Miss Harold feared that he was but poorly prepared for school, and was quite ready to help him, if he would give his mind to the effort. She thought that play, or reading books that he liked, was less waste of time than his common way of doing his lessons; but if he was disposed really to work, with the expectation of Crofton before him, she was ready to do her best to prepare him for the real hard work he would have to do there.
His mother proposed that he should have time to consider whether he would have a month's holiday, or a month's work, before leaving home.
She had to go out this morning. He might go with her, if he liked; and, as they returned, they would sit down in the Temple Garden, and she would tell him all about the plan.
Hugh liked this beginning of his new prospects. He ran to be made neat for his walk with his mother. He knew he must have the wet curl on his forehead twice over to-day; but he comforted himself with hoping that there would be no time at Crofton for him to be kept standing, to have his hair done so particularly, and to be scolded all the while, and then kissed, like a baby, at the end.
CHAPTER III.
MICHAELMAS-DAY COME.
Hugh was about to ask his mother, again and again during their walk, why Mr. Tooke let him go to Crofton before he was ten; but Mrs. Proctor was grave and silent; and though she spoke kindly to him now and then, she did not seem disposed to talk. At last, they were in the Temple Garden; and they sat down where there was no one to overhear them; and then Hugh looked up at his mother. She saw, and told him, what it was that he wanted to ask.
"It is on account of the little boys themselves," said she, "that Mr.
Tooke does not wish to have them very young, now that there is no kind lady in the house who could be like a mother to them."
"But there is Mrs. Watson. Phil has told me a hundred things about Mrs.
Watson."
"Mrs. Watson is the housekeeper. She is careful, I know, about the boys' health and comfort; but she has no time to attend to the younger ones, as Mrs. Tooke did,--hearing their little troubles, and being a friend to them like their mothers at home."
"There is Phil----" "Yes. You will have Phil to look to. But neither Phil, nor any one else, can save you from some troubles you are likely to have from being the youngest."
"Such as Mr. Tooke told me his boy had;--being put on the top of a high wall, and plagued when he was tired: and all that. I don't think I should much mind those things."
"So we hope, and so we believe. Your fault is not cowardice----" Mrs. Proctor so seldom praised anybody that her words of esteem went a great way. Hugh first looked up at her and then down on the grass,--his cheeks glowed so. She went on-- "You have faults,--faults which give your father and me great pain; and though, you are not cowardly about being hurt in your body, you sadly want courage of a better kind,--courage to mend the weakness of your mind. You are so young that we are sorry for you, and mean to send you where the example of other boys may give you the resolution you want so much."
"All the boys learn their lessons at Crofton," observed Hugh.
"Yes; but not by magic. They have to give their minds to their work. You will find it painful and difficult to learn this, after your idle habits at home. I give you warning that you will find it much more difficult than you suppose; and I should not wonder if you wish yourself at home with Miss Harold many times before Christmas."
Mrs. Proctor was not unkind in saying this. She saw that Hugh was so delighted about going that nothing would depress his spirits, and that the chief fear was his being disappointed and unhappy when she should be far away. It might then be some consolation to him to remember that she was aware of what he would have to go through. He now smiled, and said he did not think he should ever wish to say his lessons to Miss Harold, as long as he lived. Then it quickly passed through his mind that, instead of the leads and the little yard, there would be the playground; and instead of the church bells, the rooks; and instead of Susan with her washing and combing, and scolding and kissing, there would be plenty of boys to play with. As he thought of these things, he started up, and toppled head over heels on the grass, and then was up by his mother's side again, saying that he did not care about anything that was to happen at Crofton;--he was not afraid,--not even of the usher, though Phil could not bear him.
"If you can bring yourself to learn your lessons well," said his mother, "you need not fear the usher. But remember, it depends upon that. You will do well enough in the playground, I have no doubt."
After this, there was only to settle the time that was to pass--the weeks, days, and hours before Michaelmas-day; and whether these weeks and days should be employed in preparing for Crofton under Miss Harold, or whether he should take his chance there unprepared as he was. Mrs.
