on the helm, and strained his eyes into the mist ahead, never abating for a moment either his vigilance or his courage. Butevery now and then I could see his eyes turn for a moment to Charlie, and his face twitch as they did so, with a look of pain which I was atno loss to understand. 

"How far are we from the rocks?" asked Charlie. 

"I can't say; a quarter of an hour, perhaps. "

"Whereabouts are we?" I asked. 

"When the lights went out we were opposite Raven Cliff, " replied Hall. 

We were silent for another minute; then Hall took out his watch. 

"Eight o'clock, " said he. 

"They'll be at prayers at Parkhurst, " said Charlie; and in the silencethat followed, need I say that we too joined as we had never done beforein the evening prayers of our schoolfellows?

"Charlie, old boy, " said Hall, presently, "come and sit beside me, willyou?"

Poor Hall! had it been only _his_ own life that was at stake, he wouldnever have flinched a muscle; but as he put his arm round the boy whomhe had led into danger he groaned pitiably. 

"I wonder if Neil's out looking for us, " Hutton said from the bows. 

"Not much use, " said Hall. "If only this mist would lift!"

But it did not lift. For another five minutes we tore through thewaves, which as we neared the shore became wilder and rougher. Ourboat, half full of water, staggered at every shock, and more than oncewe believed her last plunge had been taken. 

On either side of us, for the little distance we could see through themist, there was nothing but white foam and surging billows; behind usrushed the towering waves, overtaking us one by one, tossing us aloftand dashing us down, till every board of our boat creaked and groaned. Above us the rain poured in torrents, dashing on to our bare heads, andblinding us whenever we turned our faces back. 

Then Hall cried out, "Listen! those must be breakers behind us!"

Assuredly they were! On either side we could hear the deafening thunderof the surf as it dashed over the rocks. 

"Then, thank God!" exclaimed Hall, "we must have got in between tworeefs; perhaps we shall go aground on the sand!"

The next two minutes are past description. Hutton crawled down besideme where I sat, and I could feel his hand on my arm, but I had no eyesexcept for Charlie, who sat pale and motionless with Hall's arm roundhim. 

"Now!" shouted Hall, abandoning the tiller, and tightening his hold onthe boy. 

There was a roar and a rush behind us, our boat swooped up with thewave, and hung for a moment trembling on its crest, then it fell, and inan instant we were in the water. 

Hutton was beside me as the rush back of that huge wave swept us off ourfeet. I seized him by the arm, and next moment we were struggling tokeep our heads up. Then came another monster, and lifted us likestraws, flinging us before it on to the strand, and then rolling andfoaming over us as we staggered to our feet. 

Hutton, half stunned, had been swept from my hold, but mercifully wasstill within reach. Clutching him by the hair, I dragged him with allmy might towards the land, before the returning wave should once moresweep us back into the sea. By a merciful Providence, a solitary pieceof rock was at hand to aid us; and clinging to this we managed tosupport that terrific rush, and with the next wave stagger on to solidground. 

But what of Charlie? Leaving my senseless companion, I rushed wildlyback to the water's edge, and called, shouted, and even waded back intothe merciless surf. But no answer: no sign. Who shall describe theanguish of the next half-hour? I was conscious of lights and voices; Ihad dim visions of people hurrying; I felt something poured down mythroat, and some one was trying to lift me from where I sat. But no! Iwould not leave that spot till I knew what had become of Charlie, and inmy almost madness I shrieked the boy's name till it sounded even abovethe roaring waves. 

Presently the lights moved all to one spot, and the people near me movedtoo. Weak as I was, I sprang to my feet and followed. 

Good heavens! what did I see? Two sailors, half naked, stooped oversomething that lay on the sand between them, What, who was it? I cried;and the crowd made way for me as I fought my way to the place. 

Two figures lay there; the smaller locked in the arms of his protector!But dead or living? Oh, if I could but hear some voice say they werenot dead! Another person was kneeling over them beside me. Even inthat moment of confusion and terror I could recognise his voice as thatof the Parkhurst doctor. 

"Look after this one here, " he said; "he has a broken arm. Carry up thelittle fellow to the cottage. "

Then I knew Charlie was dead!

It was weeks before I was sufficiently recovered in body or mind to hearmore than I knew. Then the doctor told me:--

"Hall is getting better. He broke his arm in two places, trying toshield the boy from the rocks. He will not speak about it himself, andno one dares mention Archer's name to him. There was neither bruise norscratch on the little fellow's body, which shows how heroically theother must have tried to save him. "

I soon recovered, but Hall was ill for many weeks--ill as much fromdistress of mind as from the injuries he had received. He and I arefirm friends to this day; and whenever we meet, we speak often of littleCharlie Archer. Hall is a sea captain now, and commands his own vesselin distant seas; but though he has been through many a peril and many astorm since, I can confidently say he never showed himself a bettersailor than he did the night we sailed back from the Shargle. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

"FIVERS" VERSUS "SIXERS" AT PARKHURST. 

"I tell you what it is, you fellows, I shall learn to swim!" Thespeaker was Bobby Jobson, a hero of some thirteen summers, who, incompany with four of us, his schoolfellows, sat on the bank of theColven, under some willows, dabbling his shins in the clear water of theriver. 

The summer had been tremendously hot. Cricket was out of the question, and boating equally uninviting. The playground had been left desertedto bake and scorch under the fierce sun, and the swings and poles in thegymnasium had blistered and cracked in solitude. The only place wherelife was endurable was down by the river, and even there it was far toohot to do anything but sit and dabble our feet under the shelter of thetrees, and think of icebergs!

A few of the fellows, to our unbounded envy, bathed. They could swim, we could not; and if any rule at Parkhurst was strict, it was the rulewhich forbade any boy who could not swim to bathe in the river, exceptwith special leave and under the care of a master. And so, like so manysmall editions of Tantalus, we sat on the bank and kicked our heels inthe water, and bemoaned the fate which had brought us into the worldwithout web-feet. 

Young donkeys that we were! The idea of _learning_ to swim had neveroccurred to any of us till Bobby Jobson, in a happy moment, gave birthto the idea in his ejaculation, "I tell you what it is, you fellows, Ishall learn to swim!"

"How?" I inquired. 

"How?" said Jobson; "why, you know, how does every body learn?" and thenhe was polite enough to call me a duffer. 

"I'll tell you the way, " said Ralley, one of our set. "Lie across adesk on your stomach, two or three hours every day, and kick out withyour arms and legs. "

"Corks and bladders, " mildly suggested some one else. 

"Get old Blades, " (that was the boatman) "to tie a rope round yourmiddle and chuck you into the Giant's Pool, " kindly proposed another. 

"Just tumble in where you are, " said Ralley, "and see if it doesn't comenaturally. "

"Ugh!" said Jobson, with a grimace, giving a sidekick in the water inthe direction of the last speaker. "I'm not sure that _that_ dodgewould pay. "

While he spoke, to our unbounded horror, the bank on which he and hisnext neighbour were sitting suddenly gave way, and next moment, with ashout and a splash, our two comrades were floundering helplessly in fivefeet of water!

Help, happily, was at hand, or there is no saying what might have beenthe end of the adventure. We did all we could by reaching out our handsand throwing them our jackets to help them, while, with our shouts, wesummoned more effective aid. Old Blades, who providentially happened tobe passing, was with us in less than a minute, and fished out the twopoor half-drowned boys, scarcely a moment before they needed it. Theywere more frightened, I fancy, than damaged; anyhow, we smuggled themhome, dripping as they were, and helped them to bed; and when, nextmorning, they turned up as usual, nothing the worse for their firstswimming lesson, we were, as you may imagine, infinitely relieved. 

This little adventure was the origin of the Parkhurst Swimming Club. The doctor, on hearing of the affair, took the proper course; and, instead of forbidding us the river, he secured the services of one ortwo instructors, and had us all taught the art of swimming. For threemonths, every day of the week, the School Creek was full of sputtering, choking youngsters. Every new boy was hunted down to the river in turn, and by the end of the year there was hardly a boy at Parkhurst who couldnot keep his chin up in deep waters. 

But this is a long introduction. 

One day, two summers after that in which young Jobson and his friend hadtumbled into the Colven, a large party of us were down at the bathing-place, indulging in what had now become a favourite summer pastime. Itso happened that our party was made up entirely of boys in the twosenior classes of the school--the fifth and the sixth. Most of us werelanded and dressing, and while so occupied had leisure to watch theperformances of those who still remained in the water. 

Two of these specially interested us, who were swimming abreast about ahundred yards from the landing-place, evidently racing home. One ofthese chanced to be a sixth-form boy and the other a fifth, and a suddenimpulse seized us of the latter class to cheer our man vehemently, andback him to be the first to reach home. The sixth-form fellows, thuschallenged, became equally excited in backing _their_ man, and so, without premeditation, a regular match was made. The two swimmers, hearing our shouts, entered into the spirit of the thing, and adesperate race ensued. They came on, neck and neck, towards us, cheeredlike mad by their respective supporters, both sides deeming the honourof his form at stake in the event. Within a yard or two of the finishthey were still level, when the sixth-form man put on a terrific spurt, to our huge disgust, and just landed himself in a nose ahead. 

Of course, we were not going to be beaten thus, and there and thendemanded our revenge. Whereupon the company--half of them in a veryelementary stage of dressing, and the other half in no stage at all--resolved itself into a meeting on the spot, and fixed that day week fora formal trial of prowess between the two classes. Three events were tobe contested--a half-mile race, a hundred yards, and a duck hunt--and, of course, the winner of two out of the three would carry the day. 

Then, in great excitement, we finished our toilets and hurried back tothe school, where, naturally, the news of the coming contest spread likewildfire and caused a great commotion. The school divided itselfforthwith into two factions, calling themselves the "fivers" and"sixers. " The selection of representatives to compete in the races wasa matter of almost as much excitement as the races themselves, and Ineed hardly say it was a proud day for me when I was informed I was toact in the capacity of "hunter" for the fifth in the duck hunt. Iaccepted the honour with mingled pride and misgivings, and spent a busyweek practising for my arduous duties. 

Well, the eventful day came at last, and nearly the whole schoolmustered at Cramp Corner to see the sport. For the half-mile race, which was to come off first, there were only two fellows competing. Ourman was Barlow--of paper-chase celebrity--while the sixth were veryconfident of winning with Chesney, a hero nearly six feet high. Certainly, as the two stood on the spring-board waiting the signal togo, there seemed very little chance for the small Jim against his lankyantagonist, although some of us comforted ourselves with thecontemplation of our man's long arms and the muscles in his legs. Thecourse was to be once up Cramp Reach and back--just half a mile. Theswimmers were at liberty to swim in any manner they chose, and boundonly to one rule--to keep their right side. 

They were not long kept waiting in their scanty attire on the planks. The doctor himself gave the signal to start, and at the word they dartedwith two "swishes" into the water. Jim's head was up first, and off hestarted at a steady chest-stroke, meaning business. Chesney's dive wasa long one, and, considering he had a half-mile race before him, afoolish one, for he taxed his breath at the outset, which might havebeen avoided, had he thought less about elegance and more about therace. However, he did not seem at first to be any the worse off for hetook a slight lead of Jim, going through the water swiftly and easily, with as pretty a side-stroke as any fellow's at the school. In point ofstyle there was no comparison between the two. Jim pounded alongmonotonously, but steadily, with a square front, preserving all alongthe same regular stroke, the same pace, and the same dogged expressionof countenance with which he had entered the water. His rival, on theother hand, delighted the spectators by all kinds of graceful variety. Now he darted forward on his side, now on his back. Sometimes herefreshed himself by a swift dive, and sometimes he swung his arms likea windmill. In fact, there was scarcely any accomplishment possible inrapid swimming which he did not give us the benefit of. 

But it was evident some of his friends did not approve of his style. Iheard one of them, running near me, growl, "I wish he would give overhis capers and swim like a rational animal. "

"Rational or not, he's keeping his lead, " said another, and so he was. Plodding Jim, with his everlasting chest-stroke, was half a dozen yardsor so behind, and did not look like picking up either. Nevertheless, wecheered him like mad, and kept up our hopes that he would "stay out" thebetter of the two. 

When both turned at the top of the reach, Chesney gave up his fancifulswimming, and, to our alarm, settled down to a side-stroke, which for atime looked powerful and effective. But he had been too confident allalong, and now, when he reckoned on shaking off his opponent and gettinga clear lead, he found out he was destined to do just the reverse. Whatlong faces the "sixers" pulled as their man began to puff and slackenpace! A half-mile race is no joke, believe me; and so Chesney began tofind out. Before half the distance back was covered he showedunmistakable signs of going to pieces, and--a very ominous sign--took tochanging from one side to another at very frequent intervals. 

Of course we "fivers" howled with delight! Our man had never turned ahair, and was now pulling up at every stroke. As he drew level, Chesneygathered up all his remaining strength for a spurt. But it came tonothing. Jim held on his way almost remorselessly, and headed his manfifty yards from the winning-post; and the next thing we saw was Chesneypulling up dead, and making for the bank in a very feeble condition. Jim quietly swam on amid our frantic plaudits, and landed pretty nearlyas fresh as when he started. 

So far so good. Loud and long were our exultations, for we had hardlyexpected to win this race; we had put our chief confidence on thehundred yards, which was to follow. In this race three a side wereentered, and of our three we knew no one in the school who could beatHalley at a hundred yards. It was rumoured, indeed, that Payne, one ofthe three "sixers, " had been doing very well in training, but thereports of him were not sufficiently decided to shake our faith in ourown hero. 

It was an anxious moment as they stood there waiting for the doctor'ssignal. If only we could win this race, we should have our two racesout of the three in hand without further combat. 

"Go!" cried the doctor; and at the word six youthful forms plunge intothe water, and for a second are lost to sight. But the moral of thehalf-mile race has evidently been taken to heart by these six boys. They waste neither time nor wind under the surface, but rising quickly, dash to their work. After the first few strokes Payne showed in front, greatly to the delight of the "sixers, " who felt that everythingdepended on their man. We, however, were glad to see our man stickingclose up, and keeping stroke for stroke after his rival. Of the others, one only--little Watson--of the sixth seemed to hold his own, and thatwas a good three yards in the rear of Halley: while the three othersfell off hopelessly from the very beginning. 

The race was short, but eventful. To our delight, Halley overhauledPayne before half-way was reached, and we felt now absolutely sure ofthe race. It never occurred to us to think of young Watson at all. Butall of a sudden it became apparent that that young man meant business. He changed his front, so to speak, in a very unexpected manner, and justas we were beginning to exult over our man's certain victory, he layover on his side, and, with a peculiar, jerky side-stroke, began to workhis little carcase through the water at a wonderful pace. 

Before long he had overtaken his fellow-"sixer, " and almost immediatelydrew up to our champion. We were in consternation. Twenty yards morewould end the race, and if only our man could hold out and keep hislead, we were all right. At first it looked as if he would, for, encouraged by our cheers, and seeing his peril, he spurted, and kept agood yard ahead of this audacious young "sixer. " But the latter put onespurt on to another, and drew up inch by inch. Ten yards from home theywere level; then, for a stroke or two, there was a frantic struggle;then the "sixers" sent forth a shout that must have frightened the veryfishes; and well they might, for their man had won the race, a yard anda half clear ahead of our champion. 

One race each! And now for the "duck hunt" to settle the match. Butbefore I go further I ought to explain, for the benefit of those whohave not been initiated into the mysteries of the pastime, how a duckhunt was managed at Parkhurst. 

The part of the river selected was close to the mouth, where the streamat high water is about a quarter of a mile broad. Two boundary boats, one above and one below, were anchored at half a mile distance, andbetween these limits the hunt was to take place. The "duck" wasprovided with a little punt, about five feet long and pretty wide, inwhich he was to escape as best he might from a cutter manned by fourrowers and a coxswain, and carrying in its bows a "hunter. " As long ashe chose, or as long as he could, the duck might dodge his pursuers inhis punt; but when once run down he would have to take to the water, andby swimming make good his escape from his pursuers, whose "hunter" wouldbe ready at any moment to jump overboard and secure him. If, however, after twenty minutes the duck still remained uncaught, he was to beadjudged winner. 

Such was the work cut out for us on this memorable afternoon. The duckon the present occasion was a sixth-form fellow called Haigh, one of thebest divers and swimmers in the school, while, as I have already said, Ihad been selected to act as hunter on behalf of the fifth. 

The duck, arrayed in the slightest of costumes, was not long in puttingin an appearance in his little punt, which, being only five feet long, was so light that it seemed to jump through the water at every stroke ofthe oars; while a single stroke either way sufficed to change its coursein a moment. The cutter, in the prow of which I (as slenderly attiredas the duck) was stationed, was also a light boat, and of course, withits four rowers, far swifter than the punt; but when it came to turningand dodging, it was, because of its length, comparatively unwieldy andclumsy. 

All now was ready for the chase. The duck was to get a minute's clearstart, and at the signal off he darted up the stream. The minute seemedto us in the cutter as if it were never going to end, and we watchedwith dismay the pace at which our lively fugitive was "making tracks. "

"Ready all, in the cutter!" cries the doctor. "Off!" and next moment weare flying through the water in full cry. As we gradually pull up tothe duck he diminishes his pace, and finally lies on his oars and coollywaits for us. 

"Put it on, now!" calls out our coxswain, and our boat shoots forward. When within a few yards, the duck, apparently alive to his danger, dashes his oars into the water and darts ahead. But we are too fast forhim. Another two strokes and we shall row him down. 

"Now then!" cries our coxswain. 

Ah! At a tremendous pace our boat flew forward over the very placewhere, a second before, our duck had been. But where was he? By a turnof the hand he had twisted round his punt, and as our fellows dug theiroars wildly into the water and tried to pull up, there was he, calmlyscuttling away in an opposite direction, and laughing at us!

In due time we had swung round, and were after him again, the wiser forthis lesson. 

Next time we overhauled him we made our approach in a far more gingerlymanner. We kept as little way as possible on our boat, determined notto lose time again by overshooting our mark. As long as he could, ourduck led us down stream, then, when we had all but caught him, he made afeint of swooping off to the right, a manoeuvre which our coxswainpromptly followed. But no sooner was our rudder round than the roguedeftly brought his punt sharp to the left, and so once more escaped us. 

This sort of thing went on for a long time, and I was beginning to thinkthe hunt was likely to prove a monotonous affair after all, when ourcoxswain suddenly called to me down the boat--

"Be ready, Adams. "

Then it began gradually to dawn on me our coxswain after all knew whathe was about. There was a rather deep bay up near the top of thecourse, bounded by two prominent little headlands, and into this bay theduck, in a moment of carelessness, had ventured. It was a chance not tobe let slip. A few strokes brought our cutter up to the spot, and oncethere, our cunning coxswain carefully kept us pointed exactly across thebay. The duck, seeing his danger, made a dash to one corner, hoping toavoid us; but he was too late, we were there before him, and before hecould double and make the other corner our boat had back-watered to thespot. Thus gradually we hemmed him in closer and closer to the shore, amid the cheers of our friends, until at last it was evident to everyone the punt was no longer of use. 

Still, he let us sidle close up to him before he abandoned his craft;then with a sudden bound he sprang overboard and disappeared from view. 

It was no use going after him, I knew, till I could see where he wouldrise, and so I waited, ready for a plunge, watching the water where hewould probably turn up. Several seconds passed, but there were no signsof him. He was a good diver, we all knew, but this was surely a verylong dive. Had an accident happened to him? A minute elapsed, two, andyet he never appeared! We in the boat were aghast; he must have come togrief. Ah! what were the people on the bank laughing at? Could therebe some trick? Next instant the coxswain called out, laughing--

"He's hanging on to the rudder; over you go, Adams!"

At the word I slipped overboard and gave chase. And now began anexciting pursuit. Haigh, though perfectly at home in the water, was nota rapid swimmer; but in point of diving and dodging he had a tremendousadvantage over any of his pursuers. The moment I got near him, and justas I was thinking to grab him, he would disappear suddenly and come upbehind me. He would dive towards the right and come up towards theleft. He would dodge me round the boat, or swim round me in circles, but no effort of mine could secure him. The time was getting on, and Iwas no nearer having him than before. With all his dodges, too, henever seemed to take his eyes off me for an instant, either above orbelow the water. 

Once, as I was giving him chase, he suddenly dived, and the nextintimation I had of his whereabouts was a sly pinch of my big toe as hecame up behind me. This was adding insult to injury, so I dashed round, and made at him. Again he dived; and this time, without waiting aninstant, I dived too. I could see him distinctly under the water, scuttling away in a downward direction just below me. Shutting my lipstight, I dug my way down after him; but, alas! under water I was nomatch for Haigh. I felt an irresistible temptation to gasp; my nosesmarted, and the water round my head seemed like lead. As quickly aspossible I turned my hands up, and struck out for the surface. 

What ages it seemed before I reached it! A second--half a secondlonger, and I should have shipped a mouthful, perhaps a chestful ofwater. I reached the surface at last, and, once above water, felt allright again. I looked about anxiously for my duck. But he was stilldown below. I reckoned, from the direction in which he had dived, thathe would not be able to go far to either side, and therefore would riseclose to me, probably exhausted, and if so, I had a good chance at lastof catching him. So I waited and watched the place, but he never came. 

Remembering my own sensations, and how nearly I had come to grief, Itook a sudden fright, and concluding he must be in straits down below, shouted to the boat to come to the place, and then dived. I gropedabout, and looked in all directions, but saw no sign of him, andfinally, in a terrible fright, made once more for the surface. 

The first thing I was conscious of, on getting my head up, was a greatshouting and laughing, and then I caught sight of that abominable duck, who had come up behind me, and had been laughing all the while behind myback, while I had been hunting for him in a far more serious way than Ineed ever have done!

Before I could turn and make towards him "Time!" was shouted from thebank; and so the Parkhurst Swimming Contest ended in a lamentable, though not disgraceful, defeat of the "fivers. "

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

ATHLETIC SPORTS AT PARKHURST. 

The last Saturday before the summer holidays was invariably a great dayat Parkhurst. The outdoor exercises of the previous ten monthsculminated then in the annual athletic sports, which made a regularfield-day for the whole school. Boys who had "people" living within areasonable distance always did their best to get them over for the day;the doctor--an old athlete himself--generally invited his own party offriends; and a large number of spectators from Parkhurst village and theneighbourhood were sure to put in an appearance, and help to giveimportance to the occasion. Athletic sports without spectators (atleast, so we boys thought) would be a tame affair, and we were sure toget through our day's performances all the better for a large muster ofoutsiders on the ground. 

The occasion I am about to recall was specially interesting to me, as itwas the first athletic meeting in which I, a small boy just entering myteens, ever figured. I was only down to run in one of the races, andthat was the three-legged race; and yet I believe there was not a boy inthe school so excited at the prospect of these sports as I was. Ithought the time would never come, and was in positive despair when onthe day before it a little white cloud ventured to appear in the bluesky. A wet day, so I thought, would have been as great a calamity aslosing the whole circle of my relatives, and almost as bad as having myfavourite dog stolen, or my fishing-rod smashed; and I made a regularfool of myself in the morning of the eventful day by getting up first attwo a. M. , then at three, then at four, and four or five times more, totake observations out of the window, till at last my bedfellow declaredhe would stand it no longer, and that since I was up, I should stay up. 

Ah! he was an unsympathetic duffer, and knew nothing of the raptures ofwinning a three-legged race. 

Well, the day was a splendid one after all--a little hot, perhaps, butthe ground was in grand order, and hosts of people would be sure to turnup. My race yoke-fellow and I went out quite early for a final spinover the course, and found one or two of the more diligent of ourschoolfellows taking a similar advantage of the "lie-abeds. " Of course, as _we_ were of opinion that the three-legged race was the mostimportant and attractive of all the day's contests, we paid very littleheed to what others were doing, but sought out a retired corner forourselves, where, after tying our inside legs together, and putting ourarms round one another's necks in the most approved fashion, we set toand tore along as fast as we could, and practised starts and falls, andpick-ups and spurts, and I don't know what else, till we felt that if, after all, we were to be beaten, it would not be our faults. With whichcomfortable reflection we loosed our bonds and strolled back tobreakfast. 

Here, of course, the usual excitement prevailed, and one topic engrossedall the conversation. I sat between a fellow who was in for the Junior100 yards, and another who was down for the "hurdles. " Opposite me wasa hero whom every one expected to win in throwing the cricket-ball, andnext to him a new boy who had astonished every one by calmly putting hisname down for the mile race before he had been two hours at Parkhurst. In such company you may fancy our meal was a lively one, and, as most ofus were in training, a very careful one. 

The first race was to be run at twelve, and we thought it a greathardship that the lower school was ordered to attend classes on this ofall days from nine to eleven. Now I am older, it dawns on me that thiswas a most wholesome regulation; for had we small chaps been allowed torun riot all the morning, we should have been completely done up, andfit for nothing when the races really began. We did not do much work, Iam afraid, at our desks that morning, and the masters were notparticularly strict, for a wonder. The one thing we had to do was tokeep our seats and restrain our ardour, and that was no easy task. 

Eleven came at last, and off we rushed to the mysteries of the toilet. What would athletic sports be like without flannel shirts and trousers, or ribbons and canvas shoes? At any rate, we believed in the importanceof these accessories, and were not long in arraying ourselvesaccordingly. I could not help noticing, however, as we sallied forthinto the field, that fine feathers do not always make fine birds. Therewas Tom Sampson, for instance, the biggest duffer that ever thought hecould run a step, got up in the top of the fashion, in bran-new togs, and a silk belt, and the most gorgeous of scarlet sashes across hisshoulders; while Hooker, who was as certain as Greenwich time to win thequarter-mile, had on nothing but his old (and not very white) cricketclothes, and no sash at all. And there was another thing I noticedabout these old hands: they behaved in the laziest of manners. Theysprawled on the grass or sat on the benches, appearing disinclined forthe slightest exertion; while others, less experienced, took preliminarycanters along the tracks, or showed off over the hurdles. Fine fellows, no doubt, they thought themselves; but they had reason to be sorry forthis waste of energy before the day was out. 

Programmes! With what excitement I seized mine and glanced down it!There it was! "Number 12. Three-legged Race, 100 yards, for boys under15. 1, Trotter and Walker (pink); 2, White and Benson (green); 3, Adamsand Slipshaw (blue). " Reader, have you ever seen your name in print forthe first time? Then you may imagine my sensations!

Things now begin to look like business. The doctor has turned up, and aparty of ladies. The visitors' enclosure is fast filling up, and thereis a fair show of carriages behind. Those big fellows in the tall hatsare old Parkhurstians, come to see the young generation go through itspaces, and that little knot of men talking together in the middle of theground consists of the starter, judge, and umpire. Not a few of us, too, turn our eyes wistfully to that tent over yonder, where we know areconcealed the rewards of this day's combats; and in my secret heart Ifind myself wondering more than once how it will sound to hear the names"Adams and Slipshaw" called upon to receive the first prize for thethree-legged race. 

Hark! There goes a bell, and we are really about to begin. "Number 1, Junior 100 yards, for boys under 12, " and 24 names entered! Slipshawand 1, both over 12, go off to have a look at "the kids, " and a queersight it is. Of course, they can't all, 24 of them, run abreast, and sothey are being started in heats, six at a time. The first lot is juststarting. How eagerly they toe the line and look up at the starter!

"Are--" he begins, and two of them start, and have to be called back. "Are you ready?" he says. Three of them are off now, and can'tunderstand that they are to wait for the word "Off!" But at last thestarter gets to the end of his speech and has them fairly off. Thelittle fellows go at it as if their lives depended on it. Their mothersand big brothers are looking on, their "chums" are shouting to themalong the course, and the winning-post is not very far ahead. On theygo, but not in a level row. One has taken the lead, and the othersstraggle behind him in a queer procession. It doesn't last long. Evena Junior 100 yards must come to an end at last, and the winner runs, puffing, into the judge's arms, half a dozen yards ahead of the nextboy, and 50 yards ahead of the last. The other three heats follow, andthen, amid great excitement, the final heat is run off, and the best manwins. 

For the Senior 100 yards which followed only three were entered, andeach of these had his band of confident admirers. Slipshaw and I werevery "sweet" on Jackson, who was monitor of our dormitory, and oftengave us the leavings of his muffins, but Ranger was a lighter-builtfellow, and seemed very active, while Bruce's long legs looked not atall pleasant for his opponents. The starter had no trouble with them, but it was no wonder they all three looked anxious as they turned theirfaces to him; for in a 100 yards' race the start is everything, as poorlong-legged Bruce found out, for he slipped on the first spring, andnever recovered his lost ground. Between Ranger and Jackson the racewas a fine one to within twenty yards of home, when our favourite's"fat" began to tell on him, and though he stuck gallantly to work hecould not prevail over the nimble Ranger, who slipped past him and woneasily by a yard. 

This was a damper for Slipshaw and me, who, as in duty bound, attendedour champion back to where he had left his coat, and so missed thethrowing of the cricket-ball, which was easily won by the favourite. 

But though we missed that event, we had no notion of missing the highjump, which promised to be the best thing (next to the three-leggedrace) that day. Four fellows were in for it, and of these Shute andCatherall were two of the best jumpers Parkhurst had ever had; and itwas well known all over the school that in practice each had jumpedexactly 5 foot 4 inches. Who would win now? The two outsiders weresoon got rid of, one at 4 foot 10 inches, and the other at 5 foot; andthe real interest of the event began when Shute and Catherall were leftalone face to face with the bar. Shute was a tall fellow, of slightmake and excellent spring. Catherall was short, but with the bounce ofan india-rubber ball in him, and a wonderful knack of tucking his feetup under him in jumping. It was a pretty sight to watch them advancehalf-inch by half-inch, from 5 foot to 5 foot 3 inches. There seemedabsolutely nothing to choose between them, they both appeared to clearthe bar so easily. At 5 foot 3½ inches. Shute missed his first jump, greatly to the dismay of his adherents, who saw Catherall clear it withcomplete ease. If he were to miss the second time, he would be out ofit, and that would be a positive tragedy. So we all watched his nextjump with breathless anxiety. He stood looking at the bar for a secondor two, as if doubting his own chance. Then his face cleared up, and hesprang towards it. To our delight he rose beautifully and cleared iteasily. At 5 foot 4 inches both missed the first jump, but both clearedit at the second trial. And now for the tug of war. Both hadaccomplished the utmost he had ever hitherto achieved, and it remainedto be seen whether the excitement of the occasion would assist either oreach to excel himself. Shute came to grief altogether at 5 foot 4½inches, and again, to our dismay, Catherall bounded over the bar at hisfirst effort. Shute's friends were in despair, and if that hero hadbeen a nervous fellow he might have been the same. But he was a verycool fish, and instead of losing his nerve, sat down on the grass andtightened the lace of his shoe. Then he slowly rose to his feet andfaced his task. At that moment I forgot all about the three-leggedrace, and gave my whole heart up to the issue of this jump. He startedto run at last, slow at first, but gathering pace for his final leap. Amid breathless silence he sprang forward and reached the bar, andthen--then he coolly pulled up and walked back again. This looked bad;but better to pull up in time than spoil his chance. He kept us waitingan age before he was ready to start again, but at last he turned for hislast effort. We could tell long before he got to the bar that thistime, at any rate, he was going to jump, whether he missed or no. Jumphe did, and, to our unbounded delight, just cleared the bar--so narrowlythat it almost shook as he skimmed over it. That was the end of thehigh jump; for though both attempted the 5 foot 5 inches, neitheraccomplished it, and the contest was declared to be a dead heat. 

After this several unimportant races followed, which I need hardlydescribe. Number 12 on the list was getting near, and I was beginningto feel a queer, hungry sort of sensation which I didn't exactly like. However, the mile was to be run before our turn came, and that wouldgive me time to recover. 

For this race we had many of us looked with a curious interest, onaccount of the new boy, of whom I have spoken, being one of thecompetitors in it. He didn't look a likely sort of fellow to win arace, certainly, for he was slightly bow-legged and thick-set, and whatseemed to us a much more ominous sign, was not even arrayed in flannels, but in an ordinary white shirt and light cloth trousers. However, hetook his place very confidently at the starting-post, together withthree rivals, wearing respectively black, red, and yellow for theircolours. 

The start for a mile race is not such a headlong affair as for a hundredyards, and consequently at the word "Off!" there was comparativelylittle excitement among us spectators. 

Yellow went to the front almost immediately, with red and black closebehind, while the new boy seemed to confirm our unfavourable impressionby keeping considerably in the rear. The mile was divided into threelaps round the field, and at the end of the first the positions of thefour were the same as at starting. But it was soon evident yellow wasnot destined to continue his lead, for before the half distance wasaccomplished, red and black, who all along had been neck and neck, wereup to him and past him, and by the end of the lap the new boy had alsoovertaken him. 

And now we became considerably more interested in the progress of thisnew boy, who, it suddenly occurred to us, seemed to be going veryeasily, which was more than could be said of red, who was dropping alittle to the rear of black. A big boy near me said, "That fellow's gotthe wind of a balloon, " and I immediately began to think he was not farwrong. For in this third lap, when two of the others were slackingpace, and when the third was only holding his own, the new boy freshenedup remarkably. We could watch him crawl up gradually nearer and nearerto red, till a shout proclaimed him to be second in the running. Butblack was still well ahead, and in the short space left, as the big boynear me said, "He could hardly collar his man. "

But see! The fellow is positively beginning to tear along! He seemsfresher than when he started. "Look out. Black!" shout twenty voices. All very well to say, "Look out!" Black is used up, and certainlycannot respond to this tremendous spurt. Thirty yards from home the newboy is up to his man, and before the winning-post is reached he is aclear ten yards ahead. 

"Bellows did it, " said the big boy; "look at his chest"; and then forthe first time I noticed where the secret of this hero's triumph lay. 

But, horrors! the next race is Number 12, and Slipshaw and I scuttle offas hard as we can go, to get ready. 

How miserable I felt then! I hated athletic sports, and detested"three-legged races. " As we emerged from the tent, we and the other twocouples, ambling along on our respective three legs, a shout of laughtergreeted our appearance. I, for one, didn't see anything to laugh at, just then. 

"Adams, " said Slipshaw, as we reached the starting-place, "take it easy, old man, and mind you don't go over. "

"All right, " said I, feeling very much inclined to go over at thatinstant. Then that awful starter began his little speech. 

"Are you ready?" he asked. 

"Not at all, " inwardly ejaculated I. 

"Off!" he cried; and almost before I knew where I was, Slipshaw and Iwere hopping along on our three legs amid the cheers of the crowd. 

"Steady!" said he, as I stepped out rather _too_ fast. 

Alas! we were last. The other two couples were pounding along ahead ata wonderful pace. 

"Steady!" growled Slipshaw again, as I began to try to run, and nearlycapsized him. 

You may laugh, reader, but it was no joke, that three-legged race. Theothers ahead of us showed no signs of flagging; they were going hard, one couple close at the heels of the other, and we a full five yardsbehind. I was giving one despairing thought to the pots and prizes inthe tent, when a great roar of laughter almost made me forget which footto put forward. 

What could it be?--and Slipshaw was laughing too!

"Steady, now, " he said, "and come along!"

The laughter continued, and looking before me, I suddenly detected itscause. The leading couple in a moment of over-confidence had attemptedto go too fast, and had come on their noses on the path, and the secondcouple, too close behind them, had not had time to avoid the obstacle, but had plunged headlong on to the top of them! It was all right now!Slipshaw and I trotted triumphantly past the prostrate heap, and afterall won our prize! You may fancy I was too excited to think of muchelse after that, except indeed the hurdle race, which was most exciting, and won most cleverly by Catherall, who, though he came to grief at thelast hurdle, was able to pick himself up in time to rush in and win therace by a neck from the new boy, whom we found to be almost as good atjumping as he was at running. 

Then followed a two-mile race--rather dull to watch--and with that thesports were at an end. 

Need I say how proudly Slipshaw and I marched up arm-in-arm to receivethe prize for our race, which consisted of a bat for me and a telescopefor my companion?--or how the new boy was cheered?--or how Shute andCatherall were applauded?

Before I left Parkhurst I was an old hand at athletic sports, but Idon't think I ever thought any of them so interesting as the day onwhich Slipshaw and I, with our legs tied together, came in first in thethree-legged race!

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

THE SNEAK. 

Sneak! It's an ugly name, but not ugly enough, believe me, for theanimal it describes. 

Like his namesake, the snake, he may be a showy enough looking fellow atfirst sight, he may have the knack of wriggling himself into youracquaintance, and his rattle may amuse you for a time, but wait till heturns and stings you!

I am at a loss how to describe in a few words what I--and, I expect, most of us--mean when we talk of a sneak. He is a mixture of so manydetestable qualities. There is a large amount of cowardice in hisconstitution, and a similar quantity of jealousy; and then there arecertain proportions of falsehood, ingratitude, malice, and officiousnessto complete his ugly anatomy, to say nothing of hypocrisy and self-conceit. When all these amiable ingredients are compounded together, wehave our model sneak. 

How we detest the fellow! how our toes tingle when he comes our way! howreadily we go a mile round to avoid him! how we hope we may never belike _him_!

Let me tell you of one we had at our school. Any one who did not knowJerry would have said to himself, "That's a pleasant enough sort offellow. " For so he seemed. With a knack of turning up everywhere, andat all times, he would at first strike the stranger as only an extremelysociable fellow, who occasionally failed to see he wasn't as welcome asone would think he deserved to be. But wait a little. Presently he'dmake up to you, and become very friendly. In your pleasure at findingsome one to talk to after coming away from home to a new and lonelyplace, you will, in the innocence of your heart, grow confidential, andtell him all your secrets. You will perhaps tell him to whom yoursister is engaged; how much pocket-money your father allows you. You'llshow him a likeness of the little cousin you are over head and ears inlove with, and tell him about the cake your old nurse has packed upamong the schoolbooks in your trunk. He takes the greatest interest inthe narration; you feel quite happy to have had a good talk about thedear home, and you go to bed to dream of your little sweetheart and yournew friend. 

In the morning, when you wake, there is laughter going on in the bedsround you. As you sit up and rub your eyes, and wonder where you are--it's all so different from home--you hear one boy call out to another--

"I say, Tom, don't you wish you had a nurse to make you cakes?"

That somehow seems pointed at you, though addressed to another, for allthe other boys look round at you and grin. 

"Wouldn't I?" replies the Tom appealed to. "Only when a chap's in love, you know, he's no good at cakes. "

"Cakes!" "in love!" They must be making fun of you; but however do theyknow so much about you? Listen! "If _I_ had a sister, I'd take care_she_ didn't go and marry a butter-man, Jack, wouldn't you?"

It must be meant for you; for you had told Jerry the evening before thatyour sister was going to marry a provision merchant! Then all of asudden it flashes upon you. You have been betrayed! The secrets youhave whispered in private have become the property of the entire school;and the friend you fancied so genial and sympathising has made youropen-hearted frankness the subject of a blackguard jest, and exposed youto all the agony of schoolboy ridicule!

With quivering lips and flushed face, half shame, half anger, you dashbeneath the clothes, and wish the floor would open beneath you. Whenthe getting-up bell sounds, you slink into your clothes amid the tittersof your companions. It is weeks before you hear the end of your nurse, your pocket money, your sister, and your sweetheart; and for you all thelittle pleasure of your first term at school has gone. 

But what of Jerry? He comes to you in the morning as if nothing hadhappened, with a "How are you, old fellow?"

You are so indignant you can't speak; all you are able to do is to glarein scorn and anger. 

"Afraid you're not well, " remarks the sneak; "change of scene, you know. I hope you'll soon be better. "

Just as he is going you manage, though almost bursting with the effort, to stammer out--"What do you mean by telling tales of me to all thefellows?" He looks perplexed, as if at a loss for your meaning. "Telltales of you?" says he. "I don't know what you mean, old chap. "

"Yes, you do. How did they all know all about me this morning, if youhadn't told them?"

Then, as if your meaning suddenly dawned upon him, he breaks into aforced laugh, and exclaims--

"Oh, the chaff between Tom and Jack! I was awfully angry with Jack forbeginning it--awfully angry. We happened to be talking last night, youknow, about home, and I just mentioned what you had told me, neverthinking the fellow would be such a cad as to let it out. "

You are so much taken aback at the impudence of the fellow, that you lethim walk away without another word. If you have derived no otheradvantage from your first day at school, you have at least learned toknow the character of Jerry. And you find it out better as you go on. 

If you quarrel with him, and threaten him with condign punishment, hewill report you to the doctor, and you'll get an imposition. If you situp beyond hours reading, he'll contrive to let the monitors know, andyour book will be confiscated; if you happen to be "spinning a yarn"with a chum in your study, you will generally find, if you open the doorsuddenly, that he is not very far from the keyhole; if you get up aparty to partake of a smuggled supper in the dormitory, he will conducta master to the scene, and get you into a row. There's no secret sodeadly he won't get hold of; nothing you want kept quiet that he won'tspread all round the school. In fact, there's scarcely anything he doesnot put his finger into, and everything he puts his finger into hespoils. 

If, in a weak moment of benevolence, you take him back into yourconfidence and friendship, no one will be more humble and forgiving andaffable; but he will just use your new favour as a weapon for payingback old grudges, and sorely will you repent your folly. 

In fact, there is only one place for Jerry--that place is Coventry. That city is famous for one sneak already. Let Jerry keep him company. There he can tell tales, and peep and listen and wriggle to his heart'scontent. He'll please himself, and do no one any harm. 

A sneak has not always the plea of self-interest for his meanness. Often enough his tale-bearing or his mischief-making can not only do hisvictims incalculable harm, but cannot do him any possible good. 

What good did the snake in the fable expect who, having been rescued, and warmed and restored to life by the merciful woodcutter, turned onhis deliverer and stung him? No wonder the good fellow knocked him onthe head! I knew another sneak once who seemed to make a regularprofession of this amiable propensity. He seemed to consider his pathin life was to detect and inform on whatever, to his small mind, seemeda culpable offence. In the middle of school, all of a sudden his raspyvoice would lift itself up in ejaculations like these, addressed to themaster, --

"Please, sir, " (he always prefaced his remarks with "Please, sir"), "Please, sir, Tom Cobb's eating an apple!"

"Please, sir, Jenkins has made a blot!"

"Please, sir, Allen junior is cutting his name on the desk!"

Perhaps the indignant Allen junior would here take occasion toacknowledge his sense of this attention by a private kick under thedesk. Then it would be--

"All right, Joe Allen; _I'll sneak of you_, you see if I don't!"

No one could do it better. 

Amiable little pet, how we all loved him!

Sneaking seems to be a sort of disease with some people. There's noother way of accounting for it. It sometimes seems as if the mere sightof happiness or success in others is the signal for its breaking out. As we have said, its two leading motives are cowardice and jealousy. Just as the cur will wait till the big dog has passed by, and then, slinking up behind, give a surreptitious snap at his heels, so thesneak, instead of standing face to face with his rival, and instead ofentering into fair competition with him, creeps up unobserved andinflicts his wound on the sly. 

Thus it has been with all traitors and spies and deserters and mischief-makers since the world began. What a list one could give of the sneaksof history, beginning at that arch-serpent who marred the happiness ofEden, down to some of the informers and renegades of the present day!

Boys cannot be too early on their guard against sneaking habits. Notruly English boy, we are glad to think, is likely to fall into them;still, even among our own acquaintance, it is sad to think how manythere are who are not wholly free from the reproach. 

The child in the nursery who begins to tell tales to his mother of hislittle brothers and sisters will, if not corrected, grow up to be justsuch another sneak as Jerry; and Jerry, unless he cures himself of hisvice, will become a mere odious meddler and scandalmonger in society, and may arrive at the unenviable distinction of being the most detestedman of his generation. 

Every disease has its cure. Be honest, be brave, be kind, and havealways a good conscience, and you _cannot_ be a sneak. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

THE SULKY BOY. 

We all know him. He might be a good-looking fellow, perhaps, if itweren't for the scowl over his eyes and the everlasting pout about hislips. He skulks about with his hands in his pockets, and his head hungdown. We all make room for him, and give him a wide berth; no one isanxious to be chosen upon the same side with him at chevy, or to get thedesk next his in school. It's a fact we are all afraid of him, thoughwe all despise him. He makes everybody unhappy, by being miserablehimself for no reason at all. 

Sometimes, indeed, he can be jolly enough--when he chooses. No onecould tell at such times that there was anything queer about him; butthen all of a sudden he shows in his true colours (and dingy enoughcolours they are), and then it is all up with enjoyment till he takeshimself off, which he generally does before long. 

All this is very sad; and if I say a word or two about sulkiness now, itwill be in the hope of inducing my readers to give no encouragement toso ugly a vice. 

There are two ways of showing anger, when one is unfortunate enough tobe under the necessity of being angry. You can't always help it. Somepeople are never put out. However much you rile them, they are alwaysgood-humoured, always cool, always friendly. You might as well try totalk the sun behind a cloud as to get them in a rage. Happy the few whohave this art! They always get the best of it, they always win thegreatest respect, they always are the least likely people for any one toquarrel with. 

I don't count these among the two classes of angry people, because theyare not angry. But angry people are generally either in a rage or inthe sulks. Neither is pleasant to meet, yet for my own part I wouldsooner have to do with the fellow in the rage. There's no deceptionabout him; he's angry, and he lets you know it; he's got a grievance, and he blurts out what it is; he hits straight out from the shoulder, and you know what you've to expect. With such a one it is generallysoon all over. Just as the April shower, sharp enough while it lasts, gives place in time to the sun, so Will Hothead generally gets all rightas soon as he has let the steam off; and when he shakes hands and makesit up, you are pretty sure he thinks none the worse of you, and bears nomalice. 

Don't imagine I'm trying to justify exhibitions of temper. Far from it. I say every boy who can't control his temper has yet to learn one ofthe greatest lessons of life. What I want to show is that even passion, bad as it is, is not so bad as sulkiness. 

For just consider what a miserable sort of boy this Tom Sulks, that weall of us know, is. Why, almost before he could speak he had learned topout. If a toy was denied him, he neither bellowed like his littlebrother nor raved like his little sister, but toddled off and sulked ina corner all day long. When he grew a little older, if he was notallowed to play in the garden because it was damp, he refused to play inthe nursery, he refused to come down to the dining-room, he refused tosay his prayers at bedtime. When he was old enough to go to school, hewould either play marbles the way he was used to (which was the wrongway), or not at all. If found fault with for not knowing his lesson, hepushed his books from him, and endured to be stood in the corner, orpunished some other way, rather than learn his task. The vice onlybecame worse and worse as time went on, and to-day Tom is an odiousfellow. Look at him playing at cricket. He steps across the wickets tohit at a ball, but, instead, stops it with his foot. "How's that, umpire?" cries the bowler. "Out, leg before, " is the answer. 

Tom still keeps his place. 

"Out, do you hear, leg before?"

"It wasn't!" growls Tom. 

"The umpire gives it out, " is the unanswerable reply. 

Thereupon Tom's face clouds over, his eyebrows gather, and his lipsshape themselves into a pout, as he drops his bat and walks from thewicket without a word. No one takes any notice of him, for the event istoo common, alas, to occasion surprise. We know what his sulks mean. No one will get a word from him for hours, perhaps a day; no attempts atconciliation will tempt him back to the game, no friendly talk willchase the cloud from his face. There he goes, slouching up theplayground into the house, and he will skulk upstairs to his study andslam the door, and that's all we shall see of Tom till suppertime. 

Once, I remember, young Jim Friendly, a new boy, tried hard to coax Tomback into good humour. They had been having a match at something, Iforget what, and Jim happened to say that something Tom did was againstthe rules. Tom, as usual, grew sulky and walked off. 

