TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS

By Thomas Hughes

PART I. 

CHAPTER I--THE BROWN FAMILY

 "I'm the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir, With liberal notions under my cap. "--Ballad

The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and thepencil of Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are nowmatriculating at the universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited butlate fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted withthe family must feel that much has yet to be written and said before theBritish nation will be properly sensible of how much of its greatness itowes to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, homespun way, they have been subduing the earth in most English counties, and leavingtheir mark in American forests and Australian uplands. Wherever thefleets and armies of England have won renown, there stalwart sons of theBrowns have done yeomen's work. With the yew bow and cloth-yard shaft atCressy and Agincourt--with the brown bill and pike under the braveLord Willoughby--with culverin and demi-culverin against Spaniards andDutchmen--with hand-grenade and sabre, and musket and bayonet, underRodney and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, theyhave carried their lives in their hands, getting hard knocks and hardwork in plenty--which was on the whole what they looked for, and thebest thing for them--and little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs, and such-like folk, have led armies and made laws time out of mind; butthose noble families would be somewhat astounded--if the accounts evercame to be fairly taken--to find how small their work for England hasbeen by the side of that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have, until the present generation, rarely beensung by poet, or chronicled by sage. They have wanted their sacer vates, having been too solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not havingbeen largely gifted with the talent of catching hold of, and holding ontight to, whatever good things happened to be going--the foundation ofthe fortunes of so many noble families. But the world goes on its way, and the wheel turns, and the wrongs of the Browns, like other wrongs, seem in a fair way to get righted. And this present writer, having formany years of his life been a devout Brown-worshipper, and, moreover, having the honour of being nearly connected with an eminentlyrespectable branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, so far as inhim lies, to help the wheel over, and throw his stone on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever you may be, lest youshould be led to waste your precious time upon these pages, I make sobold as at once to tell you the sort of folk you'll have to meet and putup with, if you and I are to jog on comfortably together. You shall hearat once what sort of folk the Browns are--at least my branch of them;and then, if you don't like the sort, why, cut the concern at once, andlet you and I cry quits before either of us can grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. One may questiontheir wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but about their fight there can be noquestion. Wherever hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, aregoing; there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcass. And these carcasses, for the most part, answer very well to thecharacteristic propensity: they are a squareheaded and snake-neckedgeneration, broad in the shoulder, deep in the chest, and thin inthe flank, carrying no lumber. Then for clanship, they are as bad asHighlanders; it is amazing the belief they have in one another. With them there is nothing like the Browns, to the third and fourthgeneration. "Blood is thicker than water, " is one of their pet sayings. They can't be happy unless they are always meeting one another. Neverwere such people for family gatherings; which, were you a stranger, orsensitive, you might think had better not have been gathered together. For during the whole time of their being together they luxuriate intelling one another their minds on whatever subject turns up; and theirminds are wonderfully antagonistic, and all their opinions are downrightbeliefs. Till you've been among them some time and understand them, youcan't think but that they are quarrelling. Not a bit of it. They loveand respect one another ten times the more after a good set familyarguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another to his chambers, and another to his regiment, freshened for work, and more than everconvinced that the Browns are the height of company. 

This family training, too, combined with their turn for combativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. They can't let anything alone which theythink going wrong. They must speak their mind about it, annoying alleasy-going folk, and spend their time and money in having a tinker atit, however hopeless the job. It is an impossibility to a Brown to leavethe most disreputable lame dog on the other side of a stile. Most otherfolk get tired of such work. The old Browns, with red faces, whitewhiskers, and bald heads, go on believing and fighting to a green oldage. They have always a crotchet going, till the old man with the scythereaps and garners them away for troublesome old boys as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures knock them up, or makethem hold their hands, or think you, or me, or other sane people inthe right. Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck's backfeathers. Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them oneweek, and the next they are doing the same thing for Jack; and when hegoes to the treadmill, and his wife and children to the workhouse, theywill be on the lookout for Bill to take his place. 

However, it is time for us to get from the general to the particular;so, leaving the great army of Browns, who are scattered over the wholeempire on which the sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I taketo be the chief cause of that empire's stability; let us at once fix ourattention upon the small nest of Browns in which our hero was hatched, and which dwelt in that portion of the royal county of Berks which iscalled the Vale of White Horse. 

Most of you have probably travelled down the Great Western Railway asfar as Swindon. Those of you who did so with their eyes open have beenaware, soon after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalkhills running parallel with the railway on the left-hand side as you godown, and distant some two or three miles, more or less, from the line. The highest point in the range is the White Horse Hill, which you comein front of just before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you loveEnglish scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you can't do better, the next time you pass, than stop at the Farringdon Road or Shrivenhamstation, and make your way to that highest point. And those who care forthe vague old stories that haunt country-sides all about England, willnot, if they are wise, be content with only a few hours' stay; for, glorious as the view is, the neighbourhood is yet more interestingfor its relics of bygone times. I only know two English neighbourhoodsthoroughly, and in each, within a circle of five miles, there is enoughof interest and beauty to last any reasonable man his life. I believethis to be the case almost throughout the country, but each has aspecial attraction, and none can be richer than the one I am speaking ofand going to introduce you to very particularly, for on this subject Imust be prosy; so those that don't care for England in detail may skipthe chapter. 

O young England! young England! you who are born into these racingrailroad times, when there's a Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year, and you can get over a couple of thousand miles of groundfor three pound ten in a five-weeks' holiday, why don't you know more ofyour own birthplaces? You're all in the ends of the earth, it seems tome, as soon as you get your necks out of the educational collar, formidsummer holidays, long vacations, or what not--going round Ireland, with a return ticket, in a fortnight; dropping your copies of Tennysonon the tops of Swiss mountains; or pulling down the Danube in Oxfordracing boats. And when you get home for a quiet fortnight, you turn thesteam off, and lie on your backs in the paternal garden, surrounded bythe last batch of books from Mudie's library, and half bored to death. Well, well! I know it has its good side. You all patter French more orless, and perhaps German; you have seen men and cities, no doubt, andhave your opinions, such as they are, about schools of painting, highart, and all that; have seen the pictures of Dresden and the Louvre, and know the taste of sour krout. All I say is, you don't know your ownlanes and woods and fields. Though you may be choke-full of science, notone in twenty of you knows where to find the wood-sorrel, or bee-orchis, which grow in the next wood, or on the down three miles off, or what thebog-bean and wood-sage are good for. And as for the country legends, the stories of the old gable-ended farmhouses, the place where the lastskirmish was fought in the civil wars, where the parish butts stood, where the last highwayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was laidby the parson, they're gone out of date altogether. 

Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach, which put us down atthe cross-roads with our boxes, the first day of the holidays, and hadbeen driven off by the family coachman, singing "Dulce Domum" at the topof our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday came round. Wehad to cut out our own amusements within a walk or a ride of home. Andso we got to know all the country folk and their ways and songs andstories by heart, and went over the fields and woods and hills, againand again, till we made friends of them all. We were Berkshire, orGloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys; and you're young cosmopolites, belonging to all countries and no countries. No doubt it's all right; Idare say it is. This is the day of large views, and glorious humanity, and all that; but I wish back-sword play hadn't gone out in the Vale ofWhite Horse, and that that confounded Great Western hadn't carried awayAlfred's Hill to make an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the country in which thefirst scenes of this true and interesting story are laid. As I said, theGreat Western now runs right through it, and it is a land of large, richpastures bounded by ox-fences, and covered with fine hedgerow timber, with here and there a nice little gorse or spinney, where abideth poorCharley, having no other cover to which to betake himself for miles andmiles, when pushed out some fine November morning by the old Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well mounted, only know how he and thestanch little pack who dash after him--heads high and sterns low, witha breast-high scent--can consume the ground at such times. There beinglittle ploughland, and few woods, the Vale is only an average sportingcountry, except for hunting. The villages are straggling, queer, old-fashioned places, the houses being dropped down without the leastregularity, in nooks and out-of-the-way corners, by the sides of shadowylanes and footpaths, each with its patch of garden. They are builtchiefly of good gray stone, and thatched; though I see that within thelast year or two the red-brick cottages are multiplying, for the Vale isbeginning to manufacture largely both bricks and tiles. There are lotsof waste ground by the side of the roads in every village, amountingoften to village greens, where feed the pigs and ganders of the people;and these roads are old-fashioned, homely roads, very dirty and badlymade, and hardly endurable in winter, but still pleasant jog-trot roadsrunning through the great pasture-lands, dotted here and there withlittle clumps of thorns, where the sleek kine are feeding, with no fenceon either side of them, and a gate at the end of each field, which makesyou get out of your gig (if you keep one), and gives you a chance oflooking about you every quarter of a mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in our youth--was it the greatRichard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins--says, "We are born in a vale, andmust take the consequences of being found in such a situation. " Theseconsequences I, for one, am ready to encounter. I pity people whoweren't born in a vale. I don't mean a flat country; but a vale--thatis, a flat country bounded by hills. The having your hill always in viewif you choose to turn towards him--that's the essence of a vale. Therehe is for ever in the distance, your friend and companion. You neverlose him as you do in hilly districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill! There it stands right upabove all the rest, nine hundred feet above the sea, and the boldest, bravest shape for a chalk hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to thetop of him, and see what is to be found there. Ay, you may well wonderand think it odd you never heard of this before; but wonder or not, asyou please, there are hundreds of such things lying about England, whichwiser folk than you know nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it's amagnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with gates and ditch and mounds, all as complete as it was twenty years after the strong old rogues leftit. Here, right up on the highest point, from which they say you can seeeleven counties, they trenched round all the table-land, some twelve orfourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn't bear anybody tooverlook them, and made their eyrie. The ground falls away rapidly onall sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole world? You sink up toyour ankles at every step, and yet the spring of it is delicious. Thereis always a breeze in the "camp, " as it is called; and here it lies, just as the Romans left it, except that cairn on the east side, left byher Majesty's corps of sappers and miners the other day, when they andthe engineer officer had finished their sojourn there, and their surveysfor the ordnance map of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that youwon't forget, a place to open a man's soul, and make him prophesy, ashe looks down on that great Vale spread out as the garden of the Lordbefore him, and wave on wave of the mysterious downs behind, and to theright and left the chalk hills running away into the distance, alongwhich he can trace for miles the old Roman road, "the Ridgeway" ("theRudge, " as the country folk call it), keeping straight along the highestback of the hills--such a place as Balak brought Balaam to, and told himto prophesy against the people in the valley beneath. And he could not, neither shall you, for they are a people of the Lord who abide there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend towards the west, and are onthe Ashdown. We are treading on heroes. It is sacred ground forEnglishmen--more sacred than all but one or two fields where their boneslie whitening. For this is the actual place where our Alfred won hisgreat battle, the battle of Ashdown ("Aescendum" in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and made England a Christian land. TheDanes held the camp and the slope where we are standing--the whole crownof the hill, in fact. "The heathen had beforehand seized the higherground, " as old Asser says, having wasted everything behind them fromLondon, and being just ready to burst down on the fair Vale, Alfred'sown birthplace and heritage. And up the heights came the Saxons, asthey did at the Alma. "The Christians led up their line from thelower ground. There stood also on that same spot a single thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy (which we ourselves with our very own eyes haveseen). " Bless the old chronicler! Does he think nobody ever saw the"single thorn-tree" but himself? Why, there it stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, and I saw it not three weeks since--anold single thorn-tree, "marvellous stumpy. " At least, if it isn't thesame tree it ought to have been, for it's just in the place where thebattle must have been won or lost--"around which, as I was saying, thetwo lines of foemen came together in battle with a huge shout. And inthis place one of the two kings of the heathen and five of his earlsfell down and died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the sameplace. " * After which crowning mercy, the pious king, that there mightnever be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country-side, carved outon the northern side of the chalk hill, under the camp, where it isalmost precipitous, the great Saxon White Horse, which he who will maysee from the railway, and which gives its name to the Vale, over whichit has looked these thousand years and more. 

 * "Pagani editiorem Iocum praeoccupaverant. Christiani ab inferiori loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa arbor, brevis admodum (quam nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis vidimus). Circa quam ergo hostiles inter se acies cum ingenti clamore hostiliter conveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Paganorum regibus et quinque comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Paganae partis in eodem loco. Cecidit illic ergo Boegsceg Rex, et Sidroc ille senex comes, et Sidroc Junior comes, et Obsbern comes, " etc. -- Annales Rerum Gestarum AElfredi Magni, Auctore Asserio. Recensuit Franciscus Wise. Oxford, 1722, p. 23. 

Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep and broad gullycalled "the Manger, " into one side of which the hills fall with a seriesof the most lovely sweeping curves, known as "the Giant's Stairs. " Theyare not a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything like them anywhereelse, with their short green turf, and tender bluebells, and gossamerand thistle-down gleaming in the sun and the sheep-paths running alongtheir sides like ruled lines. 

The other side of the Manger is formed by the Dragon's Hill, a curiouslittle round self-confident fellow, thrown forward from the range, utterly unlike everything round him. On this hill some deliverer ofmankind--St. George, the country folk used to tell me--killed a dragon. Whether it were St. George, I cannot say; but surely a dragon was killedthere, for you may see the marks yet where his blood ran down, and moreby token the place where it ran down is the easiest way up the hillside. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a mile, we come to alittle clump of young beech and firs, with a growth of thorn and privetunderwood. Here you may find nests of the strong down partridge andpeewit, but take care that the keeper isn't down upon you; and in themiddle of it is an old cromlech, a huge flat stone raised on seven oreight others, and led up to by a path, with large single stones set upon each side. This is Wayland Smith's cave, a place of classic fame now;but as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as well let it alone, and referyou to "Kenilworth" for the legend. 

The thick, deep wood which you see in the hollow, about a mile off, surrounds Ashdown Park, built by Inigo Jones. Four broad alleys are cutthrough the wood from circumference to centre, and each leads to oneface of the house. The mystery of the downs hangs about house and wood, as they stand there alone, so unlike all around, with the green slopesstudded with great stones just about this part, stretching away on allsides. It was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his tent there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon come to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, are no more. Lincolnshire farmers havebeen imported, and the long, fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, butgrow famous turnips and barley. One of these improvers lives over thereat the "Seven Barrows" farm, another mystery of the great downs. Thereare the barrows still, solemn and silent, like ships in the calm sea, the sepulchres of some sons of men. But of whom? It is three miles fromthe White Horse--too far for the slain of Ashdown to be buried there. Who shall say what heroes are waiting there? But we must get down intothe Vale again, and so away by the Great Western Railway to town, for time and the printer's devil press, and it is a terrible long andslippery descent, and a shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, thereis a pleasant public; whereat we must really take a modest quencher, forthe down air is provocative of thirst. So we pull up under an old oakwhich stands before the door. 

"What is the name of your hill, landlord?"

"Blawing STWUN Hill, sir, to be sure. "

[READER. "Stuym?"

AUTHOR: "Stone, stupid--the Blowing Stone. "]

"And of your house? I can't make out the sign. "

"Blawing Stwun, sir, " says the landlord, pouring out his old ale from aToby Philpot jug, with a melodious crash, into the long-necked glass. 

"What queer names!" say we, sighing at the end of our draught, andholding out the glass to be replenished. 

"Bean't queer at all, as I can see, sir, " says mine host, handing backour glass, "seeing as this here is the Blawing Stwun, his self, " puttinghis hand on a square lump of stone, some three feet and a half high, perforated with two or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvianrat-holes, which lies there close under the oak, under our very nose. Weare more than ever puzzled, and drink our second glass of ale, wonderingwhat will come next. "Like to hear un, sir?" says mine host, settingdown Toby Philpot on the tray, and resting both hands on the "Stwun. " Weare ready for anything; and he, without waiting for a reply, applies hismouth to one of the ratholes. Something must come of it, if he doesn'tburst. Good heavens! I hope he has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, hereit comes, sure enough, a gruesome sound between a moan and a roar, andspreads itself away over the valley, and up the hillside, and into thewoods at the back of the house, a ghost-like, awful voice. "Um do say, sir, " says mine host, rising purple-faced, while the moan is stillcoming out of the Stwun, "as they used in old times to warn thecountry-side by blawing the Stwun when the enemy was a-comin', and ashow folks could make un heered then for seven mile round; leastways, soI've heered Lawyer Smith say, and he knows a smart sight about them oldtimes. " We can hardly swallow Lawyer Smith's seven miles; but could theblowing of the stone have been a summons, a sort of sending the fierycross round the neighbourhood in the old times? What old times? Whoknows? We pay for our beer, and are thankful. 

"And what's the name of the village just below, landlord?"

"Kingstone Lisle, sir. "

"Fine plantations you've got here?"

"Yes, sir; the Squire's 'mazing fond of trees and such like. "

"No wonder. He's got some real beauties to be fond of. Good-day, landlord. "

"Good-day, sir, and a pleasant ride to 'ee. "

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for readers, have you hadenough? Will you give in at once, and say you're convinced, and let mebegin my story, or will you have more of it? Remember, I've only beenover a little bit of the hillside yet--what you could ride round easilyon your ponies in an hour. I'm only just come down into the Vale, byBlowing Stone Hill; and if I once begin about the Vale, what's to stopme? You'll have to hear all about Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred, andFarringdon, which held out so long for Charles the First (the Vale wasnear Oxford, and dreadfully malignant--full of Throgmortons, Puseys, and Pyes, and such like; and their brawny retainers). Did you ever readThomas Ingoldsby's "Legend of Hamilton Tighe"? If you haven't, you oughtto have. Well, Farringdon is where he lived, before he went to sea;his real name was Hamden Pye, and the Pyes were the great folk atFarringdon. Then there's Pusey. You've heard of the Pusey horn, whichKing Canute gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the gallant oldsquire, lately gone to his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned outof last Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting according tohis conscience), used to bring out on high days, holidays, and bonfirenights. And the splendid old cross church at Uffington, the Uffingastown. How the whole countryside teems with Saxon names and memories!And the old moated grange at Compton, nestled close under the hillside, where twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright water-liliesin the moat, and its yew walk, "the cloister walk, " and its peerlessterraced gardens. There they all are, and twenty things beside, forthose who care about them, and have eyes. And these are the sort ofthings you may find, I believe, every one of you, in any common Englishcountry neighbourhood. 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or will you not? Well, well, I've done what I can to make you; and if you will go gadding overhalf Europe now, every holidays, I can't help it. I was born and breda west-country man, thank God! a Wessex man, a citizen of the noblestSaxon kingdom of Wessex, a regular "Angular Saxon, " the very soul of meadscriptus glebae. There's nothing like the old country-side for me, and no music like the twang of the real old Saxon tongue, as one getsit fresh from the veritable chaw in the White Horse Vale; and I say with"Gaarge Ridler, " the old west-country yeoman, --

 "Throo aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast, Commend me to merry owld England mwoast; While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, We stwops at whum, my dog and I. "

Here, at any rate, lived and stopped at home Squire Brown, J. P. For thecounty of Berks, in a village near the foot of the White Horse range. And here he dealt out justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sonsand daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the badness ofthe roads and the times. And his wife dealt out stockings, and calicoshirts, and smock frocks, and comforting drinks to the old folks withthe "rheumatiz, " and good counsel to all; and kept the coal and clothes'clubs going, for yule-tide, when the bands of mummers came round, dressed out in ribbons and coloured paper caps, and stamped round theSquire's kitchen, repeating in true sing-song vernacular the legend ofSt. George and his fight, and the ten-pound doctor, who plays hispart at healing the Saint--a relic, I believe, of the old Middle-agemysteries. It was the first dramatic representation which greeted theeyes of little Tom, who was brought down into the kitchen by his nurseto witness it, at the mature age of three years. Tom was the eldestchild of his parents, and from his earliest babyhood exhibited thefamily characteristics in great strength. He was a hearty, strong boyfrom the first, given to fighting with and escaping from his nurse, andfraternizing with all the village boys, with whom he made expeditionsall round the neighbourhood. And here, in the quiet old-fashionedcountry village, under the shadow of the everlasting hills, Tom Brownwas reared, and never left it till he went first to school, when nearlyeight years of age, for in those days change of air twice a year was notthought absolutely necessary for the health of all her Majesty's lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined to believe, that thevarious boards of directors of railway companies, those gigantic jobbersand bribers, while quarrelling about everything else, agreed togethersome ten years back to buy up the learned profession of medicine, bodyand soul. To this end they set apart several millions of money, whichthey continually distribute judiciously among the doctors, stipulatingonly this one thing, that they shall prescribe change of air to everypatient who can pay, or borrow money to pay, a railway fare, and seetheir prescription carried out. If it be not for this, why is it thatnone of us can be well at home for a year together? It wasn't so twentyyears ago, not a bit of it. The Browns didn't go out of the country oncein five years. A visit to Reading or Abingdon twice a year, at assizesor quarter sessions, which the Squire made on his horse with a pairof saddle-bags containing his wardrobe, a stay of a day or two at somecountry neighbour's, or an expedition to a county ball or the yeomanryreview, made up the sum of the Brown locomotion in most years. A strayBrown from some distant county dropped in every now and then; or fromOxford, on grave nag, an old don, contemporary of the Squire; and werelooked upon by the Brown household and the villagers with the same sortof feeling with which we now regard a man who has crossed the RockyMountains, or launched a boat on the Great Lake in Central Africa. TheWhite Horse Vale, remember, was traversed by no great road--nothing butcountry parish roads, and these very bad. Only one coach ran there, andthis one only from Wantage to London, so that the western part of theVale was without regular means of moving on, and certainly didn'tseem to want them. There was the canal, by the way, which supplied thecountry-side with coal, and up and down which continually went the longbarges, with the big black men lounging by the side of the horses alongthe towing-path, and the women in bright-coloured handkerchiefs standingin the sterns steering. Standing I say, but you could never see whetherthey were standing or sitting, all but their heads and shoulders beingout of sight in the cozy little cabins which occupied some eight feet ofthe stern, and which Tom Brown pictured to himself as the most desirableof residences. His nurse told him that those good-natured-looking womenwere in the constant habit of enticing children into the barges, andtaking them up to London and selling them, which Tom wouldn'tbelieve, and which made him resolve as soon as possible to accept theoft-proffered invitation of these sirens to "young master" to come inand have a ride. But as yet the nurse was too much for Tom. 

Yet why should I, after all, abuse the gadabout propensities of mycountrymen? We are a vagabond nation now, that's certain, for betterfor worse. I am a vagabond; I have been away from home no less than fivedistinct times in the last year. The Queen sets us the example: we aremoving on from top to bottom. Little dirty Jack, who abides in Clement'sInn gateway, and blacks my boots for a penny, takes his month'shop-picking every year as a matter of course. Why shouldn't he? I'mdelighted at it. I love vagabonds, only I prefer poor to rich ones. Couriers and ladies'-maids, imperials and travelling carriages, are anabomination unto me; I cannot away with them. But for dirty Jack, andevery good fellow who, in the words of the capital French song, movesabout, "Comme le limacon, Portant tout son bagage, Ses meubles, sa maison, "

on his own back, why, good luck to them, and many a merry roadsideadventure, and steaming supper in the chimney corners of roadside inns, Swiss chalets, Hottentot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So, having succeeded in contradicting myself in my first chapter (whichgives me great hopes that you will all go on, and think me a good fellownotwithstanding my crotchets), I shall here shut up for the present, and consider my ways; having resolved to "sar' it out, " as we say in theVale, "holus bolus" just as it comes, and then you'll probably get thetruth out of me. 

CHAPTER II--THE "VEAST. "

 "And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from henceforth neither fairs nor markets be kept in Churchyards, for the honour of the Church. "--STATUTES : 13 Edw. I. Stat. II. Cap. Vi. 

As that venerable and learned poet (whose voluminous works we all thinkit the correct thing to admire and talk about, but don't read often)most truly says, "The child is father to the man;" a fortiori, therefore, he must be father to the boy. So as we are going at any rateto see Tom Brown through his boyhood, supposing we never get any farther(which, if you show a proper sense of the value of this history, thereis no knowing but what we may), let us have a look at the life andenvironments of the child in the quiet country village to which we wereintroduced in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and combative urchin, and atthe age of four began to struggle against the yoke and authority of hisnurse. That functionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brainedgirl, lately taken by Tom's mother, Madam Brown, as she was called, fromthe village school to be trained as nurserymaid. Madam Brown was a raretrainer of servants, and spent herself freely in the profession; forprofession it was, and gave her more trouble by half than many peopletake to earn a good income. Her servants were known and sought after formiles round. Almost all the girls who attained a certain place in thevillage school were taken by her, one or two at a time, as housemaids, laundrymaids, nurserymaids, or kitchenmaids, and after a year or two'straining were started in life amongst the neighbouring families, withgood principles and wardrobes. One of the results of this system was theperpetual despair of Mrs. Brown's cook and own maid, who no sooner hada notable girl made to their hands than missus was sure to find a goodplace for her and send her off, taking in fresh importations from theschool. Another was, that the house was always full of young girls, withclean, shining faces, who broke plates and scorched linen, but made anatmosphere of cheerful, homely life about the place, good for every onewho came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young people, and infact human creatures in general, above plates and linen. They were morelike a lot of elder children than servants, and felt to her more as amother or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom's nurse was one who took in her instruction very slowly--she seemedto have two left hands and no head; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longerthan usual, that she might expend her awkwardness and forgetfulness uponthose who would not judge and punish her too strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the immemorial habit of thevillage to christen children either by Bible names, or by those of thecardinal and other virtues; so that one was for ever hearing in thevillage street or on the green, shrill sounds of "Prudence! Prudence!thee cum' out o' the gutter;" or, "Mercy! drat the girl, what bist theea-doin' wi' little Faith?" and there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in every corner. The same with the boys: they were Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, Enochs. I suppose the custom has come down from Puritan times. There it is, at any rate, very strong still in the Vale. 

Well, from early morning till dewy eve, when she had it out of him inthe cold tub before putting him to bed, Charity and Tom were pittedagainst one another. Physical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but she hadn't a chance with him wherever headwork was wanted. Thiswar of independence began every morning before breakfast, when Charityescorted her charge to a neighbouring farmhouse, which supplied theBrowns, and where, by his mother's wish, Master Tom went to drink wheybefore breakfast. Tom had no sort of objection to whey, but he had adecided liking for curds, which were forbidden as unwholesome; and therewas seldom a morning that he did not manage to secure a handful of hardcurds, in defiance of Charity and of the farmer's wife. The latter goodsoul was a gaunt, angular woman, who, with an old black bonnet on thetop of her head, the strings dangling about her shoulders, and hergown tucked through her pocket-holes, went clattering about the dairy, cheese-room, and yard, in high pattens. Charity was some sort of nieceof the old lady's, and was consequently free of the farmhouse andgarden, into which she could not resist going for the purposes of gossipand flirtation with the heir-apparent, who was a dawdling fellow, neverout at work as he ought to have been. The moment Charity had found hercousin, or any other occupation, Tom would slip away; and in a minuteshrill cries would be heard from the dairy, "Charity, Charity, thee lazyhuzzy, where bist?" and Tom would break cover, hands and mouth full ofcurds, and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck reservoirin the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose of the great pigs. Herehe was in safety, as no grown person could follow without getting overtheir knees; and the luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her fromthe dairy door, for being "allus hankering about arter our Willum, instead of minding Master Tom, " would descend from threats to coaxing, to lure Tom out of the muck, which was rising over his shoes, and wouldsoon tell a tale on his stockings, for which she would be sure to catchit from missus's maid. 