Proctor saw that his habits of inattention were so fixed, and his disgust at lessons in the parlour so strong, that she encouraged his doing no lessons in the interval. Hugh would have said beforehand that three weeks' liberty to read voyages and travels, and play with Harry, would have made him perfectly happy; but he felt that there was some disgrace mixed up with his holiday, and that everybody would look upon him with a sort of pity, instead of wishing him joy; and this spoiled his pleasure a good deal. When he came home from his walk, Agnes thought he looked less happy than when he went out; and she feared his spirits were down about Crofton.
His spirits were up and down many times during the next three weeks. He thought these weeks would never be over. Every day dragged on more slowly than the last; at every meal he was less inclined to eat; and his happiest time was when going to bed, because he was a day nearer Crofton. His mother, foreseeing just what happened, wished to have kept the news from him till within a week of his departure, and had agreed with Mr. Proctor that it should be so. But Mr. Proctor hated secrets, and, as we see, let it out immediately.
At last, the day came;--a warm, sunny, autumn day, on which any one might have enjoyed the prospect of a drive into the country. The coach was to set off from an inn in Fleet-street at noon, and would set Hugh down at his uncle's door in time for dinner, the distance being twenty-eight miles. His uncle's house was just two miles from the school. Phil would probably be there to meet his brother, and take him to Crofton in the afternoon.
How to get rid of the hours till noon was the question. Hugh had had everything packed up, over which he had any control, for some days. He had not left himself a plaything of those which he might carry: and it frightened him that his mother did not seem to think of packing his clothes till after breakfast this very morning. When she entered his room for the purpose, he was fidgeting about, saying to himself that he should never be ready. Agnes came with her mother, to help: but before the second shirt was laid in the box, she was in tears, and had to go away; for every one in the house was in the habit of hiding tears from Mrs. Proctor, who rarely shed them herself, and was known to think that they might, generally be suppressed, and should be so.
As Hugh stood beside her, handing stockings and handkerchiefs, to fill up the corners of the box, she spoke as she might not have done if they had not been alone. She said but a few words; but Hugh never forgot them.
"You know, my dear," said she, "that I do not approve of dwelling upon troubles. You know I never encourage my children to fret about what cannot be helped."
There was nothing in the world that Hugh was more certain of than this.
"And yet I tell you," she continued, "that you will not be nearly so happy at Crofton as you expect--at least, at first. It grieves me to see you so full of expectation----" "Does it indeed, mother?"
"It does indeed. But my comfort is----" "You think I can bear it," cried Hugh, holding up his head. "You think I can bear anything."
"I think you are a brave boy, on the whole. But that is not the comfort I was speaking of; for there is a world of troubles too heavy for the bravery of a thoughtless child, like you. My comfort is, my dear, that you know where to go for strength when your heart fails you. You will be away from your father and me; but a far wiser and kinder parent will be always with you. If I were not sure that you would continually open your heart to Him, I could not let you go from me."
"I will--I always do," said Hugh, in a low voice.
"Then remember this, my boy. If you have that help, _you must not fail_.
Knowing that you have that help, I expect of you that you do your own duty, and bear your own troubles, like a man. If you were to be all alone in the new world you are going to, you would be but a helpless child: but remember, when a child makes God his friend, God puts into the youngest and weakest the spirit of a man."
"You will ask Him too, mother;--you will pray Him to make me brave, and--and----" "And what else?" she inquired, fixing her eyes upon him.
"And steady," replied Hugh, casting down, his eyes; "for that is what I want most of all."
"It is," replied his mother. "I do, and always will, pray for you."
Not another word was said till they went down into the parlour. Though it was only eleven o'clock, Miss Harold was putting on her bonnet to go away: and there was a plate of bread and cheese on the table.
"Lunch!" said Hugh, turning away with disgust.
"Do eat it," said Agnes, who had brought it. "You had no breakfast, you know."
"Because I did not want it; and I can't eat anything now."
Jane made a sign to Agnes to take the plate out of sight: and she put some biscuits into a paper bag, that he might eat on the road, if he should become hungry.