"What, you aren't going in?" said Jim, disconcerted. No answer. "Ididn't mean to offend you, old fellow; you may be right, after all. " Noanswer. "I beg your pardon, Tom. I wouldn't have said it if I thoughtyou'd have minded. " No answer. "Don't be angry with a fellow, I didn'tmean--"

No answer. And so Jim went on apologising, as if he had been all in thewrong and the other all in the right, and getting no word in reply, onlythe same scowl and uncompromising sullenness. "I'll take jolly goodcare not to stroke that fellow the wrong way again, " said Jim, afterwards; "and if I should, I won't waste my time in stroking him theright way. "

Just fancy what sort of man such a fellow as Tom is likely to turn out. Is he likely to have many friends? Unless he can get a few of his ownsort, I'm afraid he'll be rather badly off in that respect. And then, oh, horrors! fancy half a dozen Tom Sulks together! What a happy familythey would be! When Tom goes to business, he had better make up hismind to start a concern of his own, for I'm afraid he would have somedifficulty in getting a partner, or, at any rate, keeping one. I couldquite fancy some important question arising where Tom and his partnermight hold different views. Tom insists he's right, the partner insistshe's right. Tom consequently stays away for a week from the office, during which the poor partner has to manage as best he can. 

Whatever Tom will do about marrying I don't know; and when he ismarried, what his wife will do, I know still less--it's no usespeculating on such a matter. But now, letting Tom be, let us inquirewhether the sulky boy is more to be blamed than pitied. That he is anodious, disagreeable fellow, there is no doubt. But perhaps it's not_all_ his own fault. Some boys are of duller natures than others. Thehigh-spirited, healthy, sanguine fellow will flare up at a moment'snotice, and let fly without stopping to think twice of the injury donehim, while the dull boy is altogether slower in his movements: wordsdon't come to his lips so quickly, or thoughts don't rush into his mindas promptly as in others; he is like the snail who, when offended, shrinks back into its shell, leaving nothing but a hard, unyieldingexterior to mark his displeasure. A great many boys are sulky becausethey have not the boldness to be anything else; and a great many othersare so because to their small minds it is the grandest way of displayingtheir wrath. If only they could see how ridiculous they are!

I once knew two boys who for some time had been firm friends at school. By some unlucky chance a misunderstanding occurred which interruptedthis friendship, and the grievance was, or appeared to be, so sore, thatneither boy would speak to the other. Well, this went on for no lessthan six months, and became the talk of the whole school. These sillyboys, however, were so convinced of the sublimity of their respectiveconducts that they never observed that every one was laughing at them. Daily they passed one another, with eyes averted and noses high in theair; daily they fed their memories with the recollection of their smart. For six months never a word passed between them. Then came the summerholidays, in the course of which it suddenly occurred to both theseboys, being not altogether senseless boys, that after all they weremaking themselves rather ridiculous. And the more they thought of it, the more ashamed of themselves they grew, till at last one sat down andwrote, --

"Dear Dick, I'm sorry I offended you; make it up, " to which epistlecame, by return post, a reply, --

"Dear Bob, _I'm_ sorry _I_ offended you; let's be friends. "

And the first day of next term these two met and shook hands, andlaughed, and owned what fools they had both been. 

A great many of the faults of this life come from the lack of a sense ofhumour. Certainly, if sulky boys had more of it, they would be inclinedto follow the example of these two. 

But, although there is a great deal about the sulky boy that merits pityrather than blame, there is much that deserves merciless censure. Whyshould one boy, by a whim of selfish resentment, mar the pleasure, notonly of those with whom he has his quarrel, but with every one else hecomes in contact with? "One dead fly, " the proverb says, "makes theapothecary's ointment unsavoury"; and one sulky boy, in like manner, maydestroy the harmony of a whole school. Isn't it enough, if you must bedisagreeable, to confine your disagreeableness to those for whom it ismeant, without lugging a dozen other harmless fellows into the shadow ofit? Do you really think so much of your own importance as to imagineall the world will be interested in your quarrel with Smith, because heinsisted a thing was tweedledum and you insisted it was tweedledee? Or, if you have the grace to confine your sulkiness to Smith alone, for hisprivate benefit, do you imagine you will convince him of the error ofhis ways by shutting yourself up and never looking or speaking to him?

It used to be a matter of frequent debate at school what ought to bedone to Tom Sulks. 

"Kick him, " said some. "Laugh at him, " said others. "Send him toCoventry, " put in a third. "Lecture him, " advised others. "Let himalone, " said the rest. 

And this, after all, is the best advice. If a sulky fellow won't comeround of his own accord, no kicks, or laughs, or snubs, or lectures willbring him. 

Surely none of the readers of this chapter are sulky boys! It is not tobe expected you will get through life without being put out--that issure to happen; and then you've three courses open to you: either totake it like a man and a Christian, not rendering evil for evil, notcarried away by revengeful impulse, but bearing what can honourably beborne with a good grace; and for the rest, if action is necessary, righting yourself without malice or vindictiveness; or else you can flyinto a rage, and slog out blindly in wild passion; or you can sulk likea cur in a corner, heeded by no one, yet disliked by all, and without afriend--not even yourself. 

You will know which of the three best becomes a British boy. Beassured, that which worst becomes him is _sulking_. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

THE EASY-GOING BOY. 

It is a common complaint in these degenerate days that we live harderthan our fathers did. Whatever we do we rush at. We bolt our food, andrun for the train; we jump out of it before it has stopped, and reachthe school door just as the bell rings; we "cram" for our examinations, and "spurt" for our prizes. We have no time to read books, so wescuttle through the reviews, and consider ourselves up in the subject;we cut short our letters home, and have no patience to sit and hear along story out. We race off with a chum for a week's holiday, andconsider we have dawdled unless we have covered our thirty miles a day, and can name as visited a string of sights, mountains, lakes, andvalleys a full yard long. 

If such charges are just (and they are, we fear, not wholly unfounded), it is at least a satisfaction to know that there is one brilliantexception to the rule, and that is in the person of Master Ned Easy. 

Whatever other folk do, _he_ has no notion of hurrying himself. Someone once said of him that he was a fellow who looked as if he'd beenborn with his hands in his pockets. He takes his time about everythinghe does. If the breakfast bell rings before he is dressed, then--well, breakfast must wait. If breakfast is over before he has well begun, then everybody else must wait while he, in a leisurely way, polishes offhis viands. In the classes, his is sure to be the last paper to behanded up; and when the boys are dismissed, he saunters forth to theplayground in the rear of all the others. When he is one of a fishing-party, and everybody but he is ready, he keeps them all waiting tilltheir patience is completely exhausted, while he gets together histackle, laces his boots, and selects his flies. 

"Come on! look alive!" is the cry that is for ever being hurled at him, "All serene, old fellow; what's the hurry?" is his invariable reply. 

I well remember the first time I made Ned's acquaintance, and I willrecall the incident, as giving a fair specimen of the fellow and hispeculiarity. 

It was a big cricket match, the afternoon was far advanced, the lightwas getting uncertain, and time was almost up. Our school's ninthwicket had fallen, and yet there were five runs to get to win, which wecould just do, if our last man in was quick. 

"Now, Ned!" calls out our captain, coming up to the tent; "look sharpin. "

Ned coolly sat down on the bench in our tent and proceeded to put on apad. 

"Never mind about that! there's no time, " said our captain impatiently, "and they are bowling slow. "

"Oh, it won't take a minute, " says Ned, discovering he had been puttingthe pad on upside down, and proceeding to undo it. We stood round infeverish impatience, and the minute consumed in putting on thosemiserable leg-fenders seemed like a year. 

Ned himself, however, did not seem in the least flurried by ourexcitement. 

"Pity they don't make these things fasten with springs instead ofstraps, " he observed, by way of genial conversation. 

Oh, how we chafed and fumed!

"_Will_ you look sharp, if you're going to play at all?" howls ourcaptain. 

"All _right_, old chap; I can't be quicker than I am; where are thegloves?"

The gloves are brought like lightning, but not like lightning put on. No, the india-rubber gauntlets must needs be drawn with the greatestcare and deliberation over his fingers, and even then require a gooddeal of shifting to render them comfortable. Then he was actually (Ibelieve) going to take them off in order to roll up his shirt sleeves, had not two of us performed that office for him with a rapidity whichastonished him. 

"Upon my word, this is too bad, " says our captain, flinging down the bathe was holding, and stamping with vexation. "We might as well give thewhole thing up!"

"I'm awfully sorry, " drawled Ned, in an injured tone; "but how could Ihelp it? I'm ready now. "

"Ready! I should hope you were. Off you cut now; it only wants fiveminutes to the time. "

He starts to go, but turns before he has well left us, and says--

"Oh, I say, Jim, lend us your bat, will you? This one is sprung, andone of the--"

"Here you are, " we shout, running to him with a dozen bats atonce--"only look sharp. "

"I only want one, " he says. "Let me see this; no, this will do. Thanks, old man, " and off he saunters again. 

The other side is lying comfortably on the grass, very well satisfied atthe delay which every moment adds to their chance of victory. Whatcenturies Ned appears to be taking in strolling up to the wickets!

"I wish I was behind him with a red-hot poker, " says one; "I'd make himtrot!"

"Not a bit of it, " growls our captain; "Ned would want more than that tostart him. "

Look at him now, getting "middle" as if he'd the whole afternoon beforehim! And that done, he slowly and deliberately taps the end of his baton the place till we almost yell with rage. 

"It's no use now!" groans our captain in absolute despair; and so, indeed, we and our smiling adversaries all thought. 

"Play!" cries the bowler. 

"Wait a bit, " says the aggravating Ned, dipping his hands in thesawdust! "now!"

The ball comes at last, and Ned lets fly. It is a grand hit; the ballcomes whizzing right past where we stand, and with delight as great asour previous agony we cheer till we are hoarse. 

Three runs are added to our score, and now we only want one more toequal our opponents, and two to win; but we shall never do it in thetime, unless fortune favours us strangely. For see, it is "over, " andthe fielders will consume half of the remaining two minutes in changingtheir position. 

Then again "play" is called. 

Would you believe it? Ned calls out for "middle" again at the newwicket, and repeats the same pottering operation when he has got it. "Well, if ever _I_ saw--"

What our captain is about to say no one ever hears, for at that momentthe ball is delivered, and Ned blocks it dead. 

There is just time for one ball more, and on that all our hopes depend. 

It comes, and Ned bangs at it! It's a run! No, it isn't! yes it is!The fielder has missed it. Hurrah! we are equal!

Actually they are running another! They won't do it. Up comes the ballto the wicket-keeper, and forward darts Ned's bat over the crease. 

"How's that, umpire?" cries the wicket-keeper. 

"Not out!"

"Time's up!"

Oh, how we cheer! How we rush forward and shoulder Ned home to thetent. Never was such a close shave of a match!

Ned himself by no means shares in the general excitement. 

"Why, what a hurry you fellows were in!" he says. "Look here, George, I'll show you now what I meant about the springs on the pads. "

Now you will understand what a very aggravating fellow this Ned Easywas; and yet he generally managed to come off best in the end. Hegenerally managed to scrape in at the finish of whatever he undertook. 

I am certain that if he were a prisoner of war _let_ out on parole, witha pledge to return in one hour or suffer death, he would turn up cooland comfortable on the sixtieth tick of the sixtieth minute of thathour, and look quite surprised at the men who were loading their musketsfor his execution. 

But some day the chances are he will be late in earnest, and then hewill have to repent in a hurry of his bad speed. 

A fellow who is easy-going about his time is generally easy-going abouthis friends, his money, and his morals. 

Not that Ned is the sort of fellow to turn out a rascal exactly. He hasnot the energy, even if he had the inclination. A rascal, to be at allsuccessful, must be brisk, and an observer of times and seasons, andthat is altogether out of Ned's line. No; he'll be careless about whathe does, and about what people think of him; he will lend a sovereignwith as little idea of getting it back as he has of returning the poundhe himself had borrowed; he will think nothing of keeping a friendwaiting half a day; neither will he take offence if his own good natureis drawn on to an unlimited extent. 

He is, after his fashion, an observer of the golden rule, for althoughhe is constantly annoying and exasperating people by his easy-goingways, he is never afflicted if others do _to him_ as he does to them. He goes through life with the notion that every one is as complaisantand comfortable as himself. "Easy-going-ness" (if one may coin a wordfor the occasion) is, many people would say, a combination ofselfishness and stupidity, but I think such people judge rather toohardly of Ned and his compeers. It's all very well for some of us, whoperhaps are of an active turn of mind, to talk about curing oneself ofthis fault; but perhaps, if we knew all, we should find that it would beabout as easy as for a fair-complexioned person to make himself dark. Ned's disposition is due more to his constitution than his upbringing, and those who are blindly intolerant of his ways do him a wrong. I'msure he himself wishes he were as smart as some boys he sees, but hecan't be, and you might just as well try to lash an elephant into agallop as Ned into a flurry. 

It is generally found that what he does he does well, which in a measuremakes up for the length of time he takes in doing it; he is good-natured, brave, harmless, and cheery, and has lots of friends, whom heallows full liberty both to abuse and laugh at him (and what can friendswant more?) and for the rest, he's neither vicious nor an idiot; and ifnobody were worse than he is, the world would perhaps be rather betterthan it is. 

An artificial "easy-going-ness" is undoubtedly a vice. It's a forgery, however, easily detected, and generally brings its own punishment. Iadvise none of my readers to try it on. If they are naturally energeticand smart, they have a much better chance of rising in the world thanNed has; but let them, when they laugh at Ned and abuse him, rememberthe fable of the hare and the tortoise. 

I must just tell one more story of Ned in conclusion. 

One night our whole school was startled by an alarm of "Fire!" Wesprang from our beds, and, without waiting to dress, rushed to thequarter from which the cry had proceeded. It was only too true; a barnat one end of the buildings was in flames, and there seemed everyprospect of the school itself catching fire. 

We hurried back in a panic towards the staircase leading to the frontdoor, and in doing so discovered Ned was not with us. 

One of us darted off to the dormitory, where he lay in bed sound asleep. 

A rough shake roused him. 

"What's the row?" he drawled, stretching himself. 

"Get up quick, Ned; there's a fire!"

"Where?" asked Ned, without stirring. 

"In the doctor's wing. "

The doctor's wing was that farthest removed from our dormitories. 

Ned yawned. 

"Then it couldn't possibly reach here for half an hour. Call us againin twenty minutes, Ben, there's a good fellow!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

THE BOY WHO IS "NEVER WRONG. "

One might fancy at the first blush, that such a boy is one to be envied, admired, and caressed above all others. Never wrong! What would notsome of us give to have the same said of us? Aren't _we_ alwaysblundering and losing our way and making asses of ourselves every day ofour lives? What wonder then if to us a being who is "never wrong"should appear almost superhuman in his glory?

But, so far from being the noble, delightful creature one would expect, the boy I am speaking of is an odious fellow, and as ridiculous as he isodious, and I will tell you why. 

The principal reason is, because he requires us to believe, on his ownunaided testimony, that he is the infallible being he professes to be;and the second and hardly less important reason is, that, so far frombeing always right, he is as often, if not oftener, wrong than otherpeople; in short, he's a hum!

"Never wrong, " indeed! If all the British Association were to declareas much of any one man, we should hardly be inclined to swallow it; butwhen our sole authority in the matter is Master Timothy Told-you-sohimself, it becomes a joke, and a very poor joke too. 

Let us just take stock of Timothy for a minute or two, to explain whatwe mean. 

He's in class, and the lesson is history. He does not look happy, butof course that can't be because he doesn't know the lesson. Timothy notknow a lesson indeed!

"Timothy, " says the master, "tell me in whose reign the Reformation wasintroduced into England, will you?"

"James the First, " replies Timothy. 

"Next boy?"

"Henry the Eighth. "

"Right; go up. "

"Oh, sir, " says Timothy, "that's what I meant; _I mistook the name_ fora moment!" And he goes down with the air of an injured and resignedboy. 

In the geography class which follows Tim has another opportunity ofdisplaying his learning. 

"On what river does Berlin stand?" is the question. 

Tim hums and haws. "On the--oh--the--the, on the--er--the--"

"Next boy?"

"Berlin is on the Spree, sir. "

"Ah, of course! It slipped me, " mutters Tim with a thoughtful frown. "Any one knows Berlin is on the Spree!" And down he goes again, as ifit were the common lot of all clever boys. 

Arithmetic ensues. "Tell me, Timothy, if a man earns four shillings andsixpence halfpenny a day, how much does he make in a week of six days?"

This enormous problem Tim takes due time to cogitate. Of course hecould tell you straight off if he chose; but as it is the practice towork out sums in the head, he condescends to the common prejudice. Atlength the oracle speaks. 

"One pound three and two pence halfpenny. "

"Quite wrong; what do you make it, Edward?"

"One pound four. "

"Wrong. Next?"

"One pound seven and threepence. "

"That's right. "

"Oh yes, to be sure!" exclaims Tim, with the gesture of one who clutchesat the very words of his own lips uttered by another; "of course, _that's what I meant_!"

"Timothy, " says the master, gravely, "if you meant it, why did you notsay it?"

Why not, indeed? That is one of the very few questions, reader, in allthis world's philosophy which Timothy is unable to answer. 

Of course every one laughs at Timothy, but that does not afflict him. So fortified is he in the assurance of his own infallibility, that thescorn of the ignorant is to him but as the rippling of water at the baseof a lighthouse. 

Do not mistake me, Tim is not a dunce. For every question he answerswrongly, perhaps he answers half a dozen correctly. If he chose to takehis stand on his general proficiency, he would pass for a fairly cleverfellow. But that will by no means satisfy him. He will never admithimself beaten. There is always some trivial accident, some unforeseencoincidence, without which his success would have been certain andrecognised; but which, as it happens, slightly interfere with histriumph. 

It is the same in games as in the class-room. If he is beaten in arace, it is because he has slipped in starting; if he is clean bowledfirst ball at cricket, it is because there was a lump in the grass justwhere the ball pitched; if he lets the enemy's halfback pass him atfootball, it is because he made sure Perkins had collared him--otherwise, of course, he would have won the race, made top score at thewickets, and saved his goal. As it happens, he does neither. 

There is a touch of dishonesty in this, though perhaps Tim does notintend it. Why cannot he own he is "out of it" now and then? Hisfellows would respect him far more and laugh at him far less; he wouldgain far more than he lost, besides having the satisfaction of knowinghe had not tried to deceive anybody. But I sometimes think, when Timmakes his absurd excuses, he really believes what he says; just as theostrich, when he buries his head in the sand, really believes he ishidden from the sight of his pursuers. 

It is natural in human nature not to relish the constant admission oferror or failure. Who of us is not glad to feel at times (even if we donot say it) that "it's not our fault"? The person who is always makinglittle of himself, and never admitting what small merit he might fairlyclaim, is pretty much the same sort of deception as Tim, and we despisehim almost as much. We would all of us, in fact (and what wonder?) liketo be "always right, " and perhaps our tendency is to let the wish becomefather to the thought rather too often. 

But to return to Timothy. Nothing, of course, could astonish him;nothing was ever news to him; nothing could evoke his applause. "Tim, "perhaps some one would say, "do you know old Grinder (the head master)is going to be married, and we are to get a week extra holiday?"

"Ah, " says Tim, to whom this is all news, "I always thought there wassomething of the kind up. For my own part, I thought we should get afortnight extra. "

"Buck made a good jump yesterday, Tim, " says another. "Five feet andhalf an inch. "

"Sure it wasn't three-quarters of an inch?" is Tim's provoking answer. 

Of all irritating things, perhaps the most irritating is to have yourbig bundle of news calmly opened and emptied, and its contentsappropriated without scruple or acknowledgment. 

Tim this very day has the gratification of amazing half the school withthe news of Dr Grinder's approaching marriage and the consequent extraholidays, and of seeing the enthusiastic astonishment of others to whomhe retails the latest achievement of the athletic Buck. 

But he did not always come off so easily. Once he was made the victimof a joke which, in any one less self-satisfied, might have effectuallychecked his foolish propensity. It was a wet day, and the boys were allassembled in the big play-room, not knowing exactly what to do, andready for the first bit of fun which might turn up. 

"Couldn't somebody draw Tim out?" one of us whispered. 

The idea caught like wildfire, and after a brief pause Tidswell, themonitor, said, amid the hushed attention of the company--

"By the way, Tim, wasn't that a queer account of the sea-serpent in thepaper the other day?"

"Awfully queer, " replied the unsuspecting Tim; "I didn't know you hadseen it. "

"Fancy a beast a mile and a half long from head to tail!"

"It's a good size, " said Tim, "but nothing out of the common for a sea-serpent, you know. "

"Now I come to think of it, though, " said Tidswell, "it didn't say thatthe _serpent_ was a mile and a half long; it was a mile and a half fromthe ship when it was seen, wasn't that it?"

"Yes, a mile and a half from the ship. I _thought_ you were drawing thelong bow in saying it was so big as all that. "

"They saw it a mile and a half off, and just fancy feeling its breath atthat distance?"

"I'm not astonished at that, " said Tim, "for all those beasts haveenormous lungs. "

"How absurd of me! I should have said it seemed to all appearanceslifeless when they saw it, " said Tidswell. 

"Yes; dead, in fact, " put in Tim, getting into difficulties. 

"And then suddenly it stood erect on its tail, and shot forward towardsthe vessel. "

"Shows the strength of their backs. I couldn't help thinking that whenI saw the account. "

"What am I talking about?" exclaimed Tidswell, hastily correctinghimself; "it was the ship stood in towards the monster and shot at him. "

"Ah, yes; so it was. I made the same mistake myself, see. Yes, theyfired a broadside at him. "

"No; only one shot at his head. "

"That was all. Isn't that what you said?"

"And then he turned over in the water--"

"Dead as a leg of mutton!" put in Tim. 

"No; the shot missed him, and he wasn't touched. "

"No. I meant they all thought he was as dead as a leg of mutton; but hewas not so much as grazed. "

All this while the amusement of the listeners had been growing graduallybeyond control, and at this point smothered explosions of laughter fromone and another fell on Tim's ears, like the dropping of musketry fire. But he did not guess its meaning, and continued turning towardsTidswell, and waiting for the conclusion of the story. 

"And the last they saw of him, " resumed that worthy, his voice quailingwith the exertion to keep it grave and composed--"the last they saw ofhim was, he was spinning away at the rate of twenty knots an hour, withhis tail in his mouth, in the direction of the North Pole. "

"I fancied it was only eighteen knots an hour, " put in Tim seriously. 

Another moment, and the laughter would assuredly burst upon him. 

"Not in the account I saw. What paper did you see it in, Tim?"

"Eh? Why, the same as you, " replied Tim hurriedly, beginning to suspectthe crimson faces of his comrades meant something more than admirationof his wisdom. "Where did you get the tale from? I forget. "

"I got the tale out of my head--like the serpent, you humbug!" roaredTidswell; and for the next five minutes Tim sat on his stool ofrepentance, amid the yells of laughter with which his companions hailedhis discomfiture. 

When silence was restored, of course he tried to explain that "he knewall along it was a joke, and only wanted to see how far he could gammonthe fellows, and fancied he succeeded, " and presently quitted the room, an injured but by no means humiliated boy. 

One last word. Timothy and his friends are amusing up to one point, anddetestable up to another point; but when they come to you in the hour ofyour deepest sorrow and distress, and, with bland smile, say to you, "Itold you so!" they are beyond all endurance, and you hope for nothingmore devoutly than that you may never see their odious faces again. 

The best cure possible for Tim is a homoeopathic one. Find some otherboy equally conceited, equally foolish, equally unscrupulous, and sethim at Tim. I will undertake to say that--unless the two devour oneanother down to the very tips of their tails, like the famous Kilkennycats--they will bring one another to reason, and perhaps modesty, indouble-quick time. 

The great and wise Newton once said of himself that, so far from knowingall things, he seemed to himself to be but as a boy gathering pebbles onthe seashore, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered beforehim. 

Newton was, in his way, almost as fine a fellow as Timothy Told-you-so, and if Timothy would but stoop to have more of Newton's spirit, he mightin time come to possess an atom or two of Newton's sense. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

THE UNTIDY BOY. 

Look at him! You could tell he was an untidy fellow at a single glance. One of his bootlaces is hanging loose, and the band of his scarf hasslipped up above his collar. Though it is a fine day, his trouser legsare splashed up to the knee; and as for a parting to his hair, you mightas well expect an Indian jungle to be combed. His hands are all overink, and the sticky marks about his mouth tell their own tale. Inshort, Jack Sloven is a dirty boy, and is anything but a credit to theschool he belongs to. 

I wish you could see his school books. The pages look like well-useddrum parchments, and I am certain Jack must often find it hard todecipher the words upon them. His exercises look as if they had beenleft out in an ink shower, and the very pen he uses is generally wetwith ink up to the very tip of the handle, which, by the way, he usuallynibbles when he's nothing better to do. Who shall describe his desk?It is generally understood that a schoolboy's desk is the receptacle fora moderately miscellaneous assortment of articles, but Jack's seemedlike a great pie, into which everything under the sun was crammed andstored up. The lid never shut; but if you were to open it, its contentswould astonish you as much as the contents of that wonderful pie in thenursery rhyme astonished the king when he lifted the crust. 

There were books, papers, hooks, balls, worms, stale sandwiches, photographs, toffee, birds' eggs, keys, money, knives, cherry stones, silkworms, marbles, pencils, handkerchiefs, tarts, gum, sleeve links, and walnut shells. Any one venturesome enough to take a header throughthese might succeed in reaching the layer of last year's apple peelbelow, or in penetrating to the crumb heaps in the bottom corners; butfew there were who possessed that amount of boldness. Of course, Jackhad no notion of what his worldly goods consisted. He had a way ofshying things into his desk and forgetting them; and only when it becameso full that the lid stood nearly wide open did he apprehend thenecessity of a "clear-out. "

But if there was ever anything more awful to behold than Jack's desk, itwas one of these "clear-outs. " The event generally got wind when it wasabout to happen, and never failed to create a sensation in the school. All who had a right took care to be present at the ceremony, and I dobelieve if Jack had had the sense to issue reserved seat tickets, hemight have made a nice thing out of it. At any rate, he made a nicething out of that desk. 

Quite indifferent to our presence and laughter, he began leisurely totake out its contents and spread them in glorious array upon the floor, with a view (as he was kind enough to explain to some one who asked him)"to sort them up. " The books and papers went in a pile by themselves;all loose papers were thrust inside the covers of the books; and allbooks without covers were jammed into all the covers without books thatseemed likely to fit. Then all the pens and pencils were put into apencil case, and if any happened to be too long, they were broken to therequired shortness. This being satisfactorily done, Jack used next toturn his attention to the miscellaneous articles of food of which hefound himself possessed. The sandwiches, if not more than a week old, he either ate or generously offered to some of us; the toffee he putinto his pocket, and the tarts (if the jam were not already dried up) heput aside for private consumption hereafter. The shells, stones, peel, etcetera, he heaped up in one place on the floor, and trusted toProvidence to dispose of them. The fish-hooks and baits, the birds'eggs that were not broken, the silkworms, the photographs, pencils, knives, and other articles of use or ornament, he sorted carefully, andthen put back into the desk. By this time it would occur to him he hadbeen long enough over this business, so he shovelled the books andpapers in anyhow, and anything else which happened still to be left out, and then finding that the lid would shut within an inch, he sighed withthe relief of a man who has well discharged a painful duty. 

How was it to be expected Jack could ever find anything he wanted?Sometimes he would sit grubbing in his desk, or among his books, to finda certain exercise or paper for half an hour, and finally, wheneverything was upside down, he would remember he had it in his waistcoatpocket, from the recesses of which he produced it crumpled, greasy, andalmost illegible. On Sundays he always had a hunt for his gloves; andat the end of the term, when he undertook his own packing, he generallyfirst of all contrived to pack up his keys in the very bottom of thetrunk, and so had to take everything out before he could get them, andthen when (with the aid of some dozen of us sitting on the top of theunfortunate receptacle, to cram down the jumble of things inside to ashutting point) he had succeeded in triumphantly turning the lock, itwas a wonder if he had not to open and unpack it all again to find hisstraps. 

As to his dress, I can safely say that, though Jack always had goodclothes, he always looked much less respectable than other boys whoseparents could not afford them anything but common material. Not onlydid he lose buttons, and drop grease over his coat and trousers, but henever folded or brushed them, or had them mended in time, as a tidy boywould have done. We were quite ashamed to be seen walking with himsometimes, he looked so disreputable, but no reproofs or persuasionscould induce him to take more pains about his appearance. 

"A place for everything, and everything in its place, " was a lesson Jackcould not learn; the result was constant and incalculable trouble. Ifpeople could only realise the amount of time lost by untidiness, I thinkthey would regard the fault with positive horror. Why, Jack Sloven, atthe very mildest computation, must have lost half an hour a day. Halfan hour a day, at the end of the year, makes a clear working fortnightto the bad, so that in twenty-five years, if he goes on as he has begun, he will have one year of which it will take him all his time to give anaccount. 

But not only does untidiness waste time, and render the person who fallsinto it a disreputable member of society, but it seriously endangers hissuccess in life. Jack Sloven was naturally a clever fellow. When hecould find his books, he made good use of them; none of us could come upto him in translations, and he had the knack of always understandingwhat he read. If it had not been for this wretched habit, he might havegot prizes at school, and still higher honours in after life; but as itwas, he always came to grief. The notes he had made on his work werenever to be found; he spent more time in collecting his materials thanhe had to spare for using them; most of his work had to be scrambledthrough at the last moment, and was accordingly imperfect. If Jack goesto business, he has a very poor chance of getting on, for untidiness andbusiness will no more go together than oil and water. Few things aremore against a man in business than untidiness; people fight shy of him. If his dress is untidy, his letters slovenly, his habits unpunctual, and his accounts confused, he will be regarded as a man not reliable, and not to be trusted, and people will refuse to transact with him. Ifhe has a house of his own, he will never succeed in keeping his servantslong, for they--so they say--have quite enough to do without unnecessarywork. In fact, I don't see how Jack is to get on at all unless he mendshis ways. 

Is it possible for an untidy boy to become tidy? Try. And if at firstyou don't succeed--try again. You are sure to succeed if you stick toit. Don't aim at apple-pie order--everything in lavender--never to betouched, and all that sort of thing. That's as bad as the boy who oncepossessed a desk, which he would never use, for fear of marking theblotting-paper, and breaking the paper bands round the envelopes. 

No; if you can get into the way of always putting the book you read backinto its place on the shelf, and the paper you want where you will becertain to find it again--if you encourage a jealousy of rubbish, and ahorror of dirt--if you take to heart the proverb I quoted just now, "Aplace for everything, and everything in its place"--you will be as tidyas you ever need be; and Jack Sloven's troubles and misfortunes willnever be yours. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THE SCAPEGRACE. 

The fellow's always in a row! No matter what it's about; no matterwhose fault it is; no matter how he tried to keep out of it; it's alwaysthe same--he's in a row. 

To fancy him not in a row would involve a flight of imagination of whichwe, at any rate, are utterly incapable. He has lived in an atmosphereof rows--rows in the nursery, rows at the dinner table, rows in theschoolroom, rows in the playground. His hands are like leather, sooften have they been caned; his ears are past all feeling, so often havethey been boxed; and solitary confinement, impositions, the corner, andthe head master's study, have all lost their horrors for him, so oftenhas he had to endure them. 

Sam Scamp of our school was, without exception, the unluckiest fellow Iever came across. It was the practice in the case of all ordinaryoffences for the masters of the lower forms to deal out their ownretribution, but special cases were always reserved for a higher court--the head master's study. Hither the culprits were conducted in awfulstate and impeached; here they heard judgment pronounced, and feltsentence executed. It was an awful tribunal, that head master's study!"All hope abandon, ye who enter here, " was the motto--if not written, atleast clearly implied--over the door. The mere mention of the place wasenough to make one's flesh creep. Yet, somehow or other, Sam Scamp, wasalways finding himself there. He must have abandoned hope once a weekat least during his school life, and before he left school I am certainhe must have worn that awful carpet threadbare, for all _his_ offenceswere special offences. When half a dozen boys had spent one afternoonin throwing stones over a certain wall, the stone which broke thedoctor's conservatory window was, as might be expected, Sam's. On theoccasion of the memorable battle of the dormitories--that famous fightin which fifteen boys of Ward's dormitory, arrayed in their nightgownsand armed with bolsters, engaged at dead of night in mortal combat withtwenty boys of Johnson's dormitory for the possession of a certain newboy who had arrived that day with a trunk full of cakes--when themonitors appeared on the scene, one boy, and one only, was captured, andthat was Sam. When a dozen fellows had been copying off one another, the exercise book from which the discovery was made would be sure to beSam's; and when, in the temporary absence of the master, the schoolroombecame transformed into a bear-garden--as it sometimes will--if suddenlythe door were to open the figure which would inevitably fall on themaster's eye would be that of Sam, dancing a hornpipe in the middle ofthe floor, shouting at the top of his voice, and covered from head tofoot with the dust he had himself kicked up. 

On such occasions he was led off to the doctor's study. I happened tobe there once when he was brought up, and so had an opportunity ofwitnessing a scene which, if new to me, must have been very familiar tomy unfortunate schoolfellow. (By the way, the reason _I_ was in thedoctor's study was merely to return a book he had lent me, mind that, reader!)

"What, here again, Samuel?" said the doctor, recognising his too-well-known visitor. 

"I'm very sorry, sir, " says Sam, humbly. "I can't make out how it is. I try all I know--I do indeed--but somehow I'm always in trouble. "

"You are, " replies the doctor. "What is it about this time, MrWardlaw?"

"I can tell you, sir--" begins Sam eagerly. 

"Be silent, sir! Well, Mr Wardlaw?"

"The boy has been very disrespectful, sir. When I came into the class-room this morning and opened my desk, I found it contained a guinea-pigand two white mice, who had--"

Here the unlucky Sam, after a desperate effort, in the course of whichhe has almost choked himself with a handkerchief, bursts into a laugh. 

"What do you mean, sir?" thunders the doctor. 

"Oh, sir, I couldn't help it--really I couldn't; I would rather havechoked than do it--it's just like me!"

And he looks so distressed and humble that the doctor turns from him, and invites Mr Wardlaw to resume his impeachment. 

"I have only to say that this boy, on being charged with the deed, confessed to having done it. "

"Oh yes, sir, that's all right--I did it; I'm very sorry; somehow Ican't make out how it is I'm so bad, " says Sam, with the air of onesuffering from the strain of a constant anxiety. 

"Don't talk nonsense, sir!" says the doctor, sternly; "you can make itout as well as I can. "

"Shall I hold out my hand, sir?" says Sam, who by this time has a goodidea of the routine of practice pursued in such interviews. 

"No, " says the doctor. "Leave him here, Mr Wardlaw; and you, " adds he, for the first time remembering that I was present--"you can go. "

So we departed, leaving Sam shivering and shaking in the middle of thecarpet. It was half an hour before he rejoined his schoolfellows, andthis time his hands were not sore. But somehow he managed to avoidgetting into scrapes for a good deal longer than usual. But there is noresisting the inevitable. He did in due time find himself in anotherrow; and then he suddenly vanished from our midst, for he had beenexpelled. 

Now, with regard to Sam and boys like him, it is of course only naturalto hold them up as examples to others. No boy can be a scamp and notsuffer for it some way or other; and as to saying it's one's misfortunerather than one's fault that it is so, that is as ridiculous as to say, when you choose to walk north, that it is your misfortune you are notwalking south. 

But, in excuse for Sam, we must say that he was by no means the worstboy in our school, though he did get into the most rows, and was finallyexpelled in disgrace. If he had been deceitful or selfish, he wouldprobably have escaped oftener than he did; but he never denied hisfaults or told tales of others. We who knew him generally found himgood-natured and jovial; he looked upon himself as a far more desperatecharacter than we ourselves did, and once I remember he solemnly chargedme to take warning by his evil fate. 

Still, you see, Sam sinned once too often. Even though his crimes werenever more serious than putting guinea-pigs into the master's desk, yetthat sort of conduct time after time is not to be tolerated in anyschool. The example set by a mischievous boy to his fellows is notgood; and if his scrapes are winked at always, the time will come whenothers will be encouraged to follow in his steps, and behave badly too. Sam, no doubt, deserved the punishment he got; and because one bad boywho is punished is no worse than a dozen bad boys who get off, that doesnot make him out a good boy, or a boy more hardly treated than hemerited. 

Scapegraces are boys who, being mischievously inclined, are constantlytransgressing the line between right and wrong. Up to a certain point, a boy of good spirits and fond of his joke, is as jolly a boy as onecould desire; but when his good spirits break the bounds of order, andhis jokes interfere with necessary authority, then it is time for him tobe reminded nothing ought to be carried too far in this world. 

One last word about scapegraces. Don't, like Sam, get it into yourheads that you are destined to get into scrapes, and that therefore itis no use trying to keep out of them. That would be a proof of nothingbut your silliness. I can't tell you how it was Sam's stone alwaysbroke the window, or why the master's eye always fell on him when therewas a row going on; but I can tell you this, that if Sam hadn't thrownthe stone, the window would not have been broken; and that if he hadbehaved well when the master's eye was turned away, he would not havecut a poor figure when the door was opened. Some boys make a boast ofthe number of scrapes they have been in, and fondly imagine themselvesheroes in proportion to the number of times they have been flogged. Well, if it pleases them to think so, by all means let them indulge thefancy; but we can at least promise them this--nobody else thinks so!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

THE UNORIGINAL BOY. 

It takes one a long time to discover that there is something wanting inthe character of Ebenezer Ditto; and it takes a longer time still tomake out exactly what that something is. He's an ordinary-looking andordinarily-behaved boy. There's nothing amiss with the cut of hiscoat--it's neither extra grand nor extra shabby; there's nothing queerabout his voice--he doesn't stammer and he doesn't squeak; there'snothing remarkable about his conversation or his actions--he's not adunce, though he's not clever; he's not a scamp, though he's not goody;he never offends any one, though he never becomes great friends with anyone. What is it makes us not take to Ebenezer? Why is it, on thewhole, we rather despise him, and feel annoyed when in his society?For, it is the truth, we _don't_ much care about him. 

Well, the answer to this question may be, as I have said, not veryreadily discovered; but if you watch Master Ditto carefully, and make upyour mind, you will get at the bottom of the mystery, you will find thatit is this very "ordinary" manner about him to which you object. Thefellow is dull--he is unoriginal. 

You feel sometimes as if you would give a sovereign to see Ebenezerstand on his head, by way of variety. It annoys you when he sits therewith his eyes on you, smiling when you smile, frowning when you frown, talking about the weather when you talk about the weather, and when youwhistle "Nancy Lee" whistling his everlasting "Grandfather's Clock. " Itis a relief, by the way, even to hear him whistle a different tune, forit is about the only thing in which he does take an independent course. But, if truth were known, it would come out he only knows this one tune, and that is the reason. He has not originality enough in him to learn asecond. 

It _is_ an annoying thing to be copied and imitated by any one, most ofall by a fellow one's own age. We can understand the little childimitating its father, and we enjoy seeing what capers it sometimes cutsin the attempt, but there's nothing either interesting or amusing in theway Ebenezer goes on. When, for instance, by a sudden inspiration ofgenius, you take it into your head to shy a slice of apple across theroom at Jack Sleepy just while he is in the act of yawning, with hismouth open wide enough to let a wheelbarrow down, it is not pleasantthat immediately afterwards some one at your side should hurl a walnutat the same person and wound him seriously in the eye. Besides making arow, it takes away from the fun of your achievement, and makes the wholeaffair more than a joke. Or, being asked, let us suppose, to name yourfavourite hero in fiction, you are careful to select a somewhat out-of-the-way name, and reply, "Sidney Carton. " You are rather pleased tothink you have thereby not only named some one whom no one else islikely to hit upon, but also you have delicately let your master see youhave lately read a very good book. It is rather vexing when Ebenezerreplies to the same question, "Sidney Carton, " in a knowing sort ofmanner, although you are positive he has never read the _Tale of TwoCities_, and doesn't even know that Dickens was its author. Of course, your distinction in the matter has gone, and if your answer is judgedthe best, you only get half the credit you deserve. Or, to take onemore example, supposing one day, being utterly sick of Ebenezer'ssociety, and longing to get a little time by yourself, you decline thetempting offer of a cricket match in which you know he also is likely toplay. You mean to read this afternoon, you say. Well, isn't it too badwhen next moment you hear that wretched Ebenezer saying, in answer tothe same invitation, "Very sorry, but I mean to read this afternoon, "and then have him come and sit down on a bench beside you with his book?And the worst of it is, you know if you now change your mind and go infor the match after all, he will change _his_ mind and do the same. 

The most aggravating thing about unoriginal fellows is that you cannotwell get in a rage with them, for if you find fault with them, you findfault with yourselves. 

"What a young ass you are not to play in the match!" you say toEbenezer, hardly able to contain yourself. 

"Why aren't _you_ playing in it?" he replies. 

"Oh! I've some particular reading I want to do, " you say. 

"So have I, " replies he. 

You cannot say, "You have no business to read when cricket is going on, "nor can you say, "What do you mean by it?"

Clearly, if _you_ do it, you are not the person to say _he_ shall not. 

I doubt if Ebenezer knows to what an extent he carries this trick ofhis. It is so natural for him to do as he sees others do that he failsto see how his actions appear in the same light as that in which otherssee them. Sometimes, indeed, he appears to be conscious of followinghis copy pretty closely, for we catch him trying to make some slightvariation which will prevent it being said he does exactly the same. For instance, if you give a little select supper party in your study totwo friends off roast potatoes and sardines, he will probably have threefriends to breakfast off eggs and bread and jam; or if you hang up theportraits of your father and sister over your mantelpiece, he willsuspend the likenesses of his mother and brother on his wall. Hegenerally, you will find, tries to improve on you--which, of course, isnot always hard to do. But sometimes he comes to grief in the attempt, as happened in the case of his wonderful "hanging shelves. " Ted Hammer, quite a mechanical genius, had made to himself a set of these shelves, which for neatness, simplicity, and usefulness were the marvel of theschool. Of course Ebby got to know of it, and was unhappy till he couldcap it with something finer still. So he made all sorts of excuses forcoming constantly into Ted's room and inspecting his work of art, tillat last he felt quite sure he could make a set for himself. So hestarted to manufacture a set, twice the size, and with double the numberof shelves. In due time he had it done and suspended on his wall, andit seemed as if Ted's nose was completely out of joint, for Ebby'sshelves held not only his books, but his jam-pots and tumblers, and allsorts of odds and ends besides. But that very night there was a crashin his room, the like of which had never been heard before. We allrushed to the place. There were books, jam pots, ink pots, tumblers, inone glorious state of smash on the floor, and the unlucky shelves on thetop of them; for Ebenezer had driven the small nail that supported thestructure into nothing better than ordinary loose plaster. The onlywonder was how the thing stayed up two minutes. So Ted Hammer's nosewas not out of joint after all. 

This reminds us of the story of the two rival shoemakers, who livedopposite one another, and always strove each to outdo the other in everybranch of their trade. One day, one of the two painted over his doorthe highly appropriate Latin motto, "Mens conscia recti. " His neighbourgnashed his teeth, of course, and vowed to improve on the inscription. And next day, when cobbler Number 1 and the world awoke, they beheldpainted in huge characters over the fellow's shop-front the startlingannouncement, "_Men's and Women's_ conscia recti. "

It is the easiest thing possible (where the operator is not quite such afool as this shoemaker) to improve on another's production. When somegenius brings out a machine over the plans of which he has spent half ananxious lifetime, a dozen copyists will in a year have out a dozen"improved machines, " each of them better than the first one, andtherefore each helping to ruin the inventor. He had all the labour andall the knowledge. All the others did was to add a few slightimprovements, for which they get all the credit due to the man withoutwhom they would not have had an idea. This is, alas! very common, andcannot be avoided. 

You can't make a law against one boy imitating another, or even againsthis stepping into the credit due to you. 

It is as easy to be unoriginal as it is hard at times to be original. Everybody falls into the fault more or less. Why is it we can neverfind anything to begin a conversation with except the weather?Somebody, I suppose, began on that topic once. Why is it we always wearthe shaped coats that everybody else does? Somebody must haveastonished the world by setting the fashion in the first instance. 

There is a touch of envy in Ebenezer, I'm afraid; but the kindest way ofaccounting for his annoying ways is to believe he is not clever. Nomore he is. If he were, he would at least see how ridiculous hesometimes makes himself. The original boys, on the other hand, _are_clever, and they are quick in their ideas, which Ebenezer is not. Thegreat thing in originality is to have your idea out before any one else. As long as it's in your head and no one knows of it, you are no betteroff than the unoriginal many; but give your idea a shape and a name, andyou are one of the original few. And the glory of being one of them isthat you are sure to have one or two of Ebenezer's sort at your tail!

Unoriginality is more a failing than a crime. Sometimes it may lead toactions which do real injury to another, but injury is rarely intended. It is stupidity more than anything else. But there is a point at whichunoriginality may become a sin. Every boy has in him the power to say"Yes" or "No, " and he has also the conscience in him which tells himwhen he ought to say the one or the other. Now, when every one issaying "Yes" to a thing about which your conscience demands that youshall say "No, " it becomes your positive duty for once in your life tobe original, and say it. 

After all, most of us are medium sort of fellows. We are not geniuses, and we trust we are not dolts. The best thing we can do is to look outthat we don't lose all our originality while knocking through thisworld. The more we can keep of it, the more good we shall do; and if wefind we have enough of it to entitle us to some "followers, " let us seeto it we turn them out, if anything, better fellows than they were whenfirst they "jumped up behind. "

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

THE DUFFER. 

What school is without its duffer, I wonder? Of course, none of usanswer to the name, but we all know somebody who does, and it's acurious thing nobody ever thoroughly dislikes a duffer. Why? Well, onereason may be that there's nothing as a rule objectionable about suchfellows, and another is that we are always ready enough to forgive onewho makes us laugh; but I have an idea that the best reason why we areall so tolerant of duffers is that we are able to remind ourselves, whenlaughing at them, how very much the reverse of duffers we are ourselves. 

However that may be, we had a glorious duffer at our school, who gothimself and us into all sorts of scrapes, and yet was quite a favouriteamong his schoolfellows. 

Billy Bungle (that was his name) was not by any means an idiot. He knewperfectly well that two and two made four, and yet, such a queer chap ashe was, he would take any amount of pains to make five of it. 

If there were two ways of doing anything, a right way and a wrong way, he invariably selected the latter; and if there seemed only one way, andthat the right way, then he invented a wrong one for the occasion. 

One day, one of the little boys in the school had a letter telling himto come home at once. He was not long in packing up his carpet bag, andgetting the doctor's leave to depart. But the doctor was unwilling forsuch a little helpless fellow as he to undertake the long journey allalone. He came down to the playground where we were, and beckoning toBilly, who happened to be the nearest at hand, said, "Bungle, will yougo with this boy to the station, and see him off by the twelve train toX--? Here is the money to get his ticket; and carry his bag for him, there's a man. "

Billy readily accepted the commission, and we watched him proudlymarching from the playground with his small charge on one side and thecarpet bag on the other. The station was a mile off, and it was nearlyone o'clock when he returned home. We were in class at the time. 

"Well, did you see him off?" asked the doctor. 

"Yes, sir, all right; we caught an earlier train than the one you said--at a quarter to, " replied Billy, with the tone of a clever man. 

"But the quarter to doesn't go to X--. Didn't I tell you to see him offby the twelve train?"

"I thought it would be all the better to catch the early one. "

"Stupid boy, don't you know that train doesn't _go to_ X--?"

"No one said it didn't, sir, " put in Billy, with an injured face. 

"Did any one say it did?"