Tom had two abettors, in the shape of a couple of old boys, Noah andBenjamin by name, who defended him from Charity, and expended much timeupon his education. They were both of them retired servants of formergenerations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a keen, dry old man of almostninety, but still able to totter about. He talked to Tom quite as if hewere one of his own family, and indeed had long completely identifiedthe Browns with himself. In some remote age he had been the attendantof a Miss Brown, and had conveyed her about the country on a pillion. Hehad a little round picture of the identical gray horse, caparisonedwith the identical pillion, before which he used to do a sort offetish worship, and abuse turnpike-roads and carriages. He wore an oldfull-bottomed wig, the gift of some dandy old Brown whom he had valetedin the middle of last century, which habiliment Master Tom looked uponwith considerable respect, not to say fear; and indeed his whole feelingtowards Noah was strongly tainted with awe. And when the old gentlemanwas gathered to his fathers, Tom's lamentation over him was notunaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen the last of the wig. "Poorold Noah, dead and gone, " said he; "Tom Brown so sorry. Put him in thecoffin, wig and all. "

But old Benjy was young master's real delight and refuge. He was ayouth by the side of Noah, scarce seventy years old--a cheery, humorous, kind-hearted old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of allsorts of helpful ways for young and old, but above all for children. It was he who bent the first pin with which Tom extracted his firststickleback out of "Pebbly Brook, " the little stream which ran throughthe village. The first stickleback was a splendid fellow, with fabulousred and blue gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till the day of hisdeath, and became a fisherman from that day. Within a month from thetaking of the first stickleback, Benjy had carried off our hero tothe canal, in defiance of Charity; and between them, after a wholeafternoon's popjoying, they had caught three or four small, coarse fishand a perch, averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, which Tombore home in rapture to his mother as a precious gift, and which shereceived like a true mother with equal rapture, instructing the cooknevertheless, in a private interview, not to prepare the same for theSquire's dinner. Charity had appealed against old Benjy in the meantime, representing the dangers of the canal banks; but Mrs. Brown, seeing theboy's inaptitude for female guidance, had decided in Benjy's favour, andfrom thenceforth the old man was Tom's dry nurse. And as they sat by thecanal watching their little green-and-white float, Benjy would instructhim in the doings of deceased Browns. How his grandfather, in the earlydays of the great war, when there was much distress and crime in theVale, and the magistrates had been threatened by the mob, had ridden inwith a big stick in his hand, and held the petty sessions by himself. How his great-uncle, the rector, had encountered and laid the lastghost, who had frightened the old women, male and female, of theparish out of their senses, and who turned out to be the blacksmith'sapprentice disguised in drink and a white sheet. It was Benjy, too, who saddled Tom's first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries ofhorsemanship, teaching him to throw his weight back and keep his handlow, and who stood chuckling outside the door of the girls' school whenTom rode his little Shetland into the cottage and round the table, wherethe old dame and her pupils were seated at their work. 

Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished in the Vale for theirprowess in all athletic games. Some half-dozen of his brothers andkinsmen had gone to the wars, of whom only one had survived to comehome, with a small pension, and three bullets in different parts of hisbody; he had shared Benjy's cottage till his death, and had left him hisold dragoon's sword and pistol, which hung over the mantelpiece, flankedby a pair of heavy single-sticks with which Benjy himself had won renownlong ago as an old gamester, against the picked men of Wiltshire andSomersetshire, in many a good bout at the revels and pastimes of thecountry-side. For he had been a famous back-swordman in his young days, and a good wrestler at elbow and collar. 

Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious holiday pursuits ofthe Vale--those by which men attained fame--and each village had itschampion. I suppose that, on the whole, people were less worked thenthan they are now; at any rate, they seemed to have more time and energyfor the old pastimes. The great times for back-swording came round oncea year in each village; at the feast. The Vale "veasts" were notthe common statute feasts, but much more ancient business. They areliterally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of the dedication--thatis, they were first established in the churchyard on the day on whichthe village church was opened for public worship, which was on the wakeor festival of the patron saint, and have been held on the same day inevery year since that time. 

There was no longer any remembrance of why the "veast" had beeninstituted, but nevertheless it had a pleasant and almost sacredcharacter of its own; for it was then that all the children of thevillage, wherever they were scattered, tried to get home for a holidayto visit their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing with them theirwages or some little gift from up the country for the old folk. Perhapsfor a day or two before, but at any rate on "veast day" and the dayafter, in our village, you might see strapping, healthy young men andwomen from all parts of the country going round from house to house intheir best clothes, and finishing up with a call on Madam Brown, whom they would consult as to putting out their earnings to the bestadvantage, or how best to expend the same for the benefit of the oldfolk. Every household, however poor, managed to raise a "feast-cake"and a bottle of ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage tableready for all comers, and not unlikely to make them remember feast-time, for feast-cake is very solid, and full of huge raisins. Moreover, feast-time was the day of reconciliation for the parish. If Job Higginsand Noah Freeman hadn't spoken for the last six months, their "oldwomen" would be sure to get it patched up by that day. And though therewas a good deal of drinking and low vice in the booths of an evening, it was pretty well confined to those who would have been doing the like, "veast or no veast;" and on the whole, the effect was humanising andChristian. In fact, the only reason why this is not the case still isthat gentlefolk and farmers have taken to other amusements, and have, asusual, forgotten the poor. They don't attend the feasts themselves, andcall them disreputable; whereupon the steadiest of the poor leave themalso, and they become what they are called. Class amusements, bethey for dukes or ploughboys, always become nuisances and curses to acountry. The true charm of cricket and hunting is that they are stillmore or less sociable and universal; there's a place for every man whowill come and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of "veast day" more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken under old Benjy's tutelage. The feastwas held in a large green field at the lower end of the village. Theroad to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and the brook by the sideof the road; and above the brook was another large, gentle, slopingpasture-land, with a footpath running down it from the churchyard; andthe old church, the originator of all the mirth, towered up with itsgray walls and lancet windows, overlooking and sanctioning the whole, though its own share therein had been forgotten. At the point where thefootpath crossed the brook and road, and entered on the field where thefeast was held, was a long, low roadside inn; and on the opposite sideof the field was a large white thatched farmhouse, where dwelt an oldsporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels. 

Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered the old man and thechild hand-in-hand early on the afternoon of the day before the feast, and wandered all round the ground, which was already being occupiedby the "cheap Jacks, " with their green-covered carts and marvellousassortment of wares; and the booths of more legitimate small traders, with their tempting arrays of fairings and eatables; and pennypeep-shows and other shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, andboa-constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of most interest toBenjy, and of course to his pupil also, was the stage of rough plankssome four feet high, which was being put up by the village carpenter forthe back-swording and wrestling. And after surveying the whole tenderly, old Benjy led his charge away to the roadside inn, where he ordered aglass of ale and a long pipe for himself, and discussed these unwontedluxuries on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening with minehost, another old servant of the Browns, and speculated with him on thelikelihood of a good show of old gamesters to contend for the morrow'sprizes, and told tales of the gallant bouts of forty years back, towhich Tom listened with all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when the church bellswere ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy appeared in the servants' hall, resplendent in a long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of oldyellow buckskins and top-boots which he had cleaned for and inheritedfrom Tom's grandfather, a stout thorn stick in his hand, and a nosegayof pinks and lavender in his buttonhole, and led away Tom in his bestclothes, and two new shillings in his breeches-pockets? Those two, atany rate, look like enjoying the day's revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the churchyard, for alreadythey see the field thronged with country folk; the men in clean, whitesmocks or velveteen or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats ofmany colours, and the women in the beautiful, long scarlet cloak--theusual out-door dress of west-country women in those days, and whichoften descended in families from mother to daughter--or in new-fashionedstuff shawls, which, if they would but believe it, don't become themhalf so well. The air resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the drumsand trumpets of the showmen shouting at the doors of their caravans, over which tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen within hangtemptingly; while through all rises the shrill "root-too-too-too" of Mr. Punch, and the unceasing pan-pipe of his satellite. 

"Lawk a' massey, Mr. Benjamin, " cries a stout, motherly woman in a redcloak, as they enter the field, "be that you? Well, I never! You do lookpurely. And how's the Squire, and madam, and the family?"

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who has left our villagefor some years, but has come over for "veast" day on a visit to an oldgossip, and gently indicates the heir-apparent of the Browns. 

"Bless his little heart! I must gi' un a kiss. --Here, Susannah, Susannah!" cries she, raising herself from the embrace, "come and seeMr. Benjamin and young Master Tom. --You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin;she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, though her'llbe sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim to take her to see madam to get hera place. "

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old school-fellows, anddrops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. And elders come up from all parts tosalute Benjy, and girls who have been madam's pupils to kiss MasterTom. And they carry him off to load him with fairings; and he returnsto Benjy, his hat and coat covered with ribbons, and his pockets crammedwith wonderful boxes which open upon ever new boxes, and popguns, andtrumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread from the stall of AngelHeavens, sole vender thereof, whose booth groans with kings and queens, and elephants and prancing steeds, all gleaming with gold. Therewas more gold on Angel's cakes than there is ginger in those ofthis degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in thechurchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the consumersof Angel's gingerbread. Alas! he is with his namesakes, and his receiptshave, I fear, died with him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show--at least Tom does--while oldBenjy stands outside and gossips and walks up the steps, and enters themysterious doors of the pink-eyed lady and the Irish giant, who do notby any means come up to their pictures; and the boa will not swallow hisrabbit, but there the rabbit is waiting to be swallowed; and what canyou expect for tuppence? We are easily pleased in the Vale. Now thereis a rush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and shouts oflaughter; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy's shoulders, and beholds ajingling match in all its glory. The games are begun, and this is theopening of them. It is a quaint game, immensely amusing to look at;and as I don't know whether it is used in your counties, I had betterdescribe it. A large roped ring is made, into which are introduceda dozen or so of big boys and young men who mean to play; these arecarefully blinded and turned loose into the ring, and then a man isintroduced not blindfolded; with a bell hung round his neck, and his twohands tied behind him. Of course every time he moves the bell must ring, as he has no hand to hold it; and so the dozen blindfolded men have tocatch him. This they cannot always manage if he is a lively fellow, buthalf of them always rush into the arms of the other half, or drive theirheads together, or tumble over; and then the crowd laughs vehemently, and invents nicknames for them on the spur of the moment; and they, ifthey be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind them, and notunfrequently pitch into one another, each thinking that the other musthave run against him on purpose. It is great fun to look at a jinglingmatch certainly, and Tom shouts and jumps on old Benjy's shoulders atthe sight, until the old man feels weary, and shifts him to the strongyoung shoulders of the groom, who has just got down to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in another part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, the old farmer whose house, ashas been said, overlooks the field, and who is master of the revels, gets up the steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it mayconcern that a half-sovereign in money will be forthcoming to the oldgamester who breaks most heads; to which the Squire and he have added anew hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the men of theimmediate neighbourhood, but not enough to bring any very high talentfrom a distance; so, after a glance or two round, a tall fellow, who isa down shepherd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the steps, looking rather sheepish. The crowd, of course, first cheer, and thenchaff as usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling the sticks tosee which will suit him. 

"Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst plaay wi' he arra daay, " says hiscompanion to the blacksmith's apprentice, a stout young fellow ofnineteen or twenty. Willum's sweetheart is in the "veast" somewhere, andhas strictly enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording, onpain of her highest displeasure; but as she is not to be seen (the womenpretend not to like to see the backsword play, and keep away from thestage), and as his hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to thestage, and follows himself, hoping that he will only have to break otherpeople's heads, or that, after all, Rachel won't really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half-gipsy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the Vale not for much good, I fancy:

 "For twenty times was Peter feared For once that Peter was respected, "

in fact. And then three or four other hats, including the glossycastor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and would-be champion ofthe neighbourhood, a well-to-do young butcher of twenty-eight orthereabouts, and a great strapping fellow, with his full allowance ofbluster. This is a capital show of gamesters, considering the amountof the prize; so, while they are picking their sticks and drawing theirlots, I think I must tell you, as shortly as I can, how the noble oldgame of back-sword is played; for it is sadly gone out of late, even inthe Vale, and maybe you have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash stick with a large basket handle, heavierand somewhat shorter than a common single-stick. The players are called"old gamesters"--why, I can't tell you--and their object is simplyto break one another's heads; for the moment that blood runs an inchanywhere above the eyebrow, the old gamester to whom it belongs isbeaten, and has to stop. A very slight blow with the sticks will fetchblood, so that it is by no means a punishing pastime, if the men don'tplay on purpose and savagely at the body and arms of their adversaries. The old gamester going into action only takes off his hat and coat, andarms himself with a stick; he then loops the fingers of his left hand ina handkerchief or strap, which he fastens round his left leg, measuringthe length, so that when he draws it tight with his left elbow in theair, that elbow shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus you see, solong as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, regardless of cuts, hehas a perfect guard for the left side of his head. Then he advances hisright hand above and in front of his head, holding his stick across, sothat its point projects an inch or two over his left elbow; and thushis whole head is completely guarded, and he faces his man armed in likemanner; and they stand some three feet apart, often nearer, and feint, and strike, and return at one another's heads, until one cries "hold, "or blood flows. In the first case they are allowed a minute's time; andgo on again; in the latter another pair of gamesters are called on. Ifgood men are playing, the quickness of the returns is marvellous: youhear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing his stick along palings, only heavier; and the closeness of the men in action to one anothergives it a strange interest, and makes a spell at back-swording a verynoble sight. 

They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis and the gipsy manhave drawn the first lot. So the rest lean against the rails of thestage, and Joe and the dark man meet in the middle, the boards havingbeen strewed with sawdust, Joe's white shirt and spotless drab breechesand boots contrasting with the gipsy's coarse blue shirt and dirty greenvelveteen breeches and leather gaiters. Joe is evidently turning up hisnose at the other, and half insulted at having to break his head. 

The gipsy is a tough, active fellow, but not very skilful with hisweapon, so that Joe's weight and strength tell in a minute; he is tooheavy metal for him. Whack, whack, whack, come his blows, breaking downthe gipsy's guard, and threatening to reach his head every moment. Thereit is at last. "Blood, blood!" shout the spectators, as a thin streamoozes out slowly from the roots of his hair, and the umpire calls tothem to stop. The gipsy scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasantmanner, while Master Joe swaggers about, and makes attitudes, and thinkshimself, and shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in thefield. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other candidates for thenew hat, and at last come the shepherd and Willum Smith. This is thecrack set-to of the day. They are both in famous wind, and there is nocrying "hold. " The shepherd is an old hand, and up to all the dodges. Hetries them one after another, and very nearly gets at Willum's headby coming in near, and playing over his guard at the half-stick; butsomehow Willum blunders through, catching the stick on his shoulders, neck, sides, every now and then, anywhere but on his head, and hisreturns are heavy and straight, and he is the youngest gamester and afavourite in the parish, and his gallant stand brings down shouts andcheers, and the knowing ones think he'll win if he keeps steady; andTom, on the groom's shoulder, holds his hands together, and can hardlybreathe for excitement. 

Alas for Willum! His sweetheart, getting tired of female companionship, has been hunting the booths to see where he can have got to, and nowcatches sight of him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and turnspale; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, "Bless 'ee, child, doan't 'ee go a'nigst it;" but she breaks away and runs towards thestage calling his name. Willum keeps up his guard stoutly, but glancesfor a moment towards the voice. No guard will do it, Willum, without theeye. The shepherd steps round and strikes, and the point of his stickjust grazes Willum's forehead, fetching off the skin, and the bloodflows, and the umpire cries, "Hold!" and poor Willum's chance is up forthe day. But he takes it very well, and puts on his old hat and coat, and goes down to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out ofmischief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off, --

"Now doan't 'ee, Rachel! I wouldn't ha' done it, only I wanted summutto buy 'ee a fairing wi', and I be as vlush o' money as a twod o'feathers. "

"Thee mind what I tells 'ee, " rejoins Rachel saucily, "and doan't 'eekep blethering about fairings. "

Tom resolves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of his twoshillings after the back-swording. 

Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout ends in an easyvictory, while the shepherd has a tough job to break his second head;and when Joe and the shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hopeto see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first round andfalls against the rails, hurting himself so that the old farmer will notlet him go on, much as he wishes to try; and that impostor Joe (for heis certainly not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage theconquering gamester, though he hasn't had five minutes' really tryingplay. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money into it, and then, as if a thought strikes him, and he doesn't think his victory quiteacknowledged down below, walks to each face of the stage, and looksdown, shaking the money, and chaffing, as how he'll stake hat and moneyand another half-sovereign "agin any gamester as hasn't played already. "Cunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Willum and the shepherd, who is quitefresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just coming down, when a queer old hat, something like a doctor of divinity's shovel, ischucked on to the stage and an elderly, quiet man steps out, who hasbeen watching the play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi' theprodigalish young chap. 

The crowd cheer, and begin to chaff Joe, who turns up his nose andswaggers across to the sticks. "Imp'dent old wosbird!" says he; "I'llbreak the bald head on un to the truth. "

The old boy is very bald, certainly, and the blood will show fast enoughif you can touch him, Joe. 

He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up in a long-flappedwaistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley might have worn when it was new, picks out a stick, and is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, butbegins his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down the oldman's guard by sheer strength. But it won't do; he catches every blowclose by the basket, and though he is rather stiff in his returns, after a minute walks Joe about the stage, and is clearly a stanch oldgamester. Joe now comes in, and making the most of his height, tries toget over the old man's guard at half-stick, by which he takes a smartblow in the ribs and another on the elbow, and nothing more. And now heloses wind and begins to puff, and the crowd laugh. "Cry 'hold, ' Joe;thee'st met thy match!" Instead of taking good advice and getting hiswind, Joe loses his temper, and strikes at the old man's body. 

"Blood, blood!" shout the crowd; "Joe's head's broke!"

Who'd have thought it? How did it come? That body-blow left Joe's headunguarded for a moment; and with one turn of the wrist the old gentlemanhas picked a neat little bit of skin off the middle of his forehead; andthough he won't believe it, and hammers on for three more blows despiteof the shouts, is then convinced by the blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly crestfallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the otherhalf-sovereign, but the old gamester won't have it. "Keep thy money, man, and gi's thy hand, " says he; and they shake hands. But the oldgamester gives the new hat to the shepherd, and, soon after, thehalf-sovereign to Willum, who thereout decorates his sweetheart withribbons to his heart's content. 

"Who can a be?" "Wur do a cum from?" ask the crowd. And it soon fliesabout that the old west-country champion, who played a tie with Shaw theLifeguardsman at "Vizes" twenty years before, has broken Joe Willis'scrown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out! I see I must skip the wrestling;and the boys jumping in sacks, and rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded;and the donkey-race, and the fight which arose thereout, marring theotherwise peaceful "veast;" and the frightened scurrying away of thefemale feast-goers, and descent of Squire Brown, summoned by the wife ofone of the combatants to stop it; which he wouldn't start to do till hehad got on his top-boots. Tom is carried away by old Benjy, dog-tiredand surfeited with pleasure, as the evening comes on and the dancingbegins in the booths; and though Willum, and Rachel in her new ribbons, and many another good lad and lass don't come away just yet, but havea good step out, and enjoy it, and get no harm thereby, yet we, beingsober folk, will just stroll away up through the churchyard, and by theold yew-tree, and get a quiet dish of tea and a parley with our gossips, as the steady ones of our village do, and so to bed. 

That's the fair, true sketch, as far as it goes, of one of the largervillage feasts in the Vale of Berks, when I was a little boy. Theyare much altered for the worse, I am told. I haven't been at one thesetwenty years, but I have been at the statute fairs in some west-countrytowns, where servants are hired, and greater abominations cannot befound. What village feasts have come to, I fear, in many cases, maybe read in the pages of "Yeast" (though I never saw one so bad--thankGod!). 

Do you want to know why? It is because, as I said before, gentlefolk andfarmers have left off joining or taking an interest in them. They don'teither subscribe to the prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign? I hardly know. Bad, sure enough, if itonly arises from the further separation of classes consequent on twentyyears of buying cheap and selling dear, and its accompanying overwork;or because our sons and daughters have their hearts in London club-life, or so-called "society, " instead of in the old English home-duties;because farmers' sons are apeing fine gentlemen, and farmers' daughterscaring more to make bad foreign music than good English cheeses. Good, perhaps, if it be that the time for the old "veast" has gone by; thatit is no longer the healthy, sound expression of English countryholiday-making; that, in fact, we, as a nation, have got beyond it, and are in a transition state, feeling for and soon likely to find somebetter substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the text. Don't letreformers of any sort think that they are going really to lay hold ofthe working boys and young men of England by any educational grapnelwhatever, which isn't some bona fide equivalent for the games of theold country "veast" in it; something to put in the place of theback-swording and wrestling and racing; something to try the musclesof men's bodies, and the endurance of their hearts, and to make themrejoice in their strength. In all the new-fangled comprehensive planswhich I see, this is all left out; and the consequence is, that yourgreat mechanics' institutes end in intellectual priggism, and yourChristian young men's societies in religious Pharisaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn't all beer and skittles;but beer and skittles, or something better of the same sort, must forma good part of every Englishman's education. If I could only drive thisinto the heads of you rising parliamentary lords, and young swellswho "have your ways made for you, " as the saying is, you, who frequentpalaver houses and West-end clubs, waiting always ready to strapyourselves on to the back of poor dear old John, as soon as the presentused-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who sit there on the greatparliamentary-majorities' pack-saddle, and make believe they're guidinghim with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted off!

I don't think much of you yet--I wish I could--though you do go talkingand lecturing up and down the country to crowded audiences, and arebusy with all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulatinglibraries and museums, and Heaven only knows what besides, and try tomake us think, through newspaper reports, that you are, even as we, ofthe working classes. But bless your hearts, we "ain't so green, " thoughlots of us of all sorts toady you enough certainly, and try to make youthink so. 

I'll tell you what to do now: instead of all this trumpeting and fuss, which is only the old parliamentary-majority dodge over again, just yougo, each of you (you've plenty of time for it, if you'll only giveup t'other line), and quietly make three or four friends--realfriends--among us. You'll find a little trouble in getting at the rightsort, because such birds don't come lightly to your lure; but foundthey may be. Take, say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doctor--which you will; one out of trade; and three or four out of theworking classes--tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers. There'splenty of choice. Let them be men of your own ages, mind, and askthem to your homes; introduce them to your wives and sisters, and getintroduced to theirs; give them good dinners, and talk to them aboutwhat is really at the bottom of your hearts; and box, and run, and rowwith them, when you have a chance. Do all this honestly as man toman, and by the time you come to ride old John, you'll be able to dosomething more than sit on his back, and may feel his mouth with somestronger bridle than a red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would! But you have got too far out of the right rut, Ifear. Too much over-civilization, and the deceitfulness of riches. It iseasier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. More's the pity. Inever came across but two of you who could value a man wholly and solelyfor what was in him--who thought themselves verily and indeed of thesame flesh and blood as John Jones the attorney's clerk, and Bill Smiththe costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. 

CHAPTER III--SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES. 

Poor old Benjy! The "rheumatiz" has much to answer for all throughEnglish country-sides, but it never played a scurvier trick than inlaying thee by the heels, when thou wast yet in a green old age. Theenemy, which had long been carrying on a sort of border warfare, andtrying his strength against Benjy's on the battlefield of his hands andlegs, now, mustering all his forces, began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunning the whole country. Benjy was seized in the back andloins; and though he made strong and brave fight, it was soon clearenough that all which could be beaten of poor old Benjy would have togive in before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help of his big stick andfrequent stops, to hobble down to the canal with Master Tom, and baithis hook for him, and sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint oldcountry stories; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a rat somehundred yards or so off along the bank, would rush off with Toby theturnspit terrier, his other faithful companion, in bootless pursuit, hemight have tumbled in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjycould have got near him. 

Cheery and unmindful of himself, as Benjy was, this loss of locomotivepower bothered him greatly. He had got a new object in his old age, andwas just beginning to think himself useful again in the world. He fearedmuch, too, lest Master Tom should fall back again into the hands ofCharity and the women. So he tried everything he could think of to getset up. He even went an expedition to the dwelling of one of those queermortals, who--say what we will, and reason how we will--do cure simplepeople of diseases of one kind or another without the aid of physic, and so get to themselves the reputation of using charms, and inspire forthemselves and their dwellings great respect, not to say fear, amongst asimple folk such as the dwellers in the Vale of White Horse. Where thispower, or whatever else it may be, descends upon the shoulders of aman whose ways are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to theneighbourhood--a receiver of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, anddeceiver of silly women--the avowed enemy of law and order, of justicesof the peace, head-boroughs, and gamekeepers, --such a man, in fact, aswas recently caught tripping, and deservedly dealt with by the Leedsjustices, for seducing a girl who had come to him to get back afaithless lover, and has been convicted of bigamy since then. Sometimes, however, they are of quite a different stamp--men who pretend tonothing, and are with difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult artsin the simplest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old Farmer Ives, as he was called, the "wiseman" to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom with him as usual), in the earlyspring of the year next after the feast described in the last chapter. Why he was called "farmer" I cannot say, unless it be that he was theowner of a cow, a pig or two, and some poultry, which he maintainedon about an acre of land inclosed from the middle of a wild common, onwhich probably his father had squatted before lords of manors looked askeenly after their rights as they do now. Here he had lived no one knewhow long, a solitary man. It was often rumoured that he was to be turnedout and his cottage pulled down, but somehow it never came to pass; andhis pigs and cow went grazing on the common, and his geese hissed at thepassing children and at the heels of the horse of my lord's steward, whooften rode by with a covetous eye on the inclosure still unmolested. Hisdwelling was some miles from our village; so Benjy, who was half ashamedof his errand, and wholly unable to walk there, had to exercise muchingenuity to get the means of transporting himself and Tom thitherwithout exciting suspicion. However, one fine May morning he managed toborrow the old blind pony of our friend the publican, and Tom persuadedMadam Brown to give him a holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lendthem the Squire's light cart, stored with bread and cold meat and abottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started behind old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, which had not been mendedafter their winter's wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard. Aboutnoon they passed the gate which opened on to the large common, and oldDobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deepdingle on the left, out of which welled a tiny stream. As they creptup the hill the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight, and blue smokecurling up through their delicate light boughs; and then the littlewhite thatched home and inclosed ground of Farmer Ives, lying cradled inthe dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on both sides;while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, the eye might travelfor miles and miles over the rich vale. They now left the main road andstruck into a green track over the common marked lightly with wheel andhorse-shoe, which led down into the dingle and stopped at the rough gateof Farmer Ives. Here they found the farmer, an iron-gray old man, with abushy eyebrow and strong aquiline nose, busied in one of his vocations. He was a horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick beast which hadbeen sent up to be cured. Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and hereturned the greeting cordially enough, looking however hard for amoment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there was more in theirvisit than appeared at first sight. It was a work of some difficulty anddanger for Benjy to reach the ground, which, however, he managed to dowithout mishap; and then he devoted himself to unharnessing Dobbin andturning him out for a graze ("a run" one could not say of that virtuoussteed) on the common. This done, he extricated the cold provisions fromthe cart, and they entered the farmer's wicket; and he, shutting up theknife with which he was taking maggots out of the cow's back and sides, accompanied them towards the cottage. A big old lurcher got up slowlyfrom the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg and then the other, and taking Tom's caresses and the presence of Toby, who kept, however, at a respectful distance, with equal indifference. 

"Us be cum to pay 'ee a visit. I've a been long minded to do't for oldsake's sake, only I vinds I dwon't get about now as I'd used to't. I beso plaguy bad wi' th' rheumatiz in my back. " Benjy paused, in hopesof drawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailments withoutfurther direct application. 

"Ah, I see as you bean't quite so lissom as you was, " replied thefarmer, with a grim smile, as he lifted the latch of his door; "webean't so young as we was, nother on us, wuss luck. "

The farmer's cottage was very like those of the better class ofpeasantry in general. A snug chimney corner with two seats, and a smallcarpet on the hearth, an old flint gun and a pair of spurs over thefireplace, a dresser with shelves on which some bright pewter platesand crockeryware were arranged, an old walnut table, a few chairs andsettles, some framed samplers, and an old print or two, and a bookcasewith some dozen volumes on the walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, andother stores fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part of thefurniture. No sign of occult art is to be seen, unless the bundles ofdried herbs hanging to the rack and in the ingle and the row of labelledphials on one of the shelves betoken it. 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied the hearth, and with agoat who walked demurely in at the open door--while their host and Benjyspread the table for dinner--and was soon engaged in conflict with thecold meat, to which he did much honour. The two old men's talk was ofold comrades and their deeds, mute inglorious Miltons of the Vale, andof the doings thirty years back, which didn't interest him much, exceptwhen they spoke of the making of the canal; and then indeed he began tolisten with all his ears, and learned, to his no small wonder, that hisdear and wonderful canal had not been there always--was not, in fact, so old as Benjy or Farmer Ives, which caused a strange commotion in hissmall brain. 