Neither Miss Harold nor Hugh could possibly feel any grief at parting; for they had had little satisfaction together; but she said very kindly that she should hope to hear often of him, and wished he might be happy as a Crofton boy. Hugh could hardly answer her;--so amazed was he to find that his sisters were giving up an hour of their lessons on his account,--that they might go with him to the coach!--And then Susan came in, about the cord for his box, and her eyes were red:--and, at the sight of her, Agnes began to cry again; and Jane bent down her head over the glove she was mending for him, and her needle stopped.
"Jane," said her mother, gravely, "if you are not mending that glove, give it to me. It is getting late."
Jane brushed her hand across her eyes, and stitched away again. Then, she threw the gloves to Hugh without looking at him, and ran to get ready to go to the coach.
The bustle of the inn-yard would not do for little Harry. He could not go. Hugh was extremely surprised to find that all the rest were going;--that even his father was smoothing his hat in the passage for the walk,--really leaving the shop at noon on his account! The porter was at his service too,--waiting for his box! It was very odd to feel of such consequence.
Hugh ran down to bid the maids good-bye. The cook had cut a sandwich, which she thrust into his pocket, though he told her he had some biscuits. Susan cried so that little Harry stood grave and wondering.
Susan sobbed out that she knew he did not care a bit about leaving home and everybody. Hugh wished she would not say so, though he felt it was true, and wondered at it himself. Mr. Proctor heard Susan's lamentations, and called to her from the passage above not to make herself unhappy about that; for the time would soon come when Hugh would be homesick enough.
Mr. Blake, the shopman, came to the shop-door as they passed, and bowed and smiled; and the boy put himself in the way, with a broad grin: and then the party walked on quickly.
The sun seemed to Hugh to glare very much; and he thought he had never known the streets so noisy, or the people so pushing. The truth was, his heart was beating so he could scarcely see: and yet he was so busy looking about him for a sight of the river, and everything he wished to bid good-bye to, that his father, who held him fast by the hand, shook him more than once, and told him he would run everybody down if he could,--to judge by his way of walking. He must learn to march better, if he was to be a soldier; and to steer, if he was to be a sailor.
There were just two minutes to spare when they reached the inn-yard. The horses were pawing and fidgeting, and some of the passengers had mounted: so Mr. Proctor said he would seat the boy at once. He spoke to two men who were on the roof, just behind the coachman; and they agreed to let Hugh sit between them, on the assurance that the driver would look to his concerns, and see that he was set down at the right place.
"Now, my boy, up with you!" said his father, as he turned from speaking to these men. Hugh was so eager, that he put up his foot to mount, without remembering to bid his mother and sisters good-bye. Mr. Proctor laughed at this; and nobody wondered; but Agnes cried bitterly; and she could not forget it, from that time till she saw her brother again. When they had all kissed him, and his mother's earnest look had bidden him remember what had passed between them that morning, he was lifted up by his father, and received by the two men, between whom he found a safe seat.
Then he wished they were off. It was uncomfortable to see his sisters crying there, and not to be able to cry too, or to speak to them. When the coachman was drawing on his second glove, and the ostlers held each a hand to pull off the horse-cloths, and the last moment was come, Mr.
Proctor swung himself up by the step, to say one thing more. It was-- "I say, Hugh,--can you tell me,--how much is four times seven?"
Mrs. Proctor pulled her husband's coat-tail, and he leaped down, the horses' feet scrambled, their heads issued from the gate-way of the inn-yard, and Hugh's family were left behind. In the midst of the noise, the man on Hugh's right hand said to the one on his left, "There is some joke in that last remark, I imagine."
The other man nodded; and then there was no more speaking till they were off the stones. When the clatter was over, and the coach began to roll along the smooth road, Hugh's neighbour repeated, "There was some joke, I fancy, in that last remark of your father's."
"Yes," said Hugh.
"Are you in the habit of saying the multiplication-table when you travel?" said the other. "If so, we shall be happy to hear it."
"Exceedingly happy," observed the first.
"I never say it when I can help it," said Hugh; "and I see no occasion now."
The men laughed, and then asked him if he was going far.
"To Crofton. I am going to be a Crofton boy," said Hugh.
"A what? Where is he going?" his companions asked one another over his head. They were no wiser when Hugh repeated what he had said; nor could the coachman enlighten them. He only knew that he was to put the boy down at Shaw's, the great miller's, near thirty miles along the road.