"I didn't hear, " said Billy; "shall I go back and ask?"

"That would not be the least use, " said the master, too vexed almost tospeak. 

Billy stood before him, staring at him, and looking anything butcheerful. 

"I shall have to go down to the station myself, " said the doctor. "Youare the stupidest boy I ever had to do with. "

Billy looked resigned; then fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, he pulledout a bit of blue cardboard. "Oh, here's the ticket, sir. "

"What! Wasn't it enough to send the poor boy off by a wrong train, without keeping his ticket? Go away, sir, this instant, to your room, and stay there till I give you leave to quit it!"

Billy obeyed, evidently unable to make the affair out. 

By dint of telegrams and messengers, the missing boy turned up again;but it was a long time before Billy was allowed to forget the way he had"seen him off. "

This is just one specimen of our unlucky schoolfellow's blunders. Hewas always in some trouble of the kind. He had to cease taking lessonsin chemistry, because one time he nearly succeeded in blowing himselfand three or four of us up by mixing certain combustibles together bymistake; and another time he upset a bottle of sulphuric acid over hisclothes. 

He was always very near the bottom of his class, because he _would_prepare the wrong lessons, or misunderstand the questions asked him. And yet he was always anxious to get on. Once, I remember, heconfidentially asked me, if he were to learn Liddell and Scott's Lexiconby heart, whether I thought he would be able to get the Greek prize?But he bungled more in the playground than anywhere. Perhaps it wasbecause we laughed at him and made him nervous. 

It was rarely any one cared to have him on their side at cricket. Hemissed the easiest catches, he got leg before wicket, he stopped stillin the middle of a run to see if he would have time to finish it, andwhenever he did manage to score one he was sure, in his excitement, toknock down his own wicket with a flourish of his bat. 

In football it's no exaggeration to say he was more often on the groundthan the ball itself, and was invariably of more service to the otherside than to his own. In fact, the possession of him got to be quite ajoke. 

"Who's going to win?" asks some one, before a match begins. 

"Which side is Billy Bungle on?" is the counter question. 

"Oh, he's on our side. "

"Then of course the other fellows will win, " is the uncomplimentaryconclusion; and Billy, poor boy, who overhears it, half chokes withwounded feelings, and tucks up his sleeves and goes into the game, determined for once he will disappoint those who mock at him. Alas Iscarcely has the ball been kicked off than he gets in the way ofeverybody he ought not to get in the way of, and lets the others passhim; he collars his own men, and kicks the ball towards his own goal, and falls down just in time to cause half a dozen of his side to tumbleover him, and just as the ball rises, straight as an arrow, to fly overthe enemy's goal, his unlucky head gets in the way and spoilseverything. No wonder he is in very poor demand as an ally. 

Now, the question is, is it altogether Billy's fault he is such aduffer? Of course it is, say nineteen out of every twenty of myreaders. Any one with an ounce of brains and common sense could avoidsuch stupid blunders. But the twentieth is not quite so positive. "Perhaps it's not altogether Billy's fault, " he says. And I mustconfess I am inclined to agree with this. Of course, a great deal ofhis "duffingness" (I believe that's the proper word) is due to hiscarelessness. If he took the trouble to think about what he was doing, he would never translate a French exercise into Latin, or learn hisarithmetic by heart instead of his history; he would never mix together(under his nose) two chemicals that would assuredly explode and nearlyblow his head off. For he has a few brains in that head, which makessuch blunders all the less excusable. But I am not sure if a good dealof his bad luck is not due to the merciless way in which he was laughedat, and called "duffer, " and taught to believe that he could no more doa thing right than a bull could walk through a china-shop without makinga smash. He got it into his head he was a duffer, and therefore did nottake the pains he might have done. 

"What's the use of my bothering? I'm sure to make a mess of it!"

Fancy a boy saying this to himself at cricket, while a ball is flyingbeautifully towards him, an easy catch, even for a duffer. Do yousuppose he will catch it? Not he. He will stand where he is, and putup his hands, and look another way. In fact, he won't do his best. Andwhy? Because all of us never expect him to catch it; and if he did, weshould probably call it a "fluke, " and laugh at him all the more. Yes, it's our fault in a certain measure that Billy is the awful "duffer" heis. 

Sometimes, as in the game of football we have referred to, he does makeup his mind to do his best; but even then the idea that "destiny" isagainst him, and that everybody is expecting him to make a fool ofhimself, as usual, is enough to make any fellow nervous and a duffer. 

However, whatever excuses we may make for Billy, he was undoubtedly aduffer. I have named one reason of his bad luck--want of thought--andanother was hurry. In fact, the two reasons become one, for it waschiefly because Billy would never give himself time to think that hemade so many mistakes. All his thinking came after the thing was done. As soon as the chemicals had blown up, for instance, it entered his headhe had mixed the wrong ingredients, and as soon as the ball was flyingto the wrong goal it occurred to him he had kicked it in a wrongdirection. 

And this really brings me to the moral of my discourse. Don't despair, if you are a duffer, for you may cure yourself of it, if you will only_think_ and _take your time_. If we are not quick-witted, it does notfollow we have no wits, and if we only use them carefully, we shall beno greater duffers than some of our sharp fellows. 

The great philosopher Newton once appeared in the light of a greatduffer. He had a cat, and that cat had a kitten, and these twocreatures were continually worrying him by scratching at his study doorto be let either in or out. A brilliant idea occurred to thephilosopher--he would make holes in the bottom of his door through whichthey might pass in or out at pleasure without troubling him to get upand open the door every time. And thereupon he made a big hole for thecat and a little hole for the kitten, as if both could not have used thebig hole!

Well, you say, one could fancy Billy Bungle doing a thing like that, butwhat an extraordinary error for a philosopher to fall into! It was, butthe reason in both cases is alike. Neither thought sufficiently aboutwhat he was doing. Newton was absorbed with other things, and Billy wasthinking of nothing, and yet both he and Newton were duffers, which goesto prove that without care any one may belong to that class. 

How many men who have begun life as reputed "duffers" have turned outgreat men! but you will find that none of them ever did themselves anygood till they had cured themselves of that fault. That's what you, andI, and Billy Bungle must all do, boys. 

Just two words more about Billy. We all liked him, as I have said, forhe was imperturbably good-tempered. He bore no malice for all ourlaughing, and now and then, when he was able to see the joke, wouldassist in laughing at himself. 

And then he never tried to make himself out anything but what he was. Of all detestable puppies, the duffer who tries to pass himself off fora clever man is the most intolerable; for nothing will convince him ofhis error, and nothing will keep him in his place. He's about the onesort of character nobody knows how to deal with, for he sets everybodyelse but himself down as duffers. What can anybody do to such a one?

But there is another extreme. Billy's great fault was that he was tooready to believe others who called him a duffer. Don't take it forgranted you are a duffer because any one tells you so. Find it out foryourself, and when you've found it out--"don't be a duffer!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

THE DANDY. 

Fine feathers make fine birds. This is a proverb which a great manypeople in our country--especially young people--most devoutly believein, and they show their belief in a very emphatic way. They rigthemselves out in the height of the fashion, no matter how ridiculous itis, or how uncomfortable; they take airs upon themselves which do notproperly belong to them; they try to pass for something finer than theyare, and if they do not end by being laughed at it is no fault oftheirs. 

You never saw such a dandy as we had at our school. He rejoiced in thename of Frederick Fop, and seemed possessed of the notion that hisdainty person was worthy of the utmost amount of decoration that any oneperson could bestow upon it. No one objects to a fellow having a goodcoat and trousers, and a respectable hat; but when it comes to canary-coloured pantaloons, and cuffs up to the finger ends, and collars ashigh as the ears, and a hat as shiny as a looking-glass, the fellow getsto be rather a nuisance. Indeed, we had just as much objection towalking out with Fred Fop as we had with Jack Sloven; one was quite asunpleasantly conspicuous as the other. 

It was often a marvel to some of us how it came to be allowed for a boyto dress as Fred did. You should have seen him coming down the stairson Sunday, as we were about to start for church, putting on a lavenderglove, and taking a couple of minutes to adjust his hat to the properangle on his head. 

How he minced along the pavement, dreading to speck his exquisite boots, and how artlessly he would carry one glove in his hand, in order to showoil his elegant ring. His umbrella was the size of an ordinary younglady's parasol, and as for his collars--of course it was impossible toturn his head one way or the other with those things sticking up oneither side. He always insisted on having the inside of the pavement, in order to avoid the splashing of the cabs; and invariably enteredchurch last, having occupied a certain time in the porch (so it wassaid) to make sure his necktie was properly tied, and that the corner ofhis handkerchief was hanging sufficiently far out of his breast-pocket, and that the expression of his countenance was sufficiently interesting. Having satisfied himself on these points, he advanced up the aisle inprocession with himself, and scented the whole building in his triumphalprogress. 

It is hardly to be wondered at that Master Fop became the victim of allsorts of practical jokes. If by any chance one of the fellows shouldhappen to be pitching water out of the window, it was an extraordinarycoincidence that Fred in his grand hat was nearly always walkingunderneath. Another time, when some of the elder boys were allowed toattend a grand concert in the village, Fred of course was in his glory, and took every means to create a sensation by his elaborate toilet. Andso he did! For as he sauntered beautifully up the hall to his seat infront, he was wholly unconscious that a startling label was hanginggracefully on the back buttons of his coat with this legend inscribedthereon--

"Look here! Our noted 50 shilling suit! A bargain!"

It was not till he went to sit down that he discovered the heartlessjoke, and then--but we may as well draw a veil over his confusion. Suffice it to say he did not enjoy the concert a bit. 

But he was by no means cured of his vanity. No, not even by asubsequent and still more embarrassing adventure. 

Several of the boys, among whom were Fred and Jack Sloven, were one daydown at the river bathing, when a sudden thought seized certain ofFred's tormentors to play him a very unkind trick. So while he wasswimming by himself some distance off, they scuttled ashore and madeoff, taking with them Jack Sloven dressed up in Fred's clothes, and, ofcourse, leaving that disreputable young gentleman's garments behind forthe dandy. They made home as fast as they could, and Jack, as quicklyas possible, divested himself of his unwonted finery, and put on anotherof his own suits. Then the conspirators assembled in the playgroundwith as many of us as had heard what was going on, and awaited thereturn of poor Fred. He was a long time coming, and before he arrivedthe head master and two ladies had appeared on the scene. 

But the end came to our suspense at last, and we saw our hero march homein state. Such a spectacle you never saw! being rather tall, Sam'sgreasy and ink-stained breeches came down only half-way below his knees, and fitted as tight as gloves. The elegant wrists, usually shroudedbeneath their snowy cuffs, now stuck out like skewers from two veryshort, very tight, and very shabby sleeves. Fred had not attempted todon the shirt and collar which had been left for him, and it was prettyevident by the way he shivered that if any one had unbuttoned the coatand grimy waistcoat he would not have discovered much more in the shapeof vestments. But he had Jack's great muddy boots on, and hisdisgracefully caved-in hat. In this guise he had to perambulate thevillage, and now, worst of all, he found himself face to face not onlywith a whole body of his schoolfellows, but with the doctor and twoladies!

If the whole scene had not been so ludicrous, one would have feltsympathy for the poor fellow; as it was, every one burst out laughingthe moment he appeared. Even the doctor had to turn suddenly and walktowards the house. 

But we heard of the affair again presently; for the doctor alwaysvisited severely any act of unkindness done even in joke, and theoffenders in this case were duly punished. To his credit be it said, Fred did not exult over his vindication; the only revenge he took waswhen he had arrayed himself once more in his usual faultless get-up. Hecame down to the schoolroom where we were all assembled, and walking upto Jack Sloven, drawled out in a voice which everybody could hear, "Oh, you'll find your things in the bath-room--all but your shirt. I reallycouldn't touch _that_, so it's lying on the river bank still, where youleft it!"

There is one peculiarity about dandies. They are hardly ever persons ofgreat minds. When the exquisite, on being asked how on earth he came bythe wonderful necktie he had got on, replied, "Well, you see, I gave mywhole mind to it!" he probably spoke the truth. But then you know amind that exhausts all its energy in the production of a "choker, "however remarkable, cannot be a great one. 

I should be sorry to hurt any one's feelings, but it is nevertheless afact that an unhealthy craving after finery is very often a symptom ofsomething not very far short of idiocy. I do not mean to say Fred Fopwas an idiot. He had a certain amount of sense; but he would have had avast deal more if he had not given so much of his mind to the decorationof his person. And with it all he never succeeded, at school at anyrate, in passing himself off for any one more important than he was. Itis as much a sign of being no gentleman to over-dress as to dress like asloven, but, as in every other case, the secret is to find the goldenmean. I have often seen working-men dressed in a more gentlemanly waythan certain gorgeous snobs of my acquaintance; not that their clotheswere grander or cost more, but because they were _neat_. That really isthe secret. It always seems to me a sign of a man being well dressedwhen one never notices how he is dressed at all. If he were badlydressed, or if he were over-dressed, one would notice it; and it is asure sign of his having hit the happy mean when his dress leaves noimpression on your mind at all. 

But I am not going to set up as a tailor, and so I will bring this paperto a close with this one piece of advice; when there is nothing elseleft to think about, then by all means let us give our whole mind to thecut of our coats. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE GROWLER. 

Who doesn't know Growler, of our school? He was a sort of fellownothing and nobody could satisfy. If Growler were a week in an Africandesert without a drop of water to drink, and some one were then to comeand offer him a draught, you may depend upon it the fellow would havesomething to find fault with. The rim of the bowl would be too thick, or there would be a flavour of sand in the water, or the Good Samaritanwho held it to his parched lips wouldn't tilt it up exactly when heought to do so. If his rich uncle were to give him a splendid goldhunter watch and chain, he would growl because there wasn't a sealhanging on the latter. If he were to succeed in getting a third prize, he'd growl because he had not got the second. If he got the second, he'd growl because he had not got the first. And if he should win thefirst prize of all, then he would growl because there was not a higherone possible. Was ever such a hopeless fellow to have to deal with!

I dare say you have heard the story of the Scotch elder who, on thequestion being raised what service he could render at the churchmeetings, replied briskly, "I can always object. " Well, Growler's onestrong point was his talent for objecting, and gallantly he used it. 

He was one of those fellows who think a great deal more about the thornof the rose than the flower, and who, feeing quite sure that nothingunder the sun is perfect, set themselves to discover the imperfectionsin all things. 

I remember once a lot of us had planned a most delightful picnic for acertain holiday. We were to take two boats some miles up the river to acertain little island, where we proposed to land and erect a tent. Eachfellow was to bring some contribution to the picnic, which we were topartake of with grand ceremony under the willows. Then we were to havesome music, and generally take it easy. Afterwards we were to bathe, and then row some mile or two farther up to the woods, and have asquirrel hunt; and towards evening, after a picnic tea, drift down withthe stream in time for the nine o'clock bell. It seemed a perfect plan, and as we sat and discussed it our spirits rose, and we found ourselvesalready enjoying our picnic in prospect. But presently Growler cameinto the room, and as he was to be one of the party, we had to go overall the plans again to him. Well, it was too bad! Not a single detailin our programme pleased him. 

"Row?" he said; "don't we get enough rowing, without having to give upholidays to it? besides, what's the fun of sitting in a tent, or eatingyour food among all the wasps and gnats up in that place? You surelyaren't going to take that wretched concertina; that'll be enough to giveus the blues, even if it doesn't rain, which it's pretty sure to do. Isuppose you know the island's about the worst place for bathing--"

"Come, now, old man, it's a first-rate place. "

"Well, you may think so; I don't. In fact, I don't see the fun ofbathing after dinner at all. You don't expect _me_ to make a fool ofmyself hunting squirrels, do you, in those horrid woods? And you'llhave to have tea, as you call it (though you might as well make one mealdo for both), jolly early if you expect to drift down here by nine. Why, you won't do it in anything like the time, and fine fun it will be, sitting like dummies in a boat going at a mile an hour. "

This was cheerful, and no amount of argument would do away with ourdesirable friend's objections. The result was, we went, but tried toalter our programme in some points to please him: But he growled all themore, and would not enjoy the day himself, nor let us do so; and ourgrand picnic, thanks to him, was quite a failure. 

It wouldn't have been so bad if the result of Growler's grumblings hadbeen to give us something better in place of what he wanted us to giveup. But that is a thing he never did. He could pick holes to anyextent, but he couldn't fill them up. There was no scheme or project hecouldn't pull to pieces with the utmost industry, but I never rememberhis originating any scheme of his own to take its place. This washardly fair. If you take something away from a person, and give himnothing in exchange, it is robbery, and in this respect Growler was anawful thief. 

Isn't it true that if you set yourself to it, you could find fault withnearly everything? But in order to do it, you would have to be veryselfish in the first place, and very hard-hearted in the next. The dogin the manger is a good type of this happy combination. He trampled onthe hay that the cows thought so sweet, and wouldn't touch it himself, and he wouldn't let them touch it either; and that is precisely thecharge to which Growler lays himself open. Let us hope he is not quitesuch a bad sort as this dog. He had got into a regular habit ofgrowling, and it would be against his nature altogether to praiseanything cordially. 

Supposing Growler to be grown to a man, now; what a desirable creaturehe must be! What a fine man to get on to a committee, or intoparliament! What a delightful partner to have in business! Why, he'dwear out an ordinary man in a month. What complainings, andquestionings, and disapprovals, and censures would he ever be loading onthe head of his colleagues!--how ready people would be to avoid him andgive him a wide berth! For, assuredly, if in anything there was to befound a fault, Growler was the boy to find it. I remember a fairy taleabout some folk who wanted to find out if a certain lady were a fairyprincess or not; and the way they did it was to lay a pea on the floorof her room, and cover it with twenty feather beds one on the top of theother. Next morning they asked how she slept. 

"Not at all, " said she, "for there was a dreadful lump in the bed. "

Then they knew she must be a fairy! Perhaps it would be a little toomuch to compare Growler with a fairy; but he certainly had a wonderfulknack of discovering peas under the bed; and where there were none todiscover, he found out something else. Now, you and I, I expect, intalking of the sun, would speak of it as a glorious light and heat-giving orb, without which we could none of us get on for a moment. ButGrowler's version of the thing would be quite different. 

"A thing full of great ugly spots, that goes scorching up one part ofthe earth and leaving another in the cold, and is generally hidden byclouds from all the rest. "

Such is the genial, bright view of things taken by our old schoolmate. 

There are two sorts of growlers. There is the man who honestly attackswhat is really wrong for the sake of making it right, and there is theman who instinctively grumbles at everything for the mere sake ofgrowling. The former class is as useful as the latter is tiresome, andif we must growl, by all means let us find out some real grievance toattack. Grumbling is a habit that grows quickly and with very littleencouragement, and those who go in for it must make up their minds tohave to do with very few friends. For who would consent to be thefriend of a growler? It would be as bad as becoming the servant of aman who kept an electrical machine--he would always be trying it on you!And he must be content also to find that very few people sympathisewith him. For when a man is a confirmed grumbler at everything, no oneafflicts himself much about his lamentations, but puts it all down tohis infirmity. 

"Poor fellow, his digestion isn't good, or his liver's out of order!"they will say, and think no more about it. 

Growler of our school was an able fellow in his way; and successful, too, but he wasn't liked. Some were afraid of him, some detested him, and most cared very little about him. I don't suppose he will ever domuch good in the world, for this reason--his influence is so small. Onewould like to know if he is really as unhappy as he would make every onebelieve. I have a notion he is not, but is the victim of a habit whichhe has allowed to grow on him till it is past shaking off. Moral, boys:When you catch yourselves grumbling, make sure the grievance is a realone. If it is, don't be content with grumbling, but follow it up tillthe wrong is put right. But if you find yourself growling merelybecause it sounds a fine thing to do, then let growl number one be notonly the first but the last performance of the kind; and no one thenwill be able to growl at you. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

THE BULLY. 

There are bullies and bullies. There is the big brother, for instance, who considers it as much part of his duty to administer an occasionalcuff to his youthful relative, as he does to stroke his own chin for thefirst sign of a beard, or to wear his tall hat on Sundays. That is notthe sort of bullying any one complains of. Pretty sort of fellows someof us would have turned out if we hadn't come in for a little wholesomeknocking about in our day! What's the use of big brothers, we shouldlike to know, if it's not to chastise youngsters! and what are youngerbrothers made for, if they are not to be occasionally "whopped!"

When I first reached a "bullyable" age, I found myself number three of aset of five boys. I had looked on in awe at the discipline inflicted bymy eldest brother on number two; I had been a trembling spectator ofscuffles and tears, and pulled ears and sore knuckles, and knew my turnfor the same hardships was coming. And so it did. Number one went tocollege, and then number two was cock of the walk, and didn't I catch itthen? The ears that had recently smarted between another's finger andthumb were now deaf to my lamentations, and the knuckles that I had seenbruised and sore now played on my poor countenance as if it had been atambourine. It wasn't pleasant while it lasted, of course; but then itwas all in the regular course of things, and had to be grinned at andborne; and besides it was a splendid training for me, when I came to beleft ruler of the roost with young number four at my mercy. Poor numberfour! he had a hard time of it. He was a meek sort of fellow, and tooka lot of bullying. I've a broken-backed lexicon to this day which oftenused to fly across the room at his devoted head, and which he asregularly picked up and handed back to me. 

Never was a czar more absolute than I during the brief years of mysupremacy. 

But it was monotonous work bullying a fellow who never showed fight; andone day, in reply to a touching lamentation on his part, I demanded, "Why don't you say you won't, then, and stick to it?" Would you believeit? the ungrateful fellow took me at my word! Next time I issued adecree, he made my hair stand on end by shouting, "Shan't!" I could notbelieve my wits; and when he not only refused, but (in accordance withmy own unlucky advice) positively defied me, I was fairly nonplussed!In vain the lexicon performed its airy flight; in vain my rulerflourished over his knuckles; in rain I stormed and raged. No martyr atthe stake was ever more sublimely firm; and from that day my reign wasover. 

It was over as far as he was concerned; but as he resolutely declined todo his duty in knocking about number five, I had to sacrifice myself forthe family good, and take that young scamp in hand too, and as he wasthe youngest, he had nothing to do but wait till he grew up, and then--when he suddenly discovered he was six feet high--he took a turn atbullying me, who by that time was a married man with a family. 

Now, perhaps, this sort of bullying within ordinary bounds does no greatharm. In our case we almost seemed to like one another the better forit, though each in his turn rent the air with his howls andlamentations. Perhaps, however, we were exceptional boys, and I am notgoing to recommend the system. 

The dog mother who routs up her little pup from his comfortable nap, andshakes him with her teeth, and knocks him down and rolls him over andworries him till he yaps and yelps as if his last day had come, is notsuch a bully as the cat who holds a mouse under his paw, and plays withit and torments it previous to making a meal of it. 

In one case the discipline is salutary and serves a good end; in theother it is sheer cruelty. 

Just let me introduce you to a bully of the true sort--one whom we mightcall a _professional_ bully--as contrasted with the _amateur_ big-brother bullies of whom I have been speaking. 

Bob Bangs of our school was a big, ill-conditioned, lazy, selfish, cross-grained sort of fellow. He was nearly the tallest fellow in thefifth form, but by no means the strongest. He was narrow across thechest, and shaky about the knees, though we youngsters held him too muchin awe to take this into account at the time. To the big boys of thesixth form Bob was cringing and snivelling; nothing was too menial, soonly as he could keep in their good graces. If he had known how, I daresay he would have blacked their boots or parted their hair; as it was, he laid himself out to fetch and carry, to go and come just as theirlordships should direct; and their lordships, I have a notion, winked atone another and gave him plenty to do. 

But to us youngsters Bob was wholly different. For one of us to come somuch as across his path was sufficient provocation to his spite. Like aspider in its web, he would waylay and capture the wretched small fry ofour school and haul them away to his den. There he would screw theirarms and kick them, just for the pleasure of seeing their faces andhearing their howls. Generally, indeed, he managed to invent somepretext for his chastisement. This one had made a grimace at him acrossthe room yesterday; that one had spilt some ink on his desk; poor JackFlighty had had the cheek to laugh outside his door while he wasreading; or Joe Tyler had bagged his straw hat instead of his own. 

One day, I remember, I, a little unfortunate of ten summers, fell intohis awful clutches. 

"Come here, you young beggar!" I heard him call out. 

I dared not disobey, and stood before him shaking in my shoes. 

"What are you laughing at?" he says. 

"I'm not laughing, " I said, feeling anything but in the humour forjocularity. 

"Yes, you are, I tell you--take that!" and a smart box on the earfollowed. 

I writhed, but tried hard to suppress my ejaculation of pain. 

"What's that you called me?" demanded the bully. 

"Nothing, " I faltered, rubbing my head. 

"Yes, you did, " he said; "take that for telling a cram, and that forcalling me names!" and suiting the action to the word he bestowed onecuff and one kick on my unoffending person, each of which I acknowledgedby a howl. 

"Now then, " said he, "what did you mean by borrowing Tom Groby's_Gulliver's Travels_ yesterday when you knew I wanted to read it, eh?"

And he caught hold of my hand and gave my arm a suggestive preliminaryscrew. 

"I didn't, " I said. 

"Yes, you did, " said he, tightening the pressure, so as to make me catchmy under lip in my teeth. "You knew well enough I was half through it. "

"I mean, I _didn't_ borrow it. I never saw the book, " I shrieked, trulyenough too, for this was clearly a case of mistaken identity. 

"Yes, you did, for I was told so. "

"I didn't; oh, let me go!" I cried, twisting under the torture; "itwasn't me!"

"I tell you it was;" another screw, and another dance and howl from me;"and what's the use of you saying it wasn't?"

"Indeed it wasn't!" I yelled, for by this time I was on my knees, andhalf dead with agony. "Oh! You'll break my arm! Oh! Oh!"

"Say you took it, then, " replied my tormentor. 

"It wasn't me, " I shrieked. "Oh! _Yes it was_! Let go!"

Then he let go, and catching me by the collar of my coat with one hand, pulled my ear with the other, saying--

"What do you mean by telling lies, you young cub?"

"I only said I took it, " whimpered I, nursing my sore arm, "because youmade me. "

"Then you mean to say you didn't, do you?" cried the bully, with anothergrab at my hand. 

What would have become of me I don't know, had not a sixth-form fellowcome by at that moment, at the sight of whom Master Bangs let go my arm, smiled benevolently on me and cringingly on him, and then slunk away tohis den, never to find me again within reach of his ten fingers if Icould help it. 

It would be hard to say what object Bob had in this conduct. Hecertainly had not much to gain. Sometimes, indeed, he succeeded incompelling his victims to empty their pockets to him, and hand over thelittle treasures in the way of eatables, penknives, or india-rubber towhich he might take a fancy, but this was comparatively rare. Nor washis bullying actuated by the lofty motive of administering wholesomediscipline on his young schoolfellows. In fact, so far from doing themgood, he made sneaks and cowards of a good many of them, and, ashappened in my case, led them to tell falsehoods in order to escape hisclutches. 

I should be sorry to think that Bob Bangs was influenced by sheer spiteand cruelty of heart, or by a wanton delight in witnessing andcontributing to the suffering of others; yet so one was often forced tobelieve. It is bad enough when one fellow stands by and, withoutlifting a finger to help, lets another suffer; but when, instead ofthat, he actually makes himself the instrument of torture, he is nothingshort of a brute. 

Perhaps, however, it would hardly be fair to say that Bob was quite sobad as this. We are bound to give the worst characters their due; andwithout attempting to excuse or justify a single blow the Bully everstruck, we must bear in mind this one thing. 

There is a certain class of people to whom power becomes a rulingpassion. Somebody must be made to feel, and somebody must be brought toacknowledge it. These people are generally those who have the greatestpossible aversion to enduring oppression in their own persons, or whohave themselves in their time been roughly handled. They love to seeothers quail before them, as they themselves would be ready to quailbefore those they hold in awe; and it is no small set-off against theirown terrors to feel themselves in turn objects of terror to others. People of this sort are of course generally cowards and toadies, and inbullying they find the fullest gratification of their craving for power. 

Bob may sometimes feel a passing pity for the poor little wretch he istormenting; but until that poor little wretch consents to knuckle under, to apologise, to obey, to accuse himself, in the manner Bob selects, hemust not be spared. 

Boys who want to understand what real bullying is, should call to mindthat parable about the servant who, having quailed and cringed andimplored before his lord until he was forgiven his huge debt, forthwithpounced on a poor fellow-servant who happened to owe him a fewshillings, and, deaf to the very entreaties which he himself had but aminute before used, haled him off to gaol till the last farthing shouldbe paid. 

He was bad enough; but the wolf in Aesop's fable was still worse. Thepoor lamb there owed nothing; it only chanced to be drinking of the samestream. 

"What do you mean by polluting my water?" growls the wolf. 

"I am drinking lower down than you, " replies the innocent, "and so thatcannot be. "

"Never mind, you called me names a year ago. "

"Please, sir, a year ago I wasn't born. "

"Well, then, it was your father, and it's all the same thing; and, what's more, you need not think I'm going to be done out of my breakfastby your talk--so here goes!" And we all know what became of the poorlamb. A gentleman cannot be a bully, and a bully cannot be a gentleman. By gentleman I mean not the vulgar use of the word. The rich snob whokeeps his carriages, and counts his income with five or six figures, andconsiders that sufficient title to the name, may be, and often is, abully. His servants may lead the lives of dogs, his tradesmen dread thesound of his voice, and his dependants shake in their shoes before him. But a gentleman--a man (or boy) of honour, kindliness, modesty, andsense--could no more be a bully than black could be white. 

Bullying is essentially vulgar, and stamps the person who indulges in itas ill-conditioned and stupid. He tries to pass off his lack of brainswith bluster, and to make up by tyranny for the contempt which his ill-bred manners would naturally secure for him. But he deceives nobody buthimself. The youngsters tremble before him; but they despise him; in ayear or two they will laugh at him, and after that--thrash him. 

Yes; I am sorry to counsel that physic for anybody, but really it is theonly one which can possibly cure the bully. The time must come when thelittle boy will find himself grown up and possessed of a muscle, andthen the bully will find, to his astonishment, that he has tried his artonce too often. 

So it was with Bob Bangs. He found himself on his back one day with asmall army of youngsters executing a war dance round him. He gotroughly used, poor fellow, and at last changed his tune from threats towhines, and eventually, with the aid of a few parting kicks, waspermitted to depart in peace. And he never tried on bullying with usagain, except indeed when he was fortunate enough to get hold of one ofus singly in a lonely comer. And even then he generally heard of itafterwards. 

But, boys, mind this. There's nothing more likely than that in yourstruggle for independence you will, if victorious, be tempted to becomebullies yourselves. In your anxiety to "pay out" your old enemy, youmay forget that you are yourselves falling into the very transgressionfor which you have chastised him. That would be sad indeed. A boy thatcan bear malice, and refuse quarter to a fallen foe, is very littledifferent from a bully himself. 

Rather be careful to show yourselves Christians and gentlemen, even inthe way you rid yourselves of bullies. It is one thing, in self-defence, to right yourself, and it is another to return evil for evil. The best revenge you can have is, instead of dancing on his prostratebody, to set him an example of forbearance and self-control in your ownconduct, which shall point him out a surer road to respect and authoritythan all the bullying in the world could ever give him. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

WILLIAM THE ATHELING; OR, THE WRECK OF THE "WHITE SHIP. "

The eager crowd thronged the little Norman seaport of Barfleur. Knightsin armour, gay ladies and merry children mingled in the narrow streetswhich led down to the bustling harbour, in which lay at anchor a gayfleet of ships, decked with pennons and all the marks of festivity andrejoicing. One man's name was on every lip, and in expectation of thatman's arrival this brave company lined the seashore and its approaches. Presently was heard a distant trumpet note, and then a clatter of manyhorses. 

"He comes!" shouted the crowd. "Long live our Duke Henry!" And at theshout there appeared the royal troop, with King Henry of England at itshead, followed by his sons and daughter and nobles, amid the plaudits ofthe loyal crowd. 

"All bids fair, " said the king to one who was near him, as he rodeslowly towards the harbour; "the sea is calm and the wind is propitious;an emblem of the happy peace we have concluded with France, and theprosperous years that he before us. "

"Long live Henry of England!" shouted the crowd again. With that thetroop reached the sunny harbour. 

Here ensued all the bustle and confusion of an embarkation. Baggage andhorses and armour were transferred speedily from the shore to shipboard. Henry himself inspected the vessel which was to convey him and hishousehold across the sea, while the loyal Norman crowd pressed round, eager to bid their liege good speed on his voyage. 

The afternoon was advancing, and the order had already been given toembark, when, through the crowd which thronged King Henry, therestruggled forward a man dressed in sailor guise, who advanced and fellon one knee before his sovereign. 

"My liege, " said he, "a boon for me!"

"Who art thou?" inquired the king. 

"My lord duke, Stephen, my father, served thy father, William ofNormandy, all his life. He it was who steered the vessel which carriedthe duke to the conquest of England. Permit me, my lord, a like honour. See where my `White Ship' waits to receive her captain's noblesovereign. "

Henry looked in the direction pointed, and saw the gallant vessel, gleaming like silver with its white poop and oars and sails in the sun;surely as fair a ship as ever crossed the sea. 

"Brave son of a brave father, " replied the king, "but that my word hasbeen given, and my baggage is already embarked on another's vessel, thyrequest should not have been in vain. But, to show that I hold thyfather's son worthy of his name, see, I entrust to thee my son William, heir to my throne, in all confidence that thou wilt conduct him safelyover. Let him go with thee, while I myself do set sail in the vessel Ihad chosen. "

Fitz-Stephen bowed low, and the young Prince William, a lad of eighteenyears, stepped forward gaily towards him, and cried--

"Come, comrade! thou shalt find a king's son as good company as hisfather. In token of which, bid thy brave men feast at my charge with asmuch to eat and drink as they have a fancy to. Then, when that is done, we will start on our merry voyage. "

Almost immediately afterwards King Henry embarked, leaving the PrinceWilliam, and two other of his children, Richard and Adela, to followthat same night in the "White Ship. "

"Farewell, my father!" shouted the young prince, as the oars of theking's vessel struck the water; "perchance I shall be on the fartherside before thee!"

So the king started. 

It was late before the merrymakers on board the "White Ship" set theirfaces seaward. The prince himself had honoured the feast, and biddenevery man to fill his cup and drink deep and long. So when aboutmidnight they addressed themselves to the voyage, the rowers splashedwildly with their oars, and the crew pulled at the ropes with unsteadyhands. 

Far across the calm waters might have been heard the song and thelaughter of the two hundred voyagers. In a few hours, thought they, weshall be across, and then will we renew our feast in England. 

"Fitz-Stephen!" cried the prince, flushed with wine himself, and in atone of excitement--"Fitz-Stephen, how far say you is my father's shipbefore ours?"

"Five leagues, " replied the sailor, "or more. "

"Then may we not overtake him before the night is past? You know thiscoast; can we not steer closer in, and so gain on them?"

"My lord, " said Fitz-Stephen, "there are many sunken rocks on thiscoast, which the mariner always avoids by keeping out to sea. "

"Talk not to me of rocks on a night when the sea is calm and the wind sogentle it scarce fills the sails, and the moon so clear we can see amile before us! What say you, my men? Shall we overtake the king?Fitz-Stephen, " he added, "thou earnest a king's son to-night. If thouand thy men can set me on English ground before my father, I will neversail more, as long as I live, save in thy ship. "

The sailor yielded, and turned his helm nearer to the coast, and thecrew, clamouring loudly with excitement, pulled wildly at the oars, while the prince and the nobles, with song and laughter, made the quietnight to resound. So they went for two hours. Then the prince's sisterAdela, Countess of Perche, stepped up to him timidly, and said--

"My brother, what sound is that, like the roar of distant thunder?"

"It is nothing, my sister; go down again and sleep. "

"It sounds like the breaking of wares on the rocks. "

"How can that be, when the sea is scarcely ruffled?"

"I fear me we run a risk, sailing so close to shore, " said the maiden. "I myself heard Fitz-Stephen say that the currents ran strong along thiscoast of Normandy. "

"Be easy, sister; no danger can befall a night like this. "

Louder and louder rose the shouting and the revelry. The rowers sang asthey rowed. And the knights and nobles, who made merry always when theprince made merry, sang too. 

But all the while the maiden, as she lay, heard the roar of the breakerssound nearer and nearer, and was ill at ease, fearing some evil. 

"Now, my merry men, " shouted the prince, "row hard, for the night isgetting on!"

Fitz-Stephen at that instant uttered an exclamation of horror, andwildly flung round his helm. There was a sudden roar ahead, and a gleamof long lines of broken water. 

"Pull for your lives!" shouted the captain, "or we shall be on the Rasde Catte!"

It was too late. The treacherous current swept them on to the reef. There was a sudden tossing of the "White Ship, " then a great shock asshe struck--then a cry of terror from two hundred lips. 

King Henry in his vessel, three leagues away, heard that sudden awfulcry across the still waters. But little guessed he that it was thedeath cry of his own beloved children. 

Every man on board the "White Ship" was startled by that shock intoinstant sobriety. The brave Fitz-Stephen left the now useless helm, andrushed to where the prince, entrusted to his care, was clinging to themast of the fast-filling vessel. With his own hand he cut loose thesmall boat which she carried, and by sheer force placed William in it, and a few of the crew. 

"Row for the shore!" he shouted to the men, waving his hand; "lose nota moment!"

William, stupefied and bewildered, sat motionless and speechless. 

The men had already dipped their oars, and the frail boat was alreadyclear of the sinking vessel, when there fell on the prince's ear thepiercing shriek of a girl. 

Looking behind him, he saw his poor sister clinging to the deck of thedoomed ship, and stretching a hand appealingly in the direction of hisboat. 

In an instant his senses returned to him. 

"Put back, men!" he cried, frantically. 

"It is certain death!" cried one of the crew. 

"Must William the Atheling order a thing twice?" thundered the prince, in a tone so terrible, that the men immediately turned and made for thewreck. 

"My sister!" shouted William, as they came under the spot where Adelaclung; "throw yourself into my arms!"

She did so; but, alas! at the same moment, fifty more, in thedesperation of terror, jumped too, and the little boat, with all thatwere in her, turned over, and was seen no more. 

Then the waters poured over the "White Ship, " and with a great plungethat gallant vessel went down. 

With her went down all the souls she carried save three. One of thesewas the brave Fitz-Stephen. Rising to the surface, he saw the twoothers clinging to a spar. Eagerly he swam towards them. 

"Is the prince saved?" he asked. 

"We have seen nothing of him, " replied they. 

"Then woe is me!" exclaimed he, as he turned in the water and sankbeneath it. 

Of the other two, one only, a butcher, survived to carry the dreadfulnews to England. 

For many days, Henry, impatient for his son's arrival, waited inignorance of his sad fate. 

Then went to him a little child, who, instructed what to say, told himin his own artless way the whole story; and King Henry the First, sothey say, after he had heard it, was never seen to smile again. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

JOHN PLANTAGENET, THE BOY WHO BROKE HIS FATHER'S HEART. 

A youth was pacing restlessly to and fro in a wood bordering on the oldtown of Tours, in France. He was scarcely twenty years of age, and of aforbidding countenance. Cruelty and cunning were stamped on hisfeatures, and as he strode aimlessly among the trees, muttering tohimself, and striking often with his sheathed sword at the bushes andtwigs in his path, he seemed to be the victim of an evil passion, withnothing to make a man love him or desire his acquaintance. 

His muttering not unfrequently rose to the pitch of talking aloud, whenone might have heard sentences like these. 

"Why should I longer delay? Am not I John, the son of Henry of England, a man? and shall I submit to be treated for ever as a child? Are mybrothers, who have rebelled against their father, to have ah the spoil, and I, who have remained obedient, to go portionless and penniless?What means my father's meeting here with the King of France, who hasespoused the cause of Richard, my brother, in his rebellion, if it benot to yield to the traitor the kingdoms _I_ have earned by myobedience? But I will delay no longer. I have been obedient too long!Henceforth this sword shall be my obedience!"

And as he spoke he unsheathed his weapon, and struck savagely at thegraceful branch of a fir tree before him, and brought it down crashingat his feet. At the same instant there appeared coming towards him aman of middle age, clad like a soldier, who saluted respectfully theyoung prince. 

"Whence come you, Ralph Leroche?" inquired John. 

"From the meeting of the Kings of France and England. "

"And what went forward there?" asked the prince, leading his companionin among the trees. 

"I know only what I am told, " said the knight, "for the meeting of yourfather and King Philip was secret. "

"And what have you been told?" inquired John, impatiently, and withclouding brows. 

"I have been told that the King of France demanded that your fathershould do him homage, and should acknowledge your brother Richard asKing of England. "

"And what said my father?" broke in John. 

"He said that Richard, by his conduct, deserved only the death of atraitor, but--"

John's brow darkened as he seized Ralph's arm, and ejaculated, "Butwhat? did he yield? Speak!"

"But for the sake of peace he would receive him back to the heart whichhe by his disobedience had wellnigh broken, and make him heir to hiscrown. "

"He said so, did he?" almost shouted the prince, his face livid withfury. 

"I am told so by one who knows, " replied the other. 

"And did he say more?"

"He blessed heaven before them all that he had one son left him who wastrue to him, and in whose love he might end the shattered remnant of hislife. "

Loud and cruelly laughed Prince John at those words, till the woodsechoed again. "Is it thus you comfort yourself, my father?" heexclaimed. "Ralph, " added he, in tones thick with passion, "all my lifetill now I served my father, and never failed in my duty to him. Henry, my brother, rebelled, and died in his rebellion while I was a child. Geoffrey rebelled too, and is dead. Richard for years has been in armsagainst his parent. I, of all his sons, have never lifted hand againsthim. Had not I a right to look for my reward? Had not I a right tocount upon the crown which my brothers' disobedience had forfeited? Hadnot--"

He stopped, unable from the vehemence of his passion to proceed, andRalph Leroche answered calmly: "Obedience is its own reward, and worthmore than a kingdom. It is not obedience that calculates on profit. But you know not, prince, what your father may yet have in store foryou. "

"Speak not to me of my father, " exclaimed John; "I hate him!"

"Heaven forgive you that word!" replied the fearless knight. "Beadvised, I entreat; and repent--"

"Dotard!" exclaimed the prince, as in blind rage he struck him in themouth with his clenched fist. "Keep thy advice for dogs, and not forprinces!"

How the scene would have ended, one cannot say. At that moment aflourish of trumpets raised the echoes of the wood, and a gay processionpassed down the forest road towards Tours. 

Alas, for Prince John! He recognised in the two men who rode at itshead, Philip of France, his father's enemy, and Richard, his own rebelelder brother. Goaded by passion, burning with resentment towards hisfather for the supposed injustice he had suffered, he rushed recklesslyinto the arms of this sudden temptation. Striding through the thickets, and heedless of the warnings of the loyal Ralph, he emerged on to theroad in front of the cavalcade. 

The leaders halted their horses in sudden surprise. 

"What brave lad have we here?" asked Philip, perplexed. 

John stepped forward, and answered for himself. 

"I am John Plantagenet, once son of the King of England, but now vassalto the King of France!"

Great was the astonishment on every face, and on none more than on thoseof Philip and Richard. 

The latter flushed, half in anger, half in shame, as he exclaimed, "Boy, thou art mad!"

"Nay, " said Philip, "the lad is a lad of sense, and bears a worthy namethat will serve our cause exceedingly. "

So saying, he summoned one of his knights, and bidding him dismount, gave the young prince his horse, and made him ride beside him. 

"But tell us, lad, " he said, when they had proceeded a little way, "howis it thy father's dutiful and cherished son (for so I have heard himspeak of thee) comes thus among the ranks of his foemen, and that at atime like this, when peace has been almost completed?"

"Ask me no questions, " replied the prince, gloomily; "I am here becauseI choose. "

And so they rode into Tours. 

A few days later, a silent group was standing round the sickbed of theKing of England, listening to the broken utterances which fell from thelips of that old and wellnigh worn-out warrior. Those who thus stoodround him were his favourite knights and barons, not a few of whom weremoved to tears as he spoke. 

"I have sinned, and I have had my punishment. My kingdom is gone, andmy glory. Henceforward Henry Plantagenet will be the name but of avanquished and feeble old man. The one whom I loved, and would haveforgiven as many times as they had asked forgiveness, have all, saveone, left me and turned against me. I am like a man, wrecked andtempest-tossed, clinging for hope to a single spar. Yet I bless Heavenfor that. Ruin I can submit to, dishonour I can survive, defeat I canendure, while yet there is one child left to me of whom it can be said, `He loved his father to the end. ' And such a son is John. I charge youall, honour him as you honour me, for though I have sworn to yield thecrown of England to his brother, Normandy, and all I possess besides, belongs to _him_. But where is he? Why tarries he? A week has passedsince he was here. Where stays he?"

Before any of the attendants could reply, a knocking was heard without, and entrance demanded for the messengers of Philip of France. "We arecome, " said they, "from our sovereign with the articles of treatybetween yourself and him, arranged at your late conference, and whichnow await your ratification. "

Henry motioned to them to proceed to business; and as each article wasread--declaring his allegiance to the crown of France and his cession ofhis own crown to Richard--he inclined his head mechanically in token ofhis assent, manifesting little or no interest in the proceeding. Buthis attention became more fixed when the article was read which providedfor the free pardon of all who had in any way, secretly or openly, beenengaged in the cause of his rebel son. 

He turned in his bed towards the reader, and said: "A king must know thenames of his enemies before he can pardon them. Read me, therefore, thelist of those who have rebelled, that I may forgive them each and all, beginning with the noblest, down to the meanest. "

He lay back on his bed, and half closed his eyes as he listened. 

The messenger of Philip then said, "The first and foremost of yourmajesty's enemies is John Plantagenet, your youngest son. "

He sprang with a sudden cry of pain into a sitting posture, andtrembling in every fibre, and with a voice half choked, cried, "Who saysthat?" Then glaring wildly at the envoy, he whispered, "Read it again!"

"The first and foremost of your majesty's enemies is John Plantagenet, your youngest son. "

"Can it be true?" gasped the poor father, in helpless despair. "Has healso deserted me? Then let everything go as it will; I care no more formyself, nor for the world. "

So saying, with his heart broken, he sank back upon the bed, from whichhe never rose again. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

ARTHUR OF BRITTANY, THE BOY WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN KING OF ENGLAND. 

The fierce storm beats down on the gloomy Norman Castle of Falaise, in adeep dungeon of which lies imprisoned the boy Prince Arthur, lawful heirto the crown of England, but now, alas! a helpless victim of the crueltyand injustice of his bad uncle, John Plantagenet, the usurper of histhrone. The thunder peals so loudly, and the wind rages so angrily, that Hubert de Burgh, the warden, does not for a long time distinguishthe sound of a knocking and shouting at the outer gate of the castle. Presently, however, in a lull of the wind, his ears catch the noisysummons, and he instantly gives orders to his men to let down thedrawbridge, and admit the new-comers. These were three in number: oneattired as a king's messenger, and mounted on a richly caparisonedhorse; the other two in the garb of common men, and on foot. When theyhad come into the presence of the warden, the king's messenger said--

"I am charged by His Majesty King John of England to deliver to you thisletter, and require your faithful discharge of its commands. "

So saying, he handed to Hubert de Burgh a sealed letter, which thelatter eagerly broke open and read. As he read, his face clouded. Itwas a long letter, and couched in vague terms, but its substance wasthis. That whereas the peace of England and of King John's possessionsin France was constantly being disturbed by the partisans of the youngPrince Arthur, desiring to see him king instead of his uncle, and takingup arms to enforce their claim, it was necessary, in order to put an endto this rebellion, that the young prince should be rendered unfit forgoverning; and as no people would be likely to choose a blind boy fortheir king, Hubert de Burgh was instructed to have Arthur's eyes putout; and the two men who had arrived with the king's messenger werecome, so the letter said, to carry out this design. 