After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which Tom had on theknuckles of his hand, and which the family doctor had been trying hisskill on without success, and begged the farmer to charm it away. FarmerIves looked at it, muttered something or another over it, and cutsome notches in a short stick, which he handed to Benjy, giving himinstructions for cutting it down on certain days, and cautioning Tom notto meddle with the wart for a fortnight. And then they strolled out andsat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came up andgrunted sociably and let Tom scratch them; and the farmer, seeing how heliked animals, stood up and held his arms in the air, and gave a call, which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing through thebirch-trees. They settled down in clusters on the farmer's arms andshoulders, making love to him and scrambling over one another's backsto get to his face; and then he threw them all off, and they flutteredabout close by, and lighted on him again and again when he held up hisarms. All the creatures about the place were clean and fearless, quiteunlike their relations elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how tomake all the pigs and cows and poultry in our village tame, at which thefarmer only gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn't till they were just ready to go, and old Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject of his rheumatism again, detailing hissymptoms one by one. Poor old boy! He hoped the farmer could charm itaway as easily as he could Tom's wart, and was ready with equal faith toput another notched stick into his other pocket, for the cure of hisown ailments. The physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced abottle, and handed it to Benjy, with instructions for use. "Not as 't'lldo 'ee much good--leastways I be afeard not, " shading his eyes with hishand, and looking up at them in the cart. "There's only one thing as Iknows on as'll cure old folks like you and I o' th' rheumatiz. "

"Wot be that then, farmer?" inquired Benjy. 

"Churchyard mould, " said the old iron-gray man, with another chuckle. And so they said their good-byes and went their ways home. Tom's wartwas gone in a fortnight, but not so Benjy's rheumatism, which laid himby the heels more and more. And though Tom still spent many an hour withhim, as he sat on a bench in the sunshine, or by the chimney corner whenit was cold, he soon had to seek elsewhere for his regular companions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his mother in her visits tothe cottages, and had thereby made acquaintance with many of the villageboys of his own age. There was Job Rudkin, son of widow Rudkin, the mostbustling woman in the parish. How she could ever have had such a stolidboy as Job for a child must always remain a mystery. The first timeTom went to their cottage with his mother, Job was not indoors; but heentered soon after, and stood with both hands in his pockets, staringat Tom. Widow Rudkin, who would have had to cross madam to get atyoung Hopeful--a breach of good manners of which she was whollyincapable--began a series of pantomime signs, which only puzzled him;and at last, unable to contain herself longer, burst out with, "Job!Job! where's thy cap?"

"What! bean't 'ee on ma head, mother?" replied Job, slowly extricatingone hand from a pocket, and feeling for the article in question; whichhe found on his head sure enough, and left there, to his mother's horrorand Tom's great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted boy, who ambled aboutcheerfully, undertaking messages and little helpful odds and ends forevery one, which, however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly toimbrangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, and nothing wouldstop in his head. They nicknamed him Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest and best boy in theparish. He might be a year older than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the Crichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and climband run better than all the rest, and learned all that the schoolmastercould teach him faster than that worthy at all liked. He was a boy tobe proud of, with his curly brown hair, keen gray eye, straight activefigure, and little ears and hands and feet, "as fine as a lord's, " asCharity remarked to Tom one day, talking, as usual, great nonsense. Lords' hands and ears and feet are just as ugly as other folk's whenthey are children, as any one may convince himself if he likes to look. Tight boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, I allow make adifference by the time they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young brothers were stillunder petticoat government, Tom, in search of companions, began tocultivate the village boys generally more and more. Squire Brown, be itsaid, was a true-blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly thatthe powers which be were ordained of God, and that loyalty and steadfastobedience were men's first duties. Whether it were in consequence or inspite of his political creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, thoughI have one; but certain it is that he held therewith divers socialprinciples not generally supposed to be true blue in colour. Foremost ofthese, and the one which the Squire loved to propound above all others, was the belief that a man is to be valued wholly and solely for thatwhich he is in himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshlywalls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and all externalswhatsoever. Which belief I take to be a wholesome corrective of allpolitical opinions, and, if held sincerely, to make all opinions equallyharmless, whether they be blue, red, or green. As a necessary corollaryto this belief, Squire Brown held further that it didn't matter astraw whether his son associated with lords' sons or ploughmen's sons, provided they were brave and honest. He himself had played footballand gone bird-nesting with the farmers whom he met at vestry andthe labourers who tilled their fields, and so had his father andgrandfather, with their progenitors. So he encouraged Tom in hisintimacy with the boys of the village, and forwarded it by all meansin his power, and gave them the run of a close for a playground, andprovided bats and balls and a football for their sports. 

Our village was blessed amongst other things with a well-endowed school. The building stood by itself, apart from the master's house, on an angleof ground where three roads met--an old gray stone building with a steeproof and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite angles stood SquireBrown's stables and kennel, with their backs to the road, over whichtowered a great elm-tree; on the third stood the village carpenter andwheelwright's large open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster's, with long low eaves, under which the swallows built by scores. 

The moment Tom's lessons were over, he would now get him down to thiscorner by the stables, and watch till the boys came out of school. Heprevailed on the groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the elmso that he could climb into the lower branches; and there he would sitwatching the school door, and speculating on the possibility of turningthe elm into a dwelling-place for himself and friends, after the mannerof the Swiss Family Robinson. But the school hours were long and Tom'spatience short, so that he soon began to descend into the street, and goand peep in at the school door and the wheelwright's shop, and look outfor something to while away the time. Now the wheelwright was a cholericman, and one fine afternoon, returning from a short absence, found Tomoccupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge of which was fast vanishingunder our hero's care. A speedy flight saved Tom from all but one soundcuff on the ears; but he resented this unjustifiable interruption of hisfirst essays at carpentering, and still more the further proceedingsof the wheelwright, who cut a switch, and hung it over the door of hisworkshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if he came within twenty yardsof his gate. So Tom, to retaliate, commenced a war upon the swallows whodwelt under the wheelwright's eaves, whom he harassed with sticksand stones; and being fleeter of foot than his enemy, escaped allpunishment, and kept him in perpetual anger. Moreover, his presenceabout the school door began to incense the master, as the boys in thatneighbourhood neglected their lessons in consequence; and more than oncehe issued into the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom beat a hasty retreat. And he and the wheelwright, laying their heads together, resolved toacquaint the Squire with Tom's afternoon occupations; but in order todo it with effect, determined to take him captive and lead him away tojudgment fresh from his evil doings. This they would have found somedifficulty in doing, had Tom continued the war single-handed, or rathersingle-footed, for he would have taken to the deepest part of PebblyBrook to escape them; but, like other active powers, he was ruined byhis alliances. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to the school withthe other boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o'clock (the schoolbroke up at four), Tom found him ambling about the street, and pressedhim into a visit to the school-porch. Jacob, always ready to do what hewas asked, consented, and the two stole down to the school together. Tom first reconnoitred the wheelwright's shop; and seeing no signsof activity, thought all safe in that quarter, and ordered at once anadvance of all his troops upon the schoolporch. The door of the schoolwas ajar, and the boys seated on the nearest bench at once recognizedand opened a correspondence with the invaders. Tom, waxing bold, keptputting his head into the school and making faces at the master whenhis back was turned. Poor Jacob, not in the least comprehending thesituation, and in high glee at finding himself so near the school, whichhe had never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into the school, stood there, looking round him and nodding with a self-approving smile. The master, who was stooping over a boy's slate, with his back to the door, becameaware of something unusual, and turned quickly round. Tom rushed atJacob, and began dragging him back by his smock-frock, and the mastermade at them, scattering forms and boys in his career. Even now theymight have escaped, but that in the porch, barring retreat, appeared thecrafty wheelwright, who had been watching all their proceedings. So theywere seized, the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob led away to SquireBrown as lawful prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, andspeculating on the result. 

The Squire was very angry at first, but the interview, by Tom'spleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was not to go near the school tillthree o'clock, and only then if he had done his own lessons well, inwhich case he was to be the bearer of a note to the master from SquireBrown; and the master agreed in such case to release ten or twelve ofthe best boys an hour before the time of breaking up, to go off and playin the close. The wheelwright's adzes and swallows were to be for everrespected; and that hero and the master withdrew to the servants' hallto drink the Squire's health, well satisfied with their day's work. 

The second act of Tom's life may now be said to have begun. The war ofindependence had been over for some time: none of the women now--noteven his mother's maid--dared offer to help him in dressing orwashing. Between ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in anunfinished state of toilet. Charity and the rest of them seemed to takea delight in putting impossible buttons and ties in the middle of hisback; but he would have gone without nether integuments altogether, sooner than have had recourse to female valeting. He had a room tohimself, and his father gave him sixpence a week pocket-money. Allthis he had achieved by Benjy's advice and assistance. But now he hadconquered another step in life--the step which all real boys so longto make: he had got amongst his equals in age and strength, and couldmeasure himself with other boys; he lived with those whose pursuits andwishes and ways were the same in kind as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in the house foundher work grow wondrously easy, for Tom slaved at his lessons, in orderto make sure of his note to the schoolmaster. So there were very fewdays in the week in which Tom and the village boys were not playingin their close by three o'clock. Prisoner's base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football--he was soon initiated into thedelights of them all; and though most of the boys were older thanhimself, he managed to hold his own very well. He was naturally activeand strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had the advantage of lightshoes and well-fitting dress, so that in a short time he could run andjump and climb with any of them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an hour or so beforetea-time, and then began trials of skill and strength in many ways. Someof them would catch the Shetland pony who was turned out in the field, and get two or three together on his back, and the little rogue, enjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards, and then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to the turf, and then graze quietly ontill he felt another load; others played at peg-top or marbles, whilea few of the bigger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom at firstonly looked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar attractions for him, and he could not long keep out of it. Elbow and collar wrestling, aspractised in the western counties, was, next to back-swording, the wayto fame for the youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules ofit, and were more or less expert. But Job Rudkin and Harry Winburn werethe stars--the former stiff and sturdy, with legs like small towers; thelatter pliant as indiarubber and quick as lightning. Day after day theystood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and then the other, andgrappled and closed, and swayed and strained, till a well-aimed crook ofthe heel or thrust of the loin took effect, and a fair back-fall endedthe matter. And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first challenged oneof the less scientific, and threw him; and so one by one wrestled hisway up to the leaders. 

Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it; it was not long indeedbefore he could manage to keep his legs against Job, for that hero wasslow of offence, and gained his victories chiefly by allowing others tothrow themselves against his immovable legs and loins. But Harry Winburnwas undeniably his master; from the first clutch of hands when theystood up, down to the last trip which sent him on to his back on theturf, he felt that Harry knew more and could do more than he. LuckilyHarry's bright unconsciousness and Tom's natural good temper kept themfrom quarrelling; and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and morenearly on Harry's heels, and at last mastered all the dodges and fallsexcept one. This one was Harry's own particular invention and pet; hescarcely ever used it except when hard pressed, but then out it came, and as sure as it did, over went poor Tom. He thought about that fallat his meals, in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, in his dreams, butall to no purpose, until Harry one day in his open way suggested to himhow he thought it should be met; and in a week from that time the boyswere equal, save only the slight difference of strength in Harry'sfavour, which some extra ten months of age gave. Tom had oftenafterwards reason to be thankful for that early drilling, and above all, for having mastered Harry Winburn's fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys would wander all overthe neighbourhood; sometimes to the downs, or up to the camp, wherethey cut their initials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawkssoaring, and the "peert" bird, as Harry Winburn called the gray plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers; and so home, racing down the Mangerwith many a roll among the thistles, or through Uffington Wood to watchthe fox cubs playing in the green rides; sometimes to Rosy Brook, to cutlong whispering reeds which grew there, to make pan-pipes of; sometimesto Moor Mills, where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsedturf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the oaks, amongstwhich rumour declared that a raven, last of his race, still lingered;or to the sand-hills, in vain quest of rabbits; and bird-nesting in theseason, anywhere and everywhere. 

The few neighbours of the Squire's own rank every now and then wouldshrug their shoulders as they drove or rode by a party of boys with Tomin the middle, carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or greatbundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or magpies, orother spoil of wood, brook, or meadow; and Lawyer Red-tape might mutterto Squire Straight-back at the Board that no good would come of theyoung Browns, if they were let run wild with all the dirty village boys, whom the best farmers' sons even would not play with. And the squiremight reply with a shake of his head that his sons only mixed withtheir equals, and never went into the village without the governess ora footman. But, luckily, Squire Brown was full as stiffbacked ashis neighbours, and so went on his own way; and Tom and his youngerbrothers, as they grew up, went on playing with the village boys, without the idea of equality or inequality (except in wrestling, running, and climbing) ever entering their heads; as it doesn't tillit's put there by Jack Nastys or fine ladies' maids. 

I don't mean to say it would be the case in all villages, but itcertainly was so in this one: the village boys were full as manly andhonest, and certainly purer, than those in a higher rank; and Tam gotmore harm from his equals in his first fortnight at a private school, where he went when he was nine years old, than he had from his villagefriends from the day he left Charity's apron-strings. 

Great was the grief amongst the village school-boys when Tom drove offwith the Squire, one August morning, to meet the coach on his way toschool. Each of them had given him some little present of the best thathe had, and his small private box was full of peg-taps, white marbles(called "alley-taws" in the Vale), screws, birds' eggs, whip-cord, jews-harps, and other miscellaneous boys' wealth. Poor JacobDoodle-calf, in floods of tears, had pressed upon him with splutteringearnestness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor broken-downbeast or bird by him); but this Tom had been obliged to refuse, by theSquire's order. He had given them all a great tea under the big elm intheir playground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the biggest cakeever seen in our village; and Tom was really as sorry to leave themas they to lose him, but his sorrow was not unmixed with the pride andexcitement of making a new step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first parting with his motherbetter than could have been expected. Their love was as fair and wholeas human love can be--perfect self-sacrifice on the one side meetinga young and true heart on the other. It is not within the scope of mybook, however, to speak of family relations, or I should have much tosay on the subject of English mothers--ay, and of English fathers, andsisters, and brothers too. Neither have I room to speak of our privateschools. What I have to say is about public schools--those much-abusedand much-belauded institutions peculiar to England. So we must hurrythrough Master Tom's year at a private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, with anothergentleman as second master; but it was little enough of the real workthey did--merely coming into school when lessons were prepared and allready to be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of lessonhours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of whom was always withthe boys in their playground, in the school, at meals--in fact, at alltimes and every where, till they were fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) constant supervision outof school--therein differing fundamentally from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong; but if right, this supervision surely oughtto be the especial work of the head-master, the responsible person. Theobject of all schools is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but tomake them good English boys, good future citizens; and by far the mostimportant part of that work must be done, or not done, out of schoolhours. To leave it, therefore, in the hands of inferior men, is justgiving up the highest and hardest part of the work of education. Were Ia private school-master, I should say, Let who will hear the boys theirlessons, but let me live with them when they are at play and rest. 

The two ushers at Tom's first school were not gentlemen, and very poorlyeducated, and were only driving their poor trade of usher to get suchliving as they could out of it. They were not bad men, but had littleheart for their work, and of course were bent on making it as easy aspossible. One of the methods by which they endeavoured to accomplishthis was by encouraging tale-bearing, which had become a frightfullycommon vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all thefoundations of school morality. Another was, by favouring grossly thebiggest boys, who alone could have given them much trouble; wherebythose young gentlemen became most abominable tyrants, oppressing thelittle boys in all the small mean ways which prevail in private schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his first week by acatastrophe which happened to his first letter home. With huge labour hehad, on the very evening of his arrival, managed to fill two sides ofa sheet of letter-paper with assurances of his love for dear mamma, hishappiness at school, and his resolves to do all she would wish. Thismissive, with the help of the boy who sat at the desk next him, also anew arrival, he managed to fold successfully; but this done, they weresadly put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes were then unknown;they had no wax, and dared not disturb the stillness of the eveningschool-room by getting up and going to ask the usher for some. At lengthTom's friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, suggested sealing withink; and the letter was accordingly stuck down with a blob of ink, andduly handed by Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be posted. It was not till four days afterwards that the good dame sent for him, and produced the precious letter and some wax, saying, "O Master Brown, I forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn't sealed. " Poor Tomtook the wax in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump risingin his throat during the process, and then ran away to a quiet corner ofthe playground, and burst into an agony of tears. The idea of his motherwaiting day after day for the letter he had promised her at once, andperhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had done all in his powerto make good his promise, was as bitter a grief as any which he hadto undergo for many a long year. His wrath, then, was proportionatelyviolent when he was aware of two boys, who stopped close by him, and oneof whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him and called him "Youngmammy-sick!" Whereupon Tom arose, and giving vent thus to his grief andshame and rage, smote his derider on the nose; and made it bleed;which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, who reported Tom forviolent and unprovoked assault and battery. Hitting in the face was afelony punishable with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanour--adistinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom, however, escaped thepenalty by pleading primum tempus; and having written a second letterto his mother, inclosing some forget-me-nots, which he picked on theirfirst half-holiday walk, felt quite happy again, and began to enjoyvastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of the week. The wholefifty boys started after dinner with one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measuredsome three miles round, and in the neighbourhood were several woods fullof all manner of birds and butterflies. The usher walked slowly roundthe down with such boys as liked to accompany him; the rest scatteredin all directions, being only bound to appear again when the usherhad completed his round, and accompany him home. They were forbidden, however, to go anywhere except on the down and into the woods; thevillage had been especially prohibited, where huge bull's-eyes andunctuous toffy might be procured in exchange for coin of the realm. 

Various were the amusements to which the boys then betook themselves. Atthe entrance of the down there was a steep hillock, like the barrows ofTom's own downs. This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at a game called by the queer name of "mud-patties. " The boys who playeddivided into sides under different leaders, and one side occupied themound. Then, all parties having provided themselves with many sods ofturf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which remainedat the bottom proceeded to assault the mound, advancing up on all sidesunder cover of a heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victorywith the occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, even for amoment, clear the summit, when they in turn became the besieged. Itwas a good, rough, dirty game, and of great use in counteracting thesneaking tendencies of the school. Then others of the boys spread overthe downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees and mice, which theydug up without mercy, often (I regret to say) killing and skinning theunlucky mice, and (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by thebumble-bees. Others went after butterflies and birds' eggs in theirseasons; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for the first time, the beautifullittle blue butterfly with golden spots on his wings, which he had neverseen on his own downs, and dug out his first sand-martin's nest. Thislatter achievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand-martins built ina high bank close to the village, consequently out of bounds; but one ofthe bolder spirits of the school, who never could be happy unless hewas doing something to which risk was attached, easily persuaded Tom tobreak bounds and visit the martins' bank. From whence it being only astep to the toffy shop, what could be more simple than to go on thereand fill their pockets; or what more certain than that on their return, a distribution of treasure having been made, the usher should shortlydetect the forbidden smell of bull's-eyes, and, a search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets of Tom and his ally?

This ally of Tom's was indeed a desperate hero in the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in magic, or something approaching thereto. Which reputation came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed ateight, and, of course, consequently lay awake in the dark for an hour ortwo, telling ghost-stories by turns. One night when it came to his turn, and he had dried up their souls by his story, he suddenly declared thathe would make a fiery hand appear on the door; and to the astonishmentand terror of the boys in his room, a hand, or something like it, inpale light, did then and there appear. The fame of this exploit havingspread to the other rooms, and being discredited there, the youngnecromancer declared that the same wonder would appear in all the roomsin turn, which it accordingly did; and the whole circumstances havingbeen privately reported to one of the ushers as usual, that functionary, after listening about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descentcaught the performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phosphorus in hisguilty hand. Lucifer-matches and all the present facilities for gettingacquainted with fire were then unknown--the very name of phosphorus hadsomething diabolic in it to the boy-mind; so Tom's ally, at the costof a sound flogging, earned what many older folk covet much--the verydecided fear of most of his companions. 

He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad one. Tom stuck to himtill he left, and got into many scrapes by so doing. But he was thegreat opponent of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the openenemy of the ushers; and so worthy of all support. 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at the school, but somehow, on the whole, it didn't suit him, or he it, and in the holidays he wasconstantly working the Squire to send him at once to a public school. Great was his joy then, when in the middle of his third half-year, inOctober 183-, a fever broke out in the village, and the master havinghimself slightly sickened of it, the whole of the boys were sent off ata day's notice to their respective homes. 

The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom to see that younggentleman's brown, merry face appear at home, some two months before theproper time, for the Christmas holidays; and so, after putting on histhinking cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters, theresult of which was that, one morning at the breakfast-table, about afortnight after Tom's return, he addressed his wife with--"My dear, Ihave arranged that Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeksof this half-year, instead of wasting them in riding and loitering abouthome. It is very kind of the doctor to allow it. Will you see that histhings are all ready by Friday, when I shall take him up to town, andsend him down the next day by himself. "

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and merely suggested adoubt whether Tom were yet old enough to travel by himself. However, finding both father and son against her on this point, she gave in, likea wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom's kit for his launch into apublic school. 

CHAPTER IV--THE STAGE COACH. 

 "Let the steam-pot hiss till it's hot; Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot. " Coaching Song, by R. E. E. Warburton, Esq. 

"Now, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally-ho coach forLeicester'll be round in half an hour, and don't wait for nobody. " Sospake the boots of the Peacock Inn Islington, at half-past two o'clockon the morning of a day in the early part of November 183-, givingTom at the same time a shake by the shoulder, and then putting down acandle; and carrying off his shoes to clean. 

Tom and his father arrived in town from Berkshire the day before, andfinding, on inquiry, that the Birmingham coaches which ran from the citydid not pass through Rugby, but deposited their passengers at Dunchurch, a village three miles distant on the main road, where said passengershad to wait for the Oxford and Leicester coach in the evening, or totake a post-chaise, had resolved that Tom should travel down by theTally-ho, which diverged from the main road and passed through Rugbyitself. And as the Tally-ho was an early coach, they had driven out tothe Peacock to be on the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have liked to have stopped atthe Belle Savage, where they had been put down by the Star, just atdusk, that he might have gone roving about those endless, mysterious, gas-lit streets, which, with their glare and hum and moving crowds, excited him so that he couldn't talk even. But as soon as he found thatthe Peacock arrangement would get him to Rugby by twelve o'clock in theday, whereas otherwise he wouldn't be there till the evening, allother plans melted away, his one absorbing aim being to become a publicschool-boy as fast as possible, and six hours sooner or later seeming tohim of the most alarming importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the Peacock at about seven in theevening; and having heard with unfeigned joy the paternal order, at thebar, of steaks and oyster-sauce for supper in half an hour, and seenhis father seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee-room with thepaper in his hand, Tom had run out to see about him, had wondered at allthe vehicles passing and repassing, and had fraternized with the bootsand hostler, from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho was a tip-topgoer--ten miles an hour including stoppages--and so punctual that allthe road set their clocks by her. 

Then being summoned to supper, he had regaled himself in one of thebright little boxes of the Peacock coffee-room, on the beef-steakand unlimited oyster-sauce and brown stout (tasted then for the firsttime--a day to be marked for ever by Tom with a white stone); had atfirst attended to the excellent advice which his father was bestowingon him from over his glass of steaming brandy-and-water, and thenbegan nodding, from the united effects of the stout, the fire, and thelecture; till the Squire, observing Tom's state, and remembering that itwas nearly nine o'clock, and that the Tally-ho left at three, sent thelittle fellow off to the chambermaid, with a shake of the hand (Tomhaving stipulated in the morning before starting that kissing should nowcease between them), and a few parting words:

"And now, Tom, my boy, " said the Squire, "remember you are going, atyour own earnest request, to be chucked into this great school, like ayoung bear, with all your troubles before you--earlier than we shouldhave sent you perhaps. If schools are what they were in my time, you'llsee a great many cruel blackguard things done, and hear a deal of foul, bad talk. But never fear. You tell the truth, keep a brave and kindheart, and never listen to or say anything you wouldn't have your motherand sister hear, and you'll never feel ashamed to come home, or we tosee you. "

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather choky, and he would haveliked to have hugged his father well, if it hadn't been for the recentstipulation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father's hand, and looked bravely up andsaid, "I'll try, father. "

"I know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe?

"Yes, " said Tom, diving into one pocket to make sure. 

"And your keys?" said the Squire. 

"All right, " said Tom, diving into the other pocket. 

"Well, then, good-night. God bless you! I'll tell boots to call you, andbe up to see you off. "

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown study, from which hewas roused in a clean little attic, by that buxom person calling him alittle darling and kissing him as she left the room; which indignityhe was too much surprised to resent. And still thinking of his father'slast words, and the look with which they were spoken, he knelt down andprayed that, come what might, he might never bring shame or sorrow onthe dear folk at home. 

Indeed, the Squire's last words deserved to have their effect, for theyhad been the result of much anxious thought. All the way up to Londonhe had pondered what he should say to Tom by way of partingadvice--something that the boy could keep in his head ready for use. Byway of assisting meditation, he had even gone the length of taking outhis flint and steel and tinder, and hammering away for a quarter of anhour till he had manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, which he silently puffed, to the no small wonder of coachee, who was anold friend, and an institution on the Bath road, and who always expecteda talk on the prospects and doings, agricultural and social, of thewhole country, when he carried the Squire. 

To condense the Squire's meditation, it was somewhat as follows: "Iwon't tell him to read his Bible, and love and serve God; if he don't dothat for his mother's sake and teaching, he won't for mine. Shall I gointo the sort of temptations he'll meet with? No, I can't do that. Never do for an old fellow to go into such things with a boy. He won'tunderstand me. Do him more harm than good, ten to one. Shall I tell himto mind his work, and say he's sent to school to make himself a goodscholar? Well, but he isn't sent to school for that--at any rate, not for that mainly. I don't care a straw for Greek particles, or thedigamma; no more does his mother. What is he sent to school for? Well, partly because he wanted so to go. If he'll only turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling Englishman, and a gentleman, and a Christian, that's all I want, " thought the Squire; and upon this view of the casehe framed his last words of advice to Tom, which were well enough suitedto his purpose. 

For they were Tom's first thoughts as he tumbled out of bed at thesummons of boots, and proceeded rapidly to wash and dress himself. Atten minutes to three he was down in the coffee-room in his stockings, carrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter in his hand; and there hefound his father nursing a bright fire, and a cup of hot coffee and ahard biscuit on the table. 

"Now, then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink this. There'snothing like starting warm, old fellow. "

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled away while he workedhimself into his shoes and his greatcoat, well warmed through--aPetersham coat with velvet collar, made tight after the abominablefashion of those days. And just as he is swallowing his last mouthful, winding his comforter round his throat, and tucking the ends into thebreast of his coat, the horn sounds; boots looks in and says, "Tally-ho, sir;" and they hear the ring and the rattle of the four fast trottersand the town-made drag, as it dashes up to the Peacock. 

"Anything for us, Bob?" says the burly guard, dropping down from behind, and slapping himself across the chest. 

"Young gen'lm'n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; hamper o' game, Rugby, " answers hostler. 

"Tell young gent to look alive, " says guard, opening the hind-boot andshooting in the parcels after examining them by the lamps. "Here; shovethe portmanteau up a-top. I'll fasten him presently. --Now then, sir, jump up behind. "

"Good-bye, father--my love at home. " A last shake of the hand. Up goesTom, the guard catching his hatbox and holding on with one hand, whilewith the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! thehostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar, andaway goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, forty-five seconds from thetime they pulled up. Hostler, boots, and the Squire stand looking afterthem under the Peacock lamp. 

"Sharp work!" says the Squire, and goes in again to his bed, the coachbeing well out of sight and hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his father's figure as longas he can see it; and then the guard, having disposed of his luggage, comes to an anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other preparationsfor facing the three hours before dawn--no joke for those who mindedcold, on a fast coach in November, in the reign of his late Majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation are a deal tendererfellows than we used to be. At any rate you're much more comfortabletravellers, for I see every one of you with his rug or plaid, and otherdodges for preserving the caloric, and most of you going in, thosefuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. It was another affairaltogether, a dark ride on the top of the Tally-ho, I can tell you, in atight Petersham coat, and your feet dangling six inches from the floor. Then you knew what cold was, and what it was to be without legs, for nota bit of feeling had you in them after the first half-hour. But it hadits pleasures, the old dark ride. First there was the consciousness ofsilent endurance, so dear to every Englishman--of standing out againstsomething, and not giving in. Then there was the music of the rattlingharness, and the ring of the horses' feet on the hard road, and theglare of the two bright lamps through the steaming hoar frost, over theleaders' ears, into the darkness, and the cheery toot of the guard'shorn, to warn some drowsy pikeman or the hostler at the next change; andthe looking forward to daylight; and last, but not least, the delight ofreturning sensation in your toes. 