"Eight-and-twenty," said Hugh, in correction; "and Crofton is two miles from my uncle's."
"Eight-and-twenty. The father's joke lies there," observed the right-hand man.
"No, it does not," said Hugh. He thought he was among a set of very odd people,--none of them knowing what a Crofton boy was. A passenger who sat beside the coachman only smiled when he was appealed to; so it might be concluded that he was ignorant too; and the right and left-hand men seemed so anxious for information, that Hugh told them all he knew;--about the orchard and the avenue, and the pond on the heath, and the playground; and Mrs. Watson, and the usher, and Phil, and Joe Cape, and Tony Nelson, and several others of the boys.
One of the men asked him if he was sure he was going for the first time,--he seemed so thoroughly informed of everything about Crofton.
Hugh replied that it was a good thing to have an elder brother like Phil. Phil had told him just what to take to Crofton, and how to take care of his money, and everything.
"Ay! and how do the Crofton boys take care of their money?"
Hugh showed a curious little inner pocket in his jacket, which nobody would dream of that did not know. His mother had let him have such a pocket in both his jackets; and he had wanted to have all his money in this one now, to show how safely he could carry it. But his mother had chosen to pack up all his five shillings in his box,--that square box, with the new brass lock, on the top of all the luggage. In this pocket there was only sixpence now,--the sixpence he was to give the coachman when he was set down.
Then he went on to explain that this sixpence was not out of his own money, but given him by his father, expressly for the coachman. Then his right-hand companion congratulated him upon his spirits, and began to punch and tickle him; and when Hugh writhed himself about, because he could not bear tickling, the coachman said he would have no such doings, and bade them be quiet. Then the passengers seemed to forget Hugh, and talked to one another of the harvest in the north, and the hopping in Kent. Hugh listened about the hopping, supposing it might be some new game, as good as leap-frog; though it seemed strange that one farmer should begin hopping on Monday, and that another should fix Thursday; and that both should be so extremely anxious about the weather. But when he found it was some sort of harvest-work, he left off listening, and gave all his attention to the country sights that were about him. He did not grow tired of the gardens, gay with dahlias and hollyhocks, and asters: nor of the orchards, where the ladder against the tree, and the basket under, showed that apple-gathering was going on; nor of the nooks in the fields, where blackberries were ripening; nor of the chequered sunlight and shadow which lay upon the road; nor of the breezy heath where the blue ponds were ruffled; nor of the pleasant grove where the leaves were beginning to show a tinge of yellow and red, here and there among the green. Silently he enjoyed all these things, only awakening from them when there was a stop to change horses.
He was not thinking of time or distance when he saw the coachman glance round at him, and felt that the speed of the horses was slackening.
Still he had no idea that this was any concern of his, till he saw something that made him start, "Why, there's Phil!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"This is Shaw's mill, and there is Shaw; which is all I have to do with," said the coachman, as he pulled up.
Hugh was soon down, with his uncle and Phil, and one of the men from the mill to help. His aunt was at the window too; so that altogether Hugh forgot to thank his companions for his safe seat. He would have forgotten his box, but for the coachman. One thing more he also forgot.
"I say, young master," said the driver; "remember the coachman. Where's your sixpence?"
"Oh, my sixpence!" cried Hugh, throwing down what he held, to feel in his curious inner pocket, which was empty.
"Lest you find a hole in your pocket, here is a sixpence for you," cried the right-hand passenger, tossing him his own sixpence. "Thank you for teaching us the secret of such a curious pocket."
The coachman was impatient, got his money, and drove off, leaving Hugh to make out why he had been tickled, and how his money had changed hands. With a very red face, he declared it was too bad of the man: but the man was out of his hearing, and could never know how angry he was.
"A pretty story this is for our usher to have against you, to begin with," was Phil's consolation. "Every boy will know it before you show yourself; and you will never hear the last of it, I can tell you."
"Your usher!" exclaimed Hugh, bewildered.
"Yes, our usher. That was he on the box, beside coachee. Did not you find out that much in all these eight-and-twenty miles?"
"How should I? He never told me."
Hugh could hardly speak to his uncle and aunt, he was so taken up with trying to remember what he had said, in the usher's hearing, of the usher himself, and everybody at Crofton.