Hubert de Burgh said nothing as he put by the letter, and dismissed histhree visitors from his presence. Cruel man as he had been, his hearthad still some pity left, and he shrank from obeying his master by sobrutal an act of cruelty upon the innocent boy in his charge. 

However, the order of the king was peremptory; and if the deed must bedone, thought he, the sooner the better. 

So he ordered the two villains to get ready their instruments, andfollow him to the dungeon. 

"Stay here, " said he, as they reached the young prince's door, "while Ienter alone and prepare him for his fate. "

So those two set down their fire and the red-hot irons, and waitedoutside for their summons. 

When Hubert entered the dungeon, the poor boy was just waking from asleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, being dazzled by the light whichHubert carried in his hand. 

"You are welcome, " said he (for Arthur, with so few to love him, lovedeven his surly, though not unkind, jailor). "I have been in my dreamsaway in merry England, where I thought I was living in a beautifulpalace, with food and servants, and rich clothing, and that there was acrown on my head. And so it shall be some day, Hubert, when I get myrights; and then because you have not been as unkind to me as some in myadversity, you shall be a great and rich man. But why look you sosolemn? What ails you?"

The warden stood silent for some moments before he spoke, and then hisvoice was thick and hoarse. 

"Prince, " he said, "take your last look on the light, for you may neversee it again. "

The boy sprang from his bed, and seized Hubert by the knees. 

"What! Are they going to kill me? Must they take away my life?"

"Not so, " said Hubert; "it is not thy life that is required, but thineeyes. " And as he spoke he stamped on the floor, as the signal to thosetwo who waited without to enter. 

At sight of their horrid instruments, the cords which were to bind him, and the cruel faces of the executioners, Arthur fell on his knees andimplored mercy of the stubborn Hubert. 

It was a strange and pitiful sight to see that weak and helpless boykneeling, and with tears entreating that stout old warrior, whose bosomheaved and whose ringers twitched, and whose face winced, as helistened; while the two others stood motionless, grasping their ironsand cords, ready for the word of command to step forward and do theircruel deed. 

But the cries and entreaties of the helpless and beautiful princeprevailed. Hubert wavered and hesitated; he bade the men advance, andthen bade them withhold; he looked at the prince, and he looked at theglowing irons; he pushed the suppliant from him, and then suffered himto cling to him. The executioners themselves were moved to pity, andlay down their instruments. Finally, with a mighty effort, the wardenyielded, and said, "Retire, men, and take with you your tools, till Irequire you. " Then turning to Arthur, he said, "Prince, thou shalt keepthy sight and thy life while I am by to protect thee. " And the roughhand of the old warrior stroked the hair of the weeping boy as it mighthave been his own son's. 

The answer that Hubert de Burgh sent back that day by the king'smessenger was an earnest appeal for mercy on behalf of his young and nowbeloved charge. 

But King John was a stranger to all feelings of pity, and his vengeancewas quick and dreadful. Foiled of his cruel design upon the eyesight ofhis hapless nephew, he determined now to have his life. So he orderedhim to be removed from Falaise, and the custody of the humane De Burgh, to the castle of Rouen, under whose walls flowed the waters of the RiverSeine. But the prince did not remain long there. One night a jailorentered his dungeon, and, waking him from his sleep, ordered him tofollow him. The boy obeyed in silence, as the jailor conducted him downthe winding staircase which led to the foot of the tower, beside whichthe Seine flowed. A boat was waiting at the bottom, in which sat twomen. The torch of the jailor cast a sudden glare over the dark waters, and by its light Arthur recognised, with horror and despair, in one ofthe two the cruel features of his Uncle John. It was useless for him topray and entreat; it was useless for him to struggle or cry out. Theydragged him into the boat, and held him fast as she drifted under theshadow of those gloomy walls into mid stream. What happened then no onecan tell; but had any listened that still, dark night, they might haveheard a boy's wild cry across the waters, and then a dull, heavysplash--and that was all. 

The story is that of those two, King John with his own hand did the fouldeed. However that may be, Arthur of Brittany was never even heard ofmore. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

RICHARD THE SECOND, THE BOY WHO QUELLED A TUMULT. 

A vast, disorderly rabble thronged the great open space of Smithfield, in London, on one side of which stood the venerable Abbey of SaintBartholomew, now occupied by the hospital of that name. The men whocomposed it were rough and wild, and, for the most part, shouted andclutched their clubs and bows in a meaningless sort of way, whichplainly showed that they were not very clear in their own minds as tothe object of their assembling together, but that they came and shoutedand threatened because their leaders did so. 

These leaders were few in number, and but that they were mounted, andarmed with swords and daggers, not to be distinguished from theirfollowers, for they were rough, wild men--men too whose occupationseemed to be more in the way of herding cattle and plying their hammersthan leading an army of 20, 000 rioters, or brandishing their swordsagainst a government. 

Yet, though many of these rebels seemed not to comprehend the why andthe wherefore of their demonstration, there were not a few who lookedvery much--nay, cruelly--in earnest, who talked vehemently and scowled, and seemed, by the way they gripped their arms, determined to enforcetheir demands against any man, be he noble, or baron, or king. Fromsome of the groups one might have heard excited utterances like thefollowing:--

"We will have our rights or die! Why do our leaders halt?"

"The king is expected!"

"Nay, then, let us slay him, who is the head of all our wrongs!"

"Not so; the king has already granted what we first demanded; and we aregathered now because Wat Tyler demands yet more. "

"God save Wat Tyler! Was it not he who struck the first blow againstthe tyrant?"

"It was. The nobles demanded a poll tax on every man, woman, boy, andgirl in the land; and when one of their collectors would exact it fromWat Tyler, at his place in Dartford, and (disbelieving his wordconcerning the age of his young daughter) vilely insulted the maiden, hearose and slew the wretch with his hammer. And so this business began. "

"Huzzah for Wat Tyler! Down with the tyrant!"

"Nay, friend; our cause was a good one when it began, but since then Watand his friends have, to my mind, done us and themselves damage by theirbloodthirstiness and their unreasonableness. Have they not demolishedpalaces and temples? Have they not butchered an archbishop and noblesand harmless citizens? Have they not insulted noble ladies? And now, when their demands have all been satisfied by the young king, theydemand yet more, and become themselves the tyrants. "

"A traitor!--a traitor! Who speaks against our brave Wat Tyler? Killthe traitor! Down with tyranny! Death to the king! God save thepeople!"

With such clamour and angry talk did the crowd agitate itself, tillsuddenly there arose a cry. "The king comes!"

And there rode up fearlessly, at the head of sixty men, a boy, onlyfifteen years old, at sight of whom these rebels hung their heads andlet their wild clamour die on their lips. A few of the most determinedlooked black as they regarded the royal boy, and noted the effect hisfrank carriage had on their followers. 

"I am come, " said King Richard, rising on his horse at a few paces fromthe front of the crowd, "as I promised, to confer with my subjects andhear their grievances. Let your leader advance and speak with me. "

Then Wat Tyler turned to his followers and said to them, "I will gospeak with him; do you abide my signal, then come on and slay all savethe young king; he will serve us better as a humble captive in ourhands, to lead through the land and bring all men to our service, thanas a slaughtered tyrant at our feet. "

So he put spurs to his horse and advanced towards the king, whom heapproached so close that the flank of the horse touched that of theking's. Richard, nothing daunted by this threatening demeanour, turnedcourteously towards him and waited for him to speak. 

"Do you see this concourse of people?" began Wat, rudely, pointingtowards the now silent crowd. 

"I see them, " said the boy. "What have you to ask on their behalf?"

"These men, " said Tyler, "have sworn, one and all, to obey me in allthings, and to follow in whatever enterprise I shall lead them, and theywill not go hence till you grant us our petition. "

"And I will grant it, " replied the boy, frankly, for the demands towhich Wat Tyler now alluded had reference to the rights of the people tohunt and fish on common lands. "I will grant it. "

What followed history does not very clearly record. Among the followersof the king, Wat, it is said, caught sight of a knight whom for somereason he hated. Turning his attention from the king, he glared angrilyat his enemy, and, putting his hand on the hilt of his dagger, exclaimed, "By my faith, I will never eat bread till I have thy head!"At that same instant up rode Sir William Walworth, the Lord Mayor ofLondon, who, seeing the menacing gesture of the insurgent leader, andhearing his threatening speech, immediately concluded he was about toattack the person of the young king. Quick as thought, Sir William drewhis dagger, and before any one could interpose or hold him back, hestruck Wat Tyler in the throat, and his attendants following withrepeated blows, the leader of the people fell from his horse a dead man!All this was so suddenly done, and so astonished the onlookers, thatWat Tyler was already dead before a hand was moved or a voice raised oneither side. Then there rose an angry shout from those twenty thousandrebels, as they saw their leader down. "We are betrayed!" they cried;"they have killed our leader!" And with that they raised their bows andpointed their shafts at the heart of the young king. 

But they lowered them in amazement when, instead of shrinking andcowering behind his knights, they saw the lad put spurs to his horse andgallop, all by himself, up to the very place where they stood. "Men, "he cried, "follow me; I am your king, and I will be your captain! WatTyler was a traitor; no ill shall befall you if you make me yourleader. "

The brave words disarmed that great crowd as if by magic; the men whohad just now shouted, "Long live Wat Tyler!" now shouted with a mightyshout, "Long live our King Richard!"

The insurrection was at an end, the confidence of the people returnedonce more to their rulers, and they marched that day from Smithfield, under the leadership of their young king, as far as the country hamletof Islington, there quietly to disperse to their own homes and resumeonce again their ordinary pursuits. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

RICHARD WHITTINGTON, THE SCULLERY BOY WHO BECAME LORD MAYOR. 

A poor boy, meanly clad, and carrying in his hand a small bundle, trudged sadly along the road which led over the moor of Finsbury toHighgate. The first streak of dawn was scarcely visible in the easternsky, and as he walked, the boy shivered in the chill morning air. Morethan once he dashed from his eyes the rising tears, and clutched hislittle wallet and quickened his pace, as if determined to hold to somedesperate resolve, despite of all drawings to the contrary. As the roadrose gradually towards Highgate, the sun broke out from behind theclouds on his right, and lit up fields and trees and hills with abrightness and richness which contrasted strangely with the gloom on theboy's face, and the poverty of his appearance. The birds in the hedgesbegan to sing, and the cattle to low and tinkle their bells; the whistleof the herdsmen came up from the valley, and all nature seemed to wakewith a cry of gladness to greet the new day. 

Even poor Dick Whittington could not wholly resist the cheeringinfluence of that bright summer morning. It was impossible to believethat everything was miserable in the midst of so much gladness, andDick's face brightened and his step became brisker almost without hisknowing it, as he trudged higher and higher up that steep road. Histhoughts, too, took a less desponding turn. 

"After all, " said he to himself, "perhaps I am foolish to be runningaway from my master's house. I had better be the scullery boy of goodMaster Fitzwarren, although his cook does ill-treat me and lead me adog's life, than the vagabond idle boy which I am now. And yet I cannotendure the thought of returning to that cruel woman. Would that I knewwhat to do!"

Thus he thought and questioned with himself, when he came to a stone setby the wayside; and here he sat to rest, and ruminate further upon hisevil fortune. 

"If some voice would but say `Return, ' I would return, " said he, "eventhough she scold and beat me, for I know not what to do, without afriend in the world. Was ever such a wretched boy as I?"

And he buried his face in his hands and gave himself over to his misery. Suddenly in the quiet morning air there came to his ears a wonderfulsound, up from the valley, where, in the sun, shone the towers andsteeples of London town. 

It was the sound of distant bells, and as the boy listened, it cameclearer and clearer, and seemed to fill the air with the very voice forwhich he had but a minute since been longing. But what a strange voiceand what a strange story the bells told!--

Turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London!

Over and over again they said the same words. Over and over again Dickpersuaded himself he was dreaming, yet felt sure he was awake. "Turnagain!" that was plain enough, and he could believe it, even though BowBells said it. But--"Thrice Lord Mayor of London!" what could thatmean? That was never meant for the poor ill-used scullery boy of MasterFitzwarren, the mercer in the Minories! And yet what could be moredistinct than the voice of those bells?

He sprang from his seat, turned his face in the direction of thatwonderful sound, and ran. And that morning, when the family of MasterFitzwarren assembled for their early meal, and the scolding cook tookpossession of the kitchen, Dick Whittington was in his place, scouringthe pots and pans in the scullery, singing to himself a tune no one hadever heard before. 

Only a few days after this adventure of Dick's, news came of the arrivalin port of one of Master Fitzwarren's vessels with a valuable cargo onboard. Now it was the custom in those days, in some houses, for all theservants of a family to invest something in the fortunes of any vesseltheir master might send out; and when, many months before this, MasterFitzwarren had been equipping the vessel now in question, he hadsummoned all his servants together, and beginning with the chief, hadcalled upon them to put their savings into his venture, promising each afair return of whatever profit his share should entitle him to at theend of the voyage. 

Dick, poor boy, had no money; nothing in the world but a cat, whom heloved as his only friend, and to whom he owed no common gratitude forthe manner in which she had protected him against the rats that infestedhis garret. When it came to his turn to put his share into the voyage, he had not the heart to offer this companion--and he had nothing else hecould call his own--so he begged to be excused. His master, however, insisted that, as his servant, he must put down whatever he had, howeverlittle, and even though this cat had cost only a penny, to sea she mustgo, and Dick should have full value for her when the voyage was over. 

Dick wept at this, and the young daughter of Master Fitzwarren, beingmoved to pity, offered from her own money what would preserve to the ladhis four-footed friend. But not even this would the stern merchantallow, and Dick therefore had to bid a tearful farewell to hisfavourite, and resign himself to his loss. 

All this had taken place many months ago. 

Now when the "Unicorn"--that was the name of the vessel--returned toport, great was the astonishment of everybody (and no one's greater thanDick's) to find that the principal portion of the treasures on boardbelonged to the little scullery boy of Master Fitzwarren. 

The very first day of its arrival there was brought to the house acabinet of jewels, forming part of the boy's share, which was consideredtoo precious to be left on board ship. And the men who brought it toldthis marvellous story:

When the ship reached Algiers, in Africa, the ruler of the land orderedall the crew to wait upon him with presents, which accordingly they did, after which he prepared a feast, and invited them all to partake. Butno sooner were the covers removed then a swarm of rats, attracted by thescent of the good things, came and devoured all the victuals beforetheir very faces. This, the governor told them, was no unusual thing, for rats were the plague of his land, and he would give any price toknow of a means to be rid of them. Then one of the sailors bethoughthim of Dick Whittington's cat--who had already distinguished herself onshipboard by her industry in her art--and accordingly next day, when thefeast was served, and the rats, as usual, prepared to make away with it, puss was produced, and not only drove away the pest, but killed aconsiderable number. This happening for several days, his highness wasso delighted that he instantly offered an enormous sum for thepossession of so remarkable an animal, and loaded the crew withpresents, in token of his joy and gratitude. 

Such was the story of the men, which explained this wonderful prizewhich fell to the share of the fortunate Dick Whittington. 

He, poor lad, could not understand it all, and went on with his drudgeryin the scullery as if nothing had happened, until his master compelledhim to quit it, and from being his boy-of-all-work made him his partnerin business. 

Then Dick remembered the words the bells had sung to him a while ago, and rejoiced that he had obeyed their call. 

He rejoiced at another thing too, which was that the kind young daughterof Master Fitzwarren, who had pitied him in his poverty, did not avoidhim in his prosperity, but smiled happily upon him when he took his seatat the family table to eat out of the dishes he had so recently scoured. 

So this scullery boy became a rich merchant, and being just andhonourable as well as wealthy, he gained the respect and love of allwith whom he had to do. When he grew to be a man, he married the kindMiss Fitzwarren, which made him happier than all his wealth. 

Not only did merchants look up to him, but nobles and even kings came tohim in their money difficulties, and he was the same upright gentlemanto all men. Honours increased, and at last the prophecy of Bow Bellscame true, and Sir Richard Whittington was made Lord Mayor of London. 

In that capacity he grew still in riches and fame; and when his firstterm was expired, his admiring fellow-citizens, after a few years, madehim Lord Mayor for a second time, and when the second term was past, fora third. His third mayoralty happened in 1419, when King Henry theFourth was on the throne of England; and then it was his honours rose totheir highest pitch, for he entertained at his own table the king andqueen of the land in such grand style that Henry said of him, "Neverking had such a subject. "

And never poor had such a friend. He never forgot the little forlornboy on Highgate Hill, and it was his delight to his latest day to makethe hearts of the needy glad, and show to all that it is not for moneynor grandeur but for an honest soul and a kind heart that a man is to beloved and honoured by his fellows. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE, THE BOY WHO WON A BATTLE. 

The sun rose brightly over the little village of Crecy on the morning ofSaturday, August 26, 1346. The golden corn was standing in the fields, the cattle were quietly grazing in the meadows, the birds weretwittering in the woods, and in the still morning air rose the gentlemurmur of a joyous stream. Everything spoke of peace that bright summermorning; little could one have dreamed that before that sun should haveset in the west the din and thunder of battle would wake the echoes ofthose quiet woods, or that those sunny fields would be torn anddesolated by the angry tread of thousands of feet, or strewn with heapsof dead or dying! Yet so it was to be. A large army was even thenhalting in the cover of the forest over against the village, and far, far away, if any one had listened, might have been heard, mingling withthe voices of the morning, the sound of a great host of horsemen andsoldiers advancing in hot pursuit, with now and then a trumpet blastwhich echoed faintly among the hills. 

The English soldiers, as they rose from their beds of turf and grass, heard those far-off sounds, and knew--who better?--they must fight likemen to-day or perish. 

So they sprang to their feet and seized their arms and armour, ready atany instant to obey the summons to action. 

Suddenly along the ranks came the cry, "The king and the prince!" anddirectly afterwards appeared the great King Edward the Third of Englandriding slowly down the line of his army, and at his side a stately boyof sixteen years, dressed in black armour and mounted on a black horse. Never was king more honoured or king's son more loved than were thesetwo as they passed with cheery word and dauntless bearing among theirloyal and devoted soldiers. 

The king stopped when he had reached a spot from which a good portion ofhis host could hear him, and raised his hand. 

Every man stood silent as he spoke. 

"My loyal subjects, we must meet to-day a host greater than we innumber, but not greater in valour. Fight, I charge you, for the honourof your country. My son here leads the first division of my army. Thisis his first battle, and sure I am he will quit himself like a man. Doyou the same, and God will give us the victory. "

With such encouraging and confident words the king addressed his men, who cheered him and the brave prince long and loud. 

Then every man took his helmet and his bow, and waited for the enemy. 

The morning passed, but still no foe appeared. But the distant murmurwas now grown to a loud and ever-increasing din; and as they sat theEnglish could hear shouts and the neighing of horses and the tumult ofmany voices, which betokened the near approach of the host of KingPhilip of France. 

It was not till about three in the afternoon that the French army camein sight of Crecy. They had had a rapid and fatiguing march sincedaybreak, and were now in no condition, even with their vastly superiornumbers, to grapple with the refreshed and inspirited Englishmen. Sothought and said many of Philip's officers, and did their best topersuade him to put off the encounter till next day. 

But however much Philip might have been inclined to adopt this goodadvice, his army was in such a state of confusion and disorder, owing totheir rapid march, that they were quite unmanageable. When the officersbade those in front to halt, those behind, shouting and impatient, stillpressed on, so much so that the king and all his nobles were carriedalong with them into the very face of the English, who stood awaitingthe attack. 

When Philip saw the collision could not be put off, that the battle wasinevitable, he shouted loudly, "Bring forward the Genoese bowmen!"

Now these bowmen, 15, 000 in number, on whom Philip depended to scatterand drive from the field the main portion of his enemy's force, were inno sort of condition for beginning a battle after their long, fatiguingmarch, and with the strings of their crossbows all loose with damp, andwith a dazzling sun now glaring full in their eyes. But Philip, tooconfident to heed any such trifles, impatiently, nay, angrily, orderedthem to the front, and bade them shoot a volley against the Englisharchers, who stood opposite. 

So these foreigners stepped forward, and, as their manner was, gavethree leaps in the air, with the idea of terrifying the foes, and thenraised their bows to their cheeks, and let fly their arrows wildly inthe direction of the English. 

The trusty English archers, with the sun behind them, were not the mento be intimidated by leapings into the air, nor panic-struck by adischarge so ill-aimed that scarce one arrow in ten even grazed theirarmour. 

Their reply to the Genoese was a sudden step forward, and a sharp, determined twang of their bow-strings. Then the air was white with thecloud of their arrows, and next moment the foremost ranks of the Genoesewere seen to drop like one man. 

This was enough for those already dispirited hirelings. They fell backin panic disorder; they cut their bow-strings; they rushed among thevery feet of the horsemen that Philip, in his rage, had ordered "to rideforward and cut down the cowardly villains!" Then the confusion of theFrench army was complete. 

The English followed up their first advantage steadily and quickly. Knight after knight of the French dropped from his horse, troop aftertroop fell back, standard after standard tottered. 

Nowhere was the fight fiercer than where the young Black Prince led thevan of the English; and from a windmill on a near hill, the eager eyesof King Edward watched with pride that figure clad in black armour everin the thick of the fight, and never halting an instant where danger orduty called. 

It would be too long to tell of all the fighting that day. Philip, withhis great army, could not dislodge his compact foe from their position;nor could he shelter his men from the deadly flight of their arrows. Bravely he rushed himself into the fray to rally his men, but to noavail. Everywhere they fell back before their invincible enemy. 

Once, indeed, it seemed as if his brave knights would surround and driveback the division of which the boy prince was leader. An English noblesent post-haste a message to Edward to say, "Send help; the prince is indanger. "

But Edward knew more of battles than most of his officers. He repliedcoolly--

"Is the prince slain?"

"No. "

"Is he wounded?"

"No. "

"Is he struck down?"

"No. "

"Then go, tell him the battle he has won so far shall be his, and hisonly. To-day he must win his own spurs. "

The words flew like wildfire among the English ranks, and our brave menfought with renewed valour. 

That evening, as the sun was getting low in the west, Philip and hishost turned their backs on Crecy and fled--all that were left of them--anywhere to be out of the reach of the army of that invincible boy. Horsemen and footmen, bag and baggage, they fled, with the English closeat their heels, and never drew rein till night and darkness put an endto the pursuit. 

Meanwhile, there were rejoicing and thanksgiving on the field of Crecy. The English king hastened from his post of observation, and, in thepresence of the whole army, embraced his brave son, and gave him thehonours of that glorious victory, wherein two kings, eleven princes, 1, 200 knights, and 30, 000 men had fallen. A sad price for glory!"Sweet son, " said he, "God give you good perseverance. You are my trueand valiant son, and have this day shown yourself worthy of a crown. "

And the brave boy bowed low before his father, and modestly disclaimedthe whole glory of the victory. 

Loud and long did the loyal knights and soldiers cheer their brave kingand their heroic prince; and when they saw the latter bind on his helmetthe plume of three ostrich feathers, worn by the most illustrious of hisslain foemen, John, King of Bohemia, with the noble motto _Ich dien_ ("Iserve") beneath, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. And the motto hasdescended from prince to prince since then, and remains to this day as aglorious memorial of this famous boy, who earned it by doing his duty inthe face of danger, and setting an example to all about him that "he whoserves rules. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

HENRY OF MONMOUTH, THE PRINCE WHOM A JUDGE SENT TO PRISON. 

A strange crowd thronged the Court of King's Bench one memorable dayfour and a half centuries ago. Nobles and commoners alike jostled theirway into the sombre hall, every one intent on securing a good place, some talking loudly, others arguing angrily, all highly excited andimpatient. It was evident that the trial about to take place was one ofunusual interest and extraordinary importance, for the gloomy court wasnot used to be so crowded, and seldom attracted so mixed and so eager athrong as that which now filled it. 

Suddenly a lull fell on the scene, heads were uncovered, the jostlingand wrangling ceased, and order prevailed. 

The judge, Lord Justice Gascoigne, entered and took his seat. He was agrave, quiet man, but there was something in his look so dignified andso firm, that it awed into respectful silence all within that place asif by a spell. Then he said--"Bring hither the prisoner. "

All eyes turned now to the door by which the officer of the court wentout to obey the order. 

Presently it swung back, and there entered, between two jailors, a manof dissipated appearance and reckless demeanour, whose flushed cheeksand extravagant attire told only too plainly their own sad tale ofintemperance and debauchery. 

He regarded with an indifferent look judge, jury, and the crowd whichhis trial had drawn together, and took his place at the bar rather withthe air of a man harassed and ill-used than of one guilty and overawed. 

The trial began. The story of the man's crime was a short and simpleone. He had been ringleader in a highway robbery lately committed, andtaken in the very act, with the booty upon his person. The evidence wasclear as daylight; no one attempted to dispute it or deny theaccusation. 

Was this, then, all that had brought the assembly together? The man wasof a name known to comparatively few of those present. His crime was anordinary felony, and his defence appeared to be hopeless. It wasevidently something else than this for which these onlookers had crowdedinto court, and it was not long before their curiosity was satisfied. 

A witness stood forward to be questioned as to the associates of theprisoner. He gave several names, and then stopped. 

"Have no others joined him in these expeditions?" inquired the judge. 

The witness hesitated. 

"The law requires that you shall tell the whole truth, " calmly said thejudge. "Have no others joined the prisoner in these expeditions?"

Then the truth came out. 

"The Prince Henry of Wales has borne the prisoner company on diversoccasions. "

What! A Prince of Wales, the coming King of England, implicated in adisgraceful, discreditable highway robbery! Though the crowd had heardof it already, a buzz of astonishment passed through their midst, as thefact was thus clearly and indisputably established. 

"Was the prince concerned in the robbery for which the prisoner is nowcharged?"

Witness could not say. 

In reply to further questions, however, it was stated that the princefrequently formed one of the party which indulged in these illegalpractices; that he was as lawless and desperate as the worst of them;and that he was known to boast among his boon companions of his exploitsas a common highwayman, and to exhibit proudly the plunder he had thusacquired. 

It was enough. The judge reminded the court that they were met to try, not the prince, but the prisoner at the bar; and painful as the factwas, it was no affair of theirs at that time to investigate the conductof another man, except in as far as it threw light on the present case. 

The good judge was not the only man in England who had watched thedissipated career of the young prince with sorrow and concern. All towhom the honour of their country was dear bewailed the wasted youth andmisused talents of this boy, whom his father's jealousy and illiberalityhad driven into courses of riot and debauchery. They longed for thetime to come, ere it was too late, when the serious duties of the campor the throne would call out those better traits of his dispositionwhich at present lay hidden beneath what was discreditable and wretched. They saw in him a nobility disfigured and a chivalry marred, stillcapable of asserting itself, but which as yet every rebuke and everywarning had failed to arouse; and on this account the good people ofEngland sorrowed with a jealous sorrow over their "Prince Hal, " andlooked forward with trembling to see how all this would end. 

But to return. The case against the prisoner was full and complete, andnothing now remained but to pronounce him guilty, and sentence him tothe penalty his crime required. This duty the judge was proceeding todischarge, when at the door of the court was heard a commotion. For amoment the judge's words were drowned in the shuffling of feet and thesound of voices; then the door opened, and in walked a youth, scarcelymore than a boy, tall, slender, and handsome, with flushed cheeks andwild eye, fashionably dressed, with a sword at his side and a plumed hatupon his head. 

"The Prince of Wales!" broke from the lips of a score of onlookers, asthey recognised in that youth the heir to the crown, towards whosedelinquencies their thoughts had that moment been turned. 

He advanced gaily and recklessly to the bench, the crowd falling back oneither side to give him passage. As he passed the bar at which theprisoner stood awaiting his sentence, he stopped, and, noddingfamiliarly, exclaimed--

"What ho, comrade! I heard thou wast in trouble, and have come myselfto ease thee; so cheer up, lad!" Then approaching the judge, he said, "Good Master Gascoigne, your prisoner is a friend of mine, too gay acomrade to languish in bonds for a trifling scrape like this. Spareyourself, therefore, further pains on his account, and come, solace yourgravity with a party of boon companions who assemble to-night tocelebrate their hero's emancipation from your clutches!"

Gravely and sorrowfully the judge regarded the prince who thusflippantly defied the law of which he was the guardian, but his face wasfirm and his voice authoritative as he replied--

"Prince, my duty is to defend the laws of the king, your father, not tobreak them. As you entered, I was passing the sentence of imprisonmenton the prisoner which he has merited by his evil deeds. That sentencemust now be put in force. "

Prince Henry's face clouded, and he scowled as he exclaimed--

"What I would you defy the Prince of Wales to his very face? Liberatemy comrade, I charge you, at once, or it shall be the worse for you!"

"Be warned, prince. They who obstruct the law incur the penalties ofthe law, be they princes or peasants. Officers, remove the prisoner. "

Henry flushed angrily, and his eyes glared like fire. Advancing a step, he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword, and drew it from itsscabbard. 

The judge rose quietly to his feet, and laying his hand gently on thefoolish boy's shoulder, said, in a voice calm and clear, which all couldhear--

"Henry, Prince of Wales, I arrest thee in the name of the king, yourfather, whose laws you have defied, and whose court you have insulted!Officers, remove the prince in custody. "

There was a strange and solemn pause as the judge resumed his seat, andall eyes turned on Henry. The firmness of the judge had touched theright chord at last. The sword dropped back into its sheath, the scowlof passion gave place to the flush of shame, the wild eyes sought theground, and the haughty head hung down in confusion. Without a word hesubmitted to the officers of the court, and accompanied them to theplace of his confinement, humble and repentant. 

Years after this a gay throng of courtiers were assembled at court to dohomage to King Henry the Fifth of England on his accession to thethrone. There were there princes and nobles and ladies--some thefriends of the late king, some the friends of the new. In the faces ofnot a few of the former might be detected traces of uneasiness andanxiety; while the latter talked and looked, for the most part, confident and triumphant. It was easy to guess the cause of thisstrange variety of feeling. The gay young reveller was now king. Therewere some there who had made no secret of their disapproval of his wildcourses as a prince. How would he regard them now the crown was on hishead? Others there were who had borne him company in his excesses, drinking from the same bowl, and sharing in all the lawlessness of hislawless youth. Was not the time for their advancement come, now thatthe fountain of honour was in the person of their own boon companion andcomrade?

Amid waving and acclamation, the young king stepped into the presencechamber to receive the homage of his subjects. 

In general appearance he was not much changed from the tall, handsomeyouth who, a few years ago, had openly defied the law and insulted itsdignity; but the more serious expression of his face, and the moresedate pose of his lips, betokened an inward change of no smallimportance. And now that the whole court was eagerly looking for someindication of his conduct under the new honours and duties which hadthis day devolved upon him, he was not long in satisfying theircuriosity in a decided and significant manner. 

Glancing for a moment among the gay throng which surrounded him, his eyelit on a grave, dignified man, with clear eye and firm mouth, nowadvanced in years, and clad in the robes of a judge. 

King Henry stepped towards him, and, with a friendly smile, took him bythe hand. 

"Good Master Gascoigne, " he said, "I know you of old. What my fathersaid of you, let me say too, in the hearing of all these people. _Happyis the king that has such a man who dares to execute justice even on theking's son_. You did well by me when you once committed me to prison;you shall still be my councillor and the trusted guardian of my laws. "

The judge bowed low as he replied, "My lord, your father added yetanother word to that you have yourself recalled. _Happy_, said he, _theking that has such a son, who will submit even his princely self to thehand of justice_. "

And a tear stood in the grave man's eye as he kissed the hand of him whohad once been his prisoner, but was now his king and his friend. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

LAMBERT SIMNEL, THE BAKER'S BOY WHO PRETENDED TO BE A KING. 

A scene of unwonted excitement was being enacted in Dublin. The streetswere thronged with people, the houses were gay with flags, soldierslined the paths, and nobles in their grand carriages went by inprocession. The common folk shouted till they were hoarse, and pressedforward on every hand towards the great church of the city, to witnessthe ceremony which was taking place there. 

Whence was all this excitement? How came the Irish capital into such astate of festivity and holiday-making? The story is a short one and astrange. 

Some weeks before, a man in the dress of a priest, accompanied by agood-looking boy, had landed in Dublin, and made his way to theresidence of the governor of the place, with whom he sought aninterview. On being admitted, he much astonished that nobleman by thetale he told. 

It was well known that Richard the Third had during his lifetime shut upin prison the young Earl of Warwick, his nephew, whose title to thecrown was better than his own. The cruel uncle, who seemed unable toendure the presence of any of those whom he had so basely robbed oftheir inheritance, had already, as is well known, murdered those othertwo nephews whose claims were most prominent and unmistakable. Theyoung Earl of Warwick, however, was allowed to keep his life, butremained a close prisoner in a castle in Yorkshire. 

When Henry the Seventh took the crown from Richard and became king, hewas by no means disposed to liberate a prince who was clearly nearer tothe throne than himself. So he had him removed from Yorkshire to theTower of London, where he remained almost forgotten amid the bustle ofcoronation festivities of the new king. 

Now the story told by the priest was that this prince had succeeded inescaping from the Tower, and indeed was none other than the lad who nowstood at his side, having made his way to Ireland in the company of histutor and friend, to beg the aid of the Governor of Dublin in an effortto recover his lawful inheritance. 

The Earl of Kildare (that was the governor's name) looked inastonishment from one to the other, and bade them repeat their story, asking the boy many questions about his childhood and the companions ofhis youth, which the latter answered so glibly and unhesitatingly thatthe foolish governor was fully persuaded this was no other than therightful King of England. 

He caused the lad to be treated with all the honour due to royalty; hegave him a guard of soldiers, he showed him to the populace, whowelcomed him with enthusiasm, and he set to work to organise an armywhich should follow to enforce his claim to the throne of England. 

The boy took all this sudden glory in a half-bewildered manner, butadhered so correctly to his plausible story that none of those generousIrish folk doubted that he was any other than the disinherited prince heprofessed to be. 

Had they only known that the youth about whom they were so enthusiasticwas no better than a baker's son, named Lambert Simnel, they might havebeen less pleased. 

Well, in due time it was decided to crown the new king with all honour. And this was the occasion about which, as we have seen, Dublin was insuch a state of festivity and holiday. 

The boy was conducted with great pomp to church, amid the shouts of thepeople, and there crowned with a diadem taken from a statue of theVirgin Mary. Afterwards, according to custom, he was borne on theshoulders of a huge Irish chieftain back to the castle, where he livedas a king for some time. 

All this while the real Earl of Warwick was safe in the Tower, and nowwhen the rumour of Lambert Simnel's doings in Ireland reached KingHenry, he had him brought out from his prison and exhibited in public, so that every one might be convinced of the imposture of the boy who sethimself up to be the same person. 

But though the people of England were thus kept from being deceived, asthe Irish had been, there were a good many of them who heartily dislikedKing Henry, and were ready to join in any movement against him, irrespective of right or wrong. The consequence was, Lambert Simnel--orrather the people who instigated him in his falsehood--found they mightcount on a fair amount of support even from those who discredited theirstory; and this encouraged them to attempt an invasion of England, andventure their scheme on the field of battle. So, with a force of about8, 000 men, they landed in Lancashire. There is no need to tell theresult of this expedition. After many disappointments occasioned by thereluctance of the people to join them, they encountered the king's armynear Newark, and after a desperate battle were defeated, and lost alltheir leaders. Lambert Simnel and the priest were taken prisoners, andfor a time there was an end of this silly attempt to deceive the nation. 

In the following years of Henry's reign, any one entering the royalkitchens might have observed a boy, meanly dressed, following hisoccupation as a turnspit; and that boy, had he felt disposed to give youhis history, would have told you how once upon a time he was crowned aking, and lived in a palace, how nobles bowed the knee before him, andtroops fought at his bidding. He would have told how people had hailedhim as King Edward of England, and rushed along beside his carriage, eager to catch so much as a glance from his eye. And then he would goon to tell how all this was because designing men had put into his headfoolish ambitions, and taught him to repeat a likely-looking story. Andif one had questioned him further, doubtless he would have confessedthat he was happier far now as a humble turnspit than ever he had beenas a sham king, and would have warned one sadly that cheats neverprosper, however successful they may seem for a time; and thatcontentment with one's lot, humble though it be, brings with it rewardsinfinitely greater than riches or power wrongly acquired. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

EDWARD AND RICHARD PLANTAGENET, THE BOYS WHO WERE MURDERED IN THE TOWER. 

A horseman stood at the gate of the Tower of London, and demandedentrance in the name of the king, Richard Iii. 

On hearing the summons, and the authority claimed by the stranger, thegovernor, Sir Thomas Brackenbury, directed that he should be admitted, and deliver his message. 

"Read this, " said the man, handing a missive sealed with the royalseal. 

Sir Thomas read the document hastily, and as he read his face grewtroubled. For a long time he was silent; then addressing the king'smessenger, he said--

"Know you the contents of this letter?"

"How should I know?" replied the other evasively. 

"The king directs me here, " said Sir Thomas, "to do a deed horrible andunworthy of a man. He demands that I should rid him of the two lads nowlying in this Tower in my custody. "

"And what of that?" said the king's messenger. "Is it not necessary tothe country's peace? And will _you_, Sir Thomas, render so base aningratitude for the favours you have received at the king's hands byrefusing him this service?"

"Not even with the sanction of a king will Thomas Brackenbury hirehimself out as a butcher. My office and all I have, " he added, "I holdat His Majesty's pleasure. He may take them from me if he will, but myhands shall at least stay free from innocent blood!"

With that he bade the messenger return to his master and deliver hisreply. 

When Richard, away in Gloucestershire, heard of the refusal of theGovernor of the Tower to execute his commands, he was very wroth, andvowed he would yet carry out his cruel purpose with regard to his twohelpless nephews. 

These two boys, the sons of Edward the Fourth, were the principalobstacles to Richard's undisturbed possession of the throne he hadusurped. The elder of them, a boy of thirteen, had already been crownedas Edward the Fifth, but he was a king in name only. Scarcely had thecoronation taken place when his bad uncle, under the pretence ofoffering his protection, got him into his power, and shut him up, withhis young brother Richard, in the Tower, while he himself plotted forthe crown to which he had neither right nor title. 

How he succeeded in his evil schemes history has recorded. 

By dint of falsehood and cunning he contrived to make himselfacknowledged king by an unwilling people; and then, when the height ofhis ambition had been attained, he could not rest till those whom he hadso shamefully robbed of their inheritance were out of his path. 

Therefore it was he sent his messenger to Sir Robert Brackenbury. 

Foiled in his design of making this officer the instrument of his basescheme, he summoned to his presence Sir James Tyrrel, a man of recklesscharacter, ready for whatever might bring him profit or preferment; andto him he confided his wishes. 

That same day Tyrrel started for London, armed with a warrant entrustinghim with the Governorship of the Tower for one day, during which SirRobert Brackenbury was to hand over the fortress and all it contained tohis keeping. 

The brave knight had nothing for it but to obey this order, though hewell knew its meaning, and could foretell only too readily its result. 

In a lofty room of that gloomy fortress, that same summer evening, thetwo hapless brothers were sitting, little dreaming of the fate so nearlyapproaching. 

The young king had indeed for some time past seemed to entertain a vagueforeboding that he would never again breathe the free air outside hisprison. He had grown melancholy, and the buoyant spirits of youth hadgiven place to a listlessness and heaviness strangely out of keepingwith his tender years. He cared neither for talk nor exercise, andneglected both food and dress. His brother, two years younger thanhimself, was of a more hopeful demeanour, perhaps realising less fullythe hardships and dangers of their present imprisonment. As they satthis evening in their lonely chamber, he tried to rally his elderbrother from his melancholy. 

"Look not so black, brother; we shall soon be free. Why should we giveup hope?"

The young king answered nothing, and apparently did not heed hisbrother's words. 

"Nay, " persisted the latter, "should we not be glad our lives are sparedus, and that our imprisonment is made easy by the care of good SirRobert, our governor?"

Still Edward remained absorbed in his own gloomy reflections, and theyounger lad, thus foiled in his efforts at cheerfulness, became silenttoo, and sad, and so continued till a warder entered their chamber withfood, and remained to attend them to bed. 

They tasted little that evening, for the shadow of what was to comeseemed already to have crept over their spirits. 

"Will Sir Robert come to see us, as is his wont, before we retire torest?" inquired Richard of the warder. 

"Sir Robert is not now Governor of the Tower, " curtly replied the man. 

Now indeed they felt themselves utterly friendless, and as they crept totheir bed they clung one to the other, in all the loneliness of despair. 

Then the warder took his leave, and they heard the key turn in the lockbehind him, and counted his footsteps as he descended the stairs. 

Presently sleep mercifully fell upon their weary spirits, and closedtheir weeping eyes with her gentle touch. 

At dead of night three men stole up the winding staircase that led totheir chamber, armed, and carrying a light. The leader of these was SirJames Tyrrel, and his evil-looking companions were the men he had hiredto carry out the cruel order of the king. The key turned in the door, and they entered the apartment. 

It was a sight to touch any heart less hard than those of the threevillains who now witnessed it, to see those two innocent boys sleepingpeacefully in each other's arms, dreaming perhaps of liberty, andforgetting the sorrow which had left its traces even yet on their closedeyes. But to Tyrrel and his two assassins, Forest and Deighton, thespectacle suggested neither pity nor remorse. 

At a signal from Tyrrel, who remained outside the room while the deedwas being done, the ruffians snatched the pillows from under the headsof the sleepers, and ere they could either resist or cry out the poorlads were stifled beneath their own bedclothes, and so perished. 

Then these two murderers called to Tyrrel to enter and look on theirwork, and bear witness that the king's command had been faithfullyexecuted. 

The cup of Richard's wickedness was now full. He concealed for sometime the fate of his two victims, and few people knew what had become oftheir rightful king and his brother. But the vengeance of Heaven fellon the cruel uncle speedily and terribly. His own favourite son died, his family turned against him, his people rebelled: the kingdom soevilly gained was taken from him, and he himself, after months ofremorse, and fear, and gathering misfortunes, was slain in battle, lamented by none, and hated by all. 

Two centuries later, in the reign of King Charles the Second, someworkmen, digging in the Tower, discovered under the stairs leading tothe chapel of the White Tower a box containing the bones of twochildren, corresponding to the ages of the murdered princes. These werefound to be without doubt their remains, and in a quiet comer ofWestminster Abbey, whither they were removed, a simple memorial nowmarks their last resting-place, and records the fact of their cruelmurder by perhaps the worst king who ever sat upon the throne ofEngland. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

EDWARD OF LANCASTER, THE BOY WHOSE LIFE A ROBBER SAVED. 

A terrible scene might have been witnessed near the small town ofHexham, in Northumberland, one May afternoon in the year 1464. A greatbattle had just been fought and won. Civil war, with all its hideousaccompaniments, had laid desolate those fair fields where once cattlewere wont to browse and peasants to follow their peaceful toil. But nowall was confusion and tumult. On the ground in heaps lay men andhorses, dead and dying--the vanquished were crying for mercy, thevictors were shouting for vengeance. The country for miles round wasalive with fugitives and their pursuers. Women, children, and old men, as well as soldiers, joined in that panic flight; and shrieks, andshouts, and groans told only too plainly of the slaughter and terror ofthe pursuit. To slaughter the victors added robbery and outrage. Farand wide they scoured the country in quest of victims and booty; houseswere burned, villages were desolated, fields were laid bare, nor tillnight mercifully fell over the land did that scene of terror end. Waris indeed a terrible scourge, and civil war the most terrible of all. 

But while many of those who pursued did so in a blind thirst afterplunder and blood, there were others more determined in their going, whose object was rather to capture than to slay, who passed withoutheeding the common fugitives, and gave chase only to such parties asseemed to be covering the flight of persons of distinction from thescene of their disaster. Of such parties one was known to contain theKing of England, nobles, and officers, whom the victors desired to makecaptive and get into their power; while it was also rumoured that theQueen herself, with her youthful son, was among the fugitives. Thesoldiers of the Duke of York would indeed have been elated, had theysucceeded in getting into their power the king and his son, whose thronethey had seized for their own leader, and so they followed hard afterthe flying host in all directions. 

That same evening, as the sun was sinking, and the distant sounds ofbattle were growing faint in the air, a tall, stately woman, leading bythe hand a boy of scarcely six years, walked hastily in the direction ofa wood which skirted the banks of the River Tyne. It was evident fromher dress and the jewels she wore that she was a lady of no ordinaryimportance, and a certain imperious look in her worn face seemed tosuggest that she was one of those more used to ruling than obeying, toreceiving honour rather than rendering it. The boy who accompanied herwas also richly dressed, and reflected in his handsome face the proudnature of his mother, as this lady seemed to be. Just at present, however, his expression was one of terror. He clung eagerly to the handof his protectress, and once and again cast a frightened look behind, asif expecting to get sight of the pursuers, from whose clutches they wereeven now seeking shelter. 

"Mother, " said the lad, as they entered the wood, and for the first timeabated somewhat of their hurried progress, "I am weary and hungry. Maywe not rest here awhile and eat something?"

"My child, " said the lady, "there is naught here to eat, and we must gofarther ere we are safe from our cruel foes. "

So they went on, deep into the gloomy shade of the wood, till they werefar beyond the sight of the outer world, and where the rays of thesetting sun scarce gave the feeblest light. 

"Mother, " said the boy presently, "this is an awful place; we shall diehere. "

"Fear not, my child, " replied the lady bravely. "Heaven will protect uswhen none else can. "

"But do not robbers abound in these woods? Have I not heard you sayso?"

"It is true; but they will not hurt thee or me. Remember whose son thouart. "

"Ay, I am the king's son; but I would fain have a morsel to eat. "

Just then there was a crackling among the underwood, and a sound ofvoices approaching the spot. 

The boy clutched his mother's hand and trembled. She stood pale andmotionless. 

The sound of feet grew nearer, and presently the voices of those whospoke became distinguishable. 

"Some will be sure to find their way to this wood, " said one. 

"I hope such as do may have full purses, " said another. "I have takennothing these three days. "

"Ay, truly, and these wars have made folk so poor, they are not worthrobbing when we do find them. "

"Soft! methought I heard a voice!" suddenly said one of the speakers. 

The band halted and listened, and then, hearing nothing, pushed on. 

"It's as likely as not we might fall in with royalty itself this night, for I hear the king's rout has been complete at Hexham. "

"And more than that, he has fled from the field in one direction, whilehis queen and son have sought another!"

"Hist!" again cried he who had spoken before. "I certainly heard avoice. This way, my men; follow me. "

And advancing at as rapid a pace as the wooded ground allowed of, heconducted them in the direction of the voices. Suddenly they emergedinto a clearing, where confronted them the lady and her boy. 

Loud laughed these greedy robbers, for they spied the jewels on thelady's person and the rich robes on her and her son. 

Like cowardly ruffians, as _they_ were, they rushed forward, heedless ofthe sex or age of their victims, and threatening to slay them shouldthey resist, tore away jewels, and gold, and silk--all that was ofvalue, roughly handling the two in so doing, and meeting every attemptto speak or resist with the menace of a drawn sword. 

It was a rich plunder, for the lady's jewels were large and precious, and, besides, she bore about her no small quantity of gold and othertreasure. When they had taken all they could lay their wicked hands on, the men fell to dividing among themselves their ill-gotten booty, glorying as they did so in their crime, and laughing brutally at theexpense of their two defenceless victims. 