Then the break of dawn and the sunrise, where can they be ever seen inperfection but from a coach roof? You want motion and change and musicto see them in their glory--not the music of singing men and singingwomen, but good, silent music, which sets itself in your own head, theaccompaniment of work and getting over the ground. 

The Tally-ho is past St. Albans, and Tom is enjoying the ride, thoughhalf-frozen. The guard, who is alone with him on the back of the coach, is silent, but has muffled Tom's feet up in straw, and put the end of anoat-sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him inwards, and hehas gone over his little past life, and thought of all his doings andpromises, and of his mother and sister, and his father's last words; andhas made fifty good resolutions, and means to bear himself like a braveBrown as he is, though a young one. Then he has been forward into themysterious boy-future, speculating as to what sort of place Rugby is, and what they do there, and calling up all the stories of public schoolswhich he has heard from big boys in the holidays. He is choke-full ofhope and life, notwithstanding the cold, and kicks his heels against theback-board, and would like to sing, only he doesn't know how his friendthe silent guard might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth stage, and the coachpulls up at a little roadside inn with huge stables behind. There is abright fire gleaming through the red curtains of the bar window, andthe door is open. The coachman catches his whip into a double thong, andthrows it to the hostler; the steam of the horses rises straight upinto the air. He has put them along over the last two miles, and is twominutes before his time. He rolls down from the box and into the inn. The guard rolls off behind. "Now, sir, " says he to Tom, "you just jumpdown, and I'll give you a drop of something to keep the cold out. "

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in finding the top of thewheel with his feet, which may be in the next world for all he feels;so the guard picks him off the coach top, and sets him on his legs, andthey stump off into the bar, and join the coachman and the other outsidepassengers. 

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with a glass of early purlas they stand before the fire, coachman and guard exchanging businessremarks. The purl warms the cockles of Tom's heart, and makes him cough. 

"Rare tackle that, sir, of a cold morning, " says the coachman, smiling. "Time's up. " They are out again and up; coachee the last, gathering thereins into his hands and talking to Jem the hostler about the mare'sshoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box--the horses dashingoff in a canter before he falls into his seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goesthe horn, and away they are again, five-and-thirty miles on their road(nearly half-way to Rugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of breakfast atthe end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the country-side comesout--a market cart or two; men in smock-frocks going to their work, pipein mouth, a whiff of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sungets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They pass the houndsjogging along to a distant meet, at the heels of the huntsman's back, whose face is about the colour of the tails of his old pink, as heexchanges greetings with coachman and guard. Now they pull up at alodge, and take on board a well-muffled-up sportsman, with his gun-caseand carpet-bag, An early up-coach meets them, and the coachmen gatherup their horses, and pass one another with the accustomed lift of theelbow, each team doing eleven miles an hour, with a mile to spare behindif necessary. And here comes breakfast. 

"Twenty minutes here, gentlemen, " says the coachman, as they pull up athalf-past seven at the inn-door. 

Have we not endured nobly this morning? and is not this a worthy rewardfor much endurance? There is the low, dark wainscoted room hung withsporting prints; the hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up in itbelonging to bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the door; the blazingfire, with the quaint old glass over the mantelpiece, in which is stucka large card with the list of the meets for the week of the countyhounds; the table covered with the whitest of cloths and of china, andbearing a pigeon-pie, ham, round of cold boiled beef cut from a mammothox, and the great loaf of household bread on a wooden trencher. Andhere comes in the stout head waiter, puffing under a tray of hotviands--kidneys and a steak, transparent rashers and poached eggs, buttered toast and muffins, coffee and tea, all smoking hot. The tablecan never hold it all. The cold meats are removed to the sideboard--theywere only put on for show and to give us an appetite. And now fall on, gentlemen all. It is a well-known sporting-house, and the breakfasts arefamous. Two or three men in pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, andare very jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we all are. 

"Tea or coffee, sir?" says head waiter, coming round to Tom. 

"Coffee, please, " says Tom, with his mouth full of muffin and kidney. Coffee is a treat to him, tea is not. 

Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, is a cold beef man. He also eschews hot potations, and addicts himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought him by the barmaid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, andorders a ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon-pie, and imbibed coffee, till his littleskin is as tight as a drum; and then has the further pleasure of payinghead waiter out of his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks outbefore the inn-door to see the horses put to. This is done leisurely andin a highly-finished manner by the hostlers, as if they enjoyed the notbeing hurried. Coachman comes out with his waybill, and puffing a fatcigar which the sportsman has given him. Guard emerges from the tap, where he prefers breakfasting, licking round a tough-looking doubtfulcheroot, which you might tie round your finger, and three whiffs ofwhich would knock any one else out of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn-door lighting cigars and waiting to see usstart, while their hacks are led up and down the market-place, on whichthe inn looks. They all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflectedcredit when we see him chatting and laughing with them. 

"Now, sir, please, " says the coachman. All the rest of the passengersare up; the guard is locking up the hind-boot. 

"A good run to you!" says the sportsman to the pinks, and is by thecoachman's side in no time. 

"Let 'em go, Dick!" The hostlers fly back, drawing off the cloths fromtheir glossy loins, and away we go through the market-place and down theHigh Street, looking in at the first-floor windows, and seeing severalworthy burgesses shaving thereat; while all the shopboys who arecleaning the windows, and housemaids who are doing the steps, stop andlook pleased as we rattle past, as if we were a part of their legitimatemorning's amusement. We clear the town, and are well out between thehedgerows again as the town clock strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has oiled all springsand loosened all tongues. Tom is encouraged by a remark or two of theguard's between the puffs of his oily cheroot, and besides is gettingtired of not talking. He is too full of his destination to talk aboutanything else, and so asks the guard if he knows Rugby. 

"Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty minutes afore twelvedown--ten o'clock up. "

"What sort of place is it, please?" says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. "Werry out-o'-the-wayplace, sir; no paving to streets, nor no lighting. 'Mazin' big horse andcattle fair in autumn--lasts a week--just over now. Takes town a week toget clean after it. Fairish hunting country. But slow place, sir, slowplace-off the main road, you see--only three coaches a day, and one on'em a two-oss wan, more like a hearse nor a coach--Regulator--comes fromOxford. Young genl'm'n at school calls her Pig and Whistle, and goes upto college by her (six miles an hour) when they goes to enter. Belong toschool, sir?"

"Yes, " says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that the guard should thinkhim an old boy. But then, having some qualms as to the truth of theassertion, and seeing that if he were to assume the character of an oldboy he couldn't go on asking the questions he wanted, added--"That is tosay, I'm on my way there. I'm a new boy. "

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well as Tom. 

"You're werry late, sir, " says the guard; "only six weeks to-day to theend of the half. " Tom assented. "We takes up fine loads this day sixweeks, and Monday and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure ofcarrying you back. "

Tom said he hoped they would; but he thought within himself that hisfate would probably be the Pig and Whistle. 

"It pays uncommon cert'nly, " continues the guard. "Werry free with theircash is the young genl'm'n. But, Lor' bless you, we gets into such rowsall 'long the road, what wi' their pea-shooters, and long whips, andhollering, and upsetting every one as comes by, I'd a sight soonercarry one or two on 'em, sir, as I may be a-carryin' of you now, than acoach-load. "

"What do they do with the pea-shooters?" inquires Tom. 

"Do wi' 'em! Why, peppers every one's faces as we comes near, 'cept theyoung gals, and breaks windows wi' them too, some on 'em shoots so hard. Now 'twas just here last June, as we was a-driving up the first-dayboys, they was mendin' a quarter-mile of road, and there was a lot ofIrish chaps, reg'lar roughs, a-breaking stones. As we comes up, 'Now, boys, ' says young gent on the box (smart young fellow and desper'treckless), 'here's fun! Let the Pats have it about the ears. ' 'God'ssake sir!' says Bob (that's my mate the coachman); 'don't go for toshoot at 'em. They'll knock us off the coach. ' 'Damme, coachee, ' saysyoung my lord, 'you ain't afraid. --Hoora, boys! let 'em have it. ''Hoora!' sings out the others, and fill their mouths choke-full of peasto last the whole line. Bob, seeing as 'twas to come, knocks his hatover his eyes, hollers to his osses, and shakes 'em up; and away we goesup to the line on 'em, twenty miles an hour. The Pats begin to hooratoo, thinking it was a runaway; and first lot on 'em stands grinnin'and wavin' their old hats as we comes abreast on 'em; and then you'd ha'laughed to see how took aback and choking savage they looked, when theygets the peas a-stinging all over 'em. But bless you, the laugh weren'tall of our side, sir, by a long way. We was going so fast, and they wasso took aback, that they didn't take what was up till we was half-wayup the line. Then 'twas, 'Look out all!' surely. They howls all down theline fit to frighten you; some on 'em runs arter us and tries to clamberup behind, only we hits 'em over the fingers and pulls their hands off;one as had had it very sharp act'ly runs right at the leaders, as thoughhe'd ketch 'em by the heads, only luck'ly for him he misses his tip andcomes over a heap o' stones first. The rest picks up stones, and givesit us right away till we gets out of shot, the young gents holding outwerry manful with the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged on us, anda pretty many there was too. Then Bob picks hisself up again, and looksat young gent on box werry solemn. Bob'd had a rum un in the ribs, which'd like to ha' knocked him off the box, or made him drop the reins. Young gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and looks roundto count damage. Box's head cut open and his hat gone; 'nother younggent's hat gone; mine knocked in at the side, and not one on us aswasn't black and blue somewheres or another, most on 'em all over. Twopound ten to pay for damage to paint, which they subscribed for thereand then, and give Bob and me a extra half-sovereign each; but Iwouldn't go down that line again not for twenty half-sovereigns. " Andthe guard shook his head slowly, and got up and blew a clear, brisktoot-toot. 

"What fun!" said Tom, who could scarcely contain his pride at thisexploit of his future school-fellows. He longed already for the end ofthe half, that he might join them. 

"'Taint such good fun, though, sir, for the folk as meets the coach, norfor we who has to go back with it next day. Them Irishers last summerhad all got stones ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and we'dgot two reverend gents aboard too. We pulled up at the beginning ofthe line, and pacified them, and we're never going to carry no morepea-shooters, unless they promises not to fire where there's a line ofIrish chaps a-stonebreaking. " The guard stopped and pulled away at hischeroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while. 

"Oh, don't stop! Tell us something more about the pea-shooting. "

"Well, there'd like to have been a pretty piece of work over it atBicester, a while back. We was six mile from the town, when we meets anold square-headed gray-haired yeoman chap, a-jogging along quite quiet. He looks up at the coach, and just then a pea hits him on the nose, andsome catches his cob behind and makes him dance up on his hind legs. Isee'd the old boy's face flush and look plaguy awkward, and I thought wewas in for somethin' nasty. 

"He turns his cob's head and rides quietly after us just out of shot. How that 'ere cob did step! We never shook him off not a dozen yardsin the six miles. At first the young gents was werry lively on him; butafore we got in, seeing how steady the old chap come on, they was quitequiet, and laid their heads together what they should do. Some was forfighting, some for axing his pardon. He rides into the town close afterus, comes up when we stops, and says the two as shot at him must comebefore a magistrate; and a great crowd comes round, and we couldn't getthe osses to. But the young uns they all stand by one another, and saysall or none must go, and as how they'd fight it out, and have to becarried. Just as 'twas gettin' serious, and the old boy and the mob wasgoing to pull 'em off the coach, one little fellow jumps up and says, 'Here--I'll stay. I'm only going three miles farther. My father's name'sDavis; he's known about here, and I'll go before the magistrate withthis gentleman. ' 'What! be thee parson Davis's son?' says the old boy. 'Yes, ' says the young un. 'Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee in suchcompany; but for thy father's sake and thine (for thee bist a braveyoung chap) I'll say no more about it. ' Didn't the boys cheer him, andthe mob cheered the young chap; and then one of the biggest gets down, and begs his pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as theyall had been plaguy vexed from the first, but didn't like to ax hispardon till then, 'cause they felt they hadn't ought to shirk theconsequences of their joke. And then they all got down, and shook handswith the old boy, and asked him to all parts of the country, to theirhomes; and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with cheering andhollering as if we was county 'members. But, Lor' bless you, sir, " saysthe guard, smacking his hand down on his knee and looking full intoTom's face, "ten minutes arter they was all as bad as ever. "

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed interest in his narrationsthat the old guard rubbed up his memory, and launched out into a graphichistory of all the performances of the boys on the roads for the lasttwenty years. Off the road he couldn't go; the exploit must have beenconnected with horses or vehicles to hang in the old fellow's head. Tomtried him off his own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothingbeyond, and so let him have his head, and the rest of the road bowledeasily away; for old Blow-hard (as the boys called him) was a dry oldfile, with much kindness and humour, and a capital spinner of a yarnwhen he had broken the neck of his day's work, and got plenty of aleunder his belt. 

What struck Tom's youthful imagination most was the desperate andlawless character of most of the stories. Was the guard hoaxing him? Hecouldn't help hoping that they were true. It's very odd how almost allEnglish boys love danger. You can get ten to join a game, or climb atree, or swim a stream, when there's a chance of breaking their limbs orgetting drowned, for one who'll stay on level ground, or in his depth, or play quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a desperate fight which hadhappened at one of the fairs between the drovers and the farmers withtheir whips, and the boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose outof a playful but objectionable practice of the boys going round to thepublic-houses and taking the linch-pins out of the wheels of the gigs, and was moralizing upon the way in which the Doctor, "a terrible sternman he'd heard tell, " had come down upon several of the performers, "sending three on 'em off next morning in a po-shay with a parishconstable, " when they turned a corner and neared the milestone, thethird from Rugby. By the stone two boys stood, their jackets buttonedtight, waiting for the coach. 

"Look here, sir, " says the guard, after giving a sharp toot-toot;"there's two on 'em; out-and-out runners they be. They comes out abouttwice or three times a week, and spirts a mile alongside of us. "

And as they came up, sure enough, away went two boys along the footpath, keeping up with the horses--the first a light, clean-made fellow goingon springs; the other stout and round-shouldered, labouring in his pace, but going as dogged as a bull-terrier. 

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly. "See how beautiful that there unholds hisself together, and goes from his hips, sir, " said he; "he's a'mazin' fine runner. Now many coachmen as drives a first-rate team'dput it on, and try and pass 'em. But Bob, sir, bless you, he'stender-hearted; he'd sooner pull in a bit if he see'd 'em a-gettin'beat. I do b'lieve, too, as that there un'd sooner break his heart thanlet us go by him afore next milestone. "

At the second milestone the boys pulled up short, and waved theirhats to the guard, who had his watch out and shouted "4. 56, " therebyindicating that the mile had been done in four seconds under the fiveminutes. They passed several more parties of boys, all of them objectsof the deepest interest to Tom, and came in sight of the town at tenminutes before twelve. Tom fetched a long breath, and thought he hadnever spent a pleasanter day. Before he went to bed he had quite settledthat it must be the greatest day he should ever spend, and didn't alterhis opinion for many a long year--if he has yet. 

CHAPTER V--RUGBY AND FOOTBALL. 

 "Foot and eye opposed In dubious strife. "--Scott. 

"And so here's Rugby, sir, at last, and you'll be in plenty of timefor dinner at the School-house, as I telled you, " said the old guard, pulling his horn out of its case and tootle-tooing away, while thecoachman shook up his horses, and carried them along the side of theschool close, round Dead-man's corner, past the school-gates, and downthe High Street to the Spread Eagle, the wheelers in a spanking trot, and leaders cantering, in a style which would not have disgraced "CherryBob, " "ramping, stamping, tearing, swearing Billy Harwood, " or any otherof the old coaching heroes. 

Tom's heart beat quick as he passed the great schoolfield or close, withits noble elms, in which several games at football were going on, andtried to take in at once the long line of gray buildings, beginningwith the chapel, and ending with the School-house, the residence of thehead-master, where the great flag was lazily waving from the highestround tower. And he began already to be proud of being a Rugby boy, ashe passed the schoolgates, with the oriel window above, and saw the boysstanding there, looking as if the town belonged to them, and nodding ina familiar manner to the coachman, as if any one of them would be quiteequal to getting on the box, and working the team down street as well ashe. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the rest, and scrambledup behind; where, having righted himself, and nodded to the guard, with"How do, Jem?" he turned short round to Tom, and after looking him overfor a minute, began, --

"I say, you fellow, is your name Brown?"

"Yes, " said Tom, in considerable astonishment, glad, however, to havelighted on some one already who seemed to know him. 

"Ah, I thought so. You know my old aunt, Miss East. She lives somewheredown your way in Berkshire. She wrote to me that you were coming to-day, and asked me to give you a lift. "

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing air of his newfriend, a boy of just about his own height and age, but gifted withthe most transcendent coolness and assurance, which Tom felt to beaggravating and hard to bear, but couldn't for the life of him helpadmiring and envying--especially when young my lord begins hectoringtwo or three long loafing fellows, half porter, half stableman, witha strong touch of the blackguard, and in the end arranges with one ofthem, nicknamed Cooey, to carry Tom's luggage up to the School-house forsixpence. 

"And hark 'ee, Cooey; it must be up in ten minutes, or no more jobs fromme. Come along, Brown. " And away swaggers the young potentate, with hishands in his pockets, and Tom at his side. 

"All right, sir, " says Cooey, touching his hat, with a leer and a winkat his companions. 

"Hullo though, " says East, pulling up, and taking another look at Tom;"this'll never do. Haven't you got a hat? We never wear caps here. Onlythe louts wear caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quadranglewith that thing on, I don't know what'd happen. " The very idea was quitebeyond young Master East, and he looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but confessed that he hada hat in his hat-box; which was accordingly at once extracted from thehind-boot, and Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new friendcalled it. But this didn't quite suit his fastidious taste in anotherminute, being too shiny; so, as they walk up the town, they dive intoNixon's the hatter's, and Tom is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, andwithout paying for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence, Nixon undertaking to send the best hat up to the matron's room, School-house, in half an hour. 

"You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, and make it all right, youknow, " said Mentor; "we're allowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besideswhat we bring from home. "

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new social position anddignities, and to luxuriate in the realized ambition of being a publicschool-boy at last, with a vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixersin half a year. 

"You see, " said his friend, as they strolled up towards theschool-gates, in explanation of his conduct, "a great deal depends onhow a fellow cuts up at first. If he's got nothing odd about him, andanswers straightforward, and holds his head up, he gets on. Now, you'lldo very well as to rig, all but that cap. You see I'm doing the handsomething by you, because my father knows yours; besides, I want to pleasethe old lady. She gave me half a sov. This half, and perhaps'll doubleit next, if I keep in her good books. "

There's nothing for candour like a lower-school boy, and East was agenuine specimen--frank, hearty, and good-natured, well-satisfied withhimself and his position, and choke-full of life and spirits, andall the Rugby prejudices and traditions which he had been able to gettogether in the long course of one half-year during which he had been atthe School-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt friends with him atonce, and began sucking in all his ways and prejudices, as fast as hecould understand them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone. He carried Tom throughthe great gates, where were only two or three boys. These satisfiedthemselves with the stock questions, "You fellow, what's your name?Where do you come from? How old are you? Where do you board?" and, "Whatform are you in?" And so they passed on through the quadrangle anda small courtyard, upon which looked down a lot of little windows(belonging, as his guide informed him, to some of the School-housestudies), into the matron's room, where East introduced Tom to thatdignitary; made him give up the key of his trunk, that the matron mightunpack his linen, and told the story of the hat and of his own presenceof mind: upon the relation whereof the matron laughingly scolded him forthe coolest new boy in the house; and East, indignant at the accusationof newness, marched Tom off into the quadrangle, and began showinghim the schools, and examining him as to his literary attainments; theresult of which was a prophecy that they would be in the same form, andcould do their lessons together. 

"And now come in and see my study--we shall have just time beforedinner; and afterwards, before calling over, we'll do the close. "

Tom followed his guide through the School-house hall, which opens intothe quadrangle. It is a great room, thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, with two great tables running the whole length, andtwo large fireplaces at the side, with blazing fires in them, at one ofwhich some dozen boys were standing and lounging, some of whom shoutedto East to stop; but he shot through with his convoy, and landed himin the long, dark passages, with a large fire at the end of each, uponwhich the studies opened. Into one of these, in the bottom passage, Eastbolted with our hero, slamming and bolting the door behind them, incase of pursuit from the hall, and Tom was for the first time in a Rugbyboy's citadel. 

He hadn't been prepared for separate studies, and was not a littleastonished and delighted with the palace in question. 

It wasn't very large, certainly, being about six feet long by fourbroad. It couldn't be called light, as there were bars and a grating tothe window; which little precautions were necessary in the studies onthe ground-floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit ofsmall boys after locking up, and the entrance of contraband articles. But it was uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought. The spaceunder the window at the farther end was occupied by a square tablecovered with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue check tablecloth;a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff occupied one side, running upto the end, and making a seat for one, or by sitting close, for two, atthe table and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another boy, so that three could sit and work together. The walls were wainscotedhalf-way up, the wainscot being covered with green baize, the remainderwith a bright-patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints ofdogs' heads; Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeple-chase; Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty of the day; and Tom Crib, in a postureof defence, which did no credit to the science of that hero, if trulyrepresented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on each sidebookcases with cupboards at the bottom, shelves and cupboards beingfilled indiscriminately with school-books, a cup or two, amouse-trap and candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and somecurious-looking articles which puzzled Tom not a little, until hisfriend explained that they were climbing-irons, and showed their use. Acricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in the same form, and hadmore interest for Tom than Windsor Castle, or any other residence inthe British Isles. For was he not about to become the joint owner of asimilar home, the first place he could call his own? One's own! What acharm there is in the words! How long it takes boy and man to findout their worth! How fast most of us hold on to them--faster and morejealously, the nearer we are to that general home into which we cantake nothing, but must go naked as we came into the world! When shall welearn that he who multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and thatthe one single use of things which we call our own is that they may behis who hath need of them?

"And shall I have a study like this too?" said Tom. 

"Yes, of course; you'll be chummed with some fellow on Monday, and youcan sit here till then. "

"What nice places!"

"They're well enough, " answered East, patronizingly, "only uncommon coldat nights sometimes. Gower--that's my chum--and I make a fire with paperon the floor after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky. "

"But there's a big fire out in the passage, " said Tom. 

"Precious little we get out of that, though, " said East. "Jones theprepostor has the study at the fire end, and he has rigged up an ironrod and green baize curtain across the passage, which he draws at night, and sits there with his door open; so he gets all the fire, and hears ifwe come out of our studies after eight, or make a noise. However, he'staken to sitting in the fifth-form room lately, so we do get a bit offire now sometimes; only to keep a sharp lookout that he don't catch youbehind his curtain when he comes down--that's all. "

A quarter past one now struck, and the bell began tolling for dinner; sothey went into the hall and took their places, Tom at the very bottomof the second table, next to the prepostor (who sat at the end to keeporder there), and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for the firsttime saw his future school-fellows in a body. In they came, some hotand ruddy from football or long walks, some pale and chilly from hardreading in their studies, some from loitering over the fire atthe pastrycook's, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles andsaucebottles to help them with their dinners. And a great big-beardedman, whom Tom took for a master, began calling over the names, while thegreat joints were being rapidly carved on the third table in thecorner by the old verger and the housekeeper. Tom's turn came last, andmeanwhile he was all eyes, looking first with awe at the great man, whosat close to him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-looking bookall the time he was eating; and when he got up and walked off to thefire, at the small boys round him, some of whom were reading, and therest talking in whispers to one another, or stealing one another'sbread, or shooting pellets, or digging their forks through thetablecloth. However, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to makea capital dinner by the time the big man called "Stand up!" and saidgrace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been questioned by such of hisneighbours as were curious as to his birth, parentage, education, andother like matters, East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity ofpatron and mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to; and they went out through thequadrangle and past the big fives court, into the great playground. 

"That's the chapel, you see, " said East; "and there, just behind it, isthe place for fights. You see it's most out of the way of the masters, who all live on the other side, and don't come by here after firstlesson or callings-over. That's when the fights come off. And all thispart where we are is the little-side ground, right up to the trees; andon the other side of the trees is the big-side ground, where the greatmatches are played. And there's the island in the farthest corner;you'll know that well enough next half, when there's island fagging. Isay, it's horrid cold; let's have a run across. " And away went East, Tomclose behind him. East was evidently putting his best foot foremost; andTom, who was mighty proud of his running, and not a little anxiousto show his friend that, although a new boy, he was no milksop, laidhimself down to work in his very best style. Right across the close theywent, each doing all he knew, and there wasn't a yard between them whenthey pulled up at the island moat. 

"I say, " said East, as soon as he got his wind, looking with muchincreased respect at Tom, "you ain't a bad scud, not by no means. Well, I'm as warm as a toast now. "

"But why do you wear white trousers in November?" said Tom. He had beenstruck by this peculiarity in the costume of almost all the School-houseboys. 

"Why, bless us, don't you know? No; I forgot. Why, to-day's theSchool-house match. Our house plays the whole of the School at football. And we all wear white trousers, to show 'em we don't care for hacks. You're in luck to come to-day. You just will see a match; and Brooke'sgoing to let me play in quarters. That's more than he'll do for anyother lower-school boy, except James, and he's fourteen. "

"Who's Brooke?"

"Why, that big fellow who called over at dinner, to be sure. He's cockof the school, and head of the School-house side, and the best kick andcharger in Rugby. "

"Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell me about it. I lovefootball so, and have played all my life. Won't Brooke let me play?"

"Not he, " said East, with some indignation. "Why, you don't know therules; you'll be a month learning them. And then it's no joke playing-upin a match, I can tell you--quite another thing from your private schoolgames. Why, there's been two collar-bones broken this half, and a dozenfellows lamed. And last year a fellow had his leg broken. "

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level ground till they came to a sort ofgigantic gallows of two poles, eighteen feet high, fixed upright in theground some fourteen feet apart, with a cross-bar running from one tothe other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts. 

"This is one of the goals, " said East, "and you see the other, acrossthere, right opposite, under the Doctor's wall. Well, the match is forthe best of three goals; whichever side kicks two goals wins: and itwon't do, you see, just to kick the ball through these posts--it must goover the cross-bar; any height'll do, so long as it's between the posts. You'll have to stay in goal to touch the ball when it rolls behind theposts, because if the other side touch it they have a try at goal. Thenwe fellows in quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, andhave to turn the ball and kick it back before the big fellows on theother side can follow it up. And in front of us all the big fellowsplay, and that's where the scrummages are mostly. "

Tom's respect increased as he struggled to make out his friend'stechnicalities, and the other set to work to explain the mysteriesof "off your side, " "drop-kicks, " "punts, " "places, " and the otherintricacies of the great science of football. 

"But how do you keep the ball between the goals?" said he; "I can't seewhy it mightn't go right down to the chapel. "

"Why; that's out of play, " answered East. "You see this gravel-walkrunning down all along this side of the playing-ground, and the lineof elms opposite on the other? Well, they're the bounds. As soon as theball gets past them, it's in touch, and out of play. And then whoeverfirst touches it has to knock it straight out amongst the players-up, who make two lines with a space between them, every fellow going on hisown side. Ain't there just fine scrummages then! And the three trees yousee there which come out into the play, that's a tremendous place whenthe ball hangs there, for you get thrown against the trees, and that'sworse than any hack. "

Tom wondered within himself, as they strolled back again towards thefives court, whether the matches were really such break-neck affairs asEast represented, and whether, if they were, he should ever get to likethem and play up well. 

He hadn't long to wonder, however, for next minute East cried out, "Hurrah! here's the punt-about; come along and try your hand at a kick. "The punt-about is the practice-ball, which is just brought out andkicked about anyhow from one boy to another before callings-over anddinner, and at other odd times. They joined the boys who had brought itout, all small School-house fellows, friends of East; and Tom had thepleasure of trying his skill, and performed very creditably, after firstdriving his foot three inches into the ground, and then nearly kickinghis leg into the air, in vigorous efforts to accomplish a drop-kickafter the manner of East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys from other houseson their way to calling-over, and more balls were sent for. The crowdthickened as three o'clock approached; and when the hour struck, onehundred and fifty boys were hard at work. Then the balls were held, themaster of the week came down in cap and gown to calling-over, and thewhole school of three hundred boys swept into the big school to answerto their names. 