CHAPTER IV.
MICHAELMAS-DAY OVER.
Mrs. Shaw ordered dinner presently; and while it was being served, she desired Phil to brush his brother's clothes, as they were dusty from his ride. All the while he was brushing (which he did very roughly), and all the first part of dinner-time, Phil continued to tease Hugh about what he had said on the top of the coach. Mrs. Shaw spoke of the imprudence of talking freely before strangers; and Hugh could have told her that he did not need such a lecture at the very time that he found the same thing by his experience. He did wish Phil would stop. If anybody should ask him a question, he could not answer without crying. Then he remembered how his mother expected him to bear things; and he almost wished he was at home with her now, after all his longing to be away.
This thought nearly made him cry again; so he tried to dwell on how his mother would expect him to bear things: but neither of them had thought that morning, beside his box, that the first trial would come from Phil.
This again made him so nearly cry that his uncle observed his twitching face, and, without noticing him, said that he, for his part, did not want to see little boys wise before they had time to learn; and that the most silent companion he had ever been shut up with in a coach was certainly the least agreeable: and he went on to relate an adventure which has happened to more persons than one. He had found the gentleman in the corner, with the shaggy coat, to be a bear--a tame bear, which had to take the quickest mode of conveyance, in order to be at a distant fair in good time. Mr. Shaw spun out his story, so that Hugh quite recovered himself, and laughed as much as anybody at his uncle having formed a bad opinion of Bruin in the early twilight, for his incivility in not bowing to the passenger who left the coach.
After dinner, Phil thought it time to be off to Crofton. He had missed something by coming away at all to-day; and he was not going to run the chance of losing the top of the class by not having time to do his Sallust properly. Mrs. Shaw said they must have some of her plums before they went, and a glass of wine; and Mr. Shaw ordered the gig, saying he would drive them, and thus no time would be lost, though he hoped Phil would not mind being at the bottom of every class for once to help his brother, seeing how soon a diligent boy might work his way up again.
Phil replied that that was not so easy as people might think, when there was one like Joe Cape determined to keep him down, if he could once get him down.
"I hope you will find time to help Hugh up from the bottom, in a class or two," said Mr. Shaw. "You will not be too busy about your own affairs to look to his I suppose."
"Where is the use of my meddling?" said Phil. "He can't rise for years to come. Besides----" "Why can't I rise?" exclaimed Hugh, with glowing cheeks.
"That is right, Hugh," said his uncle. "Let nobody prophesy for you till you show what you can do."
"Why, uncle, he is nearly two years younger than any boy in the school; and----" "And there is little Page above you in algebra. He is about two years younger than you, Phil, if I remember right."
Hugh could not help clapping his hands at the prospect this held out to him. Phil took the act for triumphing over him, and went on to say, very insultingly, that a little fellow who had been brought up among the girls all his life, and had learned of nobody but Miss Harold, could not be expected to cut any figure among boys. Hugh looked so grieved for a moment, and then suddenly so relieved, that his kind uncle wondered what was in his mind. He took the boy between his knees and asked him.
Hugh loved his uncle already, as if he had always known him. He put his arms round his neck, and whispered in his ear what he was thinking of;--his mother's saying that God could and would, if He was sought, put the spirit of a man into the feeblest child.
"True!--quite true! I am very glad you know that, my boy. That will help you to learn at Crofton, though it is better than anything they can teach you in their school-room."
Mrs. Shaw and Phil looked curious; but Mr. Shaw did not repeat a word of what Hugh had said. He put the boy away from his knees, because he heard the gig coming round.
Mrs. Shaw told Hugh that she hoped he would spend some of his Sundays with his uncle and her; and his uncle added that he must come on holidays as well as Sundays,--there was so much to see about the mill.
Phil was amused, and somewhat pleased, to find how exactly Hugh remembered his description of the place and neighbourhood. He recognised the duck-pond under the hedge by the road-side, with the very finest blackberries growing above it, just out of reach. The church he knew, of course, and the row of chestnuts, whose leaves were just beginning to fall; and the high wall dividing the orchard from the playground. That must have been the wall on which Mr. Tooke's little boy used to be placed to frighten him. It did not look so very high as Hugh had fancied it. One thing which he had never seen or heard of was the bell, under its little roof on the ridge of Mr. Tooke's great house. Was it to call in the boys to school, or for an alarm? His uncle told him it might serve the one purpose in the day, and the other by night; and that almost every large farm thereabouts had such a bell on the top of the house.