As might be supposed, the task of dividing the spoil was one not quietlyaccomplished. The robbers began to argue as to the division, and fromarguing they went on to disputing, and from disputing they came tofighting, in the midst of which the lady and her boy took an opportunityto escape unobserved into the thicket, and hasten as best they mightfrom the reach of their plunderers. 

Thus they fled, robbed and penniless, exposed to the cold evening air, famishing for lack of food, smarting under insult and wrong, and notknowing where next to turn for shelter or safety. 

The courage of the lady, hitherto so conspicuous, now fairly gave way. She sat down on the ground, and taking her boy to her arms, abandonedherself to a flood of tears. "My son, " she cried, "better if we haddied by the sword of our enemies, than die a shameful death in thesewoods! Alas! was ever woman so miserable as I?"

"But, mother, " said the boy, who now in turn took upon him the office ofcomforter, "the robbers left us with our lives, and we shall surely findsome food here. Cheer up, mother; did you not tell me God would takecare of us when no one else could?"

The mother's only answer was to take her boy in a closer embrace andkiss him passionately. 

Suddenly there appeared before them a man of fierce aspect, holding inhis hand a drawn sword. 

Escape was impossible; robbed as they already were, they had nothing buttheir lives to offer to this wild ruffian. And would he scruple tomurder where he could not rob?

The courage of the lady, in this desperate case, returned as quickly asit had lately deserted her. 

A sudden resolution gleamed in her face; then, rising majestically toher feet, and taking by the hand her trembling boy, she advanced proudand stately towards the robber. The man halted wonderingly. There wassomething in the imperious bearing of this tall, beautiful lady--something in the appealing looks of the gallant boy--which for a momentcowed his lawless resolve, and made him hesitate. 

Noticing this, the lady advanced close to him, and said in clear, majestic tones, --

"Behold, my friend, I commit to your care the safety of your king'sson!"

The man started back in astonishment, the sword dropped from his hand, and a look, half of alarm, half of perplexity, took possession of hisface. 

Then he fell on one knee, and respectfully bowed almost to the earth. 

"Art thou, then, our good Queen Margaret?"

"I am she. "

"And this youth, is he indeed our royal master's son?"

"Even so. "

Once more the wild man bowed low. Then the queen bade him arise, toldhim how she and the young prince had come into the plight, and ended byasking if he could give them food and shelter for a short time. 

"All I have is your majesty's, " said the man, "even my life. I will atonce conduct you to my humble dwelling. " And he lifted the weary boytenderly in his arms, and led the queen to his cottage in the wood, where they got both food and shelter, and every care and attention fromthe robber's good wife. 

"Mother, " said the young prince that night, "thou saidst right, thatHeaven would protect us. "

"Ay, my boy, and will still protect us!"

For some days they rested at the cottage, tended with endless care bythe loyal robber and his wife, until the pursuit from the battle ofHexham was over. Then, with the aid of her protector, the queen madeher way to the coast, where a vessel waited to convey her and the princeto Flanders. Thus, for a time they escaped from all their dangers. Hadthe young prince lived to become King of England, we may be sure thatthe kind act of the robber would not have been suffered to dieunrewarded. But, alas! Edward of Lancaster was never King of England. 

The Wars of the Roses, as we all know, resulted in the utter defeat ofthe young prince's party. He was thirteen years old when the rivalHouses of York and Lancaster fought their twelfth battle in the meadowat Tewkesbury. On that occasion Edward fought bravely in his own cause, but he and his followers were completely routed by the troops of KingEdward the Fourth. Flying from the field of battle, he was arrested andbrought before the young king. 

"How dared you come here?" wrathfully inquired the usurper. 

"To recover my father's crown and my own inheritance, " boldly repliedthe prince. 

Whereat, the history says, Edward struck at him with his iron gauntlet, and his attendants fell upon him and slew him with their swords. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

EDWARD THE SIXTH, THE GOOD KING OF ENGLAND. 

It was a strange moment in the history of England when the great KingHenry the Eighth. ("Bluff King Hal, " as his subjects called him)breathed his last. However popular he may have been on account of hiscourage and energy, he possessed vices which must always withhold fromhim the name of a _good_ king, and which, in fact, rendered his reign acontinuous scene of cruelty and oppression. People were sick of hearingof the king and his wives--how he had beheaded one, and put awayanother, and ill-treated another, for no reason at all but his ownselfish caprice. And men trembled for their lives when they rememberedhow Wolsey, and More, and Cromwell, and others had been sacrificed tothe whimsical temper of this tyrannical sovereign. England, in fact, was tired out when Henry the Eighth died. 

It was, at any rate, a change for them to find that their new king wasin every respect the opposite of his father. Instead of the burly, hot-headed, self-willed, cruel Henry, they were now to be ruled by a frail, delicate, mild boy of nine, inheriting neither his father's vices norhis faults, and resembling him as little in mind as in body. But thechief difference of all was this--that this boy-king was _good_. 

A _good_ King of England. It was indeed and, alas! a novelty. Howmany, counting back to the day when the country first knew a ruler, could be so described? Had not the sceptre of England passed, almostwithout exception, down a line of usurpers, murderers, robbers, andbutchers, and was it not a fact that the few kings who had not beenknaves had been merely fools?

But now England had a good king and a clever king, what might not beexpected of him?

On the day of his coronation all sorts of rumours were afloat respectingyoung Edward. Boy though he was, he was a scholar, and wrote letters inLatin. Young in years, he was mature in thought, he was a staunchProtestant, an earnest Christian. Tudor though he was, he loved peace, and had no pleasure in the sufferings of others. Was ever such a king?

"Alas, " said some one, "that he is but a boy!"

The sight which presented itself within the walls of that gloomyfortress, the Tower of London, on the day of Edward the Sixth'sproclamation, was an impressive one. Amidst a crowd of bishops andnobles, who bowed low as he advanced, the pale boy-king came forward toreceive the homage of his new subjects. 

Surely, thought some, as they looked, that little head is not fitted tothe wearing of an irksome crown. But, for the most part, the crowdcheered, and shouted, "God save the king!" and not one was there whofound it in his heart to wish young Edward Tudor ill. 

The papist ceremony which had always before accompanied the coronationof English kings was now for the first time dispensed with. With joythe people heard good old Archbishop Cranmer urge the new king to seeGod truly worshipped, according to the doctrines of the Reformedreligion; and with joy they heard the boy declare before them all hisintention to rule his country according to the rules of God's Word andthe Protestant faith. 

Still, as we have said, many in the midst of their joy sighed as theylooked at the frail boy, and wondered how so young a head would bear upamid all the perils and dangers of kingship; and well they might pityhim. 

The reign of Edward the Sixth is chiefly a history of the acts of hisuncle, the Duke of Somerset, the Protector, and of the dissensions whichembittered the government of that nobleman, leading finally to his deathon the scaffold. Of Edward himself we do not hear much. We haveoccasional glimpses of him at his studies, under tutors chosen andsuperintended by Cranmer; but he does not seem to have taken much part--how could a boy of his age be expected to do so?--in the active duty ofgoverning. 

We know that such acts as the removal of popish restrictions from theclergy and people, the publication of the Book of Common Prayer, and thediscouragement of all idolatrous and superstitious practices, had hishearty sympathy. In these and in such-like useful measures heinterested himself, but as for the troubles and commotions of his reign, he had nothing to do with them. 

His nobles, on the other hand, were by no means so passive. They madewar in the king's name on Scotland, to capture a baby-wife for the poorboy, who was scarcely in his teens; they--accused and impeached oneanother; they brought their death warrants to Edward to sign, whether heliked or no (and he never did like); they persecuted those who disagreedwith them; they goaded the common people into rebellion; they schemedhow they should make their own fortunes after the young invalid wasdead, and to that end worked upon his weakness and his timidity actuallyto disinherit his own sisters. 

In the midst of all this disturbance, and scheming, and distress, we canpicture the poor, confused, sickly boy seeking refuge in his books, shrinking from the angry bustle of the court, and spending his days withhis grave tutors in quiet study. Reluctantly, once and again, he wasforced to come out from his retreat to give the sanction of hisauthority to some act of his ambitious nobles. With what trembling handwould he sign the death warrants they presented! with what wearinesswould he listen to their wrangles and accusations! with what distresswould he hear discussions as to who was to wear that crown of his whenhe himself should be in the grave!

That time was not long in coming. He was not fifteen when an attack ofsmallpox laid him on his deathbed; and while all the court was busyplotting and counterplotting as to the disposal of the crown, the poorboy-king lay there almost neglected, or watched only by those who waitedthe moment of his death with impatience. As the disease took deeper andfatal hold of him, all forsook him save an incompetent quack nurse; andhow far she may have helped on the end no one can tell. 

But for him death was only a happy release from a world of suffering. Afew hours before his end he was heard to speak something; and those wholistened discovered that the boy, thinking himself alone, was praying. One has recorded those closing words of that strange, sad life: "Lord, deliver me out of this wretched and miserable life, and take me amongThy chosen: howbeit not my will, but Thine be done. Lord, I commit myspirit to Thee. O Lord, Thou knowest how happy it were for me to bewith Thee; yet, for the sake of Thy chosen, send me life and health, that I may truly serve Thee. O my Lord God, bless Thy people, and saveThine inheritance. O Lord God, save Thy chosen people of England. O myLord God, defend this realm from papistry, and maintain Thy truereligion, that I and my people may praise Thy holy name, for Thy SonJesus Christ's sake. "

And with these words on his lips, and these prayers for England in hisheart, the good young king died. Who knows if by his piety and hisprayers he may not have brought more blessing to his country than many abattle and many a law of less Godfearing monarchs?

What he would have done for England had he been spared to manhood, it isnot possible to say. A diary which he kept during his life affordsabundant proof that even at his tender age he possessed not a little ofthe sagacity and knowledge necessary to good kingship; and a manhood ofmatured piety and wisdom might have materially altered the course ofevents in the history of England of that time. 

One boon at least he has left behind him, besides his unsullied name andexample. Scattered about the counties of England are not a few schoolswhich bear his name. It is possible that a good many of my readers areto be found among the scholars of the Bluecoat School, and of the KingEdward Grammar Schools in various parts of the country. They, at least, will understand the gratitude which this generation owes to the goodyoung king who so materially advanced the learning of which he himselfwas so fond, by the establishment of these schools. He was one of thefew of his day who saw that the glory of a country consists not in itsarmies and exchequers, but in the religious and moral enlightenment ofits people; and to that glory his own life was, and remains still, anoble contribution. 

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

HENRY STUART, THE BOY WHOM A NATION LOVED. 

In the courtyard of a Scottish castle, over which floated the royalbanner, a curious scene might have been witnessed one morning nearlythree centuries ago. The central figures of the scene were a horse anda boy, and the attendant crowd of courtiers, grooms, lackeys; while froman open window, before which every one in passing bowed low, anungainly-looking man watched what was going on with a strangely anxiousexcitement. The horse was saddled and bridled, but, with an ominousroll of his eyes, and a savage expansion of his nostrils, which bespokeonly too plainly his fierce temper, defied every attempt on the part ofthe grooms to hold him steady. The boy, scarcely in his teens, wasevidently a lad of distinction, as might be inferred from his gallantdress, and the deferential demeanour of those who now advanced, andendeavoured to dissuade him from a rash and perilous adventure. 

"Beware, my lord, " said one, "how you peril your life in this freak!"

"The animal, " said another, "has never yet been ridden. See how evennow he nearly pulls the arms of the grooms from their sockets. "

"Lad, " cried the ungainly man from the window, "dinna be a fool, I tellye! Let the beast be. "

But the boy laughed gaily at them all. 

"Such a fuss about an ordinary horse! Let him go, men, and leave him tome. "

And he advanced and boldly took the rein, which the grooms unwillinglyrelinquished. 

There was something about the resolute bearing of the boy which for amoment seemed to impress the horse himself, for, pricking his ears androlling his bloodshot eyes upon him, he desisted from his struggles andstood still. 

The lad put out a hand and patted his neck, and in doing so secured afirm clutch of the mane in his hand; the next instant his foot was inthe stirrup, and the next he had vaulted into the saddle, before thehorse had recovered from his astonishment. 

Once in, no effort of the untamed beast could succeed in ousting himfrom his seat. In vain it reared and plunged; in vain it pulled andcareered round the yard; he stuck to his seat as if he grew there, andwith cool eye and quiet smile seemed even to enjoy his position. Aftermany unavailing efforts the horse seemed to yield his vicious will tothe stronger will of his rider, and then the boy, lashing him into agallop, fairly put him through his paces before all the spectators, andfinally walked him quietly up to the window at which the ungainly man, trembling, and with tears in his eyes, had all the while watched hisexploit. Here he halted, and beckoning to his attendants, dismountedand gave back the horse to their charge, saying as he did so--

"How long shall I continue a child in your opinion?"

Such is one of the recorded characteristic anecdotes of Prince HenryStuart, eldest son of James the First of England. 

Henry was only nine years old when a certain event entirely changed theprospects and circumstances of his early home. Instead of being thepoor king of a poverty-stricken country, his father suddenly becamemonarch of one of the richest and most powerful countries of Europe. Inother words, on the death of Queen Elizabeth James the Sixth of Scotlandfound himself James the First of England. 

He came to the throne amid the mingled joy and misgivings of his newsubjects. How soon he destroyed the one and confirmed the other, history has recorded, and we are not going to dwell upon that here, except to say that one of the few redeeming points about James the Firstin the eyes of the people was that he had a son who promised to make upby his virtues for all the vice and silliness of his father. They couldendure the whims of their ill-conditioned king all the better forknowing that after him was to come a prince after their own heart, oneof English sympathies and English instincts; one who even as a boy hadwon their hearts by his pluck, his frankness, and his wit, and who, ashe grew up, developed into a manhood as vigorous and noble as that ofhis father was mean and imbecile. 

Henry was, as we have said, emphatically an English boy--not in birth, for his father was Scotch and his mother a Dane--but in every otherrespect in which an English boy has a distinctive character. He wasbrave and honest, and merry and generous; his delight was in athleticexercise and manly sports; the anecdote we have quoted will testify tohis skill and pluck. We read of him living at one time at Richmond, andswimming daily in the Thames; of his riding more than 100 miles in oneday; of his hunting, and tennis playing, and shooting. The people couldnot fail to love one who so thoroughly entered into their sports, or toadmire him all the more for his proficiency in them. 

But, unlike some boys, Henry did not cultivate physical exercises at theexpense of his mind. Many stories are related of his wit and hislearning. A joke at his expense was generally a dangerous adventure, for he always got the best at an exchange of wit. Among his friendswere some of the greatest and best men of the day, notably Raleigh; andin such society the lad could not fail to grow up imbued with principlesof wisdom and honour, which would go far to qualify him for the positionhe expected to hold. 

His ambition was to enter upon a military career, such as those in whichso many of his predecessors had distinguished themselves. In this hereceived more encouragement from the people than from his own timidfather, who told him his brother Charles would make a better king thanhe, unless Henry spent more time at his books and less at his pike andhis bow. The people, on the other hand, were constantly comparing theiryoung prince with the great Henry the Fifth, the hero of Agincourt, andpredicting of him as famous deeds as those recorded of his illustriousnamesake. However, as it happened, there was no war into which theyoung soldier could enter at that time, so that he had to contenthimself with martial exercises and contests at home, which, though notso much to his own taste, made him no less popular with his father'ssubjects. 

In Henry Stuart the old school of chivalry had nearly its lastrepresentative. The knightly Kings of England had given place, afterthe Wars of the Roses, to sovereigns whose strength lay more in thecouncil chamber than on the field of battle; but now, after a longinterval, the old dying spirit flickered up once more in the person ofthis boy. Once again, after many, many years, the court went to witnessa tournament, when in the tiltyard of Whitehall, before king and queen, and lords and ladies, and ambassadors, the Prince of Wales at the headof six young nobles defended the lists against all comers. There issomething melancholy about the record--the day for such scenes had goneby, and its spirit had departed from the nation. The boy had his sportand his honestly earned applause; but when it was all over the oldchivalry returned to the grave, never to appear again. 

Henry himself only too soon, alas! sunk into that grave also. Theclosing years of his life leave many a pleasing trace of kindness, andjustice, and earnestness. The boy was no mere boisterous schoolboy. Hepondered and prepared himself for what he thought was his path in life;he foresaw its responsibilities, and he faced its duties, and sethimself like a man to bear his part as a true king should. 

It was not to be. Suddenly his health failed him--the tall boy hadovergrown his strength before he knew it. Heedless of fatigue andexposure, he pursued his vigorous exercises, and what had been his lifebecame his death. A cold taken during a game of tennis, when he was inhis eighteenth year, developed into a fever, and for days he lay betweenlife and death. The nation waited with strange anxiety for the issue, and a cloud seemed to fall over the length and breadth of the land. 

Then he became worse. 

"My sword and armour!" he cried; "I must be gone!" and after that thebrave boy died. 

The people mourned him as their own son; and years after, when Englandwas plunged deep in the miseries and horrors of civil war, many therewere who cried in their distress, --

"If but our Henry had lived, all this had not been!"

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

THE TROUBLES OF A DAWDLER. 

I was born a dawdler. As an infant, if report speaks truly, I dawdledover my food, over my toilet, and over my slumbers. Nothing (so I amtold) could prevail on me to stick steadily to my bottle till it wasdone; but I must needs break off a dozen times in the course of a singlemeal to stare about me, to play with the strings of my nurse's cap, tospeculate on the sunbeams that came in at the window; and even when Idid bring myself to make the effort, I took such an unconscionable timeto consume a spoonful that the next meal was wellnigh due before I hadmade an end of a first. 

As to dressing me in the morning, it took a good two hours. Not that Irebelled and went on strike over the business, but it was really toomuch of an effort to commit first one foot and then the other for thereception of my socks, and when that operation was accomplished a longinterval always elapsed before I could devote my energy to the steeringof my arms into sleeves, and the disposal of my waist to the adjustmentof a sash. Indeed, I believe I am doing myself more than justice when Iput forward two hours as the time spent in personal decoration duringthose tender years. 

But of all my infant duties the one I dawdled over most was going tosleep. The act of laying me in my little cot seemed to be the signalfor waking me to a most unwonted energy. Instead of burying my nose inthe pillows, as most babies do, I must needs struggle into a sittingposture, and make night vocal with crows and calls. I must needs chewthe head of my indiarubber doll, or perform a solo on my rattle--anything, in fact, but go to sleep like a respectable, well-conductedchild. 

If my mother came and rocked my cradle, I got alarmingly lively andentered into the sport with spirit. If she, with weary eyes andfaltering voice, attempted to sing me to sleep, I lent my shrill trebleto aid my own lullaby; or else I lay quiet with my eyes wide open, anddefied every effort to coax them into shutting. 

Not that I was wilfully perverse or bad--I am proud to say no one canlay that to my charge; but I was a dawdler, one who from my earliestyears could not find it in me to settle down promptly to anything--nay, who, knowing a certain thing was to be done, therefore deferred thedoing of it as long as possible. 

Need I say that as I grew older and bequeathed my long clothes and cotto another baby, I dawdled still?

My twin brother's brick house was roofed in before my foundations werelaid. Not that I could not build as quickly and as well as he, if Ichose. I could, but I never chose. While he, with serious face andrapt attention, piled layer upon layer, and pinnacle upon pinnacle, absorbed in his architectural ambition, I sat by watching him, orwondering who drew the beautiful picture on the lid of my box, orspeculating on the quantity of bricks I should use in my building, butalways neglecting to set myself to work till Jim's shout of triumphdeclared his task accomplished. Then I took a fit of industry till mytower was half built, and by that time the bricks had to be put away. 

When we walked abroad with nurse I was sure to lag behind to look atother children, or gaze into shops. Many a time I narrowly escapedbeing lost as the result. Indeed, one of my earliest recollections isof being conducted home in state by a policeman, who had found meaimlessly strolling about a churchyard, round which I had beenaccompanying the nurse and the perambulator, until I missed them both, ashort time before. 

My parents, who had hitherto been inclined to regard my besetting sin(for even youngsters of four may have besetting sins) as only a childishpeculiarity, at last began to take note of my dawdling propensities, anddid their best to cure me of them. My father would watch me at my play, and, when he saw me flagging, encourage me to persevere in whatever Iwas about, striving to rouse my emulation by pitting me against myplaymates. For a time this had a good effect; but my father hadsomething better to do than always preside at our nursery sports, and Isoon relapsed into my old habits. 

My mother would talk and tell stories to us; and always, whenever myattention began to fail, would recall me to order by questions or directappeals. This, too, as long as it was fresh, acted well; but I soon gotused to it, and was as bad as ever. Indeed, I was a confirmed dawdleralmost before I was able to think or act for myself. 

When I was eight, it was decided to send me and Jim to school--a dayschool, near home, presided over by a good lady, and attended by somedozen other boys. Well, the novelty of the thing pleased me at first, and I took an interest in my spelling and arithmetic, so that very soonI was at the top of my class. Of course my father and mother weredelighted. My father patted me on the head, and said, "I knew he couldbe diligent, if he chose. "

And my mother kissed me, and called me her brave boy; so altogether Ifelt very virtuous, and rather pitied Jim, who was six from the top, though he spent longer over his sums than I did. 

But, alas! after the first fortnight, the novelty of Mrs Sparrow'sschool wore off. Instead of pegging along briskly to be in time, Ipulled up once or twice on the road to investigate the wonders of aconfectioner's window, or watch the men harness the horses for theomnibus, till suddenly I would discover I had only five minutes to getto school in time, and so had to run for my life the rest of the way, only overtaking Jim on the very doorstep. Gradually my dawdling becamemore prolonged, until one day I found myself actually late. MrsSparrow frowned, Jim looked frightened, my own heart beat for terror, and I heard the awful sentence pronounced, "You must go to the bottom ofthe class. "

I made up my mind this should be the last occasion on which such apenalty should be mine. But, alas! the very next day the confectionerhad a wonderful negro figure in his window made all of sweets, his faceof liquorice and his shirt of sugar, his lips of candy and his eyes ofbrandy-balls. I was spellbound, and could not tear myself away. Andwhen I did, to add to my misfortunes, there was a crowd outside theomnibus stables to watch the harnessing of a new and very frisky horse. Of course I had to witness this spectacle, and the consequence was I gotto school half an hour late, and was again reprimanded and stood in thecorner. 

This went on from bad to worse. Not only did I become unpunctual, but Ineglected my lessons till the last moment, and then it was too late toget them off, though I could learn as much in a short time as any of theboys. All this grieved poor Mrs Sparrow, who talked to my parentsabout it, who talked very seriously to me. My father looked unhappy, mymother cried; Mrs Sparrow (who was present at the interview) wassilent, and I wept loudly and promised to reform--honestly resolving Iwould do so. 

Well, for a week I was a model of punctuality and industry; but then theconfectioner changed his sugar negro for an elephant made all of toffee, and I was once more beguiled. Once more from top of my class I sank tothe bottom; and though after that I took fits and starts of regularityand study, I never was able for long together to recover my place, andMrs Sparrow fairly gave me up as a bad job. 

What was to be done? I was growing up. In time my twelfth birthdayarrived, and it was _time_ I went to boarding school. 

I could see with what anxiety my parents looked forward to the time, andI inwardly reproached myself for being the cause of their trouble. "Perhaps, " thought I, "I shall get all right at Welford, " and havingconsoled myself with that possibility I thought no more about it. Myfather talked very earnestly to me before I left home for the first timein my life. He had no fears, he said, for my honesty or my goodprinciples; but he had fears for my perseverance and diligence. "Eitheryou must conquer your habit of dawdling, " he said, "or it will conqueryou. " I was ready to promise any sacrifice to be cured of this enemy;but he said, "No, lad, don't promise, but remember and do!" And then hecorded up my trunk and carried it downstairs. I cannot to this dayrecall my farewell with my mother without tears. It is enough to saythat I quitted the parental home determined as I never was before to domy duty and fight against my besetting sin, and occupied that dolefulday's journey with picturing to myself the happiness which my alteredhabits would bring to the dear parents whom I was leaving behind. 

I pass over my first week at Welford. It was a new and wonderful worldto me; very desolate at first, but by degrees more attractive, till atlast I went the way of all schoolboys, and found myself settled down tomy new life as if I had never known another. 

All this time I had faithfully kept my resolution. I was as punctual asclockwork, and as diligent as an ant. Nothing would tempt me to abatemy attention in the preparation of my lessons; no seductions of cricketor fishing would keep me late for "call over. " I had already gained theapproval of my masters, I had made my mark in my class, and I hadwritten glowing letters home, telling of my kept resolutions, andwondering why they should ever before have seemed difficult to adhereto. 

But as I got better acquainted with some of my new schoolfellows itbecame less easy to stick steadily to work. I happened to find myselfin hall one evening, where we were preparing our tasks for next day, seated next to a lively young scapegrace, whose tongue rattledincessantly, and who, not content to be idle himself, must needs makeevery one idle too. 

"What a muff you are, Charlie, " he said to me once, as I was poring overmy _Caesar_ and struggling desperately to make out the meaning of aphrase--"what a muff you are, to be grinding away like that! Why don'tyou use a crib?"

"What's a crib?" I inquired. 

"What, don't you know what a crib is? It's a translation. I've gotone. I'll lend it to you, and you will be able to do your _Caesar_ withit like winking. "

I didn't like the notion at first, and went on hunting up the words inthe dictionary till my head ached. But next evening he pulled the"crib" out of his pocket and showed it to me. I could not resist thetemptation of looking at it, and no sooner had I done so than I found itgave at a glance the translation it used to take me an hour to get atwith the dictionary. So I began to use the "crib" regularly; and thus, getting my lessons quickly done, I gradually began to relapse into myhabits of dawdling. 

Instead of preparing my lessons steadily, I now began to put offpreparation till the last moment, and then galloped them off as best Icould. Instead of writing my exercises carefully, I drew skeletons onthe blotting-paper; instead of learning off my tenses, I read _RobinsonCrusoe_ under the desk, and trusted to my next-door neighbour to promptme when my turn came. 

For a time my broken resolutions did not effect any apparent change inmy position in the classes or in the eyes of my masters. I was whatEvans (the boy who lent me the "crib") called lucky. I was called on totranslate just the passages I happened to have got off, or wascatechised on the declensions of my pet verb, and so kept upappearances. 

But that sort of thing could not go on for ever, and one day my exposuretook place. 

I had dawdled away my time the evening previously with one thing andanother, always intending to set to work, but never doing so. My bookshad lain open before me untouched, except when I took a fancy toinscribing my name some scores of times on the title-page of each; mydictionary remained shot and unheeded, except when I rounded the cornersof the binding with my penknife. I had played draughts clandestinelywith Evans part of the time, and part of the time I had lolled with myelbows on the desk, staring at the head of the fellow in front of me. 

Bedtime came, and I had not looked at my work. 

"I'll wake early and cram it up, " thought I, as I turned in. 

I did wake up, but though the book was under my pillow I let the half-hour before getting up slip away unused. At breakfast I made an effortto glance at the lesson, but the boy opposite was performing suchwonderful tricks of balancing with his teaspoon and saucer and threebread-crusts, that I could not devote attention to anything else. Thebell for classes rang ominously. I rushed to my place with _Caesar_ inone hand and the "crib" in the other. I got flurried; I could not findthe place, or, when I found the place in the _Caesar_, I lost it in the"crib. "

The master, to add to my misery, was cross, and began proceedings byordering Evans to learn twenty lines for laughing in school-time. Iglanced at the fellows round me. Some were taking a last peep at theirbooks. Others, with bright and confident faces, waited quietly for thelesson to begin. No one that I could see was as badly off as I. Everyone knew something. I knew nothing. Just at the last moment I foundthe place in the "crib" and in the _Caesar_ at the same time, butscarcely had I done so when the awful voice of the master spoke:

"Stand up!" All dictionaries and notes had now to be put away; allexcept the Latin books. 

I had contrived _to get_ off the first two lines, and only hoped themaster might pitch on me to begin. And he did pitch on me. 

"Charles Smith, " I heard him say, and my heart jumped to my mouth, "stand forward and begin at `_jamque Caesar_. '"

"Please, sir, we begin at `_His et aliis_, '" I faltered. 

"You begin where I tell you, sir, " sternly replied he. 

A dead silence fell over the class, waiting for me to begin. I was indespair. Oh, if only I had not dawdled! I would give all my pocket-money for this term to know a line of that horrid _Caesar_. 

"Come, sir, be quick, " said the master. 

Then I fetched a sigh very like a sob, and began--

"_Que_, and--" I heard the master's foot scrape ominously on the floor. 

"_Que_, and--" I repeated. 

"_And_ what, sir?" thundered the master, rising in his seat and leaningacross his desk towards me. It was awful. I was never more miserablein my life. 

"_Caesar_, Caesar, " I stammered. Here at least was a word I couldtranslate, so I repeated it--"_Que_, and--_Caesar_, Caesar. "

A dead silence, scarcely broken by a titter from the back desks. 

"_Jam_, " I chokingly articulated, and there stuck. 

"Well, sir, and what does _jam_ mean?" inquired the voice, in a tone ofsuppressed wrath. 

"_Jam_"--again I stuck. 

Another dead silence. 

"_Que_, and--_Caesar_, Caesar; _jam_"--It was no use; the only jam Iknew of I was certain would not do in this case, so I began again indespair; "_Que_, and--_Caesar_, Caesar; _jam_--_jam_--_jam_. "

The master shut his book, and I knew the storm had burst. 

"Smith, have you prepared this lesson?"

"No, sir, " I replied, relieved to be able to answer any questions, however awful. 

"Why not, sir?"

Ah! that I could not answer--not to myself, still less to him. So I wassilent. 

"Come to me after school, " he said. "The next boy come forward. "

After school I went to him, and he escorted me to the doctor. Nocriminal at the Old Bailey trembled as I did at that interview. I can'tremember what was said to me. I know I wildly confessed my sins--my"cribbing, " my wasting of time--and promised to abjure them one and all. 

The doctor was solemn and grave, and said a great deal to me that I wastoo overawed to understand or remember; after which I was sent back tomy class--a punished, disgraced, and marked boy. 

Need I describe my penitence: what a humble letter I wrote home, makinga clean breast of all my delinquencies, and even exaggerating them in mycontrition? With what grim ceremony I burned my "crib" in my studyfire, and resolved (a resolution, by the way, which I succeeded inkeeping) that, come what might, I would do my lessons honestly, if I didthem at all!

I gave Evans to understand his company at lesson times was notdesirable, and was in a rage with him when he laughed. I took to risingearly, to filling every spare moment with some occupation, andaltogether started afresh, like a reformed character, as I felt myselfto be, and determined _this_ time, at any rate, my progress should knowno backsliding. How soon I again fell a victim to dawdling the sequelwill show. 

I had a long and painful struggle to recover my lost ground at Welford. 

When a boy has once lost his name at school, when his masters have puthim on the black book, when his schoolfellows have got to consider himas a "fellow in a row, " when he himself has learnt to doubt his ownhonesty and steadiness--then, I say, it is uphill work for him to getback to the position from which he has fallen. He gets little sympathy, and still less encouragement. In addition to the natural difficulty ofconquering bad habits, he has to contend against prejudices andobstacles raised by his own former conduct; no one gives him credit forhis efforts, and no one recognises his reform till all of a sudden, perhaps long after its completion, it makes itself manifest. 

And my reform, alas! consequently never arrived at completion atWelford. 

For a few weeks all went well enough. My lessons were carefullyprepared; my exercises were well written, and my master had no moreattentive pupil than I. But, alas! I too soon again grew confident andself-satisfied. Little by little I relaxed; little by little I dawdled, till presently, almost without knowing it, I again began to slip downthe hill. And this was in other matters besides my studies. 

Instead of keeping up my practice at cricket and field sports, I took tohulking about the playground with my hands in my pockets. If I startedon an expedition to find moths or hunt squirrels, I never got half amile beyond the school boundaries, and never, of course, caught theghost of anything. If I entered for a race in our school sports, I letthe time go without training, and so was beaten easily by fellows whom Ihad always thought my inferiors. The books I read for my amusement outof school hours were all abandoned after a chapter or two; my veryletters home became irregular and stupid, and often were altogethershelved. 

And all this time (such is the blindness of some people) I was imaginingI had quite retrieved my lost reputation! I shall never forget, however, how at last I discovered that my time at Welford had beenwasted, and that, so far from having got the better of my enemy, I hadbecome a more confirmed dawdler than ever. 

I had come to my last half-year at school, being now seventeen. Mygreat desire was to go to Cambridge, which my father had promised Ishould do if I succeeded in obtaining a scholarship, which would in partdefray the cost of my residence there. On this scholarship, therefore, my heart was bent (as much as a dawdler's heart can be bent on anything)and I made up my mind to secure it. 

The three fellows who were also going in for it were all my juniors, andconsiderably below me in the doctor's class; so I had little anxiety asto the result. 

Need I say that this very confidence was fatal to me? While they wereworking night and day, early and late, I was amusing myself with boxing-gloves and fishing-rods. While they, with wet towels round their heads, burnt the midnight oil, I sprawled over a novel in my study. Of course, now and then I took a turn at my books, and each inspection tended tosatisfy me with myself better than ever. "Those duffers will never beable to get up all that Greek in the time, " I said to myself, "and notone of them knows an atom of mechanics. "

Well, the time drew near. My father had written rejoicing to hear of mygood prospects, and saying how he and mother were constantly thinking ofme in my hard work, and so on. 

"Yes, " thought I, "they'll be pleased, I know. " About a week before theexamination I looked at my books rather more frequently, and, now andthen (though I would not acknowledge it even to myself), felt myconfidence a trifle wavering. There were a few things I had not noticedbefore, that must be got up with the rest of the subjects, "However, aday's work will polish them off, " said I; "let's see, I've promised tofish with Wilkins to-morrow--I'll have a go in at them on Thursday. "

But Thursday found me fishing too, and on Friday there was a cricket-match. However, the examination was not till Tuesday, so there was halfa week yet. 

Saturday, of course, was a half-holiday, and though I took another lookat some of my books, and noted one or two other little things that wouldhave to be got up, I determined that the grand "go in" at, and"polishing off" of, these subjects should take place on Monday. 

On Monday accordingly I set to work. 

Glancing from my window--as I frequently did while I was at work--whomshould I see, with a fly-net over his shoulder, but Wilton, one of thethree fellows in against me for the scholarship! And not long after himwho should appear arm-in-arm in cricket costume, but Johnson and Walker, the other two!

"Ho! ho!" said I to myself, "nice boys these to be going in for anexam. ! How can they expect to do anything if they dawdle away theirtime in this way! I declare I quite feel as if I were taking an unfairadvantage of them to be grinding away up here!"

Had I realised that these three fellows had been working incessantly forthe last month, and were now taking a breath of fresh air inanticipation of the ordeal of the following day, I should have been lessastonished at what I saw, and more inclined to work, at any rate thisday, like mad. 

But I allowed my benevolent desire not to take an unfair advantage toprevail, and was soon far up the stream with my fishing-rod. 

So Monday passed. In the evening I had another turn at my books, but anunsatisfactory one. 

"What's the use of muddling my brain? I had better take it easy, and befresh for to-morrow, " thought I, as I shut them up and pushed my chairback from the table. 

Next morning brought me a letter from my father:

"This will reach you on the eventful day. You know who will be thinkingof their boy every moment. We are happy to know your success is sosure; but don't be _too_ confident till it's all well over. Then weshall be ready to rejoice with you. I have already heard of rooms atCambridge for you; so you see mother and I are counting our chickensbefore they are hatched! But I have no fears, after what you have toldme. "

This letter made me unhappy; the sight of my books made me unhappy; thesight of Wilton, Johnson, and Walker, fresh and composed, made meunhappy; the sight of the doctor wishing me good morning made meunhappy. I was, in fact, thoroughly uncomfortable. The list of thoseone or two little matters that I had intended to polish off grew everytime I thought of them, till they wellnigh seemed to eclipse the othersubjects about which I felt sure. What an ass I had been!

"The candidates for the Calton Scholarship are to go to the doctor'sclass-room!"

To the doctor's class-room we four accordingly proceeded. 

On the way, not to appear nervous, I casually inquired of Wilton if hehad caught any specimens yesterday. 

"Yes, " he said gaily. "I got one splendid fellow, a green-winged moth. I'll show him to you in my study after the exam, is over. "

Here was a fellow who could calmly contemplate the end of this day'sordeal. I dared not do as much as that!

The doctor affably welcomed us to his room, and bade us be seated. Several quires of blank paper, one or two pens, a ruler, and ink, wereprovided at each of our four desks. 

Then a printed paper of questions was handed to each, and theexamination began. 

I glanced hurriedly down my paper. Question 1 was on one of thosesubjects which had escaped my observation. Question 2 was a piece oftranslation I did not recognise as occurring in the Greek book I had gotup, and yet I thought I had been thoroughly through it. Question 3--well, no one would be able to answer that. Question 4--oh, horrors!another of those little points I had meant to polish off. Thus Iglanced from top to bottom of the paper. Here and there I fancied Imight be able to give some sort of answer, but as for the rest, I was indespair. I dashed my pen into the ink, and wrote my name at the head ofa sheet of paper, and ruled a line underneath it. Then I dug my fingersin my hair, and waited for an inspiration. It was a long time coming. In the meantime I glanced round at the other three. They were allwriting hard, and Wilton already had one sheet filled. Somehow thesight of Wilton reminded me of the moth he had spoken of. I wondered ifit was a finer specimen than I had got at home--mine had blue wings anda horn. Funny insects moths were! I wondered if the doctor used tocollect them when he was a boy. The doctor must be nearly sixty now. Jolly to be a doctor, and have nothing to do but examine fellows! Iwondered if Walker's father had written him a letter, and what sort ofnib he (Walker) must be writing with, with such a peculiar squeak--rather like a frog's squeak. I wouldn't mind being a frog for somethings; must be jolly to be equally at home on dry ground or in water!Fancy eating frogs! Our French master was getting more short-temperedthan ever. 

And so I rambled on, while the paper in front of me remained empty. 

The inspirations never came. The hours whizzed past, and my penholderwas nibbled half away. In vain I searched the ceilings, and my thumb-nails; they gave me no help. In vain I read over the examination papera score of times. It was all question and no answer there. In vain Istared at the doctor as he sat quietly writing; he had no ideas for me. In vain I tried to count, from where I sat, how many sheets Johnson hadfilled; that did not help to fill mine. Then I read my questions overagain, very closely, and was in the act of wondering who first decidedthat p's should turn one way in print and q's another, when the doctorsaid, "Half an hour more!"

I was electrified. I madly began answering questions at random. Anything to get my paper filled. But, fast as I wrote, I could not keeppace with Wilton, whose pen flew along the paper; and he, I knew, waswriting what would get him marks while I was writing rubbish. Presentlymy attention was diverted by watching Walker gather up and pin togetherhis papers. I looked at my watch. Five minutes more. At the same timethe doctor took out his. I could not help wondering if it was a Genevaor an English watch, and whether it had belonged to his father beforehim, as mine had. Ah! my father, my poor father and mother!

"Cease work, please, and hand in your papers. "

I declined Wilton's invitation to come and see his moth, and slunk to myroom miserable and disgusted. 

Even now I do not like to recall the interval which elapsed between theexamination and the declaration of the result. To Johnson, Wilton andWalker it was an interval of feverish suspense; to me it was one ofstolid despair. I was ashamed to show my face among my schoolfellows;ashamed to write home; ashamed to look at a book. The nearer the daycame the more wretched I grew; I positively became ill with misery, andbegged to be allowed to go home without waiting for the result. 

I had a long interview with the doctor before I quitted Welford; but nogood advice of his, no exhortations, could alter my despair. 

"My boyhood has been a failure, " I said to him, "and I know my manhoodwill be one too. "

He only looked very sorrowful, and wrung my hand. 

The meeting with my parents was worst of all; but over that I draw aveil. 

For months nothing could rouse me from my unhappiness, and in indulgingit I dawdled more than ever. My prospects of a college life wereblighted, and I had not the energy to face business. But, as was alwaysthe case, I could not for long together stick to anything; and in duetime I emerged from my wretchedness, an idle, dawdling youth, with noobject in life, no talents to recommend me, nothing to do. 

It was deplorable, and my father was nearly heart-broken. Heroically hestrove to rouse me to activity, to interest me in some pursuit. He didfor me what I should have done for myself--sought occupation for me, andspent days and days in his efforts to get me settled in life. At lasthe succeeded in procuring a nomination to a somewhat lucrativegovernment clerkship; and, for the first time since I left Welford, myfather and mother and I were happy together. Despite all my demerits, Iwas now within reach of a position which many a youth of greater abilityand steadier character might well have envied; and I believe I wasreally thankful at my good fortune. 

"I will go with you to-morrow, " said my father, "when you have to appearbefore the head of the department. "

"All right, " said I; "what time is it?"

"Half-past eleven. "

"Well, I must meet you at the place, then, for I promised to see Evansearly in the morning. "

"Better go to him to-day, " said my mother; "it would be a thousandpities to be late to-morrow. "

"Oh, no fear of that, " said I, laughing; "I've too good an eye to my owninterests. "

Next morning I went to see Evans, and left him in good time to meet myfather at the stated hour. But an evil spirit of dawdling seized me asI went. I stopped to gaze into shops, to chat with a passingacquaintance, and to have my boots blacked. Forgetting the passage oftime altogether, I strolled leisurely along, stopping at the slightesttemptation, and prolonging my halts as if reluctant to advance, whensuddenly I heard the deep bell of Westminster clock chime a quarter. "Aquarter past eleven, " thought I; "I must look sharp. " And I did looksharp, and reached the place of appointment out of breath. My fatherwas at the door. His face was clouded, and his hand trembled as he laidit on my shoulder, and said, "Charlie, will _nothing_ save you fromruin?"

"Ruin!" said I, in amazement; "what do you mean? What makes you solate?"

"Late! it's not half-past yet; didn't you tell me half-past eleven wasthe time?"

"I did; and it is now just half-past twelve! The post you were to havehad was filled half an hour ago by one of the other applicants. "

I staggered back in astonishment and horror. Then _it_ flashed on methat I had dawdled away an hour without knowing it, and with it thefinest opening I ever had in my life. 

I must pass over the next two years, and come to the conclusion of mystory. During those two years I entered upon and left no less thanthree employments--each less advantageous than the former. The end ofthat time found me a clerk in a bank in a country town. In thiscapacity my besetting sin was still haunting me. I had several timesbeen called into the manager's room, and reprimanded for unpunctuality, or cautioned for wasting my time. The few friends who on my firstcoming to the town had taken an interest in me had dropped away, disgusted at my unreliable conduct, or because I myself had neglectedtheir acquaintance. My employers had ceased to entrust me with anycommissions requiring promptitude or care; and I was nothing more thanan office drudge--and a very unprofitable drudge too. Such was mycondition when, one morning, a telegram reached me from my mother tosay--"Father is very ill. Come at once. "

I was shocked at this bad news, and determined to start for London bythe next train. 

I obtained leave of absence, and hastened to my lodgings to pack up myfew necessaries for the journey. By the time I arrived there, the shockof the telegram had in some way abated, and I was able to contemplate myjourney more calmly. I consulted a time-table, and found that there wasone train which, by hurrying, I could just catch in a quarter of anhour, and that the next went in the afternoon. 

By the time I had made up my mind which to take, and inquired where alad could be found who would carry down my portmanteau to the station, it was too late to catch the first train, and I therefore had threehours to spare before I could leave. This delay, in my anxiouscondition, worried me, and I was at a loss how to occupy the interval. If I had been wise, I should never have quitted that station till I didso in the train. But, alas! I decided to take a stroll instead. Itwas a sad walk, for my father's image was constantly before my eyes, andI could hardly bear to think of his being ill. I thought of all hisgoodness and forbearance to me, and wondered what would become of us ifhe were not to recover. I wandered on, broken-hearted, and repentingdeeply of all my ingratitude, and the ill return I had made him for hislove to me, and I looked forward eagerly to being able to throw myselfin his arms once more, and beg his forgiveness. 

Thus I mused far into the morning, when it occurred to me to look at mywatch. Was it possible? It wanted not half an hour of the time for thetrain, and I was more than two miles from the place. I started to walkrapidly, and soon came in sight of the town. What fatal madnessimpelled me at that moment to stand and look at a ploughing match thatwas taking place in a field by the roadside? For a minute or two myanxiety, my father, the train, all were forgotten in the excitement ofthat contest. Then I recovered myself and dashed on like the wind. Once more (as I thought but for an instant) I paused to examine a gipsyencampment on the border of the wood, and then, reminded by a distantwhistle, hurried forward. Alas! as I dashed into the station the trainwas slowly turning the corner and I sunk down in an agony of despair andhumiliation. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I reached home at midnight, my mother met me at the door. 

"Well, you are come at last, " she said quietly. 

"Yes, mother; but father, how is he?"

"Come and see him. "

I sprang up the stairs beside her. She opened the door softly, and bademe enter. 

My father lay there dead. 

"He waited for you all day, " said my mother, "and died not an hour ago. His last words were, `Charlie is late. ' Oh, Charlie, why did you notcome sooner?"

Then she knelt with me beside my dead father. And, in that dark lonelychamber, that night, the turning-point of my life was reached. 

Boys, I am an old man now; but, believe me, since that awful moment Ihave never, to my knowledge, dawdled again!

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

A NIGHT ON SCAFELL PIKE. 

Off at last! Hard work to get off, though; as if a fellow of fifteenwasn't old enough to take care of himself. Mother cut up as much as ifI'd asked leave to go to my own funeral--said I was too young, and knewnothing of the world, and all that sort of thing. But I don't see whatknowing the world has to do with a week's tramp in the Lakes; not muchof the world there--anyhow, where I mean to go. 

I've got it all up in the guide-book, and written out my programme, andgiven them my address for every day, and promised to keep a diary, andalways sleep between blankets, for fear the sheets shouldn't be aired--and what more can a fellow do?

Well, then mother said I must promise to keep in the valleys, and notattempt to climb any of the mountains. Oh, ah! lively work that wouldbe. I might just as well stay at home and walk round Russell Squarefifty times a day; and I said so, and repeated off from memory what theguide-book says about the way up Helvellyn. This last fetched themrather, and convinced them I wasn't undertaking what I didn't know allabout. So at last father said, "Let the boy go, it may do him good andteach him self-reliance. "

"But what'll be the good of that, " sobs mother, "if my Bartholomew fallsover a precipice and never comes home?"

"Oh, I'll promise not to fall over a precipice, " said I. 

And at last it was settled, and here I am in the train, half-way toWindermere. 

Just been looking through my knapsack. Frightful nuisance! Had itweighed at Euston, and it weighs 4 pounds 8 ounces. I wanted to keep itunder 4 pounds! Must be the spare shirt the girls insisted on mybringing, as if I couldn't wash the one I've got on in half a dozenwaterfalls a day, and just run myself dry afterwards! Don't see what Ican throw out. Must take the guide-book, and boot-laces, and needle andworsted for my blisters, and a collar for Sunday, and a match-box, andthis diary book and a night-shirt. Bother that extra eight ounces. 

I'm certain it will drag me down. By the way there are the sandwichesand apples! Suppose I eat them now, that'll make it all right. Goodthought that. Here goes!

Getting near Windermere now--be there in an hour. May as well put on myknapsack, so as to be ready. By the way, I hope my money's all right, and I hope father's given me enough. He paid for my return ticket downhere, and he's given me 6 shillings a day for the rest of the time. Says he did the Lakes once on 5 shillings a day when he was a boy. Somehow don't fancy there'll be much change for me out of the 6shillings, if the guide-book says right; but you won't catch me spendingmore! Shan't ride anywhere where I can walk, and don't mean to tip anywaiters all the time! Shall have to shut up now and look at the sceneryat page 52 of the guide-book. 