"I may come in, mayn't I?" said Tom, catching East by the arm, andlonging to feel one of them. 

"Yes, come along; nobody'll say anything. You won't be so eager to getinto calling-over after a month, " replied his friend; and they marchedinto the big school together, and up to the farther end, where thatillustrious form, the lower fourth, which had the honour of East'spatronage for the time being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the door, and one of theprepostors of the week stood by him on the steps, the other threemarching up and down the middle of the school with their canes, callingout, "Silence, silence!" The sixth form stood close by the door on theleft, some thirty in number, mostly great big grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them from a distance with awe; the fifth form behind them, twice their number, and not quite so big. These on the left; and on theright the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior forms in order; whileup the middle marched the three prepostors. 

Then the prepostor who stands by the master calls out the names, beginning with the sixth form; and as he calls each boy answers "here"to his name, and walks out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turnthe whole string of boys into the close. It is a great match-day, andevery boy in the school, will he, nill he, must be there. The rest ofthe sixth go forwards into the close, to see that no one escapes by anyof the side gates. 

To-day, however, being the School-house match, none of the School-houseprepostors stay by the door to watch for truants of their side; thereis carte blanche to the School-house fags to go where they like. "Theytrust to our honour, " as East proudly informs Tom; "they know very wellthat no School-house boy would cut the match. If he did, we'd very sooncut him, I can tell you. "

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the prepostors of theweek small and not well up to their work, the lower-school boys employthe ten minutes which elapse before their names are called in peltingone another vigorously with acorns, which fly about in all directions. The small prepostors dash in every now and then, and generally chastisesome quiet, timid boy who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while the principal performers get dexterously out of the way. And socalling-over rolls on somehow, much like the big world, punishmentslighting on wrong shoulders, and matters going generally in a queer, cross-grained way, but the end coming somehow, which is, after all, thegreat point. And now the master of the week has finished, and locked upthe big school; and the prepostors of the week come out, sweeping thelast remnant of the school fags, who had been loafing about the cornersby the fives court, in hopes of a chance of bolting, before them intothe close. 

"Hold the punt-about!" "To the goals!" are the cries; and all strayballs are impounded by the authorities, and the whole mass of boys movesup towards the two goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. Thatlittle band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty boys, Tomamongst them, who are making for the goal under the School-house wall, are the School-house boys who are not to play up, and have to stay ingoal. The larger body moving to the island goal are the School boys in alike predicament. The great mass in the middle are the players-up, bothsides mingled together; they are hanging their jackets (and all who meanreal work), their hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs, and braces, onthe railings round the small trees; and there they go by twos andthrees up to their respective grounds. There is none of the colour andtastiness of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such a life tothe present game at Rugby, making the dullest and worst-fought match apretty sight. Now each house has its own uniform of cap and jersey, ofsome lively colour; but at the time we are speaking of plush caps havenot yet come in, or uniforms of any sort, except the School-housewhite trousers, which are abominably cold to-day. Let us get to work, bare-headed, and girded with our plain leather straps. But we meanbusiness, gentlemen. 

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered, and each occupies itsown ground, and we get a good look at them, what absurdity is this? Youdon't mean to say that those fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, manyof them quite small, are going to play that huge mass opposite? Indeed Ido, gentlemen. They're going to try, at any rate, and won't make sucha bad fight of it either, mark my word; for hasn't old Brooke won thetoss, with his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of goals and kick-off?The new ball you may see lie there quite by itself, in the middle, pointing towards the School or island goal; in another minute it will bewell on its way there. Use that minute in remarking how the Schoolhouseside is drilled. You will see, in the first place, that the sixth-formboy, who has the charge of goal, has spread his force (the goalkeepers)so as to occupy the whole space behind the goal-posts, at distances ofabout five yards apart. A safe and well-kept goal is the foundation ofall good play. Old Brooke is talking to the captain of quarters, andnow he moves away. See how that youngster spreads his men (the lightbrigade) carefully over the ground, half-way between their own goal andthe body of their own players-up (the heavy brigade). These again playin several bodies. There is young Brooke and the bull-dogs. Mark themwell. They are the "fighting brigade, " the "die-hards, " larking aboutat leap-frog to keep themselves warm, and playing tricks on one another. And on each side of old Brooke, who is now standing in the middle ofthe ground and just going to kick off, you see a separate wing ofplayers-up, each with a boy of acknowledged prowess to look to--hereWarner, and there Hedge; but over all is old Brooke, absolute as heof Russia, but wisely and bravely ruling over willing and worshippingsubjects, a true football king. His face is earnest and careful as heglances a last time over his array, but full of pluck and hope--the sortof look I hope to see in my general when I go out to fight. 

The School side is not organized in the same way. The goal-keepersare all in lumps, anyhow and nohow; you can't distinguish between theplayers-up and the boys in quarters, and there is divided leadership. But with such odds in strength and weight it must take more than that tohinder them from winning; and so their leaders seem to think, for theylet the players-up manage themselves. 

But now look! there is a slight move forward of the School-house wings, a shout of "Are you ready?" and loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takeshalf a dozen quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning towards theSchool goal, seventy yards before it touches ground, and at nopoint above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model kick-off; and theSchool-house cheer and rush on. The ball is returned, and they meet itand drive it back amongst the masses of the School already in motion. Then the two sides close, and you can see nothing for minutes but aswaying crowd of boys, at one point violently agitated. That is wherethe ball is, and there are the keen players to be met, and the glory andthe hard knocks to be got. You hear the dull thud, thud of the ball, andthe shouts of "Off your side, " "Down with him, " "Put him over, " "Bravo. "This is what we call "a scrummage, " gentlemen, and the first scrummagein a School-house match was no joke in the consulship of Plancus. 

But see! it has broken; the ball is driven out on the School-house side, and a rush of the School carries it past the School-house players-up. "Look out in quarters, " Brooke's and twenty other voices ring out. Noneed to call, though: the School-house captain of quarters has caught iton the bound, dodges the foremost School boys, who are heading the rush, and sends it back with a good drop-kick well into the enemy's country. And then follows rush upon rush, and scrummage upon scrummage, the ballnow driven through into the School-house quarters, and now into theSchool goal; for the School-house have not lost the advantage which thekick-off and a slight wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly"penning" their adversaries. You say you don't see much in itall--nothing but a struggling mass of boys, and a leather ball whichseems to excite them all to great fury, as a red rag does a bull. Mydear sir, a battle would look much the same to you, except that theboys would be men, and the balls iron; but a battle would be worthyour looking at for all that, and so is a football match. You can't beexpected to appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by whicha game is lost and won--it takes an old player to do that; but the broadphilosophy of football you can understand if you will. Come along withme a little nearer, and let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides are thickest, andthey close rapidly around it in a scrummage. It must be driven throughnow by force or skill, till it flies out on one side or the other. Look how differently the boys face it! Here come two of the bulldogs, bursting through the outsiders; in they go, straight to the heart of thescrummage, bent on driving that ball out on the opposite side. That iswhat they mean to do. My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you have gonepast the ball, and must struggle now right through the scrummage, andget round and back again to your own side, before you can be of anyfurther use. Here comes young Brooke; he goes in as straight as you, butkeeps his head, and backs and bends, holding himself still behind theball, and driving it furiously when he gets the chance. Take a leaf outof his book, you young chargers. Here comes Speedicut, and Flashman theSchool-house bully, with shouts and great action. Won't you two come upto young Brooke, after locking-up, by the School-house fire, with "Oldfellow, wasn't that just a splendid scrummage by the three trees?" Buthe knows you, and so do we. You don't really want to drive thatball through that scrummage, chancing all hurt for the glory of theSchool-house, but to make us think that's what you want--a vastlydifferent thing; and fellows of your kidney will never go through morethan the skirts of a scrummage, where it's all push and no kicking. Werespect boys who keep out of it, and don't sham going in; but you--wehad rather not say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the outside, mark them:they are most useful players, the dodgers, who seize on the ball themoment it rolls out from amongst the chargers, and away with it acrossto the opposite goal. They seldom go into the scrummage, but must havemore coolness than the chargers. As endless as are boys' characters, soare their ways of facing or not facing a scrummage at football. 

Three-quarters of an hour are gone; first winds are failing, and weightand numbers beginning to tell. Yard by yard the School-house have beendriven back, contesting every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are thecolour of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except young Brooke, whohas a marvellous knack of keeping his legs. The School-house are beingpenned in their turn, and now the ball is behind their goal, under theDoctor's wall. The Doctor and some of his family are there looking on, and seem as anxious as any boy for the success of the School-house. Weget a minute's breathing-time before old Brooke kicks out, and he givesthe word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away goes theball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in another minute there is shoutof "In touch!" "Our ball!" Now's your time, old Brooke, while your menare still fresh. He stands with the ball in his hand, while the twosides form in deep lines opposite one another; he must strike itstraight out between them. The lines are thickest close to him, butyoung Brooke and two or three of his men are shifting up farther, where the opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out straight andstrong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hurrah! that rush has takenit right through the School line, and away past the three trees, farinto their quarters, and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close uponit. The School leaders rush back, shouting, "Look out in goal!" andstrain every nerve to catch him, but they are after the fleetest footin Rugby. There they go straight for the School goal-posts, quartersscattering before them. One after another the bull-dogs go down, butyoung Brooke holds on. "He is down. " No! a long stagger, but the dangeris past. That was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. Andnow he is close to the School goal, the ball not three yards beforehim. There is a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but noone throws himself on the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke hastouched it right under the School goal-posts. 

The School leaders come up furious, and administer toco to the wretchedfags nearest at hand. They may well be angry, for it is all LombardStreet to a china orange that the School-house kick a goal with the balltouched in such a good place. Old Brooke, of course, will kick itout, but who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he comes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest, coolest fishin Rugby. If he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would justpick himself up without taking his hands out of his pockets or turninga hair. But it is a moment when the boldest charger's heart beats quick. Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the School back;he will not kick out till they are all in goal, behind the posts. Theyare all edging forwards, inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush atCrab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the ball. If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is over;and with one and the same rush they will carry it right away to theSchool-house goal. Fond hope! it is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab strikes his heel into the ground, to mark the spot where the ballwas caught, beyond which the school line may not advance; but there theystand, five deep, ready to rush the moment the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of room. Don't give the rush a chance of reaching you. Placeit true and steady. Trust Crab Jones. He has made a small hole with hisheel for the ball to lie on, by which he is resting on one knee, withhis eye on old Brooke. "Now!" Crab places the ball at the word, oldBrooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the School rush forward. 

Then a moment's pause, while both sides look up at the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the two posts, some five feet above thecross-bar, an unquestioned goal; and a shout of real, genuine joy ringsout from the School-house players-up, and a faint echo of it comes overthe close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor's wall. A goal in thefirst hour--such a thing hasn't been done in the School-house matchthese five years. 

"Over!" is the cry. The two sides change goals, and the School-housegoal-keepers come threading their way across through the masses ofthe School, the most openly triumphant of them--amongst whom is Tom, aSchool-house boy of two hours' standing--getting their ears boxed inthe transit. Tom indeed is excited beyond measure, and it is all thesixth-form boy, kindest and safest of goal-keepers, has been able to do, to keep him from rushing out whenever the ball has been near theirgoal. So he holds him by his side, and instructs him in the science oftouching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vender of oranges from HillMorton, enters the close with his heavy baskets. There is a rush ofsmall boys upon the little pale-faced man, the two sides minglingtogether, subdued by the great goddess Thirst, like the English andFrench by the streams in the Pyrenees. The leaders are past oranges andapples, but some of them visit their coats, and apply innocent-lookingginger-beer bottles to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer though, Ifear, and will do you no good. One short mad rush, and then a stitch inthe side, and no more honest play. That's what comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith's baskets are empty, the ball is placed again midway, and the School are going to kick off. Their leaders have sent theirlumber into goal, and rated the rest soundly, and one hundred and twentypicked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. They are tokeep the ball in front of the School-house goal, and then to drive it inby sheer strength and weight. They mean heavy play and no mistake, andso old Brooke sees, and places Crab Jones in quarters just before thegoal, with four or five picked players who are to keep the ball away tothe sides, where a try at goal, if obtained, will be less dangerous thanin front. He himself, and Warner and Hedge, who have saved themselvestill now, will lead the charges. 

"Are you ready?" "Yes. " And away comes the ball, kicked high in the air, to give the School time to rush on and catch it as it falls. And herethey are amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, you Schoolhouse boys, and charge them home. Now is the time to show what mettle is in you;and there shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, and honour, and lots ofbottled beer to-night for him who does his duty in the next half-hour. And they are well met. Again and again the cloud of their players-upgathers before our goal, and comes threatening on, and Warner or Hedge, with young Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, break throughand carry the ball back; and old Brooke ranges the field like Job'swar-horse. The thickest scrummage parts asunder before his rush, likethe waves before a clipper's bows; his cheery voice rings out over thefield, and his eye is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and itrolls dangerously in front of our goal, Crab Jones and his menhave seized it and sent it away towards the sides with the unerringdrop-kick. This is worth living for--the whole sum of school-boyexistence gathered up into one straining, struggling half-hour, ahalf-hour worth a year of common life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens for a minutebefore goal; but there is Crew, the artful dodger, driving the ball inbehind our goal, on the island side, where our quarters are weakest. Isthere no one to meet him? Yes; look at little East! The ball is just atequal distances between the two, and they rush together, the young manof seventeen and the boy of twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crewpasses on without a stagger; East is hurled forward by the shock, andplunges on his shoulder, as if he would bury himself in the ground;but the ball rises straight into the air, and falls behind Crew's back, while the "bravoes" of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge ofall that hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half stunned, and he hobbles back into goal, conscious of having played the man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the School gather for their lastrush, every boy of the hundred and twenty who has a run left in him. Reckless of the defence of their own goal, on they come across the levelbig-side ground, the ball well down amongst them, straight for our goal, like the column of the Old Guard up the slope at Waterloo. All formercharges have been child's play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them, but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the last time; theyare hurled over or carried back, striving hand, foot, and eyelids. OldBrooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the play, and turning shortround, picks out the very heart of the scrummage, and plunges in. Itwavers for a moment; he has the ball. No, it has passed him, and hisvoice rings out clear over the advancing tide, "Look out in goal!" CrabJones catches it for a moment; but before he can kick, the rush is uponhim and passes over him; and he picks himself up behind them with hisstraw in his mouth, a little dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the School-house goal, not three yardsin front of a dozen of the biggest School players-up. 

There stands the School-house prepostor, safest of goal-keepers, and TomBrown by his side, who has learned his trade by this time. Now isyour time, Tom. The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush intogether, and throw themselves on the ball, under the very feet of theadvancing column--the prepostor on his hands and knees, arching hisback, and Tom all along on his face. Over them topple the leaders of therush, shooting over the back of the prepostor, but falling flat on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his small carcass. "Our ball, " says theprepostor, rising with his prize; "but get up there; there's a littlefellow under you. " They are hauled and roll off him, and Tom isdiscovered, a motionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. "Stand back, give him air, " he says; and thenfeeling his limbs, adds, "No bones broken. --How do you feel, young un?"

"Hah-hah!" gasps Tom, as his wind comes back; "pretty well, thankyou--all right. "

"Who is he?" says Brooke. 

"Oh, it's Brown; he's a new boy; I know him, " says East, coming up. 

"Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a player, " says Brooke. 

And five o'clock strikes. "No side" is called, and the first day of theSchool-house match is over. 

CHAPTER VI--AFTER THE MATCH. 

 "Some food we had. "--Shakespeare. [Greek text]--Theocr. Id. 

As the boys scattered away from the ground, and East, leaning on Tom'sarm, and limping along, was beginning to consider what luxury theyshould go and buy for tea to celebrate that glorious victory, the twoBrookes came striding by. Old Brooke caught sight of East, and stopped;put his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said, "Bravo, youngster; youplayed famously. Not much the matter, I hope?"

"No, nothing at all, " said East--"only a little twist from thatcharge. "

"Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday. " And the leader passedon, leaving East better for those few words than all the opodeldoc inEngland would have made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears foras much notice. Ah! light words of those whom we love and honour, whata power ye are, and how carelessly wielded by those who can use you!Surely for these things also God will ask an account. 

"Tea's directly after locking-up, you see, " said East, hobbling along asfast as he could, "so you come along down to Sally Harrowell's; that'sour School-house tuck-shop. She bakes such stunning murphies, we'll havea penn'orth each for tea. Come along, or they'll all be gone. "

Tom's new purse and money burnt in his pocket; he wondered, as theytoddled through the quadrangle and along the street, whether Eastwould be insulted if he suggested further extravagance, as he had notsufficient faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted out, --

"I say, East, can't we get something else besides potatoes? I've gotlots of money, you know. "

"Bless us, yes; I forgot, " said East, "you've only just come. You seeall my tin's been gone this twelve weeks--it hardly ever lasts beyondthe first fortnight; and our allowances were all stopped this morningfor broken windows, so I haven't got a penny. I've got a tick atSally's, of course; but then I hate running it high, you see, towardsthe end of the half, 'cause one has to shell out for it all directly onecomes back, and that's a bore. "

Tom didn't understand much of this talk, but seized on the fact thatEast had no money, and was denying himself some little pet luxury inconsequence. "Well, what shall I buy?" said he, "I'm uncommon hungry. "

"I say, " said East, stopping to look at him and rest his leg, "you're atrump, Brown. I'll do the same by you next half. Let's have a pound ofsausages then. That's the best grub for tea I know of. "

"Very well, " said Tom, as pleased as possible; "where do they sellthem?"

"Oh, over here, just opposite. " And they crossed the street and walkedinto the cleanest little front room of a small house, half parlour, half shop, and bought a pound of most particular sausages, East talkingpleasantly to Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom doing thepaying part. 

From Porter's they adjourned to Sally Harrowell's, where they found alot of School-house boys waiting for the roast potatoes, and relatingtheir own exploits in the day's match at the top of their voices. Thestreet opened at once into Sally's kitchen, a low brick-floored room, with large recess for fire, and chimney-corner seats. Poor little Sally, the most good-natured and much-enduring of womankind, was bustlingabout, with a napkin in her hand, from her own oven to those of theneighbours' cottages up the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, herhusband, a short, easy-going shoemaker, with a beery, humorous eye andponderous calves, who lived mostly on his wife's earnings, stood ina corner of the room, exchanging shots of the roughest description ofrepartee with every boy in turn. "Stumps, you lout, you've had toomuch beer again to-day. " "'Twasn't of your paying for, then. " "Stumps'scalves are running down into his ankles; they want to get to grass. ""Better be doing that than gone altogether like yours, " etc. Very poorstuff it was, but it served to make time pass; and every now and thenSally arrived in the middle with a smoking tin of potatoes, which wascleared off in a few seconds, each boy as he seized his lot runningoff to the house with "Put me down two-penn'orth, Sally;" "Put downthree-penn'orth between me and Davis, " etc. How she ever kept theaccounts so straight as she did, in her head and on her slate, was aperfect wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back for the School-house, just as the locking-up bell began to ring, East on the way recountingthe life and adventures of Stumps, who was a character. Amongst hisother small avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan-chair, thelast of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went out to tea, andin which, when he was fairly harnessed and carrying a load, it was thedelight of small and mischievous boys to follow him and whip his calves. This was too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he would pursue histormentors in a vindictive and apoplectic manner when released, but waseasily pacified by twopence to buy beer with. 

The lower-school boys of the School-house, some fifteen in number, hadtea in the lower-fifth school, and were presided over by the old vergeror head-porter. Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread and pat ofbutter, and as much tea as he pleased; and there was scarcely onewho didn't add to this some further luxury, such as baked potatoes, aherring, sprats, or something of the sort. But few at this period of thehalf-year could live up to a pound of Porter's sausages, and East wasin great magnificence upon the strength of theirs. He had produced atoasting-fork from his study, and set Tom to toast the sausages, while he mounted guard over their butter and potatoes. "'Cause, " as heexplained, "you're a new boy, and they'll play you some trick and getour butter; but you can toast just as well as I. " So Tom, in the midstof three or four more urchins similarly employed, toasted his face andthe sausages at the same time before the huge fire, till the lattercracked; when East from his watch-tower shouted that they were done, andthen the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of tea were filledand emptied, and Tom imparted of the sausages in small bits to manyneighbours, and thought he had never tasted such good potatoes or seensuch jolly boys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and peggedaway at the sausages and potatoes, and remembering Tom's performance ingoal, voted East's new crony a brick. After tea, and while the thingswere being cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and the talk onthe match still went on; and those who had them to show pulled up theirtrousers and showed the hacks they had received in the good cause. 

They were soon, however, all turned out of the school; and Eastconducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he might get on clean things, andwash himself before singing. 

"What's singing?" said Tom, taking his head out of his basin, where hehad been plunging it in cold water. 

"Well, you are jolly green, " answered his friend, from a neighbouringbasin. "Why, the last six Saturdays of every half we sing of course; andthis is the first of them. No first lesson to do, you know, and lie inbed to-morrow morning. "

"But who sings?"

"Why, everybody, of course; you'll see soon enough. We begin directlyafter supper, and sing till bed-time. It ain't such good fun now, though, as in the summer half; 'cause then we sing in the little fivescourt, under the library, you know. We take out tables, and the big boyssit round and drink beer--double allowance on Saturday nights; and wecut about the quadrangle between the songs, and it looks like a lot ofrobbers in a cave. And the louts come and pound at the great gates, andwe pound back again, and shout at them. But this half we only sing inthe hall. Come along down to my study. "

Their principal employment in the study was to clear out East's table;removing the drawers and ornaments and tablecloth; for he lived in thebottom passage, and his table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o'clock, consisting of bread andcheese and beer, which was all saved for the singing; and directlyafterwards the fags went to work to prepare the hall. The School-househall, as has been said, is a great long high room, with two large fireson one side, and two large iron-bound tables, one running down themiddle, and the other along the wall opposite the fireplaces. Around theupper fire the fags placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, andupon them the jugs with the Saturday night's allowance of beer. Thenthe big boys used to drop in and take their seats, bringing with thembottled beer and song books; for although they all knew the songs byheart, it was the thing to have an old manuscript book descended fromsome departed hero, in which they were all carefully written out. 

The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared; so, to fill up the gap, aninteresting and time-honoured ceremony was gone through. Each new boywas placed on the table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under thepenalty of drinking a large mug of salt and water if he resisted orbroke down. However, the new boys all sing like nightingales to-night, and the salt water is not in requisition--Tom, as his part, performingthe old west-country song of "The Leather Bottel" with considerableapplause. And at the half-hour down come the sixth and fifth form boys, and take their places at the tables, which are filled up by the nextbiggest boys, the rest, for whom there is no room at the table, standinground outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugleman strikes up theold sea-song, "A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And a wind that follows fast, " etc. , which is the invariable first song in the School-house; and all theseventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but bent on noise, whichthey attain decidedly, but the general effect isn't bad. And then follow"The British Grenadiers, " "Billy Taylor, " "The Siege of Seringapatam, ""Three Jolly Postboys, " and other vociferous songs in rapid succession, including "The Chesapeake and Shannon, " a song lately introduced inhonour of old Brooke; and when they come to the words, "Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now, my lads, aboard, And we'll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh!"

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know that "braveBroke" of the Shannon was no sort of relation to our old Brooke. Thefourth form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part holdthat old Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle's ship. And thelower school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who ledthe boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw. During the pausesthe bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is fast and merry, andthe big boys--at least all of them who have a fellow-feeling for drythroats--hand their mugs over their shoulders to be emptied by the smallones who stand round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants to speak; but hecan't, for every boy knows what's coming. And the big boys who sit atthe tables pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behindpound one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Thensilence being made, Warner reminds them of the old School-house customof drinking the healths, on the first night of singing, of those who aregoing to leave at the end of the half. "He sees that they know what heis going to say already" (loud cheers), "and so won't keep them, butonly ask them to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head of theeleven, the head of big-side football, their leader on this gloriousday--Pater Brooke!"

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, becoming deafening whenold Brooke gets on his legs; till, a table having broken down, and agallon or so of beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silenceensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bendinga little forwards. No action, no tricks of oratory--plain, strong, andstraight, like his play. 

"Gentlemen of the School-house! I am very proud of the way in whichyou have received my name, and I wish I could say all I should like inreturn. But I know I shan't. However, I'll do the best I can to say whatseems to me ought to be said by a fellow who's just going to leave, and who has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight years it is, andeight such years as I can never hope to have again. So now I hope you'llall listen to me" (loud cheers of "That we will"), "for I'm going totalk seriously. You're bound to listen to me for what's the use ofcalling me 'pater, ' and all that, if you don't mind what I say? AndI'm going to talk seriously, because I feel so. It's a jolly time, too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal kicked by us first day"(tremendous applause), "after one of the hardest and fiercest day's playI can remember in eight years. " (Frantic shoutings. ) "The School playedsplendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. That lastcharge of theirs would have carried away a house. I never thought to seeanything again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw himtumbled over by it. " (Laughter and shouting, and great slapping onthe back of Jones by the boys nearest him. ) "Well, but we beat 'em. "(Cheers. ) "Ay, but why did we beat 'em? Answer me that. " (Shouts of"Your play. ") "Nonsense! 'Twasn't the wind and kick-off either--thatwouldn't do it. 'Twasn't because we've half a dozen of the best playersin the school, as we have. I wouldn't change Warner, and Hedge, andCrab, and the young un, for any six on their side. " (Violent cheers. )"But half a dozen fellows can't keep it up for two hours against twohundred. Why is it, then? I'll tell you what I think. It's because we'vemore reliance on one another, more of a house feeling, more fellowshipthan the School can have. Each of us knows and can depend on hisnext-hand man better. That's why we beat 'em to-day. We've union, they've division--there's the secret. " (Cheers. ) "But how's this to bekept up? How's it to be improved? That's the question. For I take itwe're all in earnest about beating the School, whatever else we careabout. I know I'd sooner win two School-house matches running than getthe Balliol scholarship any day. " (Frantic cheers. )

"Now, I'm as proud of the house as any one. I believe it's the besthouse in the school, out and out. " (Cheers. ) "But it's a long way fromwhat I want to see it. First, there's a deal of bullying going on. Iknow it well. I don't pry about and interfere; that only makes itmore underhand, and encourages the small boys to come to us with theirfingers in their eyes telling tales, and so we should be worse off thanever. It's very little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally--youyoungsters mind that. You'll be all the better football players forlearning to stand it, and to take your own parts, and fight it through. But depend on it, there's nothing breaks up a house like bullying. Bullies are cowards, and one coward makes many; so good-bye to theSchool-house match if bullying gets ahead here. " (Loud applause fromthe small boys, who look meaningly at Flashman and other boys at thetables. ) "Then there's fuddling about in the public-house, and drinkingbad spirits, and punch, and such rot-gut stuff. That won't make gooddrop-kicks or chargers of you, take my word for it. You get plenty ofgood beer here, and that's enough for you; and drinking isn't fine ormanly, whatever some of you may think of it. 

"One other thing I must have a word about. A lot of you think and say, for I've heard you, 'There's this new Doctor hasn't been here so longas some of us, and he's changing all the old customs. Rugby, and theSchoolhouse especially, are going to the dogs. Stand up for the good oldways, and down with the Doctor!' Now I'm as fond of old Rugby customsand ways as any of you, and I've been here longer than any of you, andI'll give you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn't like to see anyof you getting sacked. 'Down with the Doctor's' easier said than done. You'll find him pretty tight on his perch, I take it, and an awkwardishcustomer to handle in that line. Besides now, what customs has he putdown? There was the good old custom of taking the linchpins out of thefarmers' and bagmen's gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly, blackguardcustom it was. We all know what came of it, and no wonder the Doctorobjected to it. But come now, any of you, name a custom that he has putdown. "

"The hounds, " calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a green cutaway withbrass buttons and cord trousers, the leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider and keen hand generally. 

"Well, we had six or seven mangy harriers and beagles belonging to thehouse, I'll allow, and had had them for years, and that the Doctorput them down. But what good ever came of them? Only rows with all thekeepers for ten miles round; and big-side hare-and-hounds is better funten times over. What else?"

No answer. 