The sun was near its setting when they came in sight of the Crofton house. A long range of windows glittered in the yellow light, and Phil said that the lower row all belonged to the school-room;--that whole row.
In the midst of his explanations Phil stopped, and his manner grew more rough than ever--with a sort of shyness in it too. It was because some of the boys were within hearing, leaning over the pales which separated the playground from the road.
"I say; hello there!" cried one. "Is that Prater you have got with you?"
"Prater the second," cried another. "He could not have had his name if there had not been Prater the first."
"There! there's a scrape you have got me into already!" muttered Phil.
"Be a man, Phil, and bear your own share," said Mr. Shaw; "and no spite, because your words come back to you!"
The talk at the palings still went on, as the gig rolled quietly in the sandy by-road.
"Prater!" poor Hugh exclaimed. "What a name!"
"Yes; that is you," said his uncle. "You know now what your nickname will be. Every boy has one or another: and yours might have been worse, because you might have done many a worse thing to earn it."
"But the usher, uncle?"
"What of him?"
"He should not have told about me."
"Don't call him 'Prater the third,' however. Bear your own share, as I said to Phil, and don't meddle with another's."
Perhaps Mr. Shaw hoped that through one of the boys the usher would get a new nickname for his ill-nature in telling tales of a little boy, before he was so much as seen by his companions. He certainly put it into their heads, whether they would make use of it or not.
Mr. Tooke was out, taking his evening ride; but Mr. Shaw would not drive off till he had seen Mrs. Watson, and introduced his younger nephew to her, observing to her that he was but a little fellow to come among such a number of rough boys. Mrs. Watson smiled kindly at Hugh, and said she was glad he had a brother in the school, to prevent his feeling lonely at first. It would not take many days, she hoped, to make him feel quite at home. Mr. Shaw slipped half-a-crown into Hugh's hand, and whispered to him to try to keep it safe in his inner pocket. Hugh ran after him to the door, to tell him that he had five shillings already--safe in his box: but his uncle would not take back the half-crown. He thought that, in course of time, Hugh would want all the money he had.
Mrs. Watson desired Phil to show his brother where he was to sleep, and to help him to put by his clothes. Phil was in a hurry to get to his Sallust; so that he was not sorry when Mrs. Watson herself came up to see that the boy's clothes were laid properly in the deep drawer in which Hugh was to keep his things. Phil then slipped away.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Watson, turning over one of Hugh's new collars, "we must have something different from this. These collars tied with a black ribbon are never tidy. They are always over one shoulder or the other."
"My sisters made them; and they worked so hard to get them done!" said Hugh.
"Very well--very right: only it is a pity they are not of a better make.
Every Sunday at church, I shall see your collar awry--and every time you go to your aunt's, she will think we do not make you neat. I must see about that. Here are good stockings, however--properly stout. My dear, are these all the shoes you have got?"
"I have a pair on."
"Of course; I don't doubt that. We must have you measured to-morrow for some boots fitter for the country than these. We have no London pavement here."
And so Mrs. Watson went on, sometimes approving and sometimes criticising, till Hugh did not know whether to cry or to be angry. After all the pains his mother and sisters had taken about his things, they were to be found fault with in this way!
When his box was emptied, and his drawer filled, Mrs. Watson took him into the school-room, where the boys were at supper. Outside the door the buzz seemed prodigious, and Hugh hoped that, in such a bustle, nobody would notice him. Here he was quite mistaken. The moment he entered there was a hush, and all eyes were turned upon him, except his brother's. Phil hardly looked up from his book; but he made room for Hugh between himself and another boy, and drew the great plate of bread within reach. Mrs. Watson saw that Hugh had his basin of milk; and he found it a good thing to have something to do while so many eyes were upon him. He felt that he might have cried if he had not had his supper to eat.