8 p. M. , Ambleside. --The "Green Unicorn. " Here at last, very fagged. Imean to have a row with the shoemaker when I get home about the hobs onmy boots. Two of them are clean out, and all the rest are beginning toget worn already. Anyhow, I sold the coach people by walking. Theythought I was bound to drive, but I didn't. Wouldn't have minded it, though, once or twice between Windermere and here, for of course I'm notin training yet. 

Hope this inn isn't a dear one. It's the smallest I could find in theplace, and I don't think they're likely to charge for attendance; ifthey do, it'll be a swindle, for I ordered eggs and bacon an hour ago, and they've not come yet. I wonder what they'll charge for the eggs andbacon. Suppose there are two eggs, that'll be 2 pence; and a slice ofbacon, 2 pence; bread, 1 penny; tea, 1 penny; that's 7 pence; oughtn'tto be more than 10 pence at the outside. 

Ah, here it comes. 

Good supper it was, too, and not much left at the end. 

Mean to do Scafell to-morrow. Highest mountain in England, guide-booksays. Two fellows in the inn are going, too; but I don't intend to hangon to them, as they seem to think no end of themselves. They'reCambridge fellows, and talk as if they could do anything. I'd like totake the shine out of them. 

Tuesday, 8 a. M. --Just fancy, the swindlers here charged me 2 shillingsfor that tea, 2 shillings 6 pence for my bed, and 1 shilling forattendance--5 shillings 6 pence! I call it robbery, and told them so, and said they needn't suppose they could take _me_ in. They said it wasthe usual charge, and they didn't make any difference for small boys, asthey found they ate quite as much as grown-up people. The two Cambridgefellows seemed to find something to laugh at in this, and one of themsaid I didn't mind being taken in, but I didn't like being taken in anddone for. I suppose he thought this was a joke. Some idiots can grinat anything. 

I told the hotel people I should certainly not pay for attendance, as Ididn't consider I had had any. The waiter said very well, my bootswould do as well, and they would keep them till I settled the bill, andthey had no time to stand fooling about with a whipper-snapper. Ofcourse I had to shell out, as my boots were worth more than the wholebill--although my bootmaker has taken me in pretty well over thehobnails. I told them I should take good care to tell every one whatsort of people they were, and I wouldn't have any breakfast there to paythem out. 

Fancy this made them look rather blue, but the lesson will be good forthem. Catch me getting done like that again! I'm going to start now, 8a. M. , as I want to get ahead of the Cambridge idiots. Page 54 of theguide-book has all about the scenery at Ambleside. 

12 o'clock, Dungeon Ghyl. --Stopping here for lunch. Awful grind up thevalley in the sun with an empty stomach. Going in for a 9 pence lunchhere. The fellow says the weather is going to break this afternoon, andI'd better mind what I'm up to, going up Scafell Pike. He wants me totake a guide, that's his little dodge. As if I couldn't take care ofmyself! I've got it all up in the guide-book, and guess I could findthe top blindfold. I'll laugh if I get up before the Cambridge fellows. They'll probably funk it, though, or miss the way, and have to get meto give them a leg up. It'll be a good lesson for them. 

Don't think much of the inn here, so I'm glad I shan't be putting uphere for the night. The waiter looks as if he expects to be tipped foreverything. He seemed regularly cut up when I told him I was going onto Wastdale Head from the top, and shouldn't be staying here. Of coursehe tried to get me to come back, and said I could never get over toWastdale this night. All stuff, I know, for it's no distance on themap. "Oh, " he said, "don't you believe in the maps; they're no guide. Take my advice, and don't try to go to Wastdale, my boy. " I was a goodmind to be down on him for being so familiar, but what was the use? Asif he knew better than the guide-books! Ah! here comes my lunch. 

4 p. M. , top of Rosset Ghyl. --Had to pay 1 shilling for that 9 pencelunch after all, as they charged 3 pence for attendance in the bill. Didn't care to have a row, as the Cambridge fellows turned up just thatminute. Beastly the way they always grin when they see me. As if theycouldn't grin at one another. I cleared out as soon as they came, andstarted up here. 

There was a mile or so of pretty level path to the bottom of thisravine, and then it was a tremendous climb up to the top. You have toscramble nearly straight up among the rocks on each side of thewaterfall, and if one of my hobnails went off, I'm certain half a dozendid. I'll tell my father not to pay that cobbler at all. I can't makeout how the sheep manage to go up and down this place as they do. Iknow I'm glad I'm not coming back this way. I thought I was over onceor twice as it was, owing to those wretched boots. 

The Cambridge duffers caught me about half-way up, trying to look as ifthey weren't fagged. I knew better--never saw fellows so blown. Theyappeared to be greatly amused because I happened to slip backwards downa grass slope just as they passed, as if there was anything funny inthat. One of them called out, "It's the other way up, youngster, " andthe other said, "We'll tell them you're on the way at the top. " I was agood mind to shut them up, but I got some earth in my mouth at themoment, and as they didn't wait, it wasn't any use going after them. However, I expect I shall find them regularly done up when I get alittle higher, and then perhaps they'll be sorry they cheeked me. Allabout the view from Rosset Ghyl in page 72 of the guide-book. Awfulsell; it's coming on to rain, and quite misty, too. I'd better go on, or I shan't get the view from the top. 

6 o'clock. --Don't exactly know where I am. Regular Scotch mist comedown over the hills, and I can't see twenty yards. Only sitting downnow because I'm not quite sure whether I'm right or wrong. Been lookingit up in the guide-book, but there's not much to guide you there whenyou can't see your way. The only thing is, it says there are littlecairns marking the way up to the top, every fifty yards or so. It wouldbe rather a tip to find one of them. 

The wind is making a noise, exactly like the sea, against the side ofthe mountain. I saw the side a little while ago, like a great blackcliff, but it's too misty to see it now. Hope it'll clear up soon, or Imay be late getting down to Wastdale. By the way, I wonder if they callthis heap of stones I'm sitting on one of the cairns? Good idea! itmust be. 

Yes, it's all right; I left my traps here and went fifty yards furtheron up the slope, and there's another cairn there--very lucky! I had ajob to find my way back here in the mist, though. However, I'm on theright track now. Wonder what's become of those Cambridge fellows. They're sure not to be up to my tips, and most likely they're wanderingabout lost. Poor duffers!

7 o'clock. --Hope I'm right, but it's getting more misty than ever, and Ican hardly stand up in the wind. It's an awful job, too, feeling one'sway along by these cairns; for you can't see one from the other, and thechances are you may now and then lose sight of both, and then you'relost. I've been lost several times, but luckily I've got into the trackagain. Fancy I must be getting on towards the top, for the rocks aregetting bigger and tumbled about in all directions, and the guide-booksays that's what the top of Scafell Pike is like. Shan't I be glad toget to the top! I'm frightfully cold and wet here, and there's scarcelya hob left on my wretched boots. I wish I had that cobbler here!

All about the view going up to the top of Scafell Pike on page 76 of theguide-book. Sounds rather like a joke when you can scarcely see yourhand in front of you, to read that behind you stretches the beautifulvista of the Langdale Valley, with Wansfell in the distance, and anexquisite glimpse of the waters of Windermere sparkling in the sun; toyour right Helvellyn towers amidst its lesser brethren, while to theleft the gloomy dome of Coniston lends a serious grandeur to the scene. Sounds all very fine, but it's a pity they don't put in the view on aday like this as well. 

I quite miss the dashing of the wind against the cliffs. They're farbehind now, and the wind seems to dash against me instead. Whew! I'dbetter peg on, or the tea will be cold at Wastdale Head! No sign of theCambridge fellows. Wonder where they are. Half wish I was with them--idiots as they are. 

8:30 o'clock. --Top at last! I'm black and blue all over, with tumblingamong those brutal rocks. Don't know however I got up, and now I'm up, don't know how I shall get down. It's just dark now, and I can scarcelysee the paper I'm writing on. Jolly fix I'm in. Can't positively seethe big cairn, though I'm sitting on it, and haven't a notion which wayI came up to it, or which way I have to go down to Wastdale. 

I wish those Cambridge fellows would turn up. They weren't bad fellowsafter all. In fact, I rather liked one of them. Don't know what to do. By the way, may as well eat one of the biscuits I have in my knapsack. Think of sitting up here on the highest spot of England eating abiscuit, and not knowing how to get home! Enough to make any one feeldown in the mouth. Wish I was down in the valley. All about the viewfrom the top on page-- Bah! that's too much of a joke. Wish I could seeanything! Only thing I can see is that I'm stuck here for the night, and shall probably be found frozen to death in the morning. What an assI was to snub those jolly Cambridge fellows! Fancy how snug it would beto be sitting between them now. I suppose they're down at the hotelhaving a good tea before a blazing fire. My word, it makes one blueto--

11 o'clock. --Just had the presence of mind to wind up my watch. Had tosit on my hands a quarter of an hour before I could feel the key in mywaistcoat pocket. Ugh! wish the wind would shut up. Never felt so up atree all my life. Those Cambridge fellows will be curling up in bednow, I expect. Can't write more. 

12 o'clock. --It suddenly occurred to me there was no absolute necessity, if I must stick up here all night, to stick at the tip-top. So Icrawled down gingerly among the rocks on the side away from the wind andlooked, or rather felt, for a sheltered place. Presently I slipped andtoppled down between two great boulders and nearly killed myself. However, when I came to, it struck me I might as well stay here asanywhere else. It's right out of the wind and pretty dry, as the mistdoesn't seem to be able to get down into it. Then the lucky ideaoccurred to me I had two candles in my knapsack and a box of matches, and I might as well light up. So I lit one of the candles, and I'vebeen warming my fingers and toes at it for the last half-hour; also beenreading the guide-book, and find that the Isle of Man is visible fromthis place. Jolly comforting to know it, when I can't even see the tipof my own nose. Got sick of the guide-book after that, and thought itwould warm me to say over my Greek irregular verbs. Been through themonce, but not quite successful 4, 000 feet above the level of the sea. They remind a fellow rather too much of home. Wonder what they'd thinkthere if they saw me up here. Wish I saw them, and could get a blanket!I promised them to sleep between blankets every night. It's awful notbeing able to keep one's promise. 

The one thing that does comfort me is, I shan't have to pay anything forattendance to-night. In fact, I never spent such a cheap nightanywhere. .. Booh! had to stop just now and sit on my hands again. Findit warmer even than the candle. How I wish those two Cambridge fellowswere here! We could be quite jolly in here, and play round games, andthat sort of thing. I've been trying one or two songs to pass the time, but they didn't come off. Made me homesick to sing, "Here in cool grot"and "Blow, gentle gales. " That reminds me, the wind's dropped since Igot in here. Sorry for it. It was some company to have it smashing allround one. Now it's so quiet it makes a fellow quite creepy. They dotalk of mountain-tops being haunted. I know Scafell Pike is, and I'mthe haunter. Wonder if there's any chance of anybody turning up? I'vea good mind to go on to the cairn and howl and wave my candle about fora bit; it might fetch some one. The only thing is, it might frightenthem away. I'll try it, anyhow, and I hope whoever comes will have somegrub in his pocket and a pair of gloves. 

1:30. --No go. Been howling like a hyena for half an hour till I've novoice left, and I'm all over spots of wax with the waving of my candle. Heard nothing but my own voice. Not an echo, or a dog barking, oranything. The mist lifted a bit, but I don't suppose any one could seethe candle down at Wastdale. Ugh! ugh! Perhaps there'll be an articlein a scientific paper about a curious phenomenon on the top of ScafellPike. Wish I knew how to warm phenomenons! I've put on the spare shirtover my coat, and stuffed my feet into my knapsack, and wrapped lastFriday's _Daily News_ round my body and legs. Oh-h-h! why _did_ I makea beast of myself to those two dear Cambridge fellows? Think of themnow, with blankets tucked round their chins, and their noses in thepillow, snoring away; and their coats and bags lying idle about in theroom. I do believe if I had their two suits on over my own I might keepwarm. Hullo, what's that!

Never got such a fright. Thought it was thunder, or an earthquake, orthe cairn coming down on the top of me, or something of that sort. Turned out to be the _Daily News_ crackling under my clothes. Everything's so quiet, it startles one to move a foot. I'll give itup--I'll--there goes my last candle!

3:30. --Actually been asleep--at least, I don't know what's been going onthe last two hours. That _Daily News_ was rather a tip, after all. Imight have been frozen to death without it. Hurrah for the Radicals!Rather crampy all the same about the joints, and must get up and shakemyself, or I shall be no good for the rest of the day. Ugh! What astate my mother would be in if she heard that cough! I'm certain Ihadn't caught it before I went to sleep. 

Just been up to the top and had a look round. Mist is nearly all away, and there are some streaks in the sky that look like the beginning ofmorning. May hold out, after all. Never know what you can do till youtry. I'll just put on my _Daily News_ again and wait here another half-hour, and then try out again. Wish it was daylight. Mustn't go tosleep again if I can help it, as I might catch cold. 

4:30. --Hurrah! Just seen the sun rise! No end of a fine show. Longbit of poetry about it in the guide-book, cribbed from Wordsworth orsomebody. Can't say the page, as I tore out the leaf last night to putinside my boot, to help to keep my toes warm. Never expected to see thesun rise from the highest spot in England. Awful good score for me, though--very few do it, I fancy. Think of those lazy Cambridge fellowscurled up in bed and missing it all; just the way with these fellows, all show off. 

The sun's warm already, and I've left off my _Daily News_ and spareshirt, and I'm just going to take the paper out of my boots; that is, ifI can ever get down to my toes--but I'm so jolly stiff. 

Never mind, I've done it, and--bother that cough, it's made me break thepoint of my pencil. 

5 a. M. --Been sharpening the pencil with my teeth. Rather a poorbreakfast; never mind, I shall have a rousing appetite when I get to thebottom. May tip that waiter possibly, if he brings the grub up sharp. Now I'm starting down. I shall go down to Dungeon Ghyl the way I came, I fancy. If I went down to Wastdale, I might meet those Cambridgefellows again, and I wouldn't care for that. It would mortify them toomuch to know what they've missed. Ta! ta! Scafell Pike, old man, keepyourself warm. I'll leave you my _Daily News_, in case you want it. 

8 a. M. --Been all this time getting half-way down. Can scarcely crawl. Going up hill's nothing, but the bumping you get coming down, whenyou're as stiff as a poker, and coughing like an old horse, is acaution. Had a good mind to ask a shepherd I met half an hour ago togive me a leg down, but didn't like to; so I told him I'd just been tothe top to see the sunrise, and it was a fine morning. All but added, "I suppose you haven't got a crust of bread in your pocket?" but pulledup in time. Pity to spoil my appetite for breakfast at Dungeon Ghyl. Ugh! if I sit here I shall rust up, and not be able to move. _Must_ goon. 

10 a. M. --Top of Rosset Ghyl. Not very swell time to get from the top ofthe Pike here in five hours. All a chance whether I get down at all, now--I'm about finished up. Wish those Cambridge fellows--

Here the diary ends abruptly; but, in case our readers are curious toknow the end of our hero's adventure, they will be interested to learnthat at the identical moment when the writer reached this point in hisdiary, the Cambridge fellows _did_ turn up. They had, indeed, been outsearching the hills from very early morning for the wanderer. As he didnot arrive the night before at Wastdale, they had concluded he had givenup the ascent, and returned to Dungeon Ghyl. But when early thatmorning a guide had come over from Dungeon Ghyl, and reported that theyoung gentleman had certainly not returned there, the two 'Varsity menbecame alarmed, and turned out to search. There was no sign of him onthe Wastdale side of the mountain; and, getting more and more alarmed, they went on to the summit. There they discovered a crushed-up _DailyNews_ and two or three stained pages of a guide-book. Glad of any clue, they followed the track down towards Dungeon Ghyl, and at last came uponthe poor fellow, fairly exhausted with hunger, fatigue, and rheumatism. They gave him what partially revived him, and then with the care andtenderness of two big brothers carried him down the steep side of RossetGhyl, and so on to the hotel. There they kept him under their specialcare, day and night, and never left him till he was well enough toreturn home to his anxious family. 

Since then Bartholomew Bumpus has made several ascents of Scafell Pike, but he has never again, I believe, stayed up there all night to see thesunrise. Nor has he, when he could possibly help it, gone upunaccompanied by at least one Cambridge fellow. 

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

VERY MUCH ABROAD. 

_Being the impressions of foreign travel, communicated chiefly to aparticular friend by Thomas Hooker, minor, of Rugby, during the courseof a Continental tour in France and Switzerland in the company of hisbrother, James Hooker, major, also of Rugby_. 

London, _July_ 31. 

Dear Gus, --Here's a spree! The pater's got an idea into his head thatyoung fellows ought to see something of foreign parts, and store theirminds with the beauties of Nature in her grandest--I forget what--anyhow, we backed him up; and Jim and I are to start abroad on our ownhooks on Friday. How's that for luck? The pater has settled whathotels we go to in Paris and Switzerland, and he's sketched out a routefor us every day we're away. The grind is, he's awfully particular weshould write home every day and keep accounts. Jim will have to dothat, and I'll keep you up. It really is a very good thing for fellowsto travel and expand their minds, you know. We're starting from HolbornViaduct at 9:30 on Friday. I'll write and let you know my impressions, as the pater calls it; and you might let your young sister see them too, if you like. 

Yours truly, T. Hooker. 

Paris, _August_ 3. 

Dear Gus, --We had an awful squeak for the train at Holborn, owing toJim's hatbox falling off the cab and his insisting on going back to pickit up. It seems to me rather humbug taking chimneys at all, but he saysthat's all I know of foreign travel; so I caved in and brought mine too. 

Another thing that nearly lost the train was a row about the luggage. The fellows wanted to do me out of two bob because they said myportmanteau was four pounds overweight! There was nearly a shindy, Ican tell you, only Jim said we'd better walk into the chap on our wayback. Anyhow, I wasn't going to be done, so I unlocked my portmanteauand took out my spare jacket and a pair of bags, and carried them overmy arm, and that made the weight all right. The fellows tried to grin, of course, but I fancy they were rather blue about it. 

Our tickets cost 45 shillings 6 pence each, not counting grub on theway, which about finished up a £5 note for the two of us. 

Jim and I had a stunning time in the train. There was only one otherold chap in the carriage. When the fellow came for the tickets outsideDover, Jim happened to be up on the luggage rack, and the fellow wouldnever have spotted him if the rack hadn't given way. Then he gotcrusty, and we all but got left behind by the steamer. 

Beastly tubs those steamers are! I wonder why they don't make some thatgo steady. And they ought to make the seats facing the side of thevessel, and not with your back to it. You miss such a lot of the view. I sat with my face to the side of the vessel most of the way. I don'texactly know what became of Jim. He said afterwards he'd been asternwatching the English coast disappear. I suppose that accounted for hislooking so jolly blue. We weren't sorry to clear out of that boat, Ican tell you. 

Jim was first up the gangway, and I was third, owing to dropping myspare bags half-way up and having to pick them up. There was an awfullycivil French fellow at the top of the gangway, who touched his hat tome. I couldn't make out what he said, but I fancied he must be askingfor a tip, so I gave him a copper. That seemed to make him awfullywild, and he wanted to know my name. I had to tell him, and he wrote itdown; but as he didn't get my address, I hope there won't be a fussabout it. I didn't see any harm in tipping him, but I suppose it'sagainst French law, and I don't mean to do it any more. 

There was an awfully rum lot of chaps in our carriage between Calais andParis. You'd have thought they had never seen a pair of bags before intheir life; for they stared at mine all the way from Calais to Amiens, where we got out for refreshment. I thought it best to take my bagswith me to the buffet, as they might have humbugged about with them ifI'd left them in the carriage. 

They ought to make English compulsory in French schools. The duffers inthe buffet didn't even know what a dough-nut was! Not even when Jimlooked it up in the dixy and asked for _noix a pate_. The idiot askedus if we meant "rosbif, " or "biftik, " or "palal"--that's all the Englishthey seemed to know, and think English fellows feed off nothing else. However, we did get some grub, and paid for it too. When we got back tothe carriage I took the precaution of sticking my bags on the rack aboveJim's head; so all the fellows stared at him the rest of the way, and Igot a stunning sleep. 

We had an awful doing, as Bunker would call it--by the way, did he pulloff his tennis match against Turner on breaking-up day?--when we got toParis. The row at Holborn was a fool to it. Just fancy, they made Jimand me open both our portmanteaux and hat-boxes before they would let usleave the station! I can tell you, old man, I'm scarcely cool yet afterthat disturbance, and if it hadn't been for Jim I guess they'd havefound out how a "Rug" can kick out! Jim says it's the regular thing, and they collar all the cigars they can find. All I can say is, it'srobbery and cool cheek, and I wish you or some of the fellows wouldwrite to the _Times_ or the _Boy's Own Paper_ and get it stopped. Wehad to turn every blessed thing out on the counter, and pack up againafterwards. It's a marvel to me how the mater stowed all the thingsaway. I couldn't get half of them back, and had to shove the rest intomy rug and tie it up at the corners like a washerwoman's bundle. Jim'stoo easy-going by half. I'm certain, if he'd backed me up, we couldhave hacked over the lot of them; and I shouldn't have lost that sparepair of bags, which I forgot all about in the shindy. I hope there'llbe a war with France soon. We were jolly fagged when we got to the inn, I can tell you. The old woman had got the pater's letter, so sheexpected us. She's rather an ass, and must have been getting up herEnglish for our benefit, for she's called us "nice young Englesegentilman" about a hundred times already. 

I don't think Jim's got over the blues he had watching the English coastyesterday. He's asleep still, so I'm writing this while I'm waiting forhim to come to breakfast. I shall not wait much longer, I can tell you. Ta-ta! Remember me to any of the old crowd you see; also to your youngsister. 

Yours truly, Thomas Hooker. 

P. S. --By the way, see what your French dixy says for doughnut, and letme know by return. We're going on to Switzerland in a day or two. 

Paris, _August_ 6. 

Dear Gus, --The dictionary word of yours won't wash here. We've tried itall round Paris, and you might as well talk Greek to them. I don'tbelieve there's any word in the language for dough-nut. Jim's not badat French, either. We should be regularly floored if it wasn't for him. And I expect they guess by his accent he comes from Rugby, for fellowsall touch their hats to him. 

You know the pater gave us a list of places to go and see in Paris--theLouvre and the Luxembourg, and all that. Well, he never stuck downwhere they were, and we've had to worry it out for ourselves. Jimstopped a fellow this morning and asked him, "Ou est la chemin pourLuxembourg?" The fellow took off his hat and was awfully civil, andsaid, "Par ici, messieurs, " and took us a walk of about three miles, andlanded us at a railway station. He thought we wanted to go toLuxembourg in Germany, or wherever it is--fare about three cool sovs. The fellow hung about us most of the rest of the day, expecting a tip. Likely idea that, after the game he'd had with us! We couldn't shakehim off till we bolted into one of the swimming baths on the river. That smoked him out. Most of these chaps draw the line at a tub. Wouldyou believe it? at our inn, they never seem to have heard of soap intheir lives, and we got quite tired of saying "savon" before we foundsome in a shop. Jim thinks they use it all up for soup. What we get atthe inn tastes like it. 

Jim is rather a cute beggar. We went to a cafe yesterday to get somegrub, and he wanted a glass of milk. We had both clean forgotten theFrench for milk, and we'd left the dixy at the inn. We tried to makethe fellow understand, but he was an ass. We pointed to a picture of acow hanging on the wall and smacked our lips; and he grinned and rubbedhis hands, and said, "Ah, oui. Rosbif! jolly rosbif!" Did you everhear of such a born idiot? At last Jim had an idea and said, "Apportez-nous du cafe-au-lait sans le cafe. " That fetched it. The fellowtwigged at once. Not bad of Jim, was it?

Jolly slow place Paris. The swimming baths are the only place worthgoing to. Jim went in off the eight-foot springboard. You should haveseen the natives sit up at the neat dive he made. 

I hope the pater's not going to ask too much about the Louvre, becausewe scamped it. The fact is, there was a little unpleasantness with oneof the fellows, owing to Jim's cane happening to scratch one of thepictures by a chap named Rubens. It was quite an accident, as we wereonly trying to spike a wasp on the frame, and Jim missed his shot. Thefellow there made a mule of himself, and lost his temper. So we didn'tsee the fun of staying, and cut. 

Montreux, Lake of Geneva, _August_ 10. 

Couldn't finish this before we left Paris. We meant to start for hereon Friday, but settled to come on on Thursday night after all. Youneedn't go telling them at home, but between you and me it was a bit ofa bolt. 

The fact was, we went to a church called Notre Dame in the morning--notnearly such a snug place as Rugby Chapel, and they charge a penny apiecefor the chairs. So we cut the inside and thought we'd go up to the top. It wasn't a bad lark, and you get a stunning view. The swimming bathslooked about the size of a sheet of school paper. There was a door openinto the belfry, and as nobody was about, we never thought it would beany harm to have a ring up. We couldn't get the big bell to go, butmost of the others did, and it was enough to deafen you. 

I suppose they must have heard the row below, for when we looked down wesaw a regular crowd of fellows in the square underneath looking up ourway. After that we thought we might as well shut up, and were justgoing to cut down, when a fellow belonging to the place, who had beensomewhere on the top, came rushing round the parapet, flourishing astick and yelling like a trooper in awfully bad French. We had a goodstart of him, especially as we shut the door at the top of the stairsbehind us. Besides he was fat; so we easily pulled it off. 

There was an old woman at the bottom who kept the ticket place. Shetwigged _it_ was a bolt, and tried to stop us; but she couldn't _get_out of her box. So we strolled out easily and cabbed it back to theinn. It was an awful game to see the crowd still staring up at thetower as we drove off. The fat fellow got down just as we were turningthe corner. I don't think he guessed we were cabbing it. Anyhow, wedidn't see any one chasing the cab. Jim said we were rather well out ofit; and we settled we might as well drive on to the swimming baths andstay there for an hour or so till things had quieted down, and then goon to Switzerland by the evening train, especially, Jim said, as thepater might not like to get his name mixed up in a French row. 

Beastly uncomfortable carriages on the Swiss railway from Paris. Therewas the same humbug about the luggage at a little station in the middleof the night, but we were too fagged to cut up rough. We were jollyglad to get here at last, I can tell you. 

I must shut up now, as I've got to write to pater. It's a regular go. We forgot he'd be sending the money to Paris, and now we've only gotabout half-a-sov. Between us! Remember me to your young sister. 

Yours truly, T. Hooker. 

Montreux, _August_ 10. 

Dear Father, --We didn't see the Luxembourg, as a fellow directed us tothe wrong place. We had several bathes in the Seine. Jim got on verywell with his French, and I think we are both improved. We should beglad of some more money, as we are nearly out. I bought a present foryou in Paris, which I think you will like when you see it. If you couldsend the money here by return it would do. I suppose what you sent toParis missed us, as we came here a day sooner than we expected. 

We went up Notre Dame the last day we were in Paris. There is a fineview from the top. It is surprising how few of the French you meet inthe swimming baths. We had the place to ourselves one day. It's eightfeet at the deep end. Jim and I both think foreign travel is good for afellow, and we shall hope to have a reply to this by return. 

Your loving son, Tom. 

Montreux, _August_ 11. 

Dear Gus, --We're regularly stuck up, as the money hasn't come yet. Ihope it will come soon, or the old girl at the inn here will think we'recadgers. We had a stunning row on the lake yesterday; the boats areonly a bob an hour, so we thought we might go in for it. We raced asteamer for about half a mile, and weren't done then, only Jim's oarcame off the pin (they haven't such things as row-locks here), and thatupset us. 

Of course it didn't matter, as we could swim; but the fellows in thesteamer kicked up an awful shine about it, and came and hauled us up, boat and all. It was rather awkward, as we had nothing to tip themwith. We got out at a dismal sort of place called Chillon. We told thecaptain if he was ever in London the pater would be glad to see him. 

We had a grind getting back here with the boat, as it came on dark andmisty, and we couldn't see where Montreux had got to. Jim got ratherchawed up too by the cold, so I sculled. The wind was against us, andit was rather a hard pull, especially when you couldn't see the land atall. I managed to keep pretty warm with rowing, but old Jim's teethchattered like a steam-engine. It came on a regular squall, and Ididn't see the fun of sculling after about a couple of hours. So Jimand I huddled up to keep warm, and let her drift. We were jolly glad tosee a light after a bit, and yelled to let them know where we were. They didn't hear, though, so we just stuck on and chanced it. The oldtub drifted ashore all right, side on, though she upset just as we gotto land. It was lucky the water was shallow, as we were too cold toswim. As it was, old Jim nearly came to grief. It was no end of a jobhauling in the boat. She was rather knocked about. We had drifted backto Chillon, exactly where we started from. 

The keeper of the castle put us up for the night and was no end of abrick. There was rather a row with the boat fellow when we got back toMontreux. He got crusty about the boat being damaged, and wanted abouttwo sovs! As it happened, we hadn't got anything, as we gave the fellowat the castle five francs, and that cleared us out. We told the boatfellow to call at the inn to-morrow, and I hope to goodness the moneywill have turned up, as it's a bit awkward. Jim has a cold. 

Yours truly T. Hooker. 

Please remember me to your young sister. 

Montreux, _August_ 13. 

Dear Father, --Thanks awfully for the money; it was jolly to get it, andmother's letter. It is very hilly about here. Jim's cold is gettingbetter. Would you mind telegraphing to us who is the winner of theAustralian cricket match to-morrow, and how many Grace scored? Inhaste, Your loving son, Tom. 

Riffel Hotel, _August_ 18. 

Dear Gus, --We're awfully high up here--awful rum little inn it is. Itwas chock full, and Jim and I have to sleep under the table. There areabout a dozen other fellows who have to camp out too, so it's a rarespree. 

We're going to have a shot at the Matterhorn to-morrow if it's fine. Itlooks easy enough, and Jim and I were making out the path with atelescope this afternoon. It's rather a crow to do the Matterhorn. Some muffs take guides up, but they cost four or five pounds, so we'regoing without. 

That boat fellow at Montreux got to be a regular nuisance. In fact, that's why we came on here a day earlier. He came up twice a day to theinn, and we couldn't shake him off. We gave him a sov. , which was twicewhat he had a right to. He swore he'd have two pounds or bring up apoliceman with him next time. So we thought the best way was to clearout by the early train next morning, and I guess he was jolly blue whenhe found us gone. I send with this a faint sketch of some of thenatives! What do you say to their rig?

It was a pretty good grind up to Zermatt, and we walked it up thevalley. There wasn't much to see on the way, and it's a frightfullystony road. There were some fellows playing lawn-tennis at the hotel atZermatt. One of them wasn't half bad. His serves twisted to the legand were awfully hard to get up. Jim and I wouldn't have minded a game, only the fellows seemed to think no one wanted to play but themselves. We may get a game to-morrow on our way to the Matterhorn. It was atremendous fag getting up here from Zermatt. I don't know why fellowsall come on, as there's no tennis court or anything up here. 

There's an ice-field up here called a glacier, but it's an awful fraudif you want skating--rough as one of Bullford's fields at Rugby. Afellow told me it bears all the year round, but it's got a lot of holes, so we don't think we'll try it. I expect we shall be home next week, asthe pater thinks we've run through our money rather too fast. Rememberme to your people and your young sister. 

Yours truly, T. Hooker. 

Zermatt, _August_ 20. 

Dear Gus, --We didn't do the Matterhorn after all, as Jim screwed hisfoot. He's awfully unlucky, and if it hadn't been for the accident wemight have got to the top; and of course it stops tennis too. We didget one game before we started up. Jim gave me fifteen in two gameseach set. I pulled off the first, but he whacked me the other two. It's a beastly rough court, though, and the mountain was awfully in thelight. 

We hadn't much difficulty finding the way to the Matterhorn, as therewas a sign-post at the end of the village. We thought we might as welltake the easy side, as the front of the hill is pretty stiff. Of coursewe had to take a good long round, which was a nuisance, as we meant tobe back for _table d'hote_ at seven. When we got properly on to theside we put it on, but it was a good long grind, I can tell you. Weweren't sorry to get up to a snow slope and cool ourselves. 

They ought to sweep a path across the snow, or fellows are very likelyto lose their way. We lost ours, but we had a good lark on the snowsnowballing. It got deep in one part, so we had to clamber up the rocksat the side to get to the top of the slope. It's rather deceptive, distance, on the snow, for it took us an hour to do what seemed only afew yards. We got on to a flat bit after awhile, and had another turnon the snow. 

It was rather a game rolling things down the slope. They went at anawful pace. The nuisance is the snow has a way of slipping from underyou, and that's how Jim and I came to grief. We were sitting on theedge of the slope watching a boulder slide, when we began to slideourselves. We hadn't our spikes on, or we might have pulled up. As itwas, we got up no end of a speed down that slope. It was no joke. Iyelled to Jim to lie flat, and not sit up, or he might pitch on hishead. I don't remember how we got on after that; I must have bumped myhead, for when I pulled myself together I found I was sitting in themiddle of a grass field with a jolly headache, and pretty well black andblue. 

I was able to get up though, and looked about for old Jim. I can tellyou it was no joke. I couldn't see him anywhere, and thought he musthave been buried in the snow. I can tell you, old man, it was rough onme for a quarter of an hour or so. But I found him at last, about aquarter of a mile down the field. He rolled, he said; he couldn't getup, as his foot was screwed. So it was a pretty go, as I couldn't carryhim. If I hadn't been quite so knocked about I might have tried; butJim's a good nine stone, so I might have dropped him. Luckily, somefellows came--they'd come to look for us, in fact, as we'd told thewaiter we were going up the Matterhorn, and might not be back in timefor dinner; and when we didn't turn up, they guessed, I suppose, wemight have come to grief. It was a good job they came, as Jim's footwas rather bad. All the hotel turned out to see us get back. I had tobe carried too, the last bit of the way, as I got fagged. It's a sellwe couldn't get to the top, as it's rather a crow to do the Matterhorn. 

Jim's foot is better to-day, but he'll have to shut off tennis the restof this season. I wish mother was here. She could look after Jimbetter than I can. In fact, the doctor here, rather a jolly fellow, says she and the pater had better come at once. I got him to write tothe pater himself, as I was afraid it might make them think somethingwas wrong if I did. 

Please to remember me to your young sister. 

T. Hooker. 

Zermatt, _August_ 22. 

Dear Gus, --There's a telegram from the pater to say they'll be here to-morrow night. I'm rather glad, as Jim is feverish. The pater will havea good deal of tipping to do, as everybody here's no end civil. Can'twrite more, as I'm fagged. Remember me to your young sister. 

T. H. 

P. S. --I fancy we shall spend next summer in England--Jim and I. Wedon't either of us think much of Switzerland. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

BILK'S FORTUNE--A GHOST STORY. 

CHAPTER I. SUPERSTITION. 

We had a fellow at Holmhurst School who rejoiced in the name ofAlexander Magnus Bilk. But, as sometimes happens, our Alexander theGreat did not in all respects resemble the hero to whom he was indebtedfor his name. Alexander the Great, so the school-books say, was smallin stature and mighty in mind. Bilk was small in mind and lanky instature. They called him "Lamp-post" as a pet name, and as regarded hisheight, his girth, and the lightness of his head, the term conveyed avery fair idea of our hero's chief characteristics. In short, Bilk hadvery few brains, and such as he had he occupied by no means to the bestadvantage. He read trashy novels, and believed every word of them, and, like poor Don Quixote of old, he let any one who liked make a fool ofhim, if he only took the trouble to get at his weak side. 

I need hardly say the fellows at Holmhurst were not long in discoveringthat weak side and getting plenty of fun out of Alexander Magnus. Hecould be gammoned to almost any extent, so much so that after a term ortwo his persecutors had run through all the tricks they knew, and theunhappy youth was let alone for sheer want of an idea. 

But one winter, when things seemed at their worst, and it reallyappeared likely that Bilk would have to be given up as a bad job, histormentors suddenly conceived an idea, and proceeded to put it intopractice in the manner I am about to relate in this most veracioushistory. 

The neighbourhood of Holmhurst had for some weeks past been honoured bythe presence of a gang of gipsies, who during the period of theirsojourn had rendered themselves conspicuous by their diligence in theirtriple business of chair-mending, fowl-house robbing, and fortune-telling. In the last of these three departments they perhaps succeededbest in winning the confidence of their temporary neighbours, and theprivate seances they held with housemaids, tradesmen's boys, andschoolgirls had been particularly gratifying both as to attendance andpecuniary result. 

It had at length been deemed to be for the general welfare that theseinteresting itinerants should seek a change of air in "fresh fields andpastures new, " and the police had accordingly hinted as much to theauthorities of the camp, and given them two hours to pack up. 

More than ever convinced that gratitude is hopeless to seek in humannature, the gipsies had shaken the dust of Holmhurst from the soles oftheir not very tidy feet, and had moved off, no one knew whither. 

These proceedings had, among other persons, interested Alexander MagnusBilk not a little, and no one mourned the rapid departure of the gipsiesmore than he. For Bilk had for some days past secretly hugged the ideaof presenting himself to the oracle of these wise ones and having hisfortune told. He had in fact gone so far as to make a secretobservation of their quarters one afternoon, and had resolved to devotethe next half-holiday to the particular pursuit of knowledge theyoffered, when, lo! cruel fate snatched the cup from his lips and sweptthe promised fruit from his reach. In other words, the gipsies hadgone, and, like his great namesake, Alexander, Magnus mourned. 

Among those who noticed his dejection and guessed the cause of it weretwo of his particular persecutors. Morgan and Dell had for some monthsbeen suffering affliction for lack of any notion how to get a rise outof their victim. But they now suddenly cheered up, as they felt theforce of a mighty idea moving them once more to action. 

"Old chap, " said Morgan, "I've got it at last!"

"What have you got?" asked "the old chap"; "your back tooth, or measles, or what?"

"I've got a dodge for scoring off the Lamp-post. "

"Have you, though? You are a clever chap, I say! What is it?"

What it was, Morgan disclosed in such a very low whisper to his allythat the reader will have to guess. Suffice it to say, the two dearlads put their heads together for some time, and were extremely busy inthe privacy of their own study all that evening. 

Bilk, little dreaming of the compassion and interest he was evoking inthe hearts of his schoolfellows, retired early to his sorrowful couch, and mourned his departed gipsies till slumber gently stepped in andsoothed his troubled mind. But returning day laid bare the old wound, and Alexander girded himself listlessly to the duties of the hour, witha heart far away. 

He was wandering across the playground after dinner, disinclined alikefor work and play, when Dell accosted him. Bilk might have known Dellby this time, but his memory was short and his mind preoccupied, and hesmelt no rat, as the Irish would say, in his companion's salutation. 

"Hullo! where are you off to, Lamp-post? How jolly blue you look!"

"I'm only taking a walk. "

"Well, you don't seem to be enjoying it, by the looks of you. I've justbeen taking a trot over the common. "

"I suppose the gipsies have all gone?" inquired Bilk, as unconcernedlyas he could. 

"Yes, I suppose so, " answered Dell, offhand. "Anyhow, they've clearedoff the common. "

"But I was told, " said Bilk rather nervously, "they'd gone quite away. "

"Not all of them, anyhow, " said Dell. "But of course they can't nowshow up the way they used to. "

"Where are they, then?" asked Magnus, with a new hope breaking in uponhim. 

"How can I tell? All I know is there are some hanging about still, andI shouldn't wonder if they weren't far from here. "

"Really, I say! I wonder where?"

"I'd as good as bet you'd come across one or two of them after dark inDeadman's Lane, or up at the cross roads, any evening for a week yet. They don't clear out as fast as fellows think. But I must be off now, as I've a lot of work to do. Ta, ta!"

Alexander stood where the other left him, in deep meditation. Those fewcasual observations of his schoolfellow had kindled anew the fire thatburned within him. Little could Dell guess how interesting his newswas! After dark! The afternoon was getting on already. The schoolclock had struck half-past four nearly a quarter of an hour ago, and byfive it would be quite dark. Tea was at a quarter-past five, and forhalf an hour after tea boys could do as they liked. Yes, it would befoolish to throw away such a chance. At any rate, he would take the airafter tea in Deadman's Lane, and if there he should meet--oh! how hewondered what his fortune would be! Tea was a feverish meal for Bilkthat evening. He spoke to no one, and ate very little; and as the handof the clock worked round to a quarter to six he began to feeldistinctly that a crisis in his life was approaching. He was gladneither Dell nor Morgan, whose studies probably kept them in theirstudy, were at tea. They were such fellows for worrying him, and justnow he wanted to be in peace. 

The meal was over at last, and the boys rushed off to enjoy their shortliberty before the hour of preparation. Bilk, who had taken theprecaution to put both a sixpence and a cricket-cap in his pocket, silently and unobserved slid out into the deserted playground, and inanother minute stood beyond the precincts of Holmhurst. 

Deadman's Lane was scarcely three minutes distant, and thither, withnervous steps, he wended his way, fumbling the sixpence in his pocket, and straining his eyes in the darkness for any sign of the gipsies. Alas! it seemed to be a vain quest. The lane was deserted, and thecross roads he knew were too far distant to get there and back in halfan hour. He was just thinking of giving it up and turning back, when asound behind one of the hedges close to him startled him and sent hisheart to his mouth. He stood still to listen, and heard a gruff voicesay--or rather intone--the following mysterious couplet:

 Ramsdam pammydiddle larrybonnywigtail Wigtaillarrybonny keimo. 

This could be no other than an incantation, and Bilk stood rooted to thespot, unable to advance or retreat. He heard a rustling in the hedge, and the incantation suddenly ceased. Then a figure like that of an oldman bent with age and clad in a ragged coat which nearly touched theground advanced slowly, saying in croaking accent as he did so--

"Ah, young gentleman, we've waited for ye. We couldn't go till we'dseen ye; for we've something to tell ye. Come quietly this way, and saynot a word, or the spell's broken--come, young gentleman; come, younggentleman;" and the old man went on crooning the words to himself as heled the way with tottering steps round the hedge, and discovered a sortof tent in which sat, with her face half shrouded in a shawl, an oldwoman who wagged her head incessantly and chattered to herself in alanguage of her own. She took no notice of Bilk as he drew neartremblingly, and it was not until the old man had nudged her vehemently, and both had indulged in a long fit of coughing, that she at lastgrowled, without even lifting her head--

"I see nothing unless for silver. "

It said a great deal for Bilk's quickness of apprehension that he atonce guessed this vague observation to refer to the sixpence he had notyet offered. He drew it out and handed it to the old woman, and wasabout to offer an apology at the same time, when the man put his hand tohis mouth and snarled--

"Not a word. "

The old woman took the coin in her trembling hand, and bent her headover it in silence. Bilk began to get uneasy. The time was passing, and he would have to start back in a very few moments. Could it bepossible these gipsies, now they had his sixpence, were going to refuseto tell him the fortune for which he had longed and risked so much?

No! After a long pause the old woman lifted up her hand and saidsomething in gibberish to her partner. It was a long time coming, forthey both coughed and groaned violently during the recital. At length, however, the old man turned to Bilk and said gruffly--

"Kneel. "

The boy obeyed, and the old man proceeded. 

"She says a great danger threatens you this night. If you escape it, you will live to be a baronet or member of parliament, and perhaps youwill marry a duke's daughter; but she can't be certain of that. If youdon't escape it, you will be in a lunatic asylum next week, and nevercome out. Not a word, " added he, as Bilk once more showed signs ofbreaking silence. "Wait till she speaks again. "

Another long pause, and then another long recital in gibberish by theold woman, broken by the same coughing and groaning as before. Then theman said--

"Stand up, and hold your hands above your head. "

Bilk obeyed. 

"You want to know how to escape the peril?" said the man. 

Bilk, with his hands still up, nodded. 

"To-night at nine o'clock you will hear a bell. "

Again Bilk nodded. Fancy the gipsies knowing that!

"You will go up to a small room with a chair and a bed in it, andundress. "

A pause, and another nod from the astonished Bilk. 

"You will put on a long white robe coming down to your ankles. At half-past nine the place will be dark--as black as pitch. "

Bilk shuddered a little at the prospect. 

"Then will be the time to escape your peril, or else to fall a victim. To escape it you must go quietly down the stairs and out of the house. The being who rules your life will be away for this one evening, and youwill escape through his room by the window, which is close to theground. "

Bilk started once more. _He_ knew the doctor was to be out thatevening, but what short of supernatural vision could tell the gipsies ofit?

"You must escape in the long white robe, and run past here on to thecross roads. No one will see you. At the cross roads there is a postwith four arms. You must climb it and sit on the arm pointing this wayuntil the clock strikes twelve. The peril will then be past, and yourfortune will be made. Not a word. Go, and beware, Alexander MagnusBilk!"

The legs of the scared Alexander could scarcely uphold him as he obeyedthis last order, and sped trembling towards the school. The gipsies satmotionless as his footsteps echoed down the lane and died slowly awayinto silence. 

Then they rose to go also; but as they did so other footsteps suddenlysounded, approaching them. With an alacrity astonishing in persons oftheir advanced age they darted back to their place of retreat; but toolate. The footsteps came on quickly, and followed them to their veryhiding-place, and next moment the light of two bullseyes turned fullupon them, and the aged couple were in the hands of the police. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FOURCHAPTER TWO. 

De Prudhom did not often allow himself the luxury of an evening outduring term time. But on this particular evening he was pledged tofulfil a long-standing engagement with an old crony and fellow-bachelor, residing about two miles from the school. By some mysterious means theworthy dominie's intentions had oozed out, and Bilk was by no means theonly boy who had heard of it. Mice seem to find out by instinct whenthe cat is away, and fix their own diversions accordingly. 

I merely mention this to explain that as far as Alexander Magnus wasconcerned no night could have been more favourable for carrying out theintricate series of instructions laid down by the gipsy for the makingof his fortune. With this reflection he consoled himself somewhat as heran back to the school. 

The doctor had already started for his evening's dissipation, if diningwith Professor Hammerhead could be thus described. This eccentric oldgentleman combined in one the avocations of a bachelor, a man ofscience, and a justice of the peace. He rarely took his walks abroad, preferring the solitude of his library, and the occasional company ofsome old comrade with whom to talk over old times, and unburden his mindof the scientific problems which encumbered it. On the present occasionhe had lit upon a congenial spirit in worthy Dr Prudhom, and the twospent a very snug evening together over the dessert, raking up memoriesof the good old days when they lived on the same staircase at Brasenose;and plunging deep into abstruse questions of natural and physicalscience which even the sherry could not prevent from being dry. 

The professor's present craze was what is commonly termed ethnology. Anything connected with the history and vicissitudes of the primitiveraces of mankind excited his enthusiasm, and he was never tired ofinquiring into the languages, the manners, the customs, the dress, theceremonies, and the movements generally of various branches of the humanfamily, of whom the most obscure were sure to be in his eyes the mostinteresting. 

It was only natural, therefore, that when Dr Prudhom made some casualreference to the recent incursion of gipsies, his host should seize theoccasion to expatiate on the history of that extraordinary race; tracingthem from the Egyptians downwards, and waxing eloquent on their tribalinstincts, which no civilisation or even persecution could eradicate ordomesticate. 

"Fact is, " said he, with a chuckle, "they had me to thank that they wereallowed here so long. Police came to me end of first week and said theywere a nuisance. I told the police when I wanted their opinion I'd askit. End of second week police came again and said all the farmyardsround had been robbed. I said I must inquire into it. He! he! All thetime I was making glorious observations, my boy; a note-book full, Ideclare. End of third week inspector of police came and said he shouldhave to apply at head-quarters for instructions if I wouldn't give them. Not a place was secure as long as the vagabonds stayed. Had to cave inthen, and issue a warrant or so and get rid of them. Sorry for it. Much to learn ye: about them, and the few specimens brought before meweren't good ones. Young gipsies, you know, Prudhom, aren't up to themark. You only get the true aboriginal ring about the old people. Yes, I'm afraid they're breaking up, you know. Sorry for it. "

Dr Prudhom concurred, and mentioned as a somewhat significant factthat very few old gipsies had accompanied the late visitation, whichconsisted almost altogether of the young and possibly degenerate membersof the tribe. 