"Well, I won't go on. Think it over for yourselves. You'll find, Ibelieve, that he don't meddle with any one that's worth keeping. Andmind now, I say again, look out for squalls if you will go your own way, and that way ain't the Doctor's, for it'll lead to grief. You all knowthat I'm not the fellow to back a master through thick and thin. If Isaw him stopping football, or cricket, or bathing, or sparring, I'd beas ready as any fellow to stand up about it. But he don't; he encouragesthem. Didn't you see him out to-day for half an hour watching us?" (loudcheers for the Doctor); "and he's a strong, true man, and a wise onetoo, and a public-school man too" (cheers), "and so let's stick to him, and talk no more rot, and drink his health as the head of the house. "(Loud cheers. ) "And now I've done blowing up, and very glad I am to havedone. But it's a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a place whichone has lived in and loved for eight years; and if one can say a wordfor the good of the old house at such a time, why, it should be said, whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn't been proud of the house andyou--ay, no one knows how proud--I shouldn't be blowing you up. And nowlet's get to singing. But before I sit down I must give you a toast tobe drunk with three-times-three and all the honours. It's a toast whichI hope every one of us, wherever he may go hereafter, will never failto drink when he thinks of the brave, bright days of his boyhood. It's atoast which should bind us all together, and to those who've gone beforeand who'll come after us here. It is the dear old School-house--the besthouse of the best school in England!"

My dear boys, old and young, you who have belonged, or do belong, toother schools and other houses, don't begin throwing my poor little bookabout the room, and abusing me and it, and vowing you'll read no morewhen you get to this point. I allow you've provocation for it. But comenow--would you, any of you, give a fig for a fellow who didn't believein and stand up for his own house and his own school? You know youwouldn't. Then don't object to me cracking up the old School house, Rugby. Haven't I a right to do it, when I'm taking all the troubleof writing this true history for all of your benefits? If you ain'tsatisfied, go and write the history of your own houses in your owntimes, and say all you know for your own schools and houses, providedit's true, and I'll read it without abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest place. They hadbeen not altogether enthusiastic at several parts of old Brooke'sspeech; but "the best house of the best school in England" was too muchfor them all, and carried even the sporting and drinking interests offtheir legs into rapturous applause, and (it is to be hoped) resolutionsto lead a new life and remember old Brooke's words--which, however, theydidn't altogether do, as will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke's popularity to carry down parts of hisspeech--especially that relating to the Doctor. For there are no suchbigoted holders by established forms and customs, be they never sofoolish or meaningless, as English school-boys--at least, as theschool-boys of our generation. We magnified into heroes every boy whohad left, and looked upon him with awe and reverence when he revisitedthe place a year or so afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford orCambridge; and happy was the boy who remembered him, and sure of anaudience as he expounded what he used to do and say, though it were sadenough stuff to make angels, not to say head-masters, weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit which had obtainedin the School as though it had been a law of the Medes and Persians, andregarded the infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. Andthe Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for old schoolcustoms which were good and sensible, had, as has already been hinted, come into most decided collision with several which were neither the onenor the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he came into collisionwith boys or customs, there was nothing for them but to give in or takethemselves off; because what he said had to be done, and no mistakeabout it. And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood. Theboys felt that there was a strong man over them, who would have thingshis own way, and hadn't yet learnt that he was a wise and loving manalso. His personal character and influence had not had time to makeitself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys with whom he camemore directly into contact; and he was looked upon with great fear anddislike by the great majority even of his own house. For he had foundSchool and School-house in a state of monstrous license and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary but unpopular work of setting uporder with a strong hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, and the boys cheeredhim and then the Doctor. And then more songs came, and the healths ofthe other boys about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not necessary to behere recorded. 

Half-past nine struck in the middle of the performance of "Auld LangSyne, " a most obstreperous proceeding, during which there was an immenseamount of standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs togetherand shaking hands, without which accompaniments it seems impossiblefor the youths of Britain to take part in that famous old song. Theunder-porter of the School-house entered during the performance, bearingfive or six long wooden candlesticks with lighted dips in them, which heproceeded to stick into their holes in such part of the great tablesas he could get at; and then stood outside the ring till the end of thesong, when he was hailed with shouts. 

"Bill you old muff, the half-hour hasn't struck. " "Here, Bill, drinksome cocktail. " "Sing us a song, old boy. " "Don't you wish you mayget the table?" Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, andputting down the empty glass, remonstrated. "Now gentlemen, there's onlyten minutes to prayers, and we must get the hall straight. "

Shouts of "No, no!" and a violent effort to strike up "Billy Taylor" forthe third time. Bill looked appealingly to old Brooke, who got up andstopped the noise. "Now then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get thetables back; clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill's right. Openthe windows, Warner. " The boy addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull up the great windows, and let in a clear, fresh rushof night air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, and the firesroar. The circle broke up, each collaring his own jug, glass, andsong-book; Bill pounced on the big table, and began to rattle it away toits place outside the buttery door. The lower-passage boys carried offtheir small tables, aided by their friends; while above all, standingon the great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons of harmony made nightdoleful by a prolonged performance of "God Save the King. " His MajestyKing William the Fourth then reigned over us, a monarch deservedlypopular amongst the boys addicted to melody, to whom he was chieflyknown from the beginning of that excellent if slightly vulgar song inwhich they much delighted, --

 "Come, neighbours all, both great and small, Perform your duties here, And loudly sing, 'Live Billy, our king, ' For bating the tax upon veer. "

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his praises ina sort of ballad, which I take to have been written by some Irishloyalist. I have forgotten all but the chorus, which ran, --

 "God save our good King William, Be his name for ever blest; He's the father of all his people, And the guardian of all the rest. "

In troth we were loyal subjects in those days, in a rough way. I trustthat our successors make as much of her present Majesty, and, havingregard to the greater refinement of the times, have adopted or writtenother songs equally hearty, but more civilized, in her honour. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell rang. The sixth andfifth form boys ranged themselves in their school order along the wall, on either side of the great fires, the middle-fifth and upper-schoolboys round the long table in the middle of the hall, and thelower-school boys round the upper part of the second long table, whichran down the side of the hall farthest from the fires. Here Tom foundhimself at the bottom of all, in a state of mind and body not at all fitfor prayers, as he thought; and so tried hard to make himself serious, but couldn't, for the life of him, do anything but repeat in his headthe choruses of some of the songs, and stare at all the boys opposite, wondering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and speculating whatsort of fellows they were. The steps of the head-porter are heard on thestairs, and a light gleams at the door. "Hush!" from the fifth-form boyswho stand there, and then in strides the Doctor, cap on head, bookin one hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. He walks up themiddle, and takes his post by Warner, who begins calling over the names. The Doctor takes no notice of anything, but quietly turns over his bookand finds the place, and then stands, cap in hand and finger in book, looking straight before his nose. He knows better than any one when tolook, and when to see nothing. To-night is singing night, and there'sbeen lots of noise and no harm done--nothing but beer drunk, and nobodythe worse for it, though some of them do look hot and excited. So theDoctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible manner as hestands there, and reads out the psalm, in that deep, ringing, searchingvoice of his. Prayers are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed afterthe Doctor's retiring figure, when he feels a pull at his sleeve, andturning round, sees East. 

"I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket?"

"No, " said Tom; "why?"

"'Cause there'll be tossing to-night, most likely, before the sixth comeup to bed. So if you funk, you just come along and hide, or else they'llcatch you and toss you. "

"Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?" inquired Tom. 

"Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times, " said East, as he hobbled along byTom's side upstairs. "It don't hurt unless you fall on the floor. Butmost fellows don't like it. "

They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, where were a crowd ofsmall boys whispering together, and evidently unwilling to go upinto the bedrooms. In a minute, however, a study door opened, and asixth-form boy came out, and off they all scuttled up the stairs, andthen noiselessly dispersed to their different rooms. Tom's heart beatrather quick as he and East reached their room, but he had made up hismind. "I shan't hide, East, " said he. 

"Very well, old fellow, " replied East, evidently pleased; "no more shallI. They'll be here for us directly. "

The room was a great big one, with a dozen beds in it, but not a boythat Tom could see except East and himself. East pulled off his coat andwaistcoat, and then sat on the bottom of his bed whistling and pullingoff his boots. Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door opens, and in rushfour or five great fifth-form boys, headed by Flashman in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the farther corner of the room, and were not seenat first. 

"Gone to ground, eh?" roared Flashman. "Push 'em out then, boys; lookunder the beds. " And he pulled up the little white curtain of the onenearest him. "Who-o-op!" he roared, pulling away at the leg of a smallboy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sang out lustily formercy. 

"Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out this young howlingbrute. --Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll kill you. "

"Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don't toss me! I'll fag foryou--I'll do anything--only don't toss me. "

"You be hanged, " said Flashman, lugging the wretched boy along; "'twon'thurt you, --you!--Come along, boys; here he is. "

"I say, Flashey, " sang out another of the big boys; "drop that; youheard what old Pater Brooke said to-night. I'll be hanged if we'll tossany one against their will. No more bullying. Let him go, I say. "

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, who rushedheadlong under his bed again, for fear they should change their minds, and crept along underneath the other beds, till he got under that of thesixth-form boy, which he knew they daren't disturb. 

"There's plenty of youngsters don't care about it, " said Walker. "Here, here's Scud East--you'll be tossed, won't you, young un?" Scud wasEast's nickname, or Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness offoot. 

"Yes, " said East, "if you like, only mind my foot. "

"And here's another who didn't hide. --Hullo! new boy; what's your name, sir?"

"Brown. "

"Well, Whitey Brown, you don't mind being tossed?"

"No, " said Tom, setting his teeth. 

"Come along then, boys, " sang out Walker; and away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to the intense relief of four or five othersmall boys, who crept out from under the beds and behind them. 

"What a trump Scud is!" said one. "They won't come back here now. "

"And that new boy, too; he must be a good-plucked one. "

"Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; see how he'll like itthen!"

Meantime the procession went down the passage to Number 7, the largestroom, and the scene of the tossing, in the middle of which was a greatopen space. Here they joined other parties of the bigger boys, eachwith a captive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, and somefrightened to death. At Walker's suggestion all who were afraid were letoff, in honour of Pater Brooke's speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket, dragged from one of thebeds. "In with Scud; quick! there's no time to lose. " East was chuckedinto the blanket. "Once, twice, thrice, and away!" Up he went like ashuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling. 

"Now, boys, with a will, " cried Walker; "once, twice, thrice, and away!"This time he went clean up, and kept himself from touching the ceilingwith his hand, and so again a third time, when he was turned out, andup went another boy. And then came Tom's turn. He lay quite still, byEast's advice, and didn't dislike the "once, twice, thrice;" but the"away" wasn't so pleasant. They were in good wind now, and sent himslap up to the ceiling first time, against which his knees came rathersharply. But the moment's pause before descending was the rub--thefeeling of utter helplessness and of leaving his whole inside behind himsticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near shouting to be set down whenhe found himself back in the blanket, but thought of East, and didn't;and so took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called ayoung trump for his pains. 

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. No catastrophehappened, as all the captives were cool hands, and didn't struggle. Thisdidn't suit Flashman. What your real bully likes in tossing is when theboys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, and soget pitched bodily on to the floor; it's no fun to him when no one ishurt or frightened. 

"Let's toss two of them together, Walker, " suggested he. 

"What a cursed bully you are, Flashey!" rejoined the other. "Up withanother one. "

And so now two boys were tossed together, the peculiar hardship of whichis, that it's too much for human nature to lie still then and sharetroubles; and so the wretched pair of small boys struggle in the airwhich shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of bothfalling out of the blanket, and the huge delight of brutes likeFlashman. 

But now there's a cry that the prepostor of the room is coming; so thetossing stops, and all scatter to their different rooms; and Tom isleft to turn in, with the first day's experience of a public school tomeditate upon. 

CHAPTER VII--SETTLING TO THE COLLAR. 

 "Says Giles, ''Tis mortal hard to go, But if so be's I must I means to follow arter he As goes hisself the fust. '"--Ballad. 

Everybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy, delicious state in which onelies, half asleep, half awake, while consciousness begins to returnafter a sound night's rest in a new place which we are glad to be in, following upon a day of unwonted excitement and exertion. There arefew pleasanter pieces of life. The worst of it is that they last sucha short time; for nurse them as you will, by lying perfectly passivein mind and body, you can't make more than five minutes or so of them. After which time the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity which we call"I", as impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth will forcehimself back again, and take possession of us down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past seven on themorning following the day of his arrival, and from his clean littlewhite bed watched the movements of Bogle (the generic name by which thesuccessive shoeblacks of the School-house were known), as he marchedround from bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes and boots, anddepositing clean ones in their places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in the universe he was, but conscious that he had made a step in life which he had been anxiousto make. It was only just light as he looked lazily out of the widewindows, and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks circlingabout and cawing remonstrances to the lazy ones of their commonwealthbefore starting in a body for the neighbouring ploughed fields. Thenoise of the room-door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exit withthe shoebasket under his arm, roused him thoroughly, and he sat up inbed and looked round the room. What in the world could be the matterwith his shoulders and loins? He felt as if he had been severely beatenall down his back--the natural results of his performance at his firstmatch. He drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, and went overall the events of yesterday, rejoicing in his new life, what he had seenof it, and all that was to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused themselves, and began tosit up and talk to one another in low tones. Then East, after a rollor two, came to an anchor also, and nodding to Tom, began examining hisankle. 

"What a pull, " said he, "that it's lie-in-bed, for I shall be as lame asa tree, I think. "

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had not yet been established;so that nothing but breakfast intervened between bed and eleven o'clockchapel--a gap by no means easy to fill up: in fact, though received withthe correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture instituted bythe Doctor shortly afterwards was a great boon to the School. It waslie-in-bed, and no one was in a hurry to get up, especially in roomswhere the sixth-form boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was the case inTom's room, and allowed the small boys to talk and laugh and do prettymuch what they pleased, so long as they didn't disturb him. His bed wasa bigger one than the rest, standing in the corner by the fireplace, with a washing-stand and large basin by the side, where he lay in statewith his white curtains tucked in so as to form a retiring place--anawful subject of contemplation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, andwatched the great man rouse himself and take a book from under hispillow, and begin reading, leaning his head on his hand, and turning hisback to the room. Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, andmuttered encouragements from the neighbouring boys of "Go it, Tadpole!""Now, young Green!" "Haul away his blanket!" "Slipper him on the hands!"Young Green and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole, from his greatblack head and thin legs, slept side by side far away by the door, andwere for ever playing one another tricks, which usually ended, as onthis morning, in open and violent collision; and now, unmindful of allorder and authority, there they were, each hauling away at the other'sbedclothes with one hand, and with the other, armed with a slipper, belabouring whatever portion of the body of his adversary came withinreach. 

"Hold that noise up in the corner, " called out the prepostor, sittingup and looking round his curtains; and the Tadpole and young Green sankdown into their disordered beds; and then, looking at his watch, added, "Hullo! past eight. Whose turn for hot water?"

(Where the prepostor was particular in his ablutions, the fags in hisroom had to descend in turn to the kitchen, and beg or steal hot waterfor him; and often the custom extended farther, and two boys went downevery morning to get a supply for the whole room. )

"East's and Tadpole's, " answered the senior fag, who kept the rota. 

"I can't go, " said East; "I'm dead lame. "

"Well, be quick some of you, that's all, " said the great man, as heturned out of bed, and putting on his slippers, went out into the greatpassage, which runs the whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sundayhabiliments out of his portmanteau. 

"Let me go for you, " said Tom to East; "I should like it. "

"Well, thank 'ee, that's a good fellow. Just pull on your trousers, andtake your jug and mine. Tadpole will show you the way. "

And so Tom and the Tadpole, in nightshirts and trousers, started offdownstairs, and through "Thos's hole, " as the little buttery, wherecandles and beer and bread and cheese were served out at night, wascalled, across the School-house court, down a long passage, and into thekitchen; where, after some parley with the stalwart, handsome cook, whodeclared that she had filled a dozen jugs already, they got their hotwater, and returned with all speed and great caution. As it was, theynarrowly escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth-form rooms, who were on the lookout for the hot-water convoys, and pursued them upto the very door of their room, making them spill half their load in thepassage. 

"Better than going down again though, " as Tadpole remarked, "as weshould have had to do if those beggars had caught us. "

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and his newcomrades were all down, dressed in their best clothes, and he had thesatisfaction of answering "here" to his name for the first time, theprepostor of the week having put it in at the bottom of his list. Andthen came breakfast and a saunter about the close and town with East, whose lameness only became severe when any fagging had to be done. Andso they whiled away the time until morning chapel. 

It was a fine November morning, and the close soon became alive withboys of all ages, who sauntered about on the grass, or walked round thegravel walk, in parties of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, pointed out all the remarkable characters to Tom as they passed: Osbert, who could throw a cricket-ball from the little-side ground overthe rook-trees to the Doctor's wall; Gray, who had got the Balliolscholarship, and, what East evidently thought of much more importance, a half-holiday for the School by his success; Thorne, who had run tenmiles in two minutes over the hour; Black, who had held his own againstthe cock of the town in the last row with the louts; and many moreheroes, who then and there walked about and were worshipped, all traceof whom has long since vanished from the scene of their fame. And thefourth-form boy who reads their names rudely cut on the old hall tables, or painted upon the big-side cupboard (if hall tables and big-sidecupboards still exist), wonders what manner of boys they were. It willbe the same with you who wonder, my sons, whatever your prowess may bein cricket, or scholarship, or football. Two or three years, more orless, and then the steadily advancing, blessed wave will pass over yournames as it has passed over ours. Nevertheless, play your games and doyour work manfully--see only that that be done--and let the remembranceof it take care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, and Tom got inearly and took his place in the lowest row, and watched all the otherboys come in and take their places, filling row after row; and triedto construe the Greek text which was inscribed over the door with theslightest possible success, and wondered which of the masters, whowalked down the chapel and took their seats in the exalted boxes at theend, would be his lord. And then came the closing of the doors, and theDoctor in his robes, and the service, which, however, didn't impress himmuch, for his feeling of wonder and curiosity was too strong. And theboy on one side of him was scratching his name on the oak panellingin front, and he couldn't help watching to see what the name was, andwhether it was well scratched; and the boy on the other side went tosleep, and kept falling against him; and on the whole, though many boyseven in that part of the school were serious and attentive, the generalatmosphere was by no means devotional; and when he got out into theclose again, he didn't feel at all comfortable, or as if he had been tochurch. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. He had spent thetime after dinner in writing home to his mother, and so was in a betterframe of mind; and his first curiosity was over, and he could attendmore to the service. As the hymn after the prayers was being sung, andthe chapel was getting a little dark, he was beginning to feel that hehad been really worshipping. And then came that great event in his, asin every Rugby boy's life of that day--the first sermon from the Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that scene--the oak pulpitstanding out by itself above the School seats; the tall, gallant form, the kindling eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, nowclear and stirring as the call of the light-infantry bugle, of him whostood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his Lord, the King of righteousness and love and glory, with whose Spirit he wasfilled, and in whose power he spoke; the long lines of young faces, rising tier above tier down the whole length of the chapel, from thelittle boy's who had just left his mother to the young man's who wasgoing out next week into the great world, rejoicing in his strength. It was a great and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time ofyear, when the only lights in the chapel were in the pulpit and at theseats of the prepostors of the week, and the soft twilight stole overthe rest of the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallerybehind the organ. 

But what was it, after all, which seized and held these three hundredboys, dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twentyminutes, on Sunday afternoons? True, there always were boys scattered upand down the School, who in heart and head were worthy to hear and ableto carry away the deepest and wisest words there spoken. But these werea minority always, generally a very small one, often so small a one asto be countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that movedand held us, the rest of the three hundred reckless, childish boys, whofeared the Doctor with all our hearts, and very little besides in heavenor earth; who thought more of our sets in the School than of the Churchof Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby and the public opinion ofboys in our daily life above the laws of God? We couldn't enter intohalf that we heard; we hadn't the knowledge of our own hearts or theknowledge of one another, and little enough of the faith, hope, and loveneeded to that end. But we listened, as all boys in their better moodswill listen (ay, and men too for the matter of that), to a man whom wefelt to be, with all his heart and soul and strength, striving againstwhatever was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little world. Itwas not the cold, clear voice of one giving advice and warning fromserene heights to those who were struggling and sinning below, but thewarm, living voice of one who was fighting for us and by our sides, andcalling on us to help him and ourselves and one another. And so, wearilyand little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole, was broughthome to the young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life--thatit was no fool's or sluggard's paradise into which he had wanderedby chance, but a battlefield ordained from of old, where there are nospectators, but the youngest must take his side, and the stakes are lifeand death. And he who roused this consciousness in them showed them atthe same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his wholedaily life, how that battle was to be fought, and stood there beforethem their fellow-soldier and the captain of their band--the true sortof captain, too, for a boy's army--one who had no misgivings, and gaveno uncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or make truce, would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and thelast drop of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold ofand influence boys here and there; but it was this thoroughness andundaunted courage which, more than anything else, won his way to thehearts of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and madethem believe first in him and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved such boys as ourhero, who had nothing whatever remarkable about him except excess ofboyishness--by which I mean animal life in its fullest measure, goodnature and honest impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, andthoughtlessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during the nexttwo years, in which it was more than doubtful whether he would get goodor evil from the School, and before any steady purpose or principle grewup in him, whatever his week's sins and shortcomings might have been, hehardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings without a serious resolveto stand by and follow the Doctor, and a feeling that it was onlycowardice (the incarnation of all other sins in such a boy's mind) whichhindered him from doing so with all his heart. 

The next day Tom was duly placed in the third form, and began hislessons in a corner of the big School. He found the work very easy, ashe had been well grounded, and knew his grammar by heart; and, as he hadno intimate companions to make him idle (East and his other School-housefriends being in the lower fourth, the form above him), soon gainedgolden opinions from his master, who said he was placed too low, andshould be put out at the end of the half-year. So all went well with himin School, and he wrote the most flourishing letters home to his mother, full of his own success and the unspeakable delights of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the half-year was drawingnear, which kept everybody in a good humour, and the house was ruledwell and strongly by Warner and Brooke. True, the general system wasrough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and corners--bad signsfor the future; but it never got farther, or dared show itself openly, stalking about the passages and hall and bedrooms, and making the lifeof the small boys a continual fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for the first month, butin his enthusiasm for his new life this privilege hardly pleased him;and East and others of his young friends, discovering this, kindlyallowed him to indulge his fancy, and take their turns at night faggingand cleaning studies. These were the principal duties of the fags in thehouse. From supper until nine o'clock three fags taken in order stood inthe passages, and answered any prepostor who called "Fag, " racing to thedoor, the last comer having to do the work. This consisted generally ofgoing to the buttery for beer and bread and cheese (for the great mendid not sup with the rest, but had each his own allowance in his studyor the fifth-form room), cleaning candlesticks and putting in newcandles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying messages about thehouse; and Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it a highprivilege to receive orders from and be the bearer of the supper of oldBrooke. And besides this night-work, each prepostor had three or fourfags specially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the guide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return for these good offices had toclean out his study every morning by turns, directly after first lessonand before he returned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing thegreat men's studies, and looking at their pictures, and peeping intotheir books, made Tom a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy todo his own work. And so he soon gained the character of a good-natured, willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one. 

In all the games, too, he joined with all his heart, and soon becamewell versed in all the mysteries of football, by continual practice atthe School-house little-side, which played daily. 

The only incident worth recording here, however, was his first run athare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year he waspassing through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shoutsfrom Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long tables, the chorus of which was, "Come and help us tear up scent. "

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, alwaysready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy-books, and magazines, into small pieces, with which they werefilling four large canvas bags. 

"It's the turn of our house to find scent for big-side hare-and-hounds, "exclaimed Tadpole. "Tear away; there's no time to lose beforecalling-over. "

"I think it's a great shame, " said another small boy, "to have such ahard run for the last day. "

"Which run is it?" said Tadpole. 

"Oh, the Barby run, I hear, " answered the other; "nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of getting in at the finish, unless you're afirst-rate scud. "

"Well, I'm going to have a try, " said Tadpole; "it's the last run of thehalf, and if a fellow gets in at the end big-side stands ale and breadand cheese and a bowl of punch; and the Cock's such a famous place forale. "

"I should like to try too, " said Tom. 

"Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen at the door, aftercalling-over, and you'll hear where the meet is. "

After calling-over, sure enough there were two boys at the door, callingout, "Big-side hare-and-hounds meet at White Hall;" and Tom, havinggirded himself with leather strap, and left all superfluous clothingbehind, set off for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some quarterof a mile from the town, with East, whom he had persuaded to join, notwithstanding his prophecy that they could never get in, as it was thehardest run of the year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and Tom felt sure, fromhaving seen many of them run at football, that he and East were morelikely to get in than they. 

After a few minutes' waiting, two well-known runners, chosen for thehares, buckled on the four bags filled with scent, compared theirwatches with those of young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at along, slinging trot across the fields in the direction of Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who explained shortly, "They'reto have six minutes' law. We run into the Cock, and every one who comesin within a quarter of an hour of the hares'll be counted, if he hasbeen round Barby church. " Then came a minute's pause or so, and then thewatches are pocketed, and the pack is led through the gateway into thefield which the hares had first crossed. Here they break into a trot, scattering over the field to find the first traces of the scent whichthe hares throw out as they go along. The old hounds make straight forthe likely points, and in a minute a cry of "Forward" comes from oneof them, and the whole pack, quickening their pace, make for the spot, while the boy who hit the scent first, and the two or three nearest tohim, are over the first fence, and making play along the hedgerow in thelong grass-field beyond. The rest of the pack rush at the gap alreadymade, and scramble through, jostling one another. "Forward" again, before they are half through. The pace quickens into a sharp run, thetail hounds all straining to get up to the lucky leaders. They aregallant hares, and the scent lies thick right across another meadow andinto a ploughed field, where the pace begins to tell; then over a goodwattle with a ditch on the other side, and down a large pasture studdedwith old thorns, which slopes down to the first brook. The greatLeicestershire sheep charge away across the field as the pack comesracing down the slope. The brook is a small one, and the scent liesright ahead up the opposite slope, and as thick as ever--not a turn ora check to favour the tail hounds, who strain on, now trailing in a longline, many a youngster beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel hisheart beat like a hammer, and the bad-plucked ones thinking that afterall it isn't worth while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and are well up for suchyoung hands, and after rising the slope and crossing the next field, find themselves up with the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent, and are trying back. They have come a mile and a half in about elevenminutes, a pace which shows that it is the last day. About twenty-fiveof the original starters only show here, the rest having already givenin; the leaders are busy making casts into the fields on the left andright, and the others get their second winds. 

Then comes the cry of "Forward" again from young Brooke, from theextreme left, and the pack settles down to work again steadily anddoggedly, the whole keeping pretty well together. The scent, thoughstill good, is not so thick; there is no need of that, for in this partof the run every one knows the line which must be taken, and so thereare no casts to be made, but good downright running and fencing to bedone. All who are now up mean coming in, and they come to the foot ofBarby Hill without losing more than two or three more of the pack. Thislast straight two miles and a half is always a vantage ground for thehounds, and the hares know it well; they are generally viewed on theside of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the lookout for them to-day. Butnot a sign of them appears, so now will be the hard work for the hounds, and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, for it isnow the hares' turn, and they may baffle the pack dreadfully in the nexttwo miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters, that they are School-house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for he takes the wide casts round to theleft, conscious of his own powers, and loving the hard work. For if youwould consider for a moment, you small boys, you would remember that theCock, where the run ends and the good ale will be going, lies far out tothe right on the Dunchurch road, so that every cast you take to the leftis so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, when the evening isclosing in already, no one remarks whether you run a little cunning ornot; so you should stick to those crafty hounds who keep edging away tothe right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke, whose legs aretwice as long as yours and of cast-iron, wholly indifferent to one ortwo miles more or less. However, they struggle after him, sobbing andplunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tadpole, whose big headbegins to pull him down, some thirty yards behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which they can hardlydrag their legs, and they hear faint cries for help from the wretchedTadpole, who has fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run leftin themselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, andanother check, and then "Forward" called away to the extreme right. 

The two boys' souls die within them; they can never do it. Young Brookethinks so too, and says kindly, "You'll cross a lane after next field;keep down it, and you'll hit the Dunchurch road below the Cock, " andthen steams away for the run in, in which he's sure to be first, asif he were just starting. They struggle on across the next field, the"forwards" getting fainter and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole huntis out of ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over. 