The usher sat at the top of the table, reading. Mrs. Watson called his attention, to Hugh; and Hugh stood up and made his bow. His face was red, as much with anger as timidity, when he recognised in him the passenger who had sat beside the coachman.
"Perhaps, Mr. Carnaby," said Mrs. Watson, "you will find something for this young gentleman to do, when he has had his supper, while the rest are learning their lessons. To-morrow he will have his own lessons; but to-night----" "There is always the multiplication-table," replied Mr. Carnaby. "The young gentleman is partial to that, I fancy."
Hugh reddened, and applied himself to his bread and milk.
"Never mind a joke," whispered Mrs. Watson. "We wont plague you with the multiplication-table the first evening. I will find you a book or something. Meantime, there is a companion for you--I forgot that."
The good lady went down the room, and brought back a boy who seemed to be doing all he could to stop crying. He dashed his hand over his eyes every minute, and could not look anybody in the face. He had finished his supper, and was at a loss what to do next, as he had only arrived that morning, and did not know anybody at Crofton. His name was Tom Holt, and he was ten years old.
When they had told their names and ages, and where they came from, the boys did not know what to say next; and Hugh wished Phil would stop murmuring over his Sallust and looking in the dictionary every minute; but Mrs. Watson did not forget the strangers. She brought them Cook's Voyages out of the library, to amuse themselves with, on condition of their delivering the book to Mr. Carnaby at bedtime.
The rest of the evening passed away very pleasantly. Hugh told Holt a great deal about Broadstairs and the South Sea Islands, and confided to him his own hopes of being a sailor, and going round the world; and, if possible, making his way straight through China,--the most difficult country left to travel in, he believed, except some parts of Africa. He did not want to cross the Great Desert, on account of the heat. He knew something of what that was by the leads at home, when the sun was on them. What was the greatest heat Holt had ever felt? Then came the surprise. Holt had last come from his uncle's farm; but he was born in India, and had lived there till eighteen months ago. So, while Hugh had chattered away about the sea at Broadstairs, and the heat on the leads at home, his companion had come fourteen thousand miles over the ocean, and had felt a heat nearly as extreme as that of the Great Desert! Holt was very unassuming too. He talked of the heat of gleaning in his uncle's harvest-fields, and of the kitchen when the harvest-supper was cooking; owning that he remembered he had felt hotter in India. Hugh heaped questions upon him about his native country and the voyage; and Holt liked to be asked: so that the boys were not at all like strangers just met for the first time. They raised their voices in the eagerness of their talk, from a whisper so as to be heard quite across the table, above the hum and buzz of above thirty others, who were learning their lessons half-aloud. At last Hugh was startled by hearing the words "Prater," "Prater the second." He was silent instantly, to Holt's great wonder.
Without raising his eyes from his book, Phil said, so as to be heard as far as the usher,-- "Who prated of Prater the second? Who is Prater the third?"
There was a laugh which provoked the usher to come and see whereabouts in Sallust such a passage as this was to be found. Not finding any such, he knuckled Phil's head, and pulled his hair, till Hugh cried out-- "O, don't, sir! Don't hurt him so!"
"Do you call that hurting? You will soon find what hurting is, when you become acquainted with our birch. You shall have four times seven with our birch----Let us see,--that is your favourite number, I think."
The usher looked round, and almost everybody laughed.
"You see I have your secret;--four times seven," continued Mr. Carnaby.
"What do you shake your head for?"
"Because you have not my secret about four times seven."
"Did not I hear your father? Eh?"
"What did you hear my father say? Nobody here knows what he meant? and nobody need know, unless I choose to tell--which I don't.--Please don't teaze Phil about it, sir: for he knows no more about it than you do."
Mr. Carnaby said something about the impertinence of little boys, as if they could have secrets, and then declared it high time that the youngsters should go to bed. Hugh delivered Cook's Voyages into his hands, and then bade Phil good night. He was just going to put his face up to be kissed, but recollected in time that he was to leave off kissing when he went to school. He held out his hand, but Phil seemed not to see it, and only told him to be sure to lie enough on one side, so as to leave him room; and that he was to take the side of the bed next the window. Hugh nodded and went off, with Holt and two more, who slept in the same room.
The two who were not new boys were in bed in a minute; and when they saw