The discussion had reached this stage, and the professor was about toadduce evidence from history of a similar period of depression in therace, when there came a ring at the front bell, followed by a shufflingof feet in the hall, which was presently explained by the appearance ofthe servant, who announced that there were two constables below whowished to see his worship. 

Now his worship was anything but pleased to be interrupted in the midstof his interesting discussion by a matter of such secondary importanceas an interview with the police. 

"Can't see them now, " said he to the servant; "tell them to call in themorning. " The servant retired. 

"Strange thing, " observed the justice of the peace; "you can shut upyour school at five o'clock every night, and every cheesemonger andtinker in the place can do the same; but we've got no time we can callour own. Pull your chair up to the fire, old fellow. Let's see, whatwere we saying?" The servant appeared again at this point, andsaid--"Please, sir, they've got a couple of the gipsies, and want--"

"Eh, what!" exclaimed the professor, jumping up. "Why didn't you say sobefore? Gipsies! Why, Prudhom, my boy, could anything be moreopportune? Show them into the library, and set a chair for the doctor. Do you hear? How fortunate this is! Now while I'm examining them, watch closely, and see if you do not observe the peculiar curve of thenostril I was speaking to you about as characterising the septentrionalspecies of the tribe. Come away, doctor!"

And off trotted the man of science to his library, closely followed bythe scarcely less eager dominie. 

At the far end of the dimly-lighted room stood the constables, on eitherside of an aged couple of vagabonds. The old man was arrayed in a longcoat which nearly reached the ground, leaving only a glimpse of astained and weather-beaten pair of pantaloons and striped parti-colouredstockings beneath. The old woman wore a shawl, gipsy fashion, over herhead, and reaching to her feet, which were shod in unusually large andheavy hob-nailed boots. The faces and hands of both were black withdirt, and bronzed with heat, and as they stood there trembling in thegrasp of the law, with chattering teeth and tottering knees, they lookeda veritable picture of outcast humanity. 

"Prudhom, my boy, " whispered the magistrate to his guest, with a mostunjudicial nudge, to emphasise his remarks, "they're old ones. Was eversuch luck! Knowing ones, too, I guess: they'll try to trick us withtheir gammon, you see. He! he! Now, constable, what have you gothere?"

For the first time the elderly couple lifted their heads and lookedtowards the Bench. As they did so they uttered an incoherentejaculation, and attempted to spring forward. But the active andintelligent servants of the law checked them by a vigorous grip of theirarms, and crying "Silence!" in their most majestic and menacing tones, reduced them at last to order. 

"See that?" whispered the professor to the doctor; "most characteristic. Simulation is of the very essence of their race. Oh, this isbeautiful! Did you catch what they said just then? It was anexpression in the Maeso-Shemitic dialect, still to be found in the southof Spain and on the old Moorish coast of Africa. I know it well. Well, constable?"

"If you please, your honour, I was passing near the school about half-past five this afternoon along with my brother officer when I observethe defendants crawling along beside the wall. I keeps my eye on them, and observe them going in the direction of Deadman's Lane. I followsunobserved, and observes them crawl behind a hedge. I waits to observewhat follows, and presently I observe a young gentleman walking down thelane. As I expects, the male defendant comes out and offers to tell himhis fortune, and I observes the young gentleman give the parties money. I waits till he leaves, and then with my brother officer we arrest theparties. That's all, your worship. Stand still, you wagabone you; doyou hear?"

This last observation was addressed, not to his worship, but to thefemale prisoner, who once more made an effort to step forward and speak. The grip of the constable kept her where she was, but, heedless of thisthreatening gesture, she cried out, in a shrill, trembling voice--

"Please, sir--please, doctor, we're two of your boys. "

The doctor, who had been intently looking out for the curved nostrilalluded to by his host, started as if he had been shot. 

"Eh, what?" he gasped; "what was that I heard?"

"Why, " said the professor, in ecstasy, "it's just as I told you. Dissimulation is second nature to the tribe. No he is too big for them. The old lady says she and the other rogue are your children. Doctor, there's a notion for you!--an old bachelor like you, too! He! he!"

"We are indeed!" cried the old man, echoing the shrill tones of hishelpmeet. "I'm Morgan, Dr Prudhom, and he's Dell. Indeed, we'respeaking the truth. We only did it--"

"There, you see, " once more observed the delighted professor; "it's thevery thing I knew would happen. They know you are a schoolmaster, andthey want you to believe-- Oh, this is really most interesting. "

The doctor seemed to find it interesting. He changed colour severaltimes, and looked hard at the two reprobates before him. But theirweather-and-dust-beaten countenances conveyed no information to hismind. Their voices certainly did startle him with something like afamiliar sound; but might not this be part of the deep dissimulationdwelt upon with so much emphasis by his learned friend?

"I wouldn't have missed this for twenty pounds, " said the magistrate, beaming on his guest; "my theories are confirmed to the letter. "

"We only did it for a lark, sir, and we're awfully sorry, " cried the oldman. "We really are, aren't we, Dell?"

"Yes, sir, " cried the old lady; "please let us off this time. "

"Upon my word, " said the doctor, getting up and advancing towards theprisoners. "I don't know--"

"Don't be a fool, Prudhom; I know them of old. Sit down, man. Constable, I shall commit the prisoners. Where are my papers?"

"Oh, doctor, please save us!" cried the old lady again. "We arespeaking the truth. Let us wash our faces and take off our cloaks, andyou'll see we are. Oh, we'll never do it again!"

And before the doctor could reply, or the scandalised constables couldprevent it, the two gipsies cast off their outer garments, and presentedthemselves to the bewildered spectators in the mud-stained jerseys andknickerbockers of the Holmhurst football club! I draw a veil over theexplanations, the lectures, and the appeals which followed, as also Iforbear to dwell upon the consternation of the man of science, and thecruel disorganisation of all his cherished theories. It is only fair tosay that the professor bore no malice, when once he discovered how thematter stood, and used his magisterial influence with the doctor toprocure at any rate a mitigated punishment for the culprits. 

The delinquents were ordered off to the lavatory, and left there with acan of hot water and a cube of soap, to remove the wrinkles and sunburnfrom their crestfallen countenances. Which done, they humbly presentedthemselves in the library, where the doctor, looking very stern, stoodalready accoutred for the journey home. The leave-taking between thetwo old gentlemen was subdued and solemn, and then in grim silence DrPrudhom stalked forth into the night, followed at a respectful distanceby his trembling disciples. 

Till that moment the thought of Bilk had never once crossed the minds ofthe agitated amateur gipsies, but it flashed across them now as thedoctor strode straight for the cross roads. What if the miserableAlexander Magnus should have swallowed the absurd bait laid for him, andbe in the act of making his fortune on the very spot they were to pass!

They held a hurried consultation in whisper on this terriblepossibility. "We shall be expelled if it comes out!" groaned Dell. "Yes; we may as well tell him at once, " said Morgan. "He may not bethere, you know; perhaps we'd better wait and see, in case. "

So they went on in the doctor's wake, nearer and nearer to the fatalcross roads at every step. 

Suddenly, as they came within a hundred yards of the signpost, thedoctor stood still and uttered an exclamation, the meaning of which theywere able to guess only too readily. Straining their eyes in thedirection indicated, they could discern a white shadowy form hovering inthe road before them. "What's that?" exclaimed the doctor in a whisper. Dell was conscious of a secret nudge as Morgan gasped--"Oh, it lookslike a ghost! Oh, doctor!" and the two boys clung wildly to thedoctor's arm, trembling and gasping with well-feigned terror. 

Dr Prudhom trembled too, but his agitation was unfeigned. The threestood still breathless, and watched the dim figure as it hovered acrosstheir path, and then vanished into the darkness. 

"What can it be?" said the doctor, bracing himself up with an effort, and preparing to walk on. 

"Oh, please, sir, " cried the boys, "don't go on! do let us turn back!Oh dear! oh dear!"

"Foolish boys!" said the doctor; "haven't you sense enough to know thatno such thing as--ah! there it is again!"

Yes, there it was again. A faint beam of the moon broke through theclouds, and lit up the white figure once more where it stood close tothe sign-post. And as they watched it seemed to grow, rising higher andhigher till its head nearly touched the cross-bars. Then suddenly, andwith a groan, it seemed to drop into the earth, and all was darknessonce more. The boys clung one on each side to the doctor, who trembledhardly less than themselves. No one dared move, or speak, or utter asound. 

Again the moon sent forth a beam, as the figure once more appeared andslowly rose higher and higher. For a moment it seemed as if it wouldsoar into the air, but again with a dull crash it descended andvanished. 

"Boys, " said the doctor hoarsely, "I confess I--I am puzzled!"

"I--I wonder, " said Dell, "if I ever dare go and see what it is. I say, M-m-organ, would you g-g-go with me--for the d-d-doctor's sake?"

"Oh, Dell! I'm afraid. But--yes, I'll try. "

"Brave boys!" said the doctor, never taking his eyes off the spot wherethe ghost last vanished. 

The two boys stole forward on tiptoe, holding one another's arms; thensuddenly they broke into a rush straight for the sign-post. 

There was a loud shriek as the white figure rose up to meet them. 

"Bilk, you idiot, cut back for your life! here's the doctor! We wereonly having a lark with you. Do cut your sticks, and slip in quietly, and it'll be all right. Look alive, or we're all three done for!"

The ill-starred Bilk needed no further invitation. He started to run asfast as his long legs would carry him, his night-gown flapping in theevening breeze, and his two persecutors following him with cries of"Booh!"

"Scat!"

"Shoo!" and other formulae for exorcising evil spirits. 

After a hundred yards or so the two heroes gave up the chase, andreturned to the slowly-reviving doctor. 

"Come along, sir, " said Dell; "there's nothing there; it vanished assoon as we got to it. Let us be quick, sir, in case it comes back. "

The remainder of the walk home that evening, I need hardly observe, wasbrisk; but it was not so brisk as the same journey accomplished byAlexander Magnus Bilk, who had reached the school a full quarter of anhour before his pursuers, and was safe between his blankets by the timethat they peeped into his room on their way to bed, and whisperedconsolingly, "It's all up with the duke's daughter now, old man!"

The doctor may have had some dim suspicion of the real state of affairs;but if so, he gave no sign, and the boys, happy in their escape fromwhat might have proved a grave matter, were content to forego allfurther practical jokes of the kind for the rest of the session. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. 

A NIGHT IN THE DREADNOUGHT. 

Chapter I. Stowaways. 

We were spending the winter of 185--, my young brother Jack and I, withour grandfather at Kingstairs, a quiet little seaside village not ahundred miles from the Nore. 

I am not quite clear to this day as to why we were there--whether wewere sent for a treat, or for a punishment, or whether I was sent totake care of Jack, or Jack was sent to take care of me. I can'tremember that we had committed any unusually heinous offence at home. Indeed, since our attempt a week or two previously to emulate history bysmothering the twins, after the manner of the princes in the Tower, wehad been particularly quiet, not to say dull, at home. For the littleaccident of the squib that went off in the night nursery in the middleof the night counted for nothing, nobody being hurt, and only the headnurse and our aunt having hysterics. 

So that when, the day after we had broken up for the holidays, ourfather told us we were going to spend Christmas at grandfather's, therewas nothing in our past conduct to suggest that the step was to beregarded in the light of a punishment. 

All the same, it was no great treat. At least it would have been farmore of a treat to spend Christmas at home, and carry out our long-cherished design of digging at the bottom of the garden till we reachedthe fire in the middle of the earth, an operation which we reckonedwould occupy at least a week; to say nothing of the usual Christmasparties, which we did not see the fun of missing, and the visits to theTower and the Monument, which always seemed to be part of everyChristmas holiday. 

However, as it was all settled for us, and everybody seemed to think ita great treat for us, and further, as Jack had a boat which wantedsailing, we yielded to the general wish, and reminding everybody thatthe presents could be sent down in a trunk a day or two before the 25th, we took our leave and repaired to Kingstairs. 

Our father came with us, just to see us settled down, and then returnedto town. And it was not till after he had gone that we began to thinkit rather slow to be left alone down there with only grandfather andJack's boat for company. 

Grandfather was very old. We always used to put him down at a roundhundred years, but I believe he was only seventy-five really. However, he was not as young as we were, and being rather infirm and subject torheumatism, he preferred staying indoors near the fire to coming with usover the rocks and sailing Jack's boat in mid-December. 

He little knew the pleasure he missed, of course! Happily, he did notinsist on our staying indoors with him, and the consequence was wemanaged to do pretty much as we liked, and indeed rather more so than heor any one else interested in our welfare supposed. 

Kingstairs, as any one who has been there knows, is not a very excitingplace at the best of times. In summer, however, it is a pleasant enoughretreat, where family parties come down from town for a week or so, andspend their days boating in the pretty bay, or else basking on the sandsunder the chalk cliffs, where the children construct fearful andwonderful pits and castles, and arm-chairs for their mothers to sit in, or canals and ponds in which to sail their craft. In fine weathernothing is so enjoyable as a day on the rocks, hunting for crabs andgroping for "pungars, " or else strolling about on the jetty to watch thepacket-boat go out to meet the steamer, or see the luggers coming inafter a week's fishing cruise in the German Ocean. 

All this is pleasant enough. But Kingstairs in July and Kingstairs inDecember are two different places. 

The lodging-houses were all desolate and deserted. The boats were alldrawn high and dry up on the jetty. The bathing-machines stood dismallyin the field behind the town. Not a soul sat in an arm-chair on thesands from morning to night. No one walked along the cliffs except thecoastguardsmen. The London steamer had given up running, and no one wasto be seen on the jetty but an occasional sailor, pipe in mouth andhands in pockets, looking the picture of dismalness. 

You may fancy Jack and I, under these depressing circumstances, soon gottired of sailing the boat. And when one day, after we had waited a weekfor the water to calm down, we started it, with all sail crowded, beforehalf a gale of wind, from the jetty steps, and watched it heel over onto one side and next moment disappear under the foam of a great wavewhich nearly carried us off our feet where we stood, we decided therewas not much fun to be had out of Kingstairs in December. 

It was often so rough and stormy that it was impossible to get to theend of the jetty; and on these occasions we were well enough pleased totake shelter in the "look-out, " a big room over the net-house, reachedby a ladder, where there was generally a fire burning, and in which thesailors and boatmen of the place always congregated when they hadnothing else to do. 

We struck up acquaintance with one or two of these rough tars, who, seeing perhaps that we were in rather a dismal way, or else glad ofanything in the way of a variety, used to invite us up to warm ourselvesat the fire. We very soon got to feel at home in the "look-out, " andfound plenty of entertainment in the yarns and songs with which the menwhiled away the time. 

A great deal of what we heard, now I remember it, was not veryimproving; the songs, many of them, were coarse, and as for the yarns, though we swallowed them all at the time, I fancy they were spun mostlyout of the fancy of the narrators. Wonderful stories they were, ofshipwreck, and battle, and peril, over which we got so excited that welay awake at night and shuddered, or else dreamed about them, which waseven worse. 

One man, I remember, told us how he fought with a shark under water inthe South Seas, and stabbed it with the knife in his right hand, just asthe monster's teeth were closing on his other arm. And to make hisstory more vivid he bared his great shaggy arm, and showed us an uglywhite scar among the tattoo marks above the elbow. Another man told ushow he had stood beside Nelson on the "Victory, " just as the admiralreceived his death-wound; and it never occurred to us to wonder how aman of not more than thirty-five could have been present at that famousbattle, which took place fifty years ago! But the yarn that pleased usmost was the one about the wreck of the "Wolf King, " when the Kingstairslifeboat, the "Dreadnought, " put out in a tremendous gale, and reachedher just as she was going down, and rescued sixteen of her crew. Thisstory we called for over and over again, till we knew it by heart. Andmany a time, as we lay awake at night, and heard the wind whistlinground the house, we wondered if it was a storm like this when the "WolfKing" went down, or whether any ship would be getting on to the Sandsto-night. 

It was Christmas Eve--a wild, blustering night. It had been blowing uphard for several days now, and we were used to the howling of the windand the roar of the waves on the beach. We had gone to bed tired andexcited, for the promised hamper had arrived that afternoon, and we hadbeen unpacking it. What a wonderful hamper it was! A turkey to beginwith, and a _Swiss Family Robinson_, and a tool-box, and a telescope, and a pair of home-made socks for grandfather. We were fain to takepossession of our treasures at once, but the old gentleman forbade it, and made us put them all back in the hamper and wait till the morning. 

So we went to bed early, hoping thereby, I suppose, to hasten themorning. But instead of that, the hours dragged past as though thenight would never go. We heard nine o'clock strike, and ten, andeleven. We weren't in the humour for sleeping, and told one another allthe stories we knew--finishing up, of course, with the wreck of the"Wolf King. " Then we lay for a long time listening to the stormoutside, which seemed to get wilder and wilder as the night dragged on. The tide, which had been only just turned when we went to bed, soundednow close under the house, and the thunder of the great waves as theybroke on the sand seemed to make the very earth vibrate. 

Surely it must have been a night like this when the "Wolf King"--

"Tom!"

"What?"

"Are you awake?"

"Yes. "

"It's a storm, isn't it?"

There was a silence for some time, and I supposed Jack had dozed off, but he began again presently. "Tom!"

"What?"

"Hadn't we better go on the jetty?"

"Why?"

"There might be a wreck, you know. "

"So there might. "

Next moment we were out of bed and dressing quietly. 

We need not have minded about the noise, for the roar of the stormoutside would have prevented any one from hearing sounds twenty timeslouder than those we made, as we crept into our clothes and pulled onour boots. 

"All ready, Jack?"

"Yes; mind how you go down. "

We crept downstairs, past grandfather's room, where a light was burning, down into the hall, and through the passage to the back door. We pulledthe bolts and opened it carefully. Fortunately, it was on the shelteredside of the house. Had it been the front, the blast that would haverushed in would certainly have discovered our retreat. 

We stepped cautiously out and closed the door behind us. We weresurprised to find how still it seemed at first, compared with what wehad imagined. But next moment, as we got past the back of the house andcame suddenly into the full force of the wind, we knew that the stormwas even fiercer than we supposed. At first we could barely stand, aswith heads down and knees bent we struggled forward. But we got moreused to it in a little while, and once in Harbour Street we were againin shelter. 

Harbour Street was empty. No one saw us as we glided down it towardsthe jetty. We heard the church clock strike half-past eleven, thechimes being swept past us on the wind. 

As we turned out of Harbour Street on to the jetty the force of the galeonce more staggered us, and we had almost to crawl forward. There werelights and the cheery glow of a fire in the "look-out, " and we knewthere must be plenty of sailors there. But somehow at this time ofnight we did not care to be discovered even by our friends the sailors. So we kept on, holding on to the chains, towards where the red lightburned at the jetty-head. 

We were too excited to be afraid. One of those strange spirits ofadventure had seized upon us which make boys ready for anything, and thethought of standing alone at midnight at the pier-head in a storm likethat did not even dismay us. 

But before we were half-way along we found that it was not the easything we imagined. A huge wave struck the jetty behind the wall underwhich we crept, and next moment a deluge of spray and foam shot up andfell, drenching us to the skin. And almost before we knew what hadhappened another and another followed. 

We turned instinctively towards the "look-out, " but as we did so afourth wave, huger than all the rest, swept the jetty from end to end, and but for the chain, on to which we clung, we should have been washedoff. 

Our only chance was to run for the nearest shelter, and that was the leeof the tarpaulin-covered lifeboat, which lay up on its stocks, out ofthe reach of the spray, and seeming to us to offer as much protectionashore as it could do afloat. 

Half a dozen staggering steps brought us to it. But even in this shortspace another wave had drenched us. We were thankful to creep under itsfriendly shelter, and once there we wondered for the first time how wewere ever to get back. Our hearts were beginning to fail us at last. We were cold and shivering, and wet through, and now the rain came ingusts, to add to our misery. 

"Couldn't we get inside?" said Jack, with chattering teeth. 

As he spoke a shower of salt spray leapt over the boat and deluged us. Yes; why not get inside under the tarpaulin, where we could shelter atonce from the cold, and the wet, and the wind? Nobody could see us, andif any one came we could jump out, and presently, perhaps, the stormmight quiet down, and we could get back to bed. 

Jack had already clambered up the side, and lifted a corner of thetarpaulin. I followed, and in a minute we were snugly stowed away, inalmost as good shelter as if we had never left our bedroom. 

Then we sat and listened drowsily to the wind raging all round, andheard the spray falling with heavy thuds on the tarpaulin above us. 

"It must be past twelve, Jack, " said I; "a Merry Christmas to you. "

But Jack was fast asleep. 

Chapter II. The Rescue. 

How long Jack and I had lain there, curled up under the bows of the"Dreadnought" that stormy Christmas morning, I never knew. For I, likehim, had succumbed to the drowsy influence of the cold and wet, andfallen asleep. 

I remember, just before dropping off, thinking the storm must beincreasing rather than otherwise, and vaguely wondering whether the windcould possibly capsize the boat up here in the top of its runners. However, my sleepiness was evidently greater than my fears on thispoint, and I dropped off, leaving the question to decide itself. 

The next thing I was conscious of was a strange noise overhead, and asudden dash of water on to the floor of the boat just beside me. Then, before I could rub my eyes, or recollect where I was, the "Dreadnought"seemed suddenly alive with people, some shouting, some cheering, whilethe loud bell at the pierhead close by mingled its harsh voice with theroar of the storm. 

"Stand by--cut away there!" shouted a hoarse voice from the boat. Thenit flashed across me! The "Dreadnought" was putting out in this fearfulstorm to some wreck, and--horrors!--Jack and I were in her!

"Wait, I say, wait! Jack and I are here. Let us out!" I cried. 

In the noise, and darkness, and confusion, not even the nearest mannoticed me as I sprang up with this terrified shout. 

I shook Jack wildly and shouted again, trying at the same time to makemy way to the stern of the boat. 

But before I had crossed the first bench, before the two men seatedthere with oars up, ready for the launch, perceived us, there was acheer from the jetty, the great boat gave a little jolt and then beganto slide, slowly at first, but gaining speed as she went on, and I knewshe was off. 

That short, swift descent seemed to me like an eternity. The lights onthe jetty went out, the cheers were drowned, and--

A rough hand caught me where I stood half across the bench and drove meback down beside Jack, who was yet too dazed to stir. Next instant witha rush and a roar we plunged into the tempest, and all was blackness!

It seemed to me as if that first plunge was to be the last for thegallant boat and all in her. The bows under which we crouched, clingingfor dear life to a ring on the floor, were completely submerged. Thewater rushed over us and around us, nearly stunning us with its violenceand deafening us with its noise. 

But presently we rose suddenly, and the boat shot up till it seemed tostand on end, so that, where we sat, we could see every inch of it fromstem to stern, and the dim outline of Kingstairs jetty behind. At thesame moment the ten oars dropped into their rowlocks, the coxswain, withhis sou'-wester pulled down tight on his head, and a hand raised toscreen his eyes from the sleet, shouted something--the boat soaredwildly up the wave, and once again all was darkness for us. 

How the brave boat ever got through that first half-mile of surf is amystery to me. Every wave seemed as though it would pitch it like aplaything across to the next. Now we shot up till we looked down on thecoxswain below us as from the top of a mast, and next instant we lookedup at him till it seemed a marvel how he held to his place, and did notdrop on to us. All the while the men tugged doggedly at the oars, heeding neither the waves that broke over them and flooded the boat, northe surf that often nearly knocked the oars from their hands. 

And what of Jack and me? We crouched there, close together, clutchingfast at the friendly ring, looking out in mute terror on to this fearfulscene, too stupefied to speak, or move, or almost to think. Had any oneseen us? or had the hand which drove me down at the launch saved me frommy danger by accident? I began to think this must be so, when the mannearest us, whom even in his cork jacket and sou'-wester I recognised asthe hero of the shark story in the "look-out, " turned towards us. 

He was not one of the rowers, but had been busily drawing in and coilinga line close beside us during those first terrific plunges of the boatafter she had taken the water. But now he turned hurriedly to where wesat, and without a word seized me roughly by the arm and drew me to myfeet. I made sure I was to be cast overboard like Jonah into thatfearful sea. But no. All he did was to throw a cork jacket round me, and then thrust me down again to my old place, just as a great wavebroke over the prows and seemed almost to fill the boat. As soon asthis had passed and the water swirled out from the boat, he seized Jackand equipped him in the same way. Then throwing a tarpaulin coat overus, he left us to ourselves, while he mounted his watch in the bows andkept a look-out ahead. 

The cork jackets, if of no other use, helped to warm us a bit, as alsodid the coat, and thankful for the comfort, however small, we settleddown to see the end of our adventure and hope for the best. 

Settled down, did I say? How could any one settle down in an open boaton a sea like that, with every wave breaking over our heads and halfdrowning us, and each moment finding the boat standing nearlyperpendicular either on its stem or its stern? How the rowers kepttheir seats and, still more, held on to their oars and pulled throughthe waves, I can still scarcely imagine. But for the friendly ring onto which Jack and I held like grim death, I am certain we should havebeen pitched out of the boat at her first lurch. 

The "Dreadnought" ploughed on. Not a word was spoken save an occasionalshout between the coxswain and our friend in the bows as to our course. I could see by the receding lights of Kingstairs, which came into sightevery time we mounted to the top of a wave, that we were not taking astraight course out, but bearing north, right in the teeth of the wind;and I knew enough of boats, I remember, to wonder with a shudder whatwould happen if we should chance to get broadside on to one of thesewaves. Presently the man by us shouted--"You're right now. Bill!"

The coxswain gave some word of command, and we seemed to come suddenlyinto less broken water. The men shipped their oars, and springing totheir feet, as if by one motion, hoisted a mast and unfurled atriangular sail. 

For a moment the flapping of the canvas half deafened us. Then suddenlyit steadied, and next minute the boat heeled over, gunwale down on thewater, and began to hiss through the waves at a tremendous speed. 

"Pass them younkers down here!" shouted Bill, when this manoeuvre hadbeen executed. 

Jack and I were accordingly sent crawling down to the stern under thebenches, and presented ourselves in a pitiable condition before thecoxswain. 

He was not a man of many words at the best of times, and just now, wheneverything depended on the steering, he had not one to waste. 

"Stow 'em away, Ben, " he said, not looking at us, but keeping his eyesstraight ahead. 

Ben, another of our acquaintance, dragged us up beside him on theweather bulwarks, and here we had to stand, holding on to a rail, whilethe boat, with her sail lying almost on the water, rushed through thewaves. 

We were no longer among the breaking surf through which we had had tostraggle at starting, although the sea still rolled mountains high, andthreatened to turn us over every moment as we sailed across it. But thegallant boat, thanks to the skilful eye and hand of the coxswain, kepther head up, and presently even we got used to the situation, and wereable to do the same. 

Where was the wreck? I summoned up courage to ask Ben, who, no longerhaving to row, was standing composedly against the bulwarks by our side. 

"Not far now. Straight ahead. "

We strained our eyes eagerly forward. For a long time nothing wasvisible in the darkness, but presently a bright flash of light shotupward, followed almost immediately by a blaze on the surface of thewater and a dull report. 

"They're firing again!" said Ben; "we'll be up to them in a jiffey!"

"What are we to do?" asked Jack dismally. 

"Hold on where you are, " said Ben; "and if we upset stay quiet in thewater till you're picked up. "

With which consoling piece of advice Jack and I subsided, and asked nomore questions. 

The sight of a column of lurid flame and smoke made us wonder for amoment whether the vessel in distress was not on fire as well aswrecked. But I recollected that the "Wolf King" had burned tar-barrelsall night long as a signal of distress, and this we rightly concludedwas what was taking place on board "our" wreck. 

Ben's "jiffey" seemed a good while coming to an end, and long before itdid we passed once more into broken water, and the perils of the startwere repeated, with the aggravation that we were now across the windinstead of being head on. Wave after wave burst over us, and time aftertime, as we hung suspended on the crest of some great billow, it seemedas if we never could right ourselves. But we did. 

"Stand by!" cried the coxswain, when at last a great dim black outlineappeared on our starboard. 

Instantly the men were in their seats; oars were put out; the mast andsail came down, and the clank of the anchor being got ready for use fellon our ears from the bows. 

The wreck was now right between us and the shore, we being some distanceto the windward of it. My knowledge of the story of the wreck of the"Wolf King" gave me a pretty good notion of what was going on, and evenin the midst of our peril I found myself whispering to Jack--

"They're going to drop the anchor, you know, and blow down on to her--"

"Hope they've got rope enough, " said Jack. For in the case of the "WolfKing" it took three attempts to get within the right distance. Thecoxswain of the "Dreadnought" was evidently determined not to fall intohis old error this time, and, with her head to the wind and the oarsholding the water, he allowed her to drift to within about eighty yardsof the wreck. Then he shouted--

"Pay away, there!" and instantly we heard the cable grinding over thegunwale. 

Would it hold? Even to inexperienced boys like Jack and me the suspensewas dreadful as the cable ran out, and the rowers kept the boat's headcarefully up. 

The grinding ceased. There was a moment's pause, then came a welcome"Ay, ay!" from the bows, and we knew it was all right. 

It didn't take the wind long to drive us back on our cable, sternforemost, on to the wreck, which now loomed out huge and ghostly on thewild water. As we drifted down under her stern we were conscious, amidst the smoke of the burning tar-barrels and the spray of the waveswhich broke over her, of a crowd of faces looking over her sides, andfancied we heard a faint cheer too. Our men still kept their oars out, and when, always holding on to our cable, we had drifted some twentyyards or so on to the lee side of the wreck, the order was given to pullalongside. 

It was no easy task in the face of the wind; but the men who had takenthe "Dreadnought" through the surf off Kingstairs jetty were not likelyto fail now. A few powerful strokes brought us close under the lee ofthe wreck, ropes were thrown out fore and aft, and in a few minutes welay tossing and kicking, but safely moored within a yard or two of theill-starred vessel. 

Half a dozen of our men were up her sides and on board in a moment, andwe could hear the cheers with which they were greeted as they sprang ondeck. No time was to be lost. The wreck was creaking in every timber, and each wave that burst over her, deluging us on the other side, threatened to break her in pieces. One mast already was broken short, and hung helplessly down, held only by her rigging to the deck. Theother looked as though it might go any moment, and perhaps carry thewreck with it. 

If she were to capsize now, what would become of us?

It seemed ages before our men reappeared. 

One of them shouted down--

"There's twenty. Germans. "

"Any women?"

"Two. "

"Look sharp with them. "

We could see a cloaked figure lifted on to the bulwarks of the wreck andheld there. A wave had just passed. As the next came and lifted us upwith a lurch towards her, some one cried "Jump!" and she obeyed wildly--almost too wildly, for she nearly overleaped us. Mercifully there werestout arms to catch her and place her in safety. The other womanfollowed; and then one after another the crew, until, with thankfulhearts, we counted twenty on board. 

Our work was done. No! There was a report like a crack of thunder overour heads, a shout, a shriek, as the mainmast of the wreck gave way witha crash, and swayed towards us. 

"Jump!" shouted the coxswain to our men, who were waiting for the nextwave to bring the boat to them. "Cut away for'ard, there!"

Another moment and the mast would be on us and overwhelm us! Theyjumped, although we were down in the trough of the wave, yards belowthem. At the same moment the rope in the stern was cut loose, and theboat swung round wildly, just in time to clear the mast as it fell witha terrific crash overboard. But our men? Four of them landed safely inour midst; but the others? Oh! how our hearts turned cold as we sawthat two were missing, and knew that they mast be in that boiling, furious water! We sprang wildly to the side, in the mad hope of seeingthem, or perhaps even reaching them a hand but a stern order from thecoxswain sent us back to our places. 

A minute of awful suspense followed. The oars were put up, and, stillheld by her stern cable, the boat was brought up again alongside. In aminute a shout from the prow proclaimed that one at least of the missingones was discovered, and presently a dripping form clambered over theside of the boat close to us and coolly sat down to his oar, as ifnothing had happened. 

Another shout--this time not from the boat, but from the water. Ourother man had been carried the wrong side of us by the wave, and couldnot reach us. But a rope dexterously pitched reached him where hefloated, and we had the unspeakable joy of seeing him at last hauledsafely on board, exhausted, but as unconcerned as if drowning were anordinary occurrence with him. 

How thankfully we saw the last cable which held us to the wreck castloose, and found ourselves at length, with our twenty rescued souls onboard, heading once more for Kingstairs! Little was said on that shortvoyage home. Sail and oar carried us rapidly through the storm. Thewaves that broke over us from behind were as nothing to those that hadbroken over us from in front. And as if in recognition of the gallantexploit of the tough old "Dreadnought, " the very surf off Kingstairsbeach had moderated when we reached it. 

As we sighted the jetty we could see lights moving and hear a distantshout, which was answered by a ringing cheer from our men, in which Jackand I and the eighteen Germans and the two women joined. What a cheerit was! At the jetty-head we could see a large crowd waiting to receiveus, and as we passed a stentorian voice shouted, "Ahoy! Have you gotthem two boys on board?"

"Ay, ay!" cried the coxswain; "safe and sound--the rascals!"

Rascals, indeed! As we clambered up the ladder, scarcely believing thatwe touched _terra firma_ once more, and found our poor old grandfatheralmost beside himself with joy and excitement at the top, we consideredwe deserved the title. 

"Thank God you're safe!" he cried, when at last he had us before ablazing fire and a hot breakfast in his dining-room. "Thank God, yourascals!"

We had done so long ago, and did it again and again, and thanked Him, not only for ourselves, but for the brave old "Dreadnought" too, so trueto her name and the work she had done that night. 

Before we went to bed Jack said, "Same to you, Tom. " I knew what hemeant. I had wished him a "Merry Christmas" at five minutes past twelvethat morning, and this was his answer six hours after. What a lot mayhappen in six hours!

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. 

HANNIBAL TROTTER THE HERO--A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

We know that it always is, or should be, embarrassing to a hero torecite the history of his own exploits. So if this simple narrativestrikes the reader as defective, he must excuse it for that reason. ForI am in this painful position, that as no one else will recount myadventures for me, I have nothing left but to do it myself. It hassurprised me often that it should be so, for there have been times whenI have even pictured myself reading the twentieth edition of my ownmemoirs, and the reviews of the Press on the same. I am not offended, however, but I am sorry, for it would have been good reading. 

Without appearing immodest, may I say that the reader has really no ideawhat a hero the world has possessed in the person of me, HannibalTrotter? It has been my misfortune never to be anything else. Howoften have I sighed for an unheroic half-hour!

I was born a hero. Glory marked me for her own from the first hour ofmy career. I wish she had let me alone. Had I captured a city, orrescued a ship's crew, I could not have been made more of than I was forthe simple exploit of being a baby. Nobody else was thought of besideme; everybody conspired to do me honour. A fictitious glory settledupon me then, from which I have never escaped. They called me Hannibal. I was not consulted, or I should have opposed the name. It confirmedme in a false position. There was no chance of not being a hero withsuch a name, and I was in for it literally before I knew where I was. 

The day I first walked, General Havelock was a fool to me. I must havebeen eighteen months at the time, but when the word went forth, "Hannibal walks!" I was simply deafened by the applause which greetedmy feat. It wasn't much better when, at the very unprecocious age oftwo, I gave vent to an inarticulate utterance which, among those whoought to have known better, passed for speech. I assure you, reader, for the next few months I had the whole family hanging on my lips. Howwould you like your whole family hanging on your lips? But then youweren't born a hero. 

Well, it went on. My infancy was one sickening round of glory. Did Ibuild a house of bricks four courses high? Archimedes wasn't in it withme. Did I sing a nursery rhyme to a tune all one note? Apollo was adabbler in music beside me. Did one of my first teeth drop out withoutmy knowing it? Casabianca on the burning deck couldn't touch me forfortitude. Did I once and again chance to tell the truth? Latimer, Ridley, George Washington, and Euclid might retire into private life atonce, and never be heard of again!

It was a terrific _role_ to have to keep up, and as I gradually emergedfrom frocks into trousers, and from an easy-going infancy into ananxious boyhood, the true nature of my affliction began to dawn upon me. Hannibal Trotter, through no choice of his own, and yet by theundoubted ordering of Fate, was a hero, and he must act as such. Hemust, in fact, keep it up or give it up; and a fellow cannot lightlygive up the only _role_ he has. 

In due time, after heroic efforts, I was, at about the age of ten, ableto read to myself, and my attention was at once directed to a class ofstories congenial to my reputation. It would hardly be fair to inflictupon the patient reader a digest of my studies, but the one impressionthey left upon my mind was that a young man, if he is to be worth thename, must on every possible occasion both be a hero and show it. 

This conclusion rather distressed me; for while the first condition waseasy and natural enough, the second was no joke. I knew I was a hero; Icould not doubt it, for I had been brought up to the business, and toquestion it would be to question the veracity of every relative I had. But try all I would I couldn't manage to show it. 

After a considerable amount of patient study, my conceptions of a herohad resolved themselves into several leading ideas, which it may be ofuse to the reader if I repeat here:--

1. He must save one life or more from drowning. 

2. He must stop runaway horses. 

3. He must rescue people from burning houses. 

4. He must pull some one from under the wheels of a train. 

5. He must encounter and slay a mad dog in single combat. 

6. He must capture a burglar; and 7. He must interpose his bodybetween the pistol of the assassin and the person of some individual ofconsequence. 

In my researches I had collected a mass of information under each ofthese heads, and was perfectly acquainted with what was becoming in ahero in each emergency. 

But, as I have said, try all I would the chance never came. 

I was full of hopes when we went to the seaside that emergency numberone at least might make an opening for me. I spent hours every morningon the beach watching the bathers, and longing to hear the welcome shoutof distress. I sat with my boots unlaced and my coat ready to fling offat a moment's notice. I tempted my sisters to go and bathe where theshore shelved rapidly and the ebb washed back strongly. They went, andto my chagrin were delighted with the place, and learned to swim betterthan I could. 

There was a man who went out every morning to bathe from a boat. I wasalways at the pier-head watching him, but he went into the water andscrambled out of it again over the stern of the boat with ruthlessregularity, and quite mistook my interest in him for admiration, whichwas the very last sentiment I harboured. 

Once I made sure my chance had come. It was a warm day, and the shorewas crowded. Most of the people had finished bathing, and were spreadabout the sands drying their back hair and reading their papers. Oneadventurous bather, however, remained in the water. I had anxiouslywatched him swim round the pier-head and back, ready--longing--to seehim cast his hands above his head and hang out other signals ofdistress. But it seemed I was again to be disappointed. He came inswimming easily, and mightily pleased with himself and his performance. He was about twenty yards off his machine and I was beginning to givehim up, when to my delight I saw his hands go up and his head go down, and heard what I fondly hoped was a yell of despair. 

In a moment--two moments, I should say, for one of my boots was notquite enough unlaced--I was floundering in the water in my flannel shirtand trousers, striking out wildly for the spot where he had disappeared. I had gathered from the authorities I had consulted that heroes, underthese circumstances, got over distances in a shorter time than it takesto record it. This was not my experience. It took me a long time toget half the way, and by that time my clothes were very heavy and I wasvery tired. Moreover, my man was still invisible. 

Of course I could not turn back. Even if I did not succeed in fishinghim out, it was a "gallant attempt, " which would be almost as good. Partly to see how the crowd was taking it, and partly to rest myself, Iturned over on my back and floated. This do doubt was a tactical error;for as a rule a hero does not float out to save any one's life. In mycase it did not much matter, for the first thing I perceived as I turnedwas my drowning man's head bobbing up merrily between me and the shore, having enjoyed his long dive and wholly unaware of the "gallant attempt"which was being made to rescue him from a watery grave. 

As he caught sight of me, however, floundering on my back, and scarcelyable to keep my head up for the weight of my clothes, his face becamealarmed. "Hold up a second!" he shouted. Half a dozen strong strokesbrought him to my side, and before I could explain or decline, he hadgripped me by the two shoulders and was punting me ignominiously towardsthe shore. 

It was a painful situation for me; the more so that I was quite done upand scarcely able to stagger out of the water into the arms of myaffrighted relatives. 

"Lay him on his back and work his arms up and down till you get all thewater out of him, and then put him between hot blankets, " cried mypreserver, "and he'll be all serene. They ought to make a shallow placesomewhere for these kids to bathe, where they won't get out of theirdepths. Bless you, ma'am, " added he, in reply to my mother's thanks, "it's not worth talking of. It all comes in a day's work, and you'revery welcome. "

I was rather glad to leave the seaside after that; and whenever in thecourse of my future readings I came upon any further reference toemergency number one, I discreetly passed it over. 

But hope springs eternal in the human breast, and the resources ofheroism were by no means exhausted. 

The drowning business had missed fire. I would go into the runaway-horse line, and try how that would stand me for glory. 

So after a careful study of the theory of the art from my books, I tookto haunting Rotten Row in my leisure hours with a view to business. Imust confess that it is far easier to stop a runaway horse on paper thanon a gravel drive. I speculated, as one or two specially recklessriders dashed past me, on what the chance would be of making a spring atthe bridle of a horse going half as fast again as theirs, and bringinghim gracefully on to his knees. I didn't like the idea. And yet hadnot a fellow done it in one of Kingsley's novels, and another in one ofLever's?

At last I screwed myself up to it. I had worked the thing outcarefully, and arranged my spring and everything. But I was unluckyagain when the time came. 

I remember the occasion well--painfully well. It was a bright Mayafternoon. I had given the carriages up as hopeless--they drove far toosoberly--and was taking a forlorn glance up and down the ride at theequestrians, when I perceived a youth approach on a very dashing animal, which, if it was not bolting, was sailing remarkably close to the windin that direction. The ride was pretty clear, and the few seconds I hadin which to make up my mind were enough for me. I heard some one sayclose beside me, "He'll be chucked!"

Instantly I dived under the rail and dashed out into the road. Therewas a shout and a yell, and the young gentleman had to pull his mare upon her haunches to avoid riding me down. Before I could act under thesecircumstances a mounted policeman dashed up, and collaring me by thecoat, swung me along beside him a yard or two, and then, with a box onthe ears, pitched me back in among the crowd. 

I should have liked to explain, but he did not give me time. 

"Young fool!" said one of the crowd; "you might have killed him. Do youknow who that was?"

"Who?" I gasped, for I was out of breath. "That young man who--"

"Yes--that young man's the Prince of Wales. "

It's twenty-six years ago since it happened, and probably the King hasforgotten the adventure. I haven't. I retired from the runaway-horsebusiness that very afternoon. 

Another door was shut against me. Still there were others left, and thehouse-on-fire line had a good deal to recommend it. It was a thing inwhich one could not well make a mistake. It had been possible, as I hadfound out by painful experience, to mistake the pranks of a livelyswimmer for drowning, and the capers of a lively mare for bolting. Butthere was no mistaking a house on fire when you saw one. People in aburning house, moreover, would be likely to give every facility possiblefor their own rescue, and the chances were one would not find manycompetitors to deprive one of the glory. On the whole, I warmed up tothis new opening considerably. 

Of course one never has the good fortune to have a fire in one's ownhouse when it is wanted. It would have been exceedingly convenient forme to have to rescue my own family from the flames. As it was, I had tospend a good many dreary nights in the street in the neighbourhood ofthe fire alarms before I so much as smelt fire. 

It was a good one when it came. A great warehouse in the City wasgutted, and those who saw the blaze are not likely to forget it in ahurry. I saw it. I had scampered with all my might after one of theengines, but only to find a dense crowd on the spot before me. Therewas a wide circle kept round the place, and never did circus-goers fightfor a front row in the gallery as did that crowd fight for a front placeat this grand show. 

It was nearly an hour before, by dint of squeezing, sneaking, fighting, and beseeching, I could get to the front. By that time the fire haddone its worst. Still I had noted with satisfaction that no fire-escapes had yet been brought up, so that any unfortunate inmates weresure to be still safe for me. The firemen were playing on the flameswith their hoses, and every now and then an alarm of a tottering wallsent them flying back to a safe distance. It was a grand opportunityfor me to brave these poltroons on their own ground, and show them how ahero behaves at a fire. 

So I took advantage of a policeman turning another way, to break boundsand run into the open space. 

"Come back!" shouted the policeman. 

"Come back!" yelled the mob. 

"Mind the wall!" cried a fireman. 

I was delighted, and already glowed with glory. 

Alas! how soon our brightest hopes may be damped!

The fireman, seeing that I still advanced on the burning ruin, wheeledround on me with his hose, and before I could count five had drenched methrough and through, and half-stunned me with the force of the waterinto the bargain. 

The crowd screamed with laughter; the police seized me by all fours; thefireman executed a final solo on my retreating person, and the nextthing I was aware of was being delivered at my own door from a four-wheeled cab, with my interest in conflagrations completely extinguished. 

My faith in the history of heroism began to be a trifle shaken afterthis adventure. However, I was committed to a course of gallant action;and it were cowardice to lose heart after a rebuff or two. I must atany rate try my hand at a railway rescue before giving in. 

In my studies I had only met with one successful case of extractingindividuals from between the wheels of locomotives in motion, andtherefore entered upon this branch of my experiments with considerabledoubt. Nor did anything occur to remove that doubt. I watched thetrains carefully for a month; and whenever I saw any one place himselfnear the edge of the platform as a train came up, I made a point ofplacing myself hard by. But we never got beyond the platform; and, indeed, the whole course of my experiments in this department resultedin nothing beyond my one day being knocked down by the unexpectedopening of a carriage door; and on another occasion being nearly placedunder arrest for clutching a man's arm as the train came up, he saidwith intent "to chuck him on the line, " but as I told him, andunsuccessfully tried to explain to him, because he seemed to me to beabout to be swept over by the engine. 

It was on the whole a relief to me, when, in order to extricate myselffrom the serious consequences of this last adventure, I was obliged topromise never to do such a thing again. That settled the locomotivebusiness. As a man of honour I was forced to quit it, and cast about mefor a new road to glory. 

Now, I think it argues considerably for my heroism that after theunfortunate result of so many adventures I should still persist inkeeping up my struggle after Fame. I might fairly have given her upafter the honest endeavours I had made to win her. But, whatever othersmight do, as long as a chance remained everything combined to keepHannibal Trotter at his post. 

So, with not a little searching of heart, I turned my attention to maddogs. I must confess that my heart did not go out towards them, and Icould have wished that that mark of heroism had been omitted by theauthorities. But, on the contrary, it was insisted upon vehemently, andthere was no getting out of it. So, like another Perseus, I choked downmy emotion and girded myself for the new fray. 

I knew the authorities, as a rule, were silent as to any precautionswhich their heroes may have taken for this particular service. Still, as they said nothing against it, I did the best I could by means of myunaided genius. 

I contrived a pair of secret zinc leggings to wear under my trousers. They hurt me, it is true, and impeded my movements; still, I felt prettysafe in them. I also adopted the habit of wearing stout leatherdriving-gloves on every occasion, besides concealing an effective life-preserver about my person. Nothing, in short, was wanted to complete myequipment but the mad dog; and he never turned up. 

One day I saw by the paper that there was one at large in Hackney, andthither I repaired, in greaves and gauntlets, with my life-preserver inmy bosom. But though I met many dogs, they were all of them sane. Notone of them foamed at the mouth or looked out of the corner of his eyes. 