"Hang it all!" broke out East, as soon as he had got wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at his face, all spattered with dirt andlined with sweat, from which went up a thick steam into the still, coldair. "I told you how it would be. What a thick I was to come! Here weare, dead beat, and yet I know we're close to the run in, if we knew thecountry. "

"Well, " said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down his disappointment, "it can't be helped. We did our best anyhow. Hadn't we better find thislane, and go down it, as young Brooke told us?"

"I suppose so--nothing else for it, " grunted East. "If ever I go outlast day again. " Growl, growl, growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found the lane, and wentlimping down it, plashing in the cold puddly ruts, and beginning to feelhow the run had taken it out of them. The evening closed in fast, andclouded over, dark, cold, and dreary. 

"I say, it must be locking-up, I should think, " remarked East, breakingthe silence--"it's so dark. "

"What if we're late?" said Tom. 

"No tea, and sent up to the Doctor, " answered East. 

The thought didn't add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloowas heard from an adjoining field. They answered it and stopped, hopingfor some competent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twentyyards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse. He hadlost a shoe in the brook, and had been groping after it up to his elbowsin the stiff, wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape ofboy seldom has been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for he was some degreesmore wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was no longerunder the dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so, inbetter heart, the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. Atlast it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they came out ona turnpike road, and there paused, bewildered, for they had lost allbearings, and knew not whether to turn to the right or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumbering along the road, with one lamp lighted and two spavined horses in the shafts, came aheavy coach, which after a moment's suspense they recognized as theOxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their last run, caughtit as it passed, and began clambering up behind, in which exploit Eastmissed his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road. Then theothers hailed the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up and agreedto take them in for a shilling; so there they sat on the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with cold, andjogged into Rugby some forty minutes after locking-up. 

Five minutes afterwards three small, limping, shivering figures stealalong through the Doctor's garden, and into the house by the servants'entrance (all the other gates have been closed long since), where thefirst thing they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling along, candle in one hand and keys in the other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a grim smile. "Ah! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking-up. Must go up to the Doctor's studyat once. "

"Well but, Thomas, mayn't we go and wash first? You can put down thetime, you know. "

"Doctor's study d'rectly you come in--that's the orders, " replied oldThomas, motioning towards the stairs at the end of the passage which ledup into the Doctor's house; and the boys turned ruefully down it, notcheered by the old verger's muttered remark, "What a pickle they boys bein!" Thomas referred to their faces and habiliments, but they construedit as indicating the Doctor's state of mind. Upon the short flight ofstairs they paused to hold counsel. 

"Who'll go in first?" inquires Tadpole. 

"You--you're the senior, " answered East. 

"Catch me. Look at the state I'm in, " rejoined Hall, showing the arms ofhis jacket. "I must get behind you two. "

"Well, but look at me, " said East, indicating the mass of clay behindwhich he was standing; "I'm worse than you, two to one. You might growcabbages on my trousers. "

"That's all down below, and you can keep your legs behind the sofa, "said Hall. 

"Here, Brown; you're the show-figure. You must lead. "

"But my face is all muddy, " argued Tom. 

"Oh, we're all in one boat for that matter; but come on; we're onlymaking it worse, dawdling here. "

"Well, just give us a brush then, " said Tom. And they began trying torub off the superfluous dirt from each other's jackets; but it was notdry enough, and the rubbing made them worse; so in despair they pushedthrough the swing-door at the head of the stairs, and found themselvesin the Doctor's hall. 

"That's the library door, " said East in a whisper, pushing Tom forwards. The sound of merry voices and laughter came from within, and his firsthesitating knock was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor's voicesaid, "Come in;" and Tom turned the handle, and he, with the othersbehind him, sidled into the room. 

The Doctor looked up from his task; he was working away with a greatchisel at the bottom of a boy's sailing boat, the lines of which he wasno doubt fashioning on the model of one of Nicias's galleys. Round himstood three or four children; the candles burnt brightly on a largetable at the farther end, covered with books and papers, and a greatfire threw a ruddy glow over the rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and homely, and comfortable that the boys took heart in a moment, andTom advanced from behind the shelter of the great sofa. The Doctornodded to the children, who went out, casting curious and amused glancesat the three young scarecrows. 

"Well, my little fellows, " began the Doctor, drawing himself up withhis back to the fire, the chisel in one hand and his coat-tails in theother, and his eyes twinkling as he looked them over; "what makes you solate?"

"Please, sir, we've been out big-side hare-and-hounds, and lost ourway. "

"Hah! you couldn't keep up, I suppose?"

"Well, sir, " said East, stepping out, and not liking that the Doctorshould think lightly of his running powers, "we got round Barby allright; but then--"

"Why, what a state you're in, my boy!" interrupted the Doctor, as thepitiful condition of East's garments was fully revealed to him. 

"That's the fall I got, sir, in the road, " said East, looking down athimself; "the Old Pig came by--"

"The what?" said the Doctor. 

"The Oxford coach, sir, " explained Hall. 

"Hah! yes, the Regulator, " said the Doctor. 

"And I tumbled on my face, trying to get up behind, " went on East. 

"You're not hurt, I hope?" said the Doctor. 

"Oh no, sir. "

"Well now, run upstairs, all three of you, and get clean things on, andthen tell the housekeeper to give you some tea. You're too young to trysuch long runs. Let Warner know I've seen you. Good-night. "

"Good-night, sir. " And away scuttled the three boys in high glee. 

"What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to learn!" said theTadpole, as they reached their bedroom; and in half an hour afterwardsthey were sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room at a sumptuoustea, with cold meat--"Twice as good a grub as we should have got in thehall, " as the Tadpole remarked with a grin, his mouth full of butteredtoast. All their grievances were forgotten, and they were resolving togo out the first big-side next half, and thinking hare-and-hounds themost delightful of games. 

A day or two afterwards the great passage outside the bedrooms wascleared of the boxes and portmanteaus, which went down to be packed bythe matron, and great games of chariot-racing, and cock-fighting, andbolstering went on in the vacant space, the sure sign of a closinghalf-year. 

Then came the making up of parties for the journey home, and Tom joineda party who were to hire a coach, and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came round to each form togive out the prizes, and hear the master's last reports of how theyand their charges had been conducting themselves; and Tom, to his hugedelight, was praised, and got his remove into the lower fourth, in whichall his School-house friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning at four o'clock hot coffee was going on inthe housekeeper's and matron's rooms; boys wrapped in great-coats andmufflers were swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling overluggage, and asking questions all at once of the matron; outside theSchool-gates were drawn up several chaises and the four-horse coachwhich Tom's party had chartered, the postboys in their best jackets andbreeches, and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, blowing away"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky, " waking all peaceful inhabitantshalf-way down the High Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased: porters staggered aboutwith boxes and bags, the cornopean played louder. Old Thomas sat inhis den with a great yellow bag by his side, out of which he was payingjourney-money to each boy, comparing by the light of a solitary dip thedirty, crabbed little list in his own handwriting with the Doctor's listand the amount of his cash; his head was on one side, his mouth screwedup, and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently locked thedoor, and carried on his operations solely through the window, or hewould have been driven wild and lost all his money. 

"Thomas, do be quick; we shall never catch the Highflyer at Dunchurch. "

"That's your money all right, Green. "

"Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two pound ten; you've onlygiven me two pound. " (I fear that Master Green is not confining himselfstrictly to truth. ) Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever, and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away from the window. 

"Here, Thomas--never mind him; mine's thirty shillings. " "And mine too, ""And mine, " shouted others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom belonged all got packed andpaid, and sallied out to the gates, the cornopean playing frantically"Drops of Brandy, " in allusion, probably, to the slight potations inwhich the musician and postboys had been already indulging. All luggagewas carefully stowed away inside the coach and in the front and hindboots, so that not a hat-box was visible outside. Five or six smallboys, with pea-shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind; infront the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, but because theyare now gentlemen at large, and this is the most correct public methodof notifying the fact. 

"Robinson's coach will be down the road in a minute; it has gone up toBird's to pick up. We'll wait till they're close, and make a race ofit, " says the leader. "Now, boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat'em into Dunchurch by one hundred yards. "

"All right, sir, " shouted the grinning postboys. 

Down comes Robinson's coach in a minute or two, with a rival cornopean, and away go the two vehicles, horses galloping, boys cheering, hornsplaying loud. There is a special providence over school-boys as wellas sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the first fivemiles--sometimes actually abreast of one another, and the boys on theroofs exchanging volleys of peas; now nearly running over a post-chaisewhich had started before them; now half-way up a bank; now with a wheeland a half over a yawning ditch: and all this in a dark morning, withnothing but their own lamps to guide them. However, it's all over atlast, and they have run over nothing but an old pig in Southam Street. The last peas are distributed in the Corn Market at Oxford, where theyarrive between eleven and twelve, and sit down to a sumptuous breakfastat the Angel, which they are made to pay for accordingly. Here the partybreaks up, all going now different ways; and Tom orders out a chaise andpair as grand as a lord, though he has scarcely five shillings left inhis pocket, and more than twenty miles to get home. 

"Where to, sir?"

"Red Lion, Farringdon, " says Tom, giving hostler a shilling. 

"All right, sir. --Red Lion, Jem, " to the postboy; and Tom rattles awaytowards home. At Farringdon, being known to the innkeeper, he gets thatworthy to pay for the Oxford horses, and forward him in another chaiseat once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman arrives at the paternalmansion, and Squire Brown looks rather blue at having to pay two poundten shillings for the posting expenses from Oxford. But the boy'sintense joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he is in, and thegood character he brings, and the brave stories he tells of Rugby, itsdoings and delights, soon mollify the Squire, and three happier peopledidn't sit down to dinner that day in England (it is the boy's firstdinner at six o'clock at home--great promotion already) than the Squireand his wife and Tom Brown, at the end of his first half-year at Rugby. 

CHAPTER VIII--THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

 "They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three. " --LOWELL, Stanzas on Freedom. 

The lower-fourth form, in which Tom found himself at the beginningof the next half-year, was the largest form in the lower school, andnumbered upwards of forty boys. Young gentlemen of all ages from nine tofifteen were to be found there, who expended such part of their energiesas was devoted to Latin and Greek upon a book of Livy, the "Bucolics"of Virgil, and the "Hecuba" of Euripides, which were ground out in smalldaily portions. The driving of this unlucky lower-fourth must have beengrievous work to the unfortunate master, for it was the most unhappilyconstituted of any in the school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who, for the life of them, could never master the accidence--the objectsalternately of mirth and terror to the youngsters, who were daily takingthem up and laughing at them in lesson, and getting kicked by them forso doing in play-hours. There were no less than three unhappy fellows intail coats, with incipient down on their chins, whom the Doctor andthe master of the form were always endeavouring to hoist into the upperschool, but whose parsing and construing resisted the most well-meantshoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys of eleven and twelve, themost mischievous and reckless age of British youth, of whom East and TomBrown were fair specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, and of excusesas Irishwomen, making fun of their master, one another, and theirlessons, Argus himself would have been puzzled to keep an eye on them;and as for making them steady or serious for half an hour together, it was simply hopeless. The remainder of the form consisted of youngprodigies of nine and ten, who were going up the school at the rate ofa form a half-year, all boys' hands and wits being against them in theirprogress. It would have been one man's work to see that the precociousyoungsters had fair play; and as the master had a good deal besidesto do, they hadn't, and were for ever being shoved down three or fourplaces, their verses stolen, their books inked, their jackets whitened, and their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower-fourth, and all the forms below it, were heard in the greatschool, and were not trusted to prepare their lessons before coming in, but were whipped into school three-quarters of an hour before the lessonbegan by their respective masters, and there, scattered about on thebenches, with dictionary and grammar, hammered out their twenty linesof Virgil and Euripides in the midst of babel. The masters of thelower school walked up and down the great school together during thisthree-quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks reading or looking overcopies, and keeping such order as was possible. But the lower-fourthwas just now an overgrown form, too large for any one man to attendto properly, and consequently the elysium or ideal form of the youngscapegraces who formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the third with a good character, but the temptations of the lower-fourth soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly fell away, and became as unmanageable as the rest. For some weeks, indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the appearance ofsteadiness, and was looked upon favourably by his new master, whose eyeswere first opened by the following little incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied, there was anotherlarge unoccupied desk in the corner of the great school, which wasuntenanted. To rush and seize upon this desk, which was ascended bythree steps and held four boys, was the great object of ambition of thelower-fourthers; and the contentions for the occupation of it bred suchdisorder that at last the master forbade its use altogether. This, ofcourse, was a challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy it;and as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie hid there completely, it was seldom that it remained empty, notwithstanding the veto. Smallholes were cut in the front, through which the occupants watched themasters as they walked up and down; and as lesson time approached, oneboy at a time stole out and down the steps, as the masters' backs wereturned, and mingled with the general crowd on the forms below. Tom andEast had successfully occupied the desk some half-dozen times, and weregrown so reckless that they were in the habit of playing small gameswith fives balls inside when the masters were at the other end of thebig school. One day, as ill-luck would have it, the game became moreexciting than usual, and the ball slipped through East's fingers, androlled slowly down the steps and out into the middle of the school, justas the masters turned in their walk and faced round upon the desk. Theyoung delinquents watched their master, through the lookout holes, marchslowly down the school straight upon their retreat, while all the boysin the neighbourhood, of course, stopped their work to look on; and notonly were they ignominiously drawn out, and caned over the hand thenand there, but their characters for steadiness were gone from that time. However, as they only shared the fate of some three-fourths of the restof the form, this did not weigh heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared about the matter werethe monthly examinations, when the Doctor came round to examine theirform, for one long, awful hour, in the work which they had done in thepreceding month. The second monthly examination came round soon afterTom's fall, and it was with anything but lively anticipations that heand the other lower-fourth boys came in to prayers on the morning of theexamination day. 

Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as usual, and before theycould get construes of a tithe of the hard passages marked in the marginof their books, they were all seated round, and the Doctor was standingin the middle, talking in whispers to the master. Tom couldn't hear aword which passed, and never lifted his eyes from his book; but he knewby a sort of magnetic instinct that the Doctor's under-lip was comingout, and his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting gathered upmore and more tightly in his left hand. The suspense was agonizing, andTom knew that he was sure on such occasions to make an example of theSchool-house boys. "If he would only begin, " thought Tom, "I shouldn'tmind. "

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which was called out was notBrown. He looked up for a moment, but the Doctor's face was too awful;Tom wouldn't have met his eye for all he was worth, and buried himselfin his book again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever, merry School-house boy, one of their set; he was some connection of the Doctor's, and a greatfavourite, and ran in and out of his house as he liked, and so wasselected for the first victim. 

"Triste lupus stabulis, " began the luckless youngster, and stammeredthrough some eight or ten lines. 

"There, that will do, " said the Doctor; "now construe. "

On common occasions the boy could have construed the passage well enoughprobably, but now his head was gone. 

"Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf, " he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the Doctor's wrath fairlyboiled over. He made three steps up to the construer, and gave him agood box on the ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was sotaken by surprise that he started back; the form caught the back of hisknees, and over he went on to the floor behind. There was a dead silenceover the whole school. Never before and never again while Tom was atschool did the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must havebeen great. However, the victim had saved his form for that occasion, for the Doctor turned to the top bench, and put on the best boys for therest of the hour and though, at the end of the lesson, he gave them allsuch a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field-day passedover without any severe visitations in the shape of punishments orfloggings. Forty young scapegraces expressed their thanks to the"sorrowful wolf" in their different ways before second lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily recovered, as Tomfound; and for years afterwards he went up the school without it, and the masters' hands were against him, and his against them. And heregarded them, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. 

Matters were not so comfortable, either, in the house as they hadbeen; for old Brooke left at Christmas, and one or two others of thesixth-form boys at the following Easter. Their rule had been rough, butstrong and just in the main, and a higher standard was beginning to beset up; in fact, there had been a short foretaste of the good time whichfollowed some years later. Just now, however, all threatened to returninto darkness and chaos again. For the new prepostors were either smallyoung boys, whose cleverness had carried them up to the top of theschool, while in strength of body and character they were not yetfit for a share in the government; or else big fellows of the wrongsort--boys whose friendships and tastes had a downward tendency, who hadnot caught the meaning of their position and work, and felt none of itsresponsibilities. So under this no-government the School-house began tosee bad times. The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and drinkingset, soon began to usurp power, and to fag the little boys as if theywere prepostors, and to bully and oppress any who showed signs ofresistance. The bigger sort of sixth-form boys just described soon madecommon cause with the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by theircolleagues' desertion to the enemy, could not make head against them. So the fags were without their lawful masters and protectors, and riddenover rough-shod by a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, andwhose only right over them stood in their bodily powers; and, as oldBrooke had prophesied, the house by degrees broke up into small sets andparties, and lost the strong feeling of fellowship which he set so muchstore by, and with it much of the prowess in games and the lead in allschool matters which he had done so much to keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character more weight than ata public school. Remember this, I beseech you, all you boys who aregetting into the upper forms. Now is the time in all your lives, probably, when you may have more wide influence for good or evil on thesociety you live in than you ever can have again. Quit yourselves likemen, then; speak up, and strike out if necessary, for whatsoeveris true, and manly, and lovely, and of good report; never try to bepopular, but only to do your duty and help others to do theirs, and youmay leave the tone of feeling in the school higher than you found it, and so be doing good which no living soul can measure to generations ofyour countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow one another in herds likesheep, for good or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settledprinciples. Every school, indeed, has its own traditionary standard ofright and wrong, which cannot be transgressed with impunity, markingcertain things as low and blackguard, and certain others as lawful andright. This standard is ever varying, though it changes only slowly andlittle by little; and, subject only to such standard, it is the leadingboys for the time being who give the tone to all the rest, and makethe School either a noble institution for the training of ChristianEnglishmen, or a place where a young boy will get more evil than hewould if he were turned out to make his way in London streets, oranything between these two extremes. 

The change for the worse in the School-house, however, didn't press veryheavily on our youngsters for some time. They were in a good bedroom, where slept the only prepostor left who was able to keep thorough order, and their study was in his passage. So, though they were fagged more orless, and occasionally kicked or cuffed by the bullies, they were, onthe whole, well off; and the fresh, brave school-life, so full of games, adventures, and good-fellowship, so ready at forgetting, so capaciousat enjoying, so bright at forecasting, outweighed a thousand-fold theirtroubles with the master of their form, and the occasional ill-usageof the big boys in the house. It wasn't till some year or so after theevents recorded above that the prepostor of their room and passage left. None of the other sixth-form boys would move into their passage, and, tothe disgust and indignation of Tom and East, one morning after breakfastthey were seized upon by Flashman, and made to carry down his books andfurniture into the unoccupied study, which he had taken. From thistime they began to feel the weight of the tyranny of Flashman and hisfriends, and, now that trouble had come home to their own doors, beganto look out for sympathizers and partners amongst the rest of the fags;and meetings of the oppressed began to be held, and murmurs to arise, and plots to be laid as to how they should free themselves and beavenged on their enemies. 

While matters were in this state, East and Tom were one evening sittingin their study. They had done their work for first lesson, and Tom wasin a brown study, brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongsof fags in general, and his own in particular. 

"I say, Scud, " said he at last, rousing himself to snuff the candle, "what right have the fifth-form boys to fag us as they do?"

"No more right than you have to fag them, " answered East, withoutlooking up from an early number of "Pickwick, " which was just comingout, and which he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back onthe sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on reading andchuckling. The contrast of the boys' faces would have given infiniteamusement to a looker-on--the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the other radiant and bubbling over with fun. 

"Do you know, old fellow, I've been thinking it over a good deal, " beganTom again. 

"Oh yes, I know--fagging you are thinking of. Hang it all! But listenhere, Tom--here's fun. Mr. Winkle's horse--"

"And I've made up my mind, " broke in Tom, "that I won't fag except forthe sixth. "

"Quite right too, my boy, " cried East, putting his finger on the placeand looking up; "but a pretty peck of troubles you'll get into, ifyou're going to play that game. However, I'm all for a strike myself, ifwe can get others to join. It's getting too bad. "

"Can't we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?" asked Tom. 

"Well, perhaps we might. Morgan would interfere, I think. Only, " addedEast, after a moment's pause, "you see, we should have to tell him aboutit, and that's against School principles. Don't you remember what oldBrooke said about learning to take our own parts?"

"Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again. It was all right in his time. "

"Why, yes, you see, then the strongest and best fellows were in thesixth, and the fifth-form fellows were afraid of them, and they keptgood order; but now our sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifthdon't care for them, and do what they like in the house. "

"And so we get a double set of masters, " cried Tom indignantly--"thelawful ones, who are responsible to the Doctor at any rate, and theunlawful, the tyrants, who are responsible to nobody. "

"Down with the tyrants!" cried East; "I'm all for law and order, andhurrah for a revolution. "

"I shouldn't mind if it were only for young Brooke now, " said Tom; "he'ssuch a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow, and ought to be in the sixth. I'd do anything for him. But that blackguard Flashman, who never speaksto one without a kick or an oath--"

"The cowardly brute, " broke in East--"how I hate him! And he knows ittoo; he knows that you and I think him a coward. What a bore that he'sgot a study in this passage! Don't you hear them now at supper in hisden? Brandy-punch going, I'll bet. I wish the Doctor would come out andcatch him. We must change our study as soon as we can. "

"Change or no change, I'll never fag for him again, " said Tom, thumpingthe table. 

"Fa-a-a-ag!" sounded along the passage from Flashman's study. Thetwo boys looked at one another in silence. It had struck nine, so theregular night-fags had left duty, and they were the nearest to thesupper-party. East sat up, and began to look comical, as he always didunder difficulties. 

"Fa-a-a-ag!" again. No answer. 

"Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skulks, " roared out Flashman, coming to his open door; "I know you're in; no shirking. "

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noiselessly as he could;East blew out the candle. 

"Barricade the first, " whispered he. "Now, Tom, mind, no surrender. "

"Trust me for that, " said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party turn out and come down thepassage to their door. They held their breaths, and heard whispering, ofwhich they only made out Flashman's words, "I know the young brutes arein. "

Then came summonses to open, which being unanswered, the assaultcommenced. Luckily the door was a good strong oak one, and resisted theunited weight of Flashman's party. A pause followed, and they heard abesieger remark, "They're in safe enough. Don't you see how the doorholds at top and bottom? So the bolts must be drawn. We should haveforced the lock long ago. " East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention tothis scientific remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which at last gave wayto the repeated kicks; but it broke inwards, and the broken pieces gotjammed across (the door being lined with green baize), and couldn'teasily be removed from outside: and the besieged, scorning furtherconcealment, strengthened their defences by pressing the end of theirsofa against the door. So, after one or two more ineffectual efforts, Flashman and Company retired, vowing vengeance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the besieged to effect asafe retreat, as it was now near bed-time. They listened intently, andheard the supper-party resettle themselves, and then gently drew backfirst one bolt and then the other. Presently the convivial noises beganagain steadily. "Now then, stand by for a run, " said East, throwing thedoor wide open and rushing into the passage, closely followed by Tom. They were too quick to be caught; but Flashman was on the lookout, andsent an empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which narrowly missedTom's head, and broke into twenty pieces at the end of the passage. "He wouldn't mind killing one, if he wasn't caught, " said East, as theyturned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the hall, where they founda knot of small boys round the fire. Their story was told. The war ofindependence had broken out. Who would join the revolutionary forces?Several others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth format once. One or two only edged off, and left the rebels. What else couldthey do? "I've a good mind to go to the Doctor straight, " said Tom. 

"That'll never do. Don't you remember the levy of the school last half?"put in another. 

In fact, the solemn assembly, a levy of the School, had been held, atwhich the captain of the School had got up, and after premising thatseveral instances had occurred of matters having been reported to themasters; that this was against public morality and School tradition;that a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, and they hadresolved that the practice must be stopped at once; and given out thatany boy, in whatever form, who should thenceforth appeal to a master, without having first gone to some prepostor and laid the case beforehim, should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry. 

"Well, then, let's try the sixth. Try Morgan, " suggested another. "Nouse"--"Blabbing won't do, " was the general feeling. 

"I'll give you fellows a piece of advice, " said a voice from the endof the hall. They all turned round with a start, and the speaker got upfrom a bench on which he had been lying unobserved, and gave himself ashake. He was a big, loose-made fellow, with huge limbs which had growntoo far through his jacket and trousers. "Don't you go to anybody atall--you just stand out; say you won't fag. They'll soon get tired oflicking you. I've tried it on years ago with their forerunners. "

"No! Did you? Tell us how it was?" cried a chorus of voices, as theyclustered round him. 

"Well, just as it is with you. The fifth form would fag us, and I andsome more struck, and we beat 'em. The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who kept on soon got afraid. "

"Was Flashman here then?"

"Yes; and a dirty, little, snivelling, sneaking fellow he was too. Henever dared join us, and used to toady the bullies by offering to fagfor them, and peaching against the rest of us. "

"Why wasn't he cut, then?" said East. 

"Oh, toadies never get cut; they're too useful. Besides, he has no endof great hampers from home, with wine and game in them; so he toadiedand fed himself into favour. "

The quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small boys went off upstairs, still consulting together, and praising their new counsellor, whostretched himself out on the bench before the hall fire again. Therehe lay, a very queer specimen of boyhood, by name Diggs, and familiarlycalled "the Mucker. " He was young for his size, and a very cleverfellow, nearly at the top of the fifth. His friends at home, havingregard, I suppose, to his age, and not to his size and place in theschool, hadn't put him into tails; and even his jackets were always toosmall; and he had a talent for destroying clothes and making himselflook shabby. He wasn't on terms with Flashman's set, who sneered at hisdress and ways behind his back; which he knew, and revenged himselfby asking Flashman the most disagreeable questions, and treating himfamiliarly whenever a crowd of boys were round him. Neither was heintimate with any of the other bigger boys, who were warned off byhis oddnesses, for he was a very queer fellow; besides, amongst otherfailings, he had that of impecuniosity in a remarkable degree. Hebrought as much money as other boys to school, but got rid of it in notime, no one knew how; and then, being also reckless, borrowed from anyone; and when his debts accumulated and creditors pressed, would havean auction in the hall of everything he possessed in the world, sellingeven his school-books, candlestick, and study table. For weeks afterone of these auctions, having rendered his study uninhabitable, he wouldlive about in the fifth-form room and hall, doing his verses on oldletter-backs and odd scraps of paper, and learning his lessons no oneknew how. He never meddled with any little boy, and was popular withthem, though they all looked on him with a sort of compassion, andcalled him "Poor Diggs, " not being able to resist appearances, or todisregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flashman. However, heseemed equally indifferent to the sneers of big boys and the pity ofsmall ones, and lived his own queer life with much apparent enjoyment tohimself. It is necessary to introduce Diggs thus particularly, as he notonly did Tom and East good service in their present warfare, as is aboutto be told, but soon afterwards, when he got into the sixth, chose themfor his fags, and excused them from study-fagging, thereby earning untohimself eternal gratitude from them and all who are interested in theirhistory. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, for the morning afterthe siege the storm burst upon the rebels in all its violence. Flashmanlaid wait, and caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving apoint-blank "No" when told to fetch his hat, seized him and twisted hisarm, and went through the other methods of torture in use. "He couldn'tmake me cry, though, " as Tom said triumphantly to the rest of therebels; "and I kicked his shins well, I know. " And soon it creptout that a lot of the fags were in league, and Flashman excited hisassociates to join him in bringing the young vagabonds to their senses;and the house was filled with constant chasings, and sieges, andlickings of all sorts; and in return, the bullies' beds were pulled topieces and drenched with water, and their names written up on the wallswith every insulting epithet which the fag invention could furnish. Thewar, in short, raged fiercely; but soon, as Diggs had told them, allthe better fellows in the fifth gave up trying to fag them, and publicfeeling began to set against Flashman and his two or three intimates, and they were obliged to keep their doings more secret, but beingthorough bad fellows, missed no opportunity of torturing in private. Flashman was an adept in all ways, but above all in the power of sayingcutting and cruel things, and could often bring tears to the eyes ofboys in this way, which all the thrashings in the world wouldn't havewrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other directions, he nowdevoted himself chiefly to Tom and East, who lived at his own door, andwould force himself into their study whenever he found a chance, and sitthere, sometimes alone, and sometimes with a companion, interrupting alltheir work, and exulting in the evident pain which every now and then hecould see he was inflicting on one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the house, and a betterstate of things now began than there had been since old Brooke had left;but an angry, dark spot of thunder-cloud still hung over the end of thepassage where Flashman's study and that of East and Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that the rebellion hadbeen to a great extent successful; but what above all stirred thehatred and bitterness of his heart against them was that in the frequentcollisions which there had been of late they had openly called himcoward and sneak. The taunts were too true to be forgiven. While hewas in the act of thrashing them, they would roar out instances of hisfunking at football, or shirking some encounter with a lout of half hisown size. These things were all well enough known in the house, butto have his own disgrace shouted out by small boys, to feel that theydespised him, to be unable to silence them by any amount of torture, andto see the open laugh and sneer of his own associates (who were lookingon, and took no trouble to hide their scorn from him, though theyneither interfered with his bullying nor lived a bit the less intimatelywith him), made him beside himself. Come what might, he would make thoseboys' lives miserable. So the strife settled down into a personal affairbetween Flashman and our youngsters--a war to the knife, to be foughtout in the little cockpit at the end of the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, and big and strongof his age. He played well at all games where pluck wasn't much wanted, and managed generally to keep up appearances where it was; and havinga bluff, off-hand manner, which passed for heartiness, and considerablepowers of being pleasant when he liked, went down with the school ingeneral for a good fellow enough. Even in the School-house, by dint ofhis command of money, the constant supply of good things which he keptup, and his adroit toadyism, he had managed to make himself not onlytolerated, but rather popular amongst his own contemporaries; althoughyoung Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of the rightsort showed their opinions of him whenever a chance offered. But thewrong sort happened to be in the ascendant just now, and so Flashmanwas a formidable enemy for small boys. This soon became plain enough. Flashman left no slander unspoken, and no deed undone, which could inany way hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of thehouse. One by one most of the other rebels fell away from them, whileFlashman's cause prospered, and several other fifth-form boys began tolook black at them and ill-treat them as they passed about the house. Bykeeping out of bounds, or at all events out of the house and quadrangle, all day, and carefully barring themselves in at night, East and Tommanaged to hold on without feeling very miserable; but it was as much asthey could do. Greatly were they drawn then towards old Diggs, who, inan uncouth way, began to take a good deal of notice of them, and onceor twice came to their study when Flashman was there, who immediatelydecamped in consequence. The boys thought that Diggs must have beenwatching. 