There was one collie certainly who appeared to me more excited than therest, and who by his proceedings seemed to menace the safety of a smallgroup of children who were taking their walks abroad with their nurse. Not to be precipitate, I watched him for some time, to make quite sure Iwas right. Then, when one of the children uttered a scream, I felt myhour was come. So I drew my life-preserver and advanced boldly to therescue. At the sight of me in this threatening attitude the childrenand nurse all set up a scream together, and the dog, showing his teethand uttering a low growl, caught me by the fleshy part of my leg abovethe zinc and held me there until his little masters and mistresses, having recovered their wits and heard my scarcely articulateexplanations, called him off, and allowed me to go in peace--I mightalmost say in pieces. 

I was a good deal discouraged after this unfortunate affair, and mighthave postponed indefinitely my further experiments, had not fortuneunexpectedly placed in my way what appeared to be an opportunity ofdealing with a burglar after the most approved fashion of heroism. Iwas on a visit to an uncle who lived in rather a grand house atBayswater, and kept up what people are wont to call a good deal ofstyle. This "style" always rather depressed me, for it left me noopening for distinguishing myself on the heroic side of my character, and after a week I was beginning to get home-sick, when a curiousincident occurred to break the monotony of my visit. 

I was put to sleep in a sort of dressing-room immediately over thedrawing-room, and here one night--or rather one dark winter morning--Iwas suddenly awakened by the sound of voices in the room below. I lay, as people are apt to lie under such circumstances, stiff and still forfive minutes, listening with all my ears. There came into my mind whilethus occupied all that the authorities had said in reference toburglars; and when, after a lapse of five minutes, the voices againbecame audible, I knew exactly what was expected of me. 

I looked at my watch. Five o'clock. I was certain it could not be theservants; besides, even through the floor I could tell the voices weremale. I glided from my couch, and pulled on my nether garments, andthen warily set my door ajar. I could see a light through the chink ofthe door in the landing below, and heard a stealthy footstep. So far, so good. I returned to my room, seized the poker and the water-bottle, and then cautiously descended to the drawing-room door. 

Here I once more listened carefully. The keyhole was not eligible forobservation, but my sense of hearing was acute. I heard--and thisrather surprised me--some one in the room whistle softly to himself, then a gruff, typical burglar's voice said, "Now, then, with that theresack! Fetch 'im 'ere, or I'll warm yer!"

I heard the whistling cease, as something was dragged across the floor. "Now, then, " said the first voice, "wake up, Jemmy. " That was enoughfor me. I recognised in this last name a term inseparably connectedwith burglary; and, not waiting longer, I flung open the door, and witha shout, as much to keep up my own courage as to alarm the enemy, Ihurled first my poker, then my water-bottle, then myself in thedirection of the voices, and felt that at last I was a hero indeed. 

I retain but a dim idea of what followed. I recollect a sooty sackbeing drawn over my head, just as a general rush of servants and malemembers of the family, alarmed by the hideous noise of the water-bottleand fire-irons, rushed into the room. Then there was a pause, then ababel of voice, and then, with a cuff on the outside of the sack next towhere my head was, the first burglar made a speech:--"I'm bust if Isweeps yer chimbleys any more! This 'ere lunertick was handy the deathof Jemmy with his missals. Bust me! I'll summons the lot of yer, seeif I don't. "

I will not pursue this melancholy episode, and as a veil was drawn overme at the time, I will also draw a veil over what immediately ensued. My visit to my uncle's terminated that day, and a few weeks later I sawin the paper that he had been fined £5--for an assault committed by oneof his household on two sweeps. 

After this I had not the heart to proceed to the last desperateexpedient for acquiring immortal fame. As long as my endeavours hadhurt only myself, it was not so bad, but when they recoiled on the headsof my most important relatives I felt it time to draw the line. Thebullet may not yet be cast which my heroic bosom is to receive in thestead of royalty, but I shall be ready for it when it is. 

Meanwhile I have been cultivating the quieter graces of life, where, ifI may not be a hero, I may at least do my duty without making a noise. I am not sure, when all is said and done, whether the two things are notsometimes pretty much the same after all. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. 

THE HEROES OF NEW SWISHFORD. A SCHOOL EPISODE IN FOUR CHAPTERS. 

Chapter I. Consultation. 

The autumn term at Swishford School was more than half over, and boyswere waking up to the hope that after all the Christmas holidays, whichseemed such a way off six weeks ago, might yet arrive during theirlifetime. It was already rumoured that Blunt, the captain, had beeninvited to spend Christmas at Walkenshaw's, the mathematical Dux's, andevery one knew how well Miss Walkenshaw and Blunt had "hit it" the lastprize day, and prophecies were rife accordingly. More than that, Shanks, of the Fifth, had whispered in the ear of one or two bosomfriends, and thus into the ear of all Swishford, that he was going into"swallows" this winter, and he had got down a book from town withinstructions for self-measurement, and was mysteriously closeted in hisown study every other evening with a tape. Other boys were beginning to"sit up" a little in the prospect of the coming examination, andgenerally there was an air of expectation about the place which wasprophetic of the coming event. 

On the afternoon, however, on which my story opens, two boys as theywalked arm-in-arm along the cliffs towards Raveling, appeared to beengrossed in consultation, which, to judge by their serious faces, hadnothing to do with Christmas. Let me introduce them to the reader. Thetaller of the two is a fine, sturdy, square-shouldered youth of fifteenor thereabouts, whose name in a certain section of Swishford is ahousehold word. He is Bowler, the cock of the Fourth, who in thefootball match against Raveling a fortnight ago picked up the ball athalf-back and ran clean through the enemy's ranks and got a touch-down, which Blunt himself acknowledged was as pretty a piece of running as hehad seen in his time. Ever since then Bowler has been the idol of thelower school. 

His companion is a more delicate-looking boy, of about the same age, with a cheery face, and by no means unpleasant to look at. He isGayford, as great a favourite in his way as Bowler, a boy whom nobodydislikes, and whom not a few, especially Bowler, like very much. 

These are the two who walked that afternoon towards Raveling. 

"Are you sure the fellow in the book doesn't make it all up?" saidBowler dubiously. 

"Not a bit of it, " replied his companion. "My uncle's a captain, youknow, and he says there are hundreds of islands like it, the jolliestplaces you ever saw, any amount of food, no wild animals, splendidweather all the year round, magnificent mountains and valleys and woodsand bays, gorgeous fishing and hunting, oceans of fruit trees, everything a fellow could wish for, and not a soul on one of them. "

"Rum, " said Bowler reflectively; "seems rather a waste of jolly islandsthat. "

"Yes; but the thing is they're hundreds of miles away from inhabitedislands, so no one ever sees them. "

"Except your uncle. I wonder he wasn't tempted to get out and takepossession of one. "

"That's just exactly what he said he was tempted to do, " repliedGayford, stopping short excitedly. "He said very little would havetempted him to do it, Bowler. "

"Oh!" was Bowler's only reply. 

"And I tell you another thing, " continued Gayford, "he gave me an oldchart with the identical island he saw marked on it, and I've got it inmy box, my boy. "

"Have you, though?" said Bowler. "I'd like to have a look at it. "

That evening the two boys held a solemn consultation in their study overCaptain Gayford's chart, and Gayford triumphantly pointed out the littleisland to his friend. 

"There he is, " said he; "he doesn't look a big one there, but he's eightor ten miles across, my uncle says. "

"That seems a fair size--but, I say, " said Bowler, "how about gettingthere? How could any one find it out?"

Gayford laughed. 

"You're coming round, then, " said he; "why, you old noodle, you couldn'tpossibly miss it. Do you see that town called Sinnamary (what a name, eh?) on the coast of South Africa? Well, don't you see the island'sdead north from there as straight as ever you can go? All you want is acompass and a southerly breeze--and there you are, my boy. "

"But what about currents and all that?" queried Bowler, who knew alittle physical geography. "Doesn't the Gulf Stream hang aboutsomewhere there?"

"Very likely, " said Gayford; "all the better for us too; for I fancy theisland is on it, so if we once _get_ into it we're bound to turn upright. "

"Anyhow, " said Bowler, who was not quite convinced, "I suppose one couldeasily get all that sort of thing up. "

"Oh, of course. But, I say, old man, what do you say?"

"Well, " said Bowler, digging his hands into his pockets and takinganother survey of the chart, "I'm rather game, do you know!"

"Hurrah!" said Gayford. "I know we shall be all right if we get you. "

"Who do you mean by we?" asked Bowler. 

"Ah, that's another point. I haven't mentioned it to any one yet; butwe should want about half a dozen fellows, you know. "

"Don't have Burton, " said Bowler. 

"Rather not; nor Wragg--but what do you say to Wallas?"

"He's muffed quarter-back rather this term, but I daresay he might dofor one. "

"Well then, what about Braintree?"

"Too big a swell, " said Bowler. 

"But he's got a rifle at home. "

"Oh, ah! all serene. Stick him down. "

"What do you say to having them in, and talking it over before we askany one else?"

This prudent proposition was agreed to, an extra spoonful of tea was putin the pot, and Gayford went out and conducted his guests in personally. 

"The fact is, " said Gayford, after having delicately disclosed thescheme on hand, and roused his hearers to a pitch of uncomfortablecuriosity, "the fact is, Bowler and I thought you two fellows might liketo join us. "

"You'll have to wait till the spring, " said Wallas, a somewhat dismal-looking specimen of humanity. "I've got my Oxford local in January. "

"Oh, of course, we shouldn't start till after that, " said Gayford, readyto smooth away all obstacles. 

"Warthah hot, won't it be?" said Braintree, looking at the map. 

"No, I believe not, " said Gayford; "there's something about the GulfStream, you know, keeps it fresh. "

"Wum idea calling an island fwesh, " said Braintree, giggling. "It'll bea fresh start for it when we take possession of it, anyhow, " saidBowler. "Of course you'll bring your rifle, Braintree?"

"Warthah, " replied Braintree, "in case of niggers or wobbers. "

"Hope we shan't quarrel when we get out, " said Wallas. "That's the waythese things generally end. "

"Bosh!" said Bowler; "there's no chance of that--just like you, throwingcold water on everything. Wallas. "

"If you call what I say bosh, " said Wallas warmly, "it's a pity youasked me to join you. "

It took some time to get over this little breeze and restore the partyto good humour. This was, however, accomplished in time, and theconsultation continued. 

"We ought to have three more fellows, at least, " said Bowler. "I tellyou what, each of you pick one. Who do you say, Gav?"

"Well, I fancy young Wester might do, " said Gayford. 

"Warthah a pwig, isn't he?" suggested Braintree. 

"He is a little, " replied Gayford; "but he's very obliging, and fagsrather well. "

"All serene. Now then, Wallas, who's your man?" asked Bowler. 

"Tubbs, " said Wallas. Tubbs was one of the most hopeless louts atSwishford. 

Gayford gave a low whistle; but he was too anxious to preserve theharmony of the party to offer any objection. 

"Now you, Braintree?"

"I say, Cwashford. Jolly fellow, and knows French, too. "

"Ah, but he is such a cad, " said Bowler imploringly. 

"Couldn't you think of somebody else, Braintree?" asked Gayford. 

"Oh, have Cwashford. He's a wewy decent fellah. I like Cwashford, youknow. "

"Well, there's this to be said, " remarked Bowler, finding there was nogetting out of it, "it may be rather a good thing to have some one tokeep in order; it will give us something to do. "

"Yes, I expect you'll want it, " said Wallas. "My opinion is it will bejolly slow out there. "

"Not a bit of it. We shall have to go out every day and shoot ourgame--"

"With my wifle, " put in Braintree. 

"And then there'll be a log hut to build and the whole place to explore, and lots of bathing and boating. "

"And no lessons to do at night. "

"And we can get up concerts and penny readings, you know, for the winterevenings. "

"And needn't get up till half-past nine in the morning. "

And so they went on, till gradually the prospect became so delightfulthat even Wallas warmed up to it and expressed a wish that they couldstart at once. 

It was, however, decided that they could not manage it this term, asthey would have to spend Christmas at home and provide themselves withnecessaries for their journey. As to the means of getting out as far asSinnamary, at any rate, they had no anxiety on that score, for CaptainGayford, when he once heard the object of their expedition, would besure to take them on one of his ships, and possibly afford them muchvaluable information as to their further route into the bargain. 

Before the council broke up one solemn and momentous step was taken. 

"What shall we call our island?" asked Bowler dramatically, placing hisfinger on the map and looking round on his fellow-adventurers. 

There was a pause, and for a moment the founders of the new empire werewrapped in silent thought. At last Gayford said--

"I know--just the thing. "

"What? What? What?" inquired three voices. 

"New Swishford. "

It is hardly needful to add that the name was there and then dulyappended to the island on the chart in red ink, which done, the companyseparated to sleep, and heard all night long in their dreams the crackof Braintree's "wifle" echoing among the waving woods and fertilevalleys of New Swishford. 

Chapter II. Preparation. 

The week following the important consultation described in the lastchapter was one of serious excitement to at least seven boys atSwishford. 

Other fellows could not make out what was the matter, and as long asBowler did not shirk the football match, and Gayford stuck up as usualfor his house, they did not particularly care. It was certainly anovelty to see Braintree diligently reading a book in his odd moments, but when it transpired that the book was _Wobinson Cwusoe_, that wonderceased. And even the surprise of seeing Crashford the lion lying down, so to speak, with Tubbs the lamb, wore away in time, and theconspirators were, on the whole, left undisturbed by Swishford todevelop their plans for the eventful emigration of the coming spring. 

The three last elected members of the band had fallen in promptly withthe scheme, and were not a little elated at the honour conferred uponthem. Crashford became quite mellow towards his old enemy Gayford, andactually paid back Bowler a half-crown which he had borrowed three termsago. Tubbs, though less demonstrative, was equally delighted, and upsetthe inkpot over the chart, in his eagerness to exhibit to Wester theirnew home. [It was hardly worth noticing that Tubbs put his finger noton New Swishford at all, but into the centre of Peru, which he said hebelieved was one of the healthiest countries in all Asia. ] Wester, whoalways made a point of agreeing with the majority, found no difficultyin rejoicing, wherever the place might be, and only wished they had notto wait so long as next spring. 

"Why should we wait till then?" asked Crashford. 

"Oh, it's better weather, " said Gayford; "besides, Wallas is in for hisOxford local. "

"Oh, that doesn't matter tremendously, " said Wallas, who was beginningto think the world might after all go on if he did not pass. 

"We can give him an exam, on the ship going out, " said Bowler, "aSwishford local exam. , you know, and offer a slice of the island if hepasses. "

"It strikes me, " said Braintree, "a square mile of tewwitowy is warthaha wum pwize for a chap. "

"But, I say, " said Wester, "isn't our winter the same as their summer?so if we start now, we shall just get out in the warm weather. "

"Never thought about that, " said Bowler; "what do you say, Gay?"

"I know my uncle generally likes those parts not in the warm weather, "said Gayford. "But then, he's been at sea all his life. "

"By the way, when does his ship start?" inquired Wallas; "somethingdepends on that, doesn't it?"

"So it does, " said Gayford. "I forgot that. He got home a fortnightago, and he gets six weeks at home. That'll bring it to the end ofNovember. "

"Just the very ticket; we must start then, I say. "

"But how about my wifle if we don't go home at Cwistmas?" askedBraintree. 

"Oh, bother! Couldn't you get it sent up somehow, or couldn't you fetchit next Monday?--that's the term holiday, you know. "

"Hold hard, " said Bowler, "I've got another plan for Monday. You knowwe ought to get our hands in a bit before we start, and try and find outwhat we really want and all that sort of thing. Now, my idea is for usto get the coastguard's boat for the day at Sound Bay (you know there'snever any one there to look after it), and sail across to Long StorkIsland, and knock about there for the day, just to see how we get on. Of course, we shall have to come back before six; but we must makebelieve we've landed there for good, and see how we manage. And, ofcourse, if we get on there, we're bound to get on at New Swishford, forit's a far jollier place than the Long Stork. "

Bowler's proposition was hailed with acclamation. His hearers were justin the humour to put their enthusiasm to the test, and the notion of apicnic on the Long Stork as a sort of full-dress rehearsal of thecapture of New Swishford suited them exactly. 

They proceeded immediately to discuss ways and means, and found that byputting their pocket-moneys together they could raise the veryrespectable sum of forty-one shillings. Reserving the odd shilling forthe possible contingency of having to "square" a coastguard for the useof the boat, they had two pounds to devote to the purchase of stores, weapons, and other necessaries; and, as Gayford pointed out, of courseanything they got that wasn't eatable would come in for New Swishford. 

A sub-committee, consisting of Bowler, Braintree and Wester, wasappointed to expend the funds of the adventurers to the best advantage, and meanwhile each member was asked to report what else he couldcontribute in the way of stores to the general need. Before the end ofthe week the list was handed in, and as the documents might some day beof immense value to the future historian of New Swishford, I quote themhere. 

_Bowler_. --A waterproof, a hat-box, a pair of cricket bails, and a fold-up chair. 

_Gayford_. --The chart, a compass, jam-pots for baling out boats, aneight-blade knife, a hammer and tacks, and a chessboard. 

_Braintree_. --The wifle (pwaps), _Wobinson Cwusoe_, gloves, andumbwellah. 

_Tubbs_. --A crib to Sallust (sorry that's all I've got). 

_Crashford_. --Clay pipe, pack of cards, a corkscrew, a strap, and _HalHiccup the Boy Demon_. 

_Wester_. --Three tumblers, bottle of ginger-beer, and a bat. 

_Wallas_. --A saucepan and two eggs, a rope, and Young's _NightThoughts_. 

At the same time the sub-committee reported the purchase of thefollowing stores:--

 Fourteen tins of potted shrimps, 14 shillings; Ditto ditto peaches, 14 shillings; Ditto bottles of lemonade, 3 shillings 6 pence; (1 penny each allowed on returned bottles. ) Four of Stodge's spice-cakes, 4 shillings; A fishing-rod, 2 shillings 6 pence; Flies for ditto, 1 shilling; One kettle, 6 pence; One crumb-brush, 6 pence; Total, 2 pounds. 

This admirable selection of stores met with universal approval. Indeed, as regards the first four items, every one so highly approved that theywanted to take every man his share for safe custody to his own study. It was, however, thought undesirable to put them to this trouble, andthe sub-committee were directed to continue in charge of these and theother voluntary contributions until the eventful day. 

That was not long in coming round, though to the anxious voyagers itseemed long enough. The interval was spent in deep deliberation andsolemn preparation. Braintree had his boots most carefully blacked, andCrashford practised boxing all Saturday afternoon with Rubble of theFifth; Bowler and Gayford strolled casually round to Sound Bay, to seethat the boat was safe in its usual place, and prospected the distantdim outline of the Long Stork from the cliffs. Tubbs, feeling he mustdo something to contribute to the success of the undertaking, wrote along letter home, which he forgot to post, asking the forgiveness of hissecond sister, and adding, "Address for Monday, Long Stork Island. "Wallas amused himself by reading over the directions for restoring lifeto the apparently drowned, and Wester tidied up Bowler's study andhelped him make up the stores into seven equal brown-paper packages, writing the name of the owner of each on the outside. 

This done, the preparations were pronounced as complete as they could betill Monday dawned. 

The town holiday was an absolutely free day for the Swishford boys. There was no call-over in the morning, and, indeed, until the evening ateight o'clock they were their own masters. 

Most of the boys availed themselves of their liberty by lying in bed anhour later than usual on the November morning, a practice which greatlyfavoured our heroes in their design of escaping a little before dawn. 

Bowler was the first up, and went round to wake the rest. 

"Howwid gwind, " said Braintree, sitting up for a moment in bed andrubbing his eyes, and then subsiding again under the clothes. "Needn'tget up yet, Bowler, it's long before cockcrow. "

"It's just on six o'clock, I tell you, and it'll spoil it all if wedon't get away by a quarter past. Do get up, there's a good fellow. "

"Howwid waw morning, " groaned Braintree. "I'd warthah--oh, vewy well, I'll get up. "

And with a great effort he struggled out of bed and began to arrayhimself. Bowler had a similar task with each of the other adventurers, and any leader less sanguine or eager might have felt his ardour dampedby the evident want of alacrity on the part of his confederates torespond to the call to action. 

However, once up, the spirits of the party rose, and they assembled ingood-humour in Bowler's study, where by the dim light of a candle theseven brown-paper parcels were solemnly doled out, and a final review ofthe preparations made. 

A few more articles, such as a whistle, a bottle of hair-oil(contributed by Braintree), a shut-up inkpot and pen from Wester, and aguide to the environs of Tunbridge Wells from Tubbs, were thrown intothe common lot at the last moment, and stuffed into the pockets of theulsters in which the boys had armed themselves against a rainy day. 

All this being done, Bowler gave the order to march, which the partyobeyed by taking off their boots and crawling downstairs on tiptoe tothe front door. As silently as possible the great lock was turned andthe bolts drawn, and next moment the adventurers, with their boots inone hand and their brown-paper parcels in the other, stood under thestars. 

"Now stick your boots on sharp and step out, " said Bowler. The orderwas promptly obeyed, and the dim gables of Swishford soon vanishedbehind them as they sped along the cliffs towards Sound Bay. 

It was a good three miles, and in their ulsters, and weighted with theirbrown-paper parcels, the boys made slow progress. It was already dawnwhen, rather fagged and not quite sure how they were enjoying it, theyreached the top of the path which led down to Sound Bay. The nearapproach to their journey's end revived them, and they stumbled down thestony path cheerily but cautiously, until at last they had thesatisfaction of seeing the boat bobbing up and down in the littlenatural harbour close among the rocks. 

The wily Bowler and Gayford had marked where the oars and sail werekept, and fetched them in triumph from their hiding-place. The sevenbrown-paper parcels were solemnly embarked and stowed away under theseats, and then one by one the heroes of New Swishford stepped on board, the painter was thrown loose, silent adieux were waved to the land oftheir birth, and their gallant boat, nimbly propelled by Gayford and theboat-hook, threaded its way through the rocks and made for the boundlessocean. 

Chapter III. Consternation. 

The "Eliza"--that was the name of the coastguard's boat on which ourheroes had embarked--was a middling-sized sea-going rowing boat, which, if it was just big enough by a little judicious packing to hold theseven voyagers, could certainly not have accommodated more. 

While Gayford, with the dexterity of an experienced bargee, shoved theboat along out of the creek, Bowler took upon himself the care oftrimming the "ship, " and stowing away all the baggage. 

"As soon as we get out, " said he, "we'd better lie down on the floor, incase the coastguards see us. "

"Not much chance of that, " replied Gayford. "They never get up tilleight, and by that time we shall be halfway across. "

"Suppose they spot us and give chase?" said Wallas. "What a row weshall get into!"

"They've not got a boat, I tell you, and I don't believe there's onethey can get either, " said Bowler. 

"But they're sure to be on the look-out for us when we get back to-night. "

"Let them. It'll be dark at six, and we can land in Rocket Bay, youknow, and dodge them that way. "

Bowler was evidently so well up in the arrangements, and had made such acareful study of all the pros and cons of the venture, that every onefelt satisfied, and even the somewhat doubtful Wallas desisted fromthrowing more cold water on the expedition. 

It was a raw morning with a little bit of a fog, and a cool breeze rightoff the land. This last point, however, gave great satisfaction to theleaders of the party. Once out in the open they would be able to hoistsail, and without the exertion of rowing make a straight track for theLong Stork--much indeed as would be the case when, with a southerly windat their backs, they would before long plough the ocean from Sinnamaryto New Swishford. 

The fog also was decidedly in their favour, for it would help to screenthem from the observation of any wakeful and inquisitive coastguard. Infact, the unusual combination of wind and fog seemed like a special signof good omen to their adventure. 

"Hope it's not wough outside, " said Braintree, as the boat, now nearlyout of the creek, began to dance a little at the prospect of meeting theopen sea. 

"Can't be rough with the wind off the land, you duffer, " said Crashford. 

"Can't it, though?" said Wester, as a wave lifted the prow of the boatand nearly sent it back on the rocks. 

"I call that vewy wough, " said Braintree, looking and feeling a littleuncomfortable. 

"Oh, it's only the ground swell, " said Gayford; "we shall soon get outof that. Here, Bowler, old man, take an oar with Tubbs, and keep way onwhile I stick up the sail. Look alive!"

With some difficulty the oars were got out, and Tubbs made to comprehendwhat was expected of him. But comprehending was one thing with Tubbs, and doing was another thing. Just as he settled down to his oar, another wave lifted the boat and Tubbs with it, who clung wildly to theseat with both hands, leaving his oar to its fate. Luckily, Crashfordwas near enough to make a grab at it before it went, or the beginning ofthe expedition might have been marked by a serious catastrophe. 

The unhappy Tubbs having been shunted, Crashford took his place, andwith Bowler kept the boat's head steady till Gayford hauled up the sail, and the "Eliza" began of her own accord to fly through the water. 

At the sight of the majestic sail swelling with the wind, and still moreon perceiving a decided improvement in the pitching of the boat, thespirits of the party rose again, and Braintree actually began to hum"Wule Bwitannia. "

The cliffs of Raveling loomed dimly out behind them, and ahead theycould just discern the faintest outline of the land of their adoption. 

"Upon my word, " said Bowler, "this is jolly. It's just like the realNew Swishford, isn't it, you fellows?"

"Warthah, " said Braintree, "except my wifle to let fly at the seagullswith. "

"But, " said Wallas, "if the wind's off the land this side, it will beoff the sea when we get over there, so I suppose it'll get rougher androugher the farther out we get?"

This ominous suggestion had the effect of immediately damping thespirits of half the party, and Bowler and Gayford found it difficult torestore confidence in the much-abused ocean. The ocean, however, wentsome way to restore confidence in itself. For though it still continuedrestless enough to keep Braintree and Tubbs in a state of suspendedenjoyment in the bows, it showed no signs of getting worse as it wenton. 

Bowler was jubilant. With his hand on the rudder and his eye on thecompass, he kept the boat's course like a line, and fancied himselfheading due north from Sinnamary. Gayford, with the sheet in his hand, and a careful watch on the sail, could easily delude himself intofancying the coast-line of the Long Stork was the veritable shore of NewSwishford. 

"Isn't it prime, old man, " said he, "and won't it be primer still whenthe real time comes? I never guessed it would be so easy. Not athing's gone wrong. "

"No; and think of the lark of landing and collaring the island, too. Isay, who does the Long Stork belong to?"

"Don't know--the Long Storks, I guess. They're the only inhabitants Iever heard of. "

"Well, I'm sorry for them. But, I say, Gayford, it's just as well wehave got some grub on board, for there's not much sign of forests andgame, and all that sort of thing here. "

Not much indeed! Long Stork Island was a barren rock about a mile longand half a mile wide, with a few scraggy patches of grass on itsuninviting slope. No living creatures but the wild sea-birds patronisedit in the winter, when the waves lashed over the island and sent theirsalt spray from one end to the other. Even they seemed to avoid it. But beggars cannot be choosers, and as the Long Stork was the onlyisland of our heroes' acquaintance within reach, they had to take it asit was and make the best of it. 

A decided sea was running on the landward side of the island as theyapproached it, and even such inexperienced navigators as Bowler andGayford could see that there would be some difficulty about effecting aquiet landing. 

"Better go round the other side, " said Gayford; "it'll be quiet enoughthere out of the wind. "

So the boat's nose was put out to make a circuit of the Long Stork. 

"Look out, I say!" said, or rather groaned Braintree from the bows. "Don't make the boat woll. Why can't you wun her stwait in the wayyou--?"

His further observations were cut short, and during the rest of the timethat the "Eliza" was rounding the stormy cape he and Tubbs and Crashfordwere in a decidedly pensive mood. At last the circumnavigation wasaccomplished, and in tranquil water the boat cruised along under thesheltered shore of the island. The sail was lowered, oars were put out, the invalids sat up, and Bowler, standing up in the bows, scanned thecoast for a likely landing-place. 

He had not to search long. A little natural pier of rock ran outinvitingly, alongside which the boat was slowly and triumphantlybrought. 

"Now, you fellows, " said Crashford, "here goes for first on shore. Outof the way, Tubby. Hurrah for New Swishford!" And he leapt on shore, half capsizing the boat as he did so. 

Bowler found his authority unequal to the task of controlling theenthusiasm of his fellow-emigrants, and he had to let them land as theypleased, while he and Gayford grimly held the boat alongside. 

When all but Tubbs were ashore, their patience could hold out no longer. They followed the general rush, Bowler crying out to Tubbs as he sprangashore--

"See and make her fast, Tubbs, and land the grub, will you? We'll beback directly. " And off he scampered with the rest, to join in theceremony of capturing the island. 

Now Tubbs was not the best man who could have been chosen to execute soimportant a trust as that laid upon him; and Bowler, had he been ratherless excited at the moment, would have thought twice before he left himto perform it. In the first place, Tubbs could find no place to tie theboat up to, and as long as he sat in the boat and held on to the rock itwas evident he could not land the grub. So he was in a dilemma. He didhis best; he relaxed his hold for a moment and made a frantic grab atone of the brown-paper parcels. But it almost cost him his moorings, for the boat, taking advantage of its liberty, began to slide away outto sea, and it was all Tubbs could do to catch hold of the rock again intime to stop it. This would not do, it was clear. He pulled the boatalong to its old position, and throwing the parcel ashore, meditated. He must wait till one of the others came to help him. Poor Tubbs! Itwas hard lines to see the rest of the party scrambling triumphantly upthe hill, and find himself left here like a sort of animated anchor. Happy thought! How came he never to have thought of the anchor before?There it was in the bottom of the boat. It would be the simplest thingto jump ashore with it and fix it somewhere in the rocks where it wouldhold. No sooner was the brilliant project conceived than it wasexecuted. Seizing the anchor in his hands, Tubbs stepped gaily ashoreand triumphantly wedged one tooth of it into a crevice of the rock, where it would hold firm enough to keep a man-of-war in its place. Hewatched with a pleasant smile the "Eliza" as she drifted slowly out onthe rope, enjoying the prospect of seeing her presently tug at theanchor, and then give up the attempt to get free and resign herself toher fate. 

It was a longer coil of rope than he had imagined. The boat was twentyyards away at least, and still paying out. By the way, where was therope? With a cry of horror Tubbs sprang to the anchor and began haulingin. The rope came in gaily, but not the "Eliza. " She danced merrilycut to sea in a straight line for the North Pole, with the six brown-paper parcels on board, leaving her poor custodian to console himself asbest he could with a loose end of rope, which had never been fastened toits ring. 

What was he to do? After taking a few minutes to collect his ideas, bywhich time the boat was a hundred yards on its solitary voyage, itoccurred to him he had better inform the others of what had happened. So he started in rather a low state of mind in pursuit of them. It wasa long time before he came upon them, perched in a group on the highestpoint of the island, and singing "Rule Britannia" in a lusty choruswhich sent the scared seagulls flying to right and left. 

"Hullo, Tubby, old man, here we are! Got the grub safe ashore? Notbeen bagging any of the peaches, eh? You've been long enough. "

Tubbs replied by pointing mysteriously to a little speck out at sea. 

"What's the row? What is it?" asked Gayford. 

"You wouldn't guess what that little thing is, " said Tubbs. 

"What is it? Can't you speak?"

"Well, if you must know, it's our boat. The anchor wasn't tied, youknow!"

"The boat! You great booby!" cried one and all, springing to their feetand rushing in the direction of the pier, upsetting and trampling overthe unhappy Tubbs as they did so. 

"What on earth shall we do?" gasped Gayford, as he ran by Bowler's side. 

"We must swim for it, " said Bowler. "It's our only chance. "

"Can't do it. She's half a mile out. "

"It's all up with us if we can't get her!" groaned Bowler. 

They reached the landing-stage, and there, sure enough, danced the"Eliza" half a mile out at sea. 

"I'll try it, " said Bowler, flinging off his coat. 

"What, to swim? You'll do nothing of the sort, " said Gayford, seizinghis friend by main force. 

"I tell you it's our only chance, " cried Bowler. "Let go, do you hear?"

"No, I won't, old man. We must make the best of it. It'll be more likeNew Swishford than ever now. "

This last argument had more effect with Bowler than any other, and heslowly put on his coat. 

"I vote we souse that idiot, Tubbs, till he's black in the face, " saidCrashford viciously. 

"What's the use of that?" asked Bowler. "The fact is, you fellows, "said he, "we're regularly in for it now, and the sooner we make up ourminds what we shall do the better. "

"Let's make a waft, " said Braintree, mindful of his _Wobinson Cwusoe_. 

"Where's your wood?" asked Wallas. 

"Let's hoist a signal, anyhow, " said Wester. 

"No one to see it if you do, " said Wallas. 

"Let's have some grub, " said Crashford. 

This last suggestion met with general approval. They had had nobreakfast to speak of, and after their voyage and excitement hunger wasbeginning to assert itself. The one brown-paper parcel rescued from the"Eliza" was forthwith handed in and pronounced common property. Ithappened to be the parcel bearing Tubbs's name, and contained, besides aseventh part of the provisions, Tubbs's voluntary contributions to thegeneral store--namely, the crib to Sallust, and the guide to theenvirons of Tunbridge Wells. These, it was proposed and seconded, should be handed over to the owner as his share of the good thingscontained in the parcel, but Bowler and Gayford interfered on hisbehalf; and after having been reprimanded with a severity that took awayhis appetite, he was allowed to partake of a portion of potted shrimpand a potted peach, together with a small slice of cake. Bowler groanedto see what a hole even this frugal repast made in the provisions, andconsulted Gayford in an undertone on the possibility of slaying aseagull and the merits of raw poultry generally. 

Rather dolefully the provisions were packed up and deposited in a ledgein the rocks, while the party proceeded to wander about the island insearch of board and lodging. The charms of Long Stork Island had fallenoff greatly in the short interval, and the sea-fog, which was beginningto wrap it round and hide the mainland from view, seemed like a wetblanket both on the spirits and persons of the adventurers. 

After much dreary search a hollow was found on the hill-side, which byfastening together three or four ulsters might be roofed oversufficiently well to keep out the rain or cold if required. As to food, the island provided absolutely nothing except the chance of raw poultryalready mentioned and a few shell-fish on the rocks. 

The day wore on, and the fog turned to drizzle and the drizzle to rain. They held out against it as long as they could, but had to take shelterat last, and herd together in their extemporised cabin. 

Here a painful discussion ensued, "I hope you're satisfied now!" growledWallas. "This is mess enough to please even you, Bowler. "

"What do you mean?" retorted Gayford; "a lot you've done for the publicgood. There are plenty of seagulls about without you to croak, too. "

"I wish my umbwellah hadn't gone out to sea, " observed Braintree, shivering. 

"By the way, " said Crashford, "didn't I see it lying on the rocks. I'lljust run and see, " and off he started. 

"When shall we ever get away?" asked Wester. "We may get starved here. "

"They're sure to see us or find us out in a day or two, " said Bowler. 

"A day or two!" exclaimed Wallas; "do you really mean we've got to stayhere without food or shelter a day or two? I wish your New Swishfordwas in the middle of the sea. "

"So it is, " dryly observed Bowler. 

"Fine fools you've made of us with your humbug and child's play, "growled the other. 

"_You_ don't want much making, " retorted Bowler; "and if you want totalk any more, you can talk to some one else. "

Wallas accepted the invitation, and growled all round till everybody wassick of him. 

After a long absence Crashford returned without the umbrella. 

"I couldn't find it, " said he, sitting down. "It's gone. "

"But you found the peaches, you blackguard!" said Bowler, springing upand pointing to some juicy remains still clinging to the delinquent'scoat. And in his righteous indignation he dealt the traitor a blowwhich sent him out of the tent. 

A fight ensued there and then between Bowler and Crashford, unhappily, to the disadvantage of the former, who was no match for the practisedhand opposed to him. The company interposed after a few rounds, andnone too soon for the damaged though still lion-hearted Bowler. 

Crashford profited nothing by his victory, for it was decidedunanimously to exclude him from the tent till he chose to apologise forhis treachery; and meanwhile the remains of the slender provisions weretaken into safe custody out of his reach. 

The day wore on, and the rain fell heavier and heavier upon the ulster-roof over their heads. The wind whistled drearily above them, and themainland was entirely lost to sight. As far as they were concerned theymight be in the real New Swishford, a thousand miles from the nearestland. 

They huddled together silently, no one caring much to speak. OnlyBraintree broke the monotony by shivering audibly, and the footsteps ofCrashford, as he paced up and down outside to keep warm, added a drearyvariety to the silence. 

The afternoon drew on, and at last Bowler said--

"Better let the beggar in. "

"Hadn't we better all turn out and see what's to be done?" said Gayford. "We shall only come to grief here. The grub won't hold out for anothermeal, and then it'll be something more than a joke. "

"Come on, then, you fellows, " said Bowler. And the roof was hauleddown, and the party turned dismally out once more to seek their fortune. 

Chapter IV. Consolation. 

Our heroes, who in all their anticipations had never calculated onanything but fine weather and unlimited rations and congenialoccupation, began to entertain serious doubts as to the joys of foundingan empire, as they trailed dreadily along in the rain after Bowler andGayford. The weaker of the party had no spirit to suggest anythingthemselves, or to question what their leaders suggested; so theyfollowed doggedly where they were led, neither knowing nor caringwhither. 

With Bowler and Gayford it was otherwise. They felt rather ashamed ofthemselves for having lost their heads earlier in the day and resolvednow to atone for it in the only way they could. They put a brave faceon the situation, and tried to impart their courage to their followers. 

"I tell you what, " said Bowler cheerily, as the seven stood again on therocks at the water's edge; "it wants a good hour of dark, and the leastthing we can do is to spend the daylight in looking for some properplace of shelter and something to eat, if we can find it. Suppose I andTubbs and Braintree start to walk round this way, and you, Gayford, takethe rest round the other way. If any of us find anything, we'll stoptill the other party come up. I've got my whistle, so we'll be sure tohear one another. "

It could do no harm, and it might do good, so the party tacitly fell inwith the suggestion, and divided itself accordingly. Even Crashford waswise enough to feel he could gain nothing by sulking, and returned tohis allegiance without demur. 

"Can't we have something to eat before we start?" said Wallas. 

"My dear fellow, " replied Gayford, "I wish we could, but then we shallhave nothing left for to-morrow. "

Strange to say, Wallas disputed the matter no further, and turned withhis companions to start on their tour of discovery. 

Bowler kept whistling cheerily, and Gayford shouted in reply till thetwo parties were out of earshot. Then each walked on in silence, eagerly scanning sea and shore in search of hope. For Bowler's partythere seemed very little prospect of anything turning up, for their waylay across bare ledges of rock, with perhaps a pool to wade, or a littlecape to scramble across, but never a sign of food or shelter. Braintreedid indeed announce that in one place he saw a "cwab" disappear into ahole, but the chances of satisfaction from that source were too remoteto be pursued. 

How they longed to be back under the roof of old Swishford, and to hearthe cheery bell summoning the boys to tea, and how gratefully now wouldthey have welcomed the wholesome plenty of that often abused meal!Alas! there were no cups of tea, or eggs, or bread-and-butter going onthe Long Stork. 

"Of course, " said Bowler, "we could never be _quite_ stuck up for grubas long as there's seaweed about, and if the rain goes on like thisthere'll be plenty of water too. "

"You're wight there, " said Braintree; "but seaweed and wain-water iswarthah a spare diet. "

"Anyhow, " said Bowler, "we have got enough of the shrimps and peachesleft for a good breakfast to-morrow; that's one comfort. "

And they trudged on in that glorious prospect. 

For an hour they toiled along the rocky shore until the daylight almostsuddenly vanished, and the gloom of a damp November night fell uponthem. What was the use of exploring further? Even Bowler lost heart ashe stumbled about in the dusk, and heard Braintree shivering andchattering with cold beside him, and Tubbs's scarcely suppressed whimperof misery. 

"Better get back to the rest as soon as we can, " said he, taking out hiswhistle and blowing it again. 

They listened, but no answer came, only the shriek of the gulls and thesteady splash of the rain on the rocks. 

"Never mind, we can't be long before we get round to them, " said Bowler;"perhaps they've found a place, you know. "

For another half-hour they toiled on, Bowler blowing his whistle everyfew minutes, but always without response. 

"Where can they be? We're almost round at the place we started from, surely, " said Bowler, "and--hullo, look out there!"

They had reached a sudden break in the coast about twenty yards across, with rocks on each side which dropped almost precipitously into thewater, forming a serious bar to further progress. 

They must either scramble down and wade or swim across, or else turninland and make a long detour round the head of the chasm. 

Bowler made a careful inspection of the rocks, and then said--

"I think we could do it; what do you say? If we went round we mightmiss the others. "

"All wight, " said Braintree, blowing his hands; "I'm game, so's Tubbs. "

Tubbs said nothing, but stood by miserably, ready to follow Bowler'slead. 

"I'll go down first, " said the latter. "Mind how you come, the rocksare slippery. "

He lowered himself cautiously down the steep rock, finding just enoughto cling on to with his hands, while he felt his way down with his feet. He got to the bottom safely, and found firm footing in a ledge of rockclose to the water's edge. 

"Now, then, " shouted he, "down you come, Braintree. "

Braintree obeyed, and managed with difficulty to reach the ledge. ThenTubbs attempted. But he, poor fellow, clumsy at all times, and nowutterly unnerved by the miseries of the day, was not man enough for theventure, and, after one feeble effort, begged to be allowed to staywhere he was. 

"Nonsense!" cried Bowler; "come on, old man, we'll help you down allright. "

So Tubbs tried again. Had not the situation been so perilous, theappearance he presented as he clung wildly on to the rock with hishands, and kicked still more wildly with his feet, would have beenludicrous. But it was no time for joking. The two at the bottompiloted his feet as well as they could, and encouraged him in hisdownward career. But before they could reach him he slipped, and with ahowl fell backward into the sea. 

In a moment Bowler, dressed as he was, was in beside him, holding him upand striking out to where Braintree, with outstretched hand, waited tohelp them in. But it was long before they could haul his half-senselessform from the water; and by the time this was accomplished, Bowlerhimself was so exhausted that he in turn needed all Braintree's aid toland himself. At last, however, all three were on the ledge. 

But what were they to do next? Tubbs lay still half-stupefied, utterlyunable to help himself. The rock they had descended frowned above them, defying any attempt to return the way they had _come_, and between theledge they stood on and the rock the other side twenty yards of uneasywater intervened. 

"Could we swim across with him?" said Bowler, after a little. 

"I'll do my best, " said Braintree. 

"The thing is, " said Bowler, "the tide was dead out an hour ago, so itmust be coming in now. Oh, what a cad I was to lead you into this, Braintree!"

"Shut up, old man, I say, " said Braintree; and he began to take off hiscoat and boots. 

Bowler did the same. 

"We shall have to leave them behind, " said he. "It can't be helped. Are you ready?"

"Yes. But I say, old man, if I get done up and have to let go, don'twait for me. I'm not much of a swimmer. "

Bowler hesitated. 

"If I could only be sure of getting _him_ over, " said he, pointing toTubbs, "I might come back and--"

"Hullo! I say, Bowler, look there!" exclaimed Braintree suddenly, pointing out to sea. "Wasn't that a light? Blow your whistle, I say. "

Bowler obeyed, eagerly gazing in the direction indicated by Braintree. There was neither answer nor light. 

"I'm certain I saw something!" exclaimed Braintree. "Blow again, oldman. "

And once more the whistle sent forth a shrill cry seaward, accompaniedby a loud shout from Braintree. 

They waited in terrible suspense, but still no answer. 

"You must be wrong, " said Bowler. 

"No, I'm not; blow once more. "

And again Bowler obeyed. 

This time, sure enough, he fancied he saw a glimmer on the water; but itmight be only the lights on the mainland appearing through the liftingfog. 

For ten minutes they kept up an incessant whistling and shouting, theirhopes growing less and less as the time passed. At length, worn out anddesperate, they had given it up, and were turning once more to preparefor their swim across. But as they did so the light suddenlyreappeared, the time close to the shore. 

Once more, with frantic energy, they raised their signal of distress, and after a moment's terrible silence had the joy of hearing a faintshout across the water. 

"It's a boat!" cried Braintree. "Whistle again to show them where weare. "

Again and again they whistled, and again and again the responsive shout, growing ever nearer, came back. Presently they could even distinguishthe sound of oars, and at length the dim outline of a boat loomed acrossthe entrance of the gulf. 

"Where are you?" shouted a voice in the familiar tones of the Ravelingcoastguard. 

"Here. We can see you. We're on the ledge here, Thomson!"

In a few seconds the boat was alongside, and the three boys were safelylifted into it. 

"Where's the rest of you?" asked Thomson, as coolly as if this sort ofthing was an everyday occurrence with him. "We want seven of you. "

"I don't know where they are, " said Bowler. "They were coming roundthis way to meet us. You'd better row round somewhere where we can landand look for them. "

"Give your orders, " said Thomson. "You've had your day's fun, andseemingly you're determined I should have my night's. Row away, mate. "And he and his man turned the boat's head and pulled out of the gulf. 

"I say, Thomson, have you got any gwub or anything?" said Braintreefaintly. 

"Grub, " said the jocular coastguard. "What, harn't you found grubenough on this here island? Anyhow, if you do want something you'dbetter open that there bag and see what you can find. "

Bowler was too anxious to discover the missing ones to feel muchappetite for food, and kept blowing his whistle as the boat slowlycoasted the island. 

At length, to his unbounded joy, an answering shout was heard, and theshadowy forms of the four outcasts were seen standing on the pier fromwhich they had started two hours before. 

Jubilant were the welcomes exchanged as the heroes of New Swishford oncemore counted their full number, and ensconced themselves snugly in thestern of Thomson's boat round his wonderful bag of food. 

It did not take long to chronicle the doings of Gayford's party. Afterabout half an hour's journey they had been pulled up by the same chasmwhich had nearly proved too much for poor Tubbs. Finding it impossibleto cross it, they had turned inland, and for a cheerful hour lost theirway completely in the fog. At length, by means of walking in a straightline, they had come again to the coast, and after much searching hadfound the pier. And having found it, they resolved to keep it until theother party completed the circuit and found them where it left them. 

"And however did you find us out, Thomson?" inquired Gayford, after therepast had been done ample justice to. "Did your boat come ashore?"

"No, she didn't, young gentleman; and I can tell you you'll get to knowhow to spell her name tolerable well before you've heard the last ofher. "

"Oh, of course we shall get into a frightful row, " said Bowler; "but howdid you come to find us?"

"Why, one of you artful young scholards left a letter to his ma on histable, open for everybody to see, talking some gammon about a WestIndian island, and saying you was going to lay hold of the Long Stork, to get your hands in. I can tell you you _have_ got your hands in, mybeauties. There's a cart-load of birches been ordered for you at theschool already. "

These awful warnings failed to counteract the satisfaction of our heroesat finding themselves nearly back again in the region of blankets andhot porridge. Bowler in the name of the party magnificently presentedThomson with the odd shilling reserved for his benefit, and expressedhis sorrow it was not more. But, he added, if the "Eliza" ever turnedup, he might keep everything he found on board, including twelve tins ofshrimps and peaches, a bottle of hair-oil, a set of cricket bails, and acopy of Young's _Night Thoughts_; whereat Thomson was moved withgratitude, and said they were as nice a lot of articles as ever he cameacross, and he did not mind saying so. 

An hour later our heroes were all in bed, comfortable within andwithout. They were let down easy for their day's escapade, and exceptfor colds more or less bad, and a decidedly augmented bill at the end ofthe term to pay for a new "Eliza, " as well as a regulation forbiddingall sea voyages of whatever kind, they suffered no further punishmentthan the lessons of the day itself. To those lessons they added onemore of their own accord, by resolving unanimously, that from that dayforward they renounced all further claim to that eligible islandcommonly known as New Swishford.