When therefore, about this time, an auction was one night announced totake place in the hall, at which, amongst the superfluities of otherboys, all Diggs's penates for the time being were going to the hammer, East and Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to devote theirready cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem such articles asthat sum would cover. Accordingly, they duly attended to bid, andTom became the owner of two lots of Diggs's things:--Lot 1, priceone-and-threepence, consisting (as the auctioneer remarked) of a"valuable assortment of old metals, " in the shape of a mouse-trap, acheese-toaster without a handle, and a saucepan: Lot 2, of avillainous dirty table-cloth and green-baize curtain; while East, forone-and-sixpence, purchased a leather paper-case, with a lock but nokey, once handsome, but now much the worse for wear. But they had stillthe point to settle of how to get Diggs to take the things withouthurting his feelings. This they solved by leaving them in his study, which was never locked when he was out. Diggs, who had attended theauction, remembered who had bought the lots, and came to their studysoon after, and sat silent for some time, cracking his great redfinger-joints. Then he laid hold of their verses, and began looking overand altering them, and at last got up, and turning his back to them, said, "You're uncommon good-hearted little beggars, you two. I valuethat paper-case; my sister gave it to me last holidays. I won'tforget. " And so he tumbled out into the passage, leaving them somewhatembarrassed, but not sorry that he knew what they had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which the allowances of oneshilling a week were paid--an important event to spendthrift youngsters;and great was the disgust amongst the small fry to hear that all theallowances had been impounded for the Derby lottery. That great eventin the English year, the Derby, was celebrated at Rugby in those daysby many lotteries. It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader, and led to making books, and betting, and other objectionable results;but when our great Houses of Palaver think it right to stop the nation'sbusiness on that day and many of the members bet heavily themselves, canyou blame us boys for following the example of our betters? At any ratewe did follow it. First there was the great school lottery, where thefirst prize was six or seven pounds; then each house had one or moreseparate lotteries. These were all nominally voluntary, no boy beingcompelled to put in his shilling who didn't choose to do so. But besidesFlashman, there were three or four other fast, sporting young gentlemenin the Schoolhouse, who considered subscription a matter of duty andnecessity; and so, to make their duty come easy to the smallboys, quietly secured the allowances in a lump when given out fordistribution, and kept them. It was no use grumbling--so many fewertartlets and apples were eaten and fives balls bought on that Saturday;and after locking-up, when the money would otherwise have been spent, consolation was carried to many a small boy by the sound of thenight-fags shouting along the passages, "Gentlemen sportsmen of theSchool-house; the lottery's going to be drawn in the hall. " It waspleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman, also to have a chance ofdrawing a favourite horse. 

The hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of the long tablesstood the sporting interest, with a hat before them, in which were thetickets folded up. One of them then began calling out the list of thehouse. Each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the hat, andopened it; and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, left the halldirectly to go back to their studies or the fifth-form room. Thesporting interest had all drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly;neither of the favourites had yet been drawn, and it had come down tothe upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy came up and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by. But no great favourite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole's turn, and he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make off, but is caught, andhis ticket is opened like the rest. 

"Here you are! Wanderer--the third favourite!" shouts the opener. 

"I say, just give me my ticket, please, " remonstrates Tadpole. 

"Hullo! don't be in a hurry, " breaks in Flashman; "what'll you sellWanderer for now?"

"I don't want to sell, " rejoins Tadpole. 

"Oh, don't you! Now listen, you young fool: you don't know anythingabout it; the horse is no use to you. He won't win, but I want him as ahedge. Now, I'll give you half a crown for him. " Tadpole holds out, butbetween threats and cajoleries at length sells half for one shilling andsixpence--about a fifth of its fair market value; however, he is glad torealize anything, and, as he wisely remarks, "Wanderer mayn't win, andthe tizzy is safe anyhow. "

East presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon after comes Tom's turn. His ticket, like the others, is seized and opened. "Here you are then, "shouts the opener, holding it up--"Harkaway!--By Jove, Flashey, youryoung friend's in luck. "

"Give me the ticket, " says Flashman, with an oath, leaning across thetable with open hand and his face black with rage. 

"Wouldn't you like it?" replies the opener, not a bad fellow at thebottom, and no admirer of Flashman. "Here, Brown, catch hold. " And hehands the ticket to Tom, who pockets it. Whereupon Flashman makes forthe door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not escape, and therekeeps watch until the drawing is over and all the boys are gone, exceptthe sporting set of five or six, who stay to compare books, make bets, and so on; Tom, who doesn't choose to move while Flashman is at thedoor; and East, who stays by his friend, anticipating trouble. Thesporting set now gathered round Tom. Public opinion wouldn't allow themactually to rob him of his ticket, but any humbug or intimidation bywhich he could be driven to sell the whole or part at an undervalue waslawful. 

"Now, young Brown, come, what'll you sell me Harkaway for? I hear heisn't going to start. I'll give you five shillings for him, " beginsthe boy who had opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, andmoreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is aboutto accept the offer, when another cries out, "I'll give you sevenshillings. " Tom hesitated and looked from one to the other. 

"No, no!" said Flashman, pushing in, "leave me to deal with him; we'lldraw lots for it afterwards. Now sir, you know me: you'll sell Harkawayto us for five shillings, or you'll repent it. "

"I won't sell a bit of him, " answered Tom shortly. 

"You hear that now!" said Flashman, turning to the others. "He's thecoxiest young blackguard in the house. I always told you so. We'reto have all the trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for thebenefit of such fellows as he. "

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but he speaks to willingears. Gambling makes boys selfish and cruel as well as men. 

"That's true. We always draw blanks, " cried one. --"Now, sir, you shallsell half, at any rate. "

"I won't, " said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and lumping them all inhis mind with his sworn enemy. 

"Very well then; let's roast him, " cried Flashman, and catches hold ofTom by the collar. One or two boys hesitate, but the rest join in. Eastseizes Tom's arm, and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back byone of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. His shoulders arepushed against the mantelpiece, and he is held by main force before thefire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. PoorEast, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and dartsoff to find him. "Will you sell now for ten shillings?" says one boy whois relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 

"I say, Flashey, he has had enough, " says the same boy, dropping the armhe holds. 

"No, no; another turn'll do it, " answers Flashman. But poor Tom is donealready, turns deadly pale, and his head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in frantic excitement, rushes into the hall with East athis heels. 

"You cowardly brutes!" is all he can say, as he catches Tom from themand supports him to the hall table. "Good God! he's dying. Here, getsome cold water--run for the housekeeper. "

Flashman and one or two others slink away; the rest, ashamed andsorry, bend over Tom or run for water, while East darts off for thehousekeeper. Water comes, and they throw it on his hands and face, andhe begins to come to. "Mother!"--the words came feebly and slowly--"it'svery cold to-night. " Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. "Wheream I?" goes on Tom, opening his eyes, "Ah! I remember now. " And he shuthis eyes again and groaned. 

"I say, " is whispered, "we can't do any good, and the housekeeper willbe here in a minute. " And all but one steal away. He stays with Diggs, silent and sorrowful, and fans Tom's face. 

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and Tom soon recovers enoughto sit up. There is a smell of burning. She examines his clothes, andlooks up inquiringly. The boys are silent. 

"How did he come so?" No answer. "There's been some bad work here, " sheadds, looking very serious, "and I shall speak to the Doctor about it. "Still no answer. 

"Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room?" suggests Diggs. 

"Oh, I can walk now, " says Tom; and, supported by East and thehousekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The boy who held his ground is soonamongst the rest, who are all in fear of their lives. "Did he peach?""Does she know about it?"

"Not a word; he's a stanch little fellow. " And pausing a moment, headds, "I'm sick of this work; what brutes we've been!"

Meantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the housekeeper's room, withEast by his side, while she gets wine and water and other restoratives. 

"Are you much hurt, dear old boy?" whispers East. 

"Only the back of my legs, " answers Tom. They are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers burnt through. But soon he is in bed withcold bandages. At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home andgetting taken away; and the verse of a hymn he had learned years agosings through his head, and he goes to sleep, murmuring, --

"Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. "

But after a sound night's rest, the old boy-spirit comes back again. East comes in, reporting that the whole house is with him; and heforgets everything, except their old resolve never to be beaten by thatbully Flashman. 

Not a word could the housekeeper extract from either of them, and thoughthe Doctor knew all that she knew that morning, he never knew any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible now at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have gone out; but I am writing ofschools as they were in our time, and must give the evil with the good. 

CHAPTER IX--A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 

 "Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes. "--SHAKESPEARE. 

When Tom came back into school after a couple of days in the sick-room, he found matters much changed for the better, as East had led him toexpect. Flashman's brutality had disgusted most even of his intimatefriends, and his cowardice had once more been made plain to the house;for Diggs had encountered him on the morning after the lottery, andafter high words on both sides, had struck him, and the blow was notreturned. However, Flashey was not unused to this sort of thing, and hadlived through as awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had said, fed andtoadied himself back into favour again. Two or three of the boys who hadhelped to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, and thanked him fornot telling anything. Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to take thematter up warmly, but Tom begged him not to do it; to which he agreed, on Tom's promising to come to him at once in future--a promise which, Iregret to say, he didn't keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, andwon the second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he andEast contrived to spend in about three days in the purchase of picturesfor their study, two new bats and a cricket-ball--all the best thatcould be got--and a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak piesto all the rebels. Light come, light go; they wouldn't have beencomfortable with money in their pockets in the middle of the half. 

The embers of Flashman's wrath, however, were still smouldering, andburst out every now and then in sly blows and taunts, and they bothfelt that they hadn't quite done with him yet. It wasn't long, however, before the last act of that drama came, and with it the end of bullyingfor Tom and East at Rugby. They now often stole out into the hall atnights, incited thereto partly by the hope of finding Diggs there andhaving a talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing somethingwhich was against rules; for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, sincetheir loss of character for steadiness in their form, had got intothe habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter ofadventure, --just in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall intosmuggling, and for the same sort of reasons--thoughtlessness in thefirst place. It never occurred to them to consider why such and suchrules were laid down: the reason was nothing to them, and they onlylooked upon rules as a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which itwould be rather bad pluck in them not to accept; and then again, in thelower parts of the school they hadn't enough to do. The work of the formthey could manage to get through pretty easily, keeping a good enoughplace to get their regular yearly remove; and not having much ambitionbeyond this, their whole superfluous steam was available for games andscrapes. Now, one rule of the house which it was a daily pleasure of allsuch boys to break was that after supper all fags, except the threeon duty in the passages, should remain in their own studies until nineo'clock; and if caught about the passages or hall, or in one another'sstudies, they were liable to punishments or caning. The rule wasstricter than its observance; for most of the sixth spent their eveningsin the fifth-form room, where the library was, and the lessons werelearnt in common. Every now and then, however, a prepostor would beseized with a fit of district visiting, and would make a tour ofthe passages and hall and the fags' studies. Then, if the owner wereentertaining a friend or two, the first kick at the door and ominous"Open here" had the effect of the shadow of a hawk over a chicken-yard:every one cut to cover--one small boy diving under the sofa, anotherunder the table, while the owner would hastily pull down a book ortwo and open them, and cry out in a meek voice, "Hullo, who's there?"casting an anxious eye round to see that no protruding leg or elbowcould betray the hidden boys. "Open, sir, directly; it's Snooks. ""Oh, I'm very sorry; I didn't know it was you, Snooks. " And then withwell-feigned zeal the door would be opened, young hopeful praying thatthat beast Snooks mightn't have heard the scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was empty, Snooks proceeded to draw the passages and hall tofind the truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East were in the hall. They occupied the seats before the fire nearest the door, while Diggssprawled as usual before the farther fire. He was busy with a copy ofverses, and East and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the lightof the fire, and splicing a favourite old fives bat which had sprung. Presently a step came down the bottom passage. They listened a moment, assured themselves that it wasn't a prepostor, and then went on withtheir work, and the door swung open, and in walked Flashman. He didn'tsee Diggs, and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in; and as theboys didn't move for him, struck one of them, to make them get out ofhis way. 

"What's that for?" growled the assaulted one. 

"Because I choose. You've no business here. Go to your study. "

"You can't send us. "

"Can't I? Then I'll thrash you if you stay, " said Flashman savagely. 

"I say, you two, " said Diggs, from the end of the hall, rousing up andresting himself on his elbow--"you'll never get rid of that fellow tillyou lick him. Go in at him, both of you. I'll see fair play. "

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. East looked atTom. "Shall we try!" said he. "Yes, " said Tom desperately. So the twoadvanced on Flashman, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They wereabout up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, and in perfecttraining; while he, though strong and big, was in poor condition fromhis monstrous habit of stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was, however, Flashman couldn't swallow such an insult as this; besides, hewas confident of having easy work, and so faced the boys, saying, "Youimpudent young blackguards!" Before he could finish his abuse, theyrushed in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which they couldreach. He hit out wildly and savagely; but the full force of his blowsdidn't tell--they were too near to him. It was long odds, though, inpoint of strength; and in another minute Tom went spinning backwardsover a form, and Flashman turned to demolish East with a savage grin. But now Diggs jumped down from the table on which he had seated himself. "Stop there, " shouted he; "the round's over--half-minute time allowed. "

"What the --- is it to you?" faltered Flashman, who began to lose heart. 

"I'm going to see fair, I tell you, " said Diggs, with a grin, andsnapping his great red fingers; "'taint fair for you to be fighting oneof them at a time. --Are you ready, Brown? Time's up. "

The small boys rushed in again. Closing, they saw, was their bestchance, and Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever: he caughtEast by the throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table. Tom grasped his waist, and remembering the old throw he had learnedin the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's, andthrew his whole weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, andthen over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head againsta form in the hall. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay there still. Theybegan to be frightened. Tom stooped down, and then cried out, scaredout of his wits, "He's bleeding awfully. Come here, East! Diggs, he'sdying!"

"Not he, " said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; "it's all sham;he's only afraid to fight it out. "

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flashman's head, and hegroaned. 

"What's the matter?" shouted Diggs. 

"My skull's fractured, " sobbed Flashman. 

"Oh, let me run for the housekeeper!" cried Tom. "What shall we do?"

"Fiddlesticks! It's nothing but the skin broken, " said the relentlessDiggs, feeling his head. "Cold water and a bit of rag's all he'll want. "

"Let me go, " said Flashman surlily, sitting up; "I don't want yourhelp. "

"We're really very sorry--" began East. 

"Hang your sorrow!" answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to theplace; "you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you. " And hewalked out of the hall. 

"He can't be very bad, " said Tom, with a deep sigh, much relieved to seehis enemy march so well. 

"Not he, " said Diggs; "and you'll see you won't be troubled with him anymore. But, I say, your head's broken too; your collar is covered withblood. "

"Is it though?" said Tom, putting up his hand; "I didn't know it. "

"Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. And you have got anasty eye, Scud. You'd better go and bathe it well in cold water. "

"Cheap enough too, if we're done with our old friend Flashey, " saidEast, as they made off upstairs to bathe their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid finger oneither of them again; but whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomoustongue could do them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirtenough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifthform and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more orless, and they not at all. Flashman managed to get Tom and East intodisfavour, which did not wear off for some time after the author of ithad disappeared from the School world. This event, much prayed forby the small fry in general, took place a few months after the aboveencounter. One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself ongin-punch, at Brownsover; and, having exceeded his usual limits, startedhome uproarious. He fell in with a friend or two coming back frombathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weatherbeing hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drinkwhich Flashman had already on board. The short result was, that Flasheybecame beastly drunk. They tried to get him along, but couldn't; so theychartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the masters cameupon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest raisedthe master's suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited himto examine the freight, and, after examination, to convoy the hurdlehimself up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long had his eyeon Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal next morning. 

The evil that men and boys too do lives after them: Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had been the movers of the strike against unlawfulfagging. The cause was righteous--the result had been triumphant to agreat extent; but the best of the fifth--even those who had never faggedthe small boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully--couldn't helpfeeling a small grudge against the first rebels. After all, their formhad been defied, on just grounds, no doubt--so just, indeed, that theyhad at once acknowledged the wrong, and remained passive in the strife. Had they sided with Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given wayat once. They couldn't help, on the whole, being glad that they had soacted, and that the resistance had been successful against such of theirown form as had shown fight; they felt that law and order had gainedthereby, but the ringleaders they couldn't quite pardon at once. "Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if we don't mind, " wasthe general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the angel Gabriel wereto come down from heaven, and head a successful rise against the mostabominable and unrighteous vested interest which this poor old worldgroans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years, probably for centuries, not only with the upholders of said vestedinterest, but with the respectable mass of the people whom he haddelivered. They wouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appearwith his in the papers; they would be very careful how they spoke ofhim in the Palaver, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when wehave only poor gallant blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands--men whohave holes enough in their armour, God knows, easy to be hit byrespectabilities sitting in their lounging chairs, and having largebalances at their bankers'? But you are brave, gallant boys, who hateeasy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. You only want to haveyour heads set straight, to take the right side; so bear in mind thatmajorities, especially respectable ones, are nine times out of ten inthe wrong; and that if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on theweak side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you are not togo and join the cry against him. If you can't join him and help him, andmake him wiser, at any rate remember that he has found something in theworld which he will fight and suffer for, which is just what you havegot to do for yourselves; and so think and speak of him tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, became a sort ofyoung Ishmaelites, their hands against every one, and every one's handagainst them. It has been already told how they got to war with themasters and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the same. They saw the prepostors cowed by or joining with the fifth and shirkingtheir own duties; so they didn't respect them, and rendered no willingobedience. It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons of heroeslike old Brooke, but was quite another to do the like for Snooks andGreen, who had never faced a good scrummage at football, and couldn'tkeep the passages in order at night. So they only slurred through theirfagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not always that, andgot the character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the fifth-form room, after supper, when such matters were often discussed and arranged, theirnames were for ever coming up. 

"I say, Green, " Snooks began one night, "isn't that new boy, Harrison, your fag?"

"Yes; why?"

"Oh, I know something of him at home, and should like to excuse him. Will you swop?"

"Who will you give me?"

"Well, let's see. There's Willis, Johnson. No, that won't do. Yes, Ihave it. There's young East; I'll give you him. "

"Don't you wish you may get it?" replied Green. "I'll give you two forWillis, if you like. "

"Who, then?" asked Snooks. "Hall and Brown. "

"Wouldn't have 'em at a gift. "

"Better than East, though; for they ain't quite so sharp, " said Green, getting up and leaning his back against the mantelpiece. He wasn't a badfellow, and couldn't help not being able to put down the unruly fifthform. His eye twinkled as he went on, "Did I ever tell you how the youngvagabond sold me last half?"

"No; how?"

"Well, he never half cleaned my study out--only just stuck thecandlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the crumbs on to the floor. Soat last I was mortal angry, and had him up, and made him go through thewhole performance under my eyes. The dust the young scamp made nearlychoked me, and showed that he hadn't swept the carpet before. Well, whenit was all finished, 'Now, young gentleman, ' says I, 'mind, I expectthis to be done every morning--floor swept, table-cloth taken off andshaken, and everything dusted. ' 'Very well, ' grunts he. Not a bit ofit though. I was quite sure, in a day or two, that he never took thetable-cloth off even. So I laid a trap for him. I tore up some paper, and put half a dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth over themas usual. Next morning after breakfast up I came, pulled off the cloth, and, sure enough, there was the paper, which fluttered down on to thefloor. I was in a towering rage. 'I've got you now, ' thought I, and sentfor him, while I got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, withhis hands in his pockets. 'Didn't I tell you to shake my table-clothevery morning?' roared I. 'Yes, ' says he. 'Did you do it this morning?''Yes. ' 'You young liar! I put these pieces of paper on the table lastnight, and if you'd taken the table-cloth off you'd have seen them, soI'm going to give you a good licking. ' Then my youngster takes one handout of his pocket, and just stoops down and picks up two of the bitsof paper, and holds them out to me. There was written on each, in greatround text, 'Harry East, his mark. ' The young rogue had found mytrap out, taken away my paper, and put some of his there, every bitear-marked. I'd a great mind to lick him for his impudence; but, afterall, one has no right to be laying traps, so I didn't. Of course I wasat his mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks my study was sofrowzy I couldn't sit in it. "

"They spoil one's things so, too, " chimed in a third boy. "Hall andBrown were night-fags last week. I called 'fag, ' and gave them mycandlesticks to clean. Away they went, and didn't appear again. Whenthey'd had time enough to clean them three times over, I went out tolook after them. They weren't in the passages so down I went into thehall, where I heard music; and there I found them sitting on the table, listening to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticksstuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean spoiled. They've never stood straight since, and I must get some more. However, Igave them a good licking; that's one comfort. "

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always getting into; and so, partly by their own faults, partly from circumstances, partly from thefaults of others, they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, orwhat you will in that line--in short, dangerous parties--and lived thesort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such parties generallyhave to put up with. Nevertheless they never quite lost favour withyoung Brooke, who was now the cock of the house, and just getting intothe sixth; and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave them store ofgood advice, by which they never in the least profited. 

And even after the house mended, and law and order had been restored, which soon happened after young Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn't easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, andmany of the old, wild, out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as firmly asever. While they had been quite little boys, the scrapes they got intoin the School hadn't much mattered to any one; but now they were in theupper school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to theDoctor at once. So they began to come under his notice; and as they werea sort of leaders in a small way amongst their own contemporaries, hiseye, which was everywhere, was upon them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, and so they werejust the boys who caused most anxiety to such a master. You have beentold of the first occasion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, andthe remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much less fear ofhim than most boys of their standing had. "It's all his look, " Tom usedto say to East, "that frightens fellows. Don't you remember, he neversaid anything to us my first half-year for being an hour late forlocking-up?"

The next time that Tom came before him, however, the interview was ofa very different kind. It happened just about the time at which we havenow arrived, and was the first of a series of scrapes into which ourhero managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear stream, in whichchub, dace, roach, and other coarse fish are (or were) plentifulenough, together with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worthsixpence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital river forbathing, as it has many nice small pools and several good reaches forswimming, all within about a mile of one another, and at an easy twentyminutes' walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, or used tobe rented, for bathing purposes by the trustees of the School, for theboys. The footpath to Brownsover crosses the river by "the Planks, " acurious old single-plank bridge running for fifty or sixty yards intothe flat meadows on each side of the river--for in the winter thereare frequent floods. Above the Planks were the bathing-places for thesmaller boys--Sleath's, the first bathing-place, where all new boyshad to begin, until they had proved to the bathing men (three steadyindividuals, who were paid to attend daily through the summer to preventaccidents) that they could swim pretty decently, when they were allowedto go on to Anstey's, about one hundred and fifty yards below. Herethere was a hole about six feet deep and twelve feet across, over whichthe puffing urchins struggled to the opposite side, and thought no smallbeer of themselves for having been out of their depths. Below the Plankscame larger and deeper holes, the first of which was Wratislaw's, andthe last Swift's, a famous hole, ten or twelve feet deep in parts, andthirty yards across, from which there was a fine swimming reach rightdown to the mill. Swift's was reserved for the sixth and fifth forms, and had a spring board and two sets of steps: the others had one set ofsteps each, and were used indifferently by all the lower boys, thougheach house addicted itself more to one hole than to another. TheSchool-house at this time affected Wratislaw's hole, and Tom and East, who had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there as regular asthe clock through the summer, always twice, and often three times a day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right also to fish attheir pleasure over the whole of this part of the river, and would notunderstand that the right (if any) only extended to the Rugby side. Asill-luck would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, afterallowing it for some time without interference, had ordered his keepersnot to let the boys fish on his side--the consequence of which had beenthat there had been first wranglings and then fights between the keepersand boys; and so keen had the quarrel become that the landlord and hiskeepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one of the latter, anda fierce fight ensued thereon, had been up to the great school atcalling-over to identify the delinquents, and it was all the Doctorhimself and five or six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even hisauthority could prevent the hissing; and so strong was the feeling thatthe four prepostors of the week walked up the school with their canes, shouting "S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e" at the top of their voices. However, the chief offenders for the time were flogged and kept in bounds; butthe victorious party had brought a nice hornet's nest about their ears. The landlord was hissed at the School-gates as he rode past, and when hecharged his horse at the mob of boys, and tried to thrash them withhis whip, was driven back by cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued withpebbles and fives balls; while the wretched keepers' lives were a burdento them, from having to watch the waters so closely. 

The School-house boys of Tom's standing, one and all, as a protestagainst this tyranny and cutting short of their lawful amusements, tookto fishing in all ways, and especially by means of night-lines. Thelittle tacklemaker at the bottom of the town would soon have made hisfortune had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began to lay infishing-tackle. The boys had this great advantage over their enemies, that they spent a large portion of the day in nature's garb by theriver-side, and so, when tired of swimming, would get out on the otherside and fish, or set night-lines, till the keepers hove in sight, andthen plunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, and thekeepers were too wise to follow across the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and three or four otherswere bathing at Wratislaw's, and had, as a matter of course, been takingup and re-setting night-lines. They had all left the water, and weresitting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes, froma shirt upwards, when they were aware of a man in a velveteenshooting-coat approaching from the other side. He was a new keeper, sothey didn't recognize or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite, and began:

"I see'd some of you young gentlemen over this side a-fishing just now. "

"Hullo! who are you? What business is that of yours, old Velveteens?"

"I'm the new under-keeper, and master's told me to keep a sharp lookouton all o' you young chaps. And I tells 'ee I means business, and you'dbetter keep on your own side, or we shall fall out. "

"Well, that's right, Velveteens; speak out, and let's know your mind atonce. "

"Look here, old boy, " cried East, holding up a miserable, coarse fishor two and a small jack; "would you like to smell 'em and see which bankthey lived under?"

"I'll give you a bit of advice, keeper, " shouted Tom, who was sittingin his shirt paddling with his feet in the river: "you'd better go downthere to Swift's, where the big boys are; they're beggars at settinglines, and'll put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching thefive-pounders. " Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, who wasgetting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, as if to take anote of him for future use. Tom returned his gaze with a steady stare, and then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a favouriteSchool-house song, --

 "As I and my companions Were setting of a snare The gamekeeper was watching us; For him we did not care: For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, And jump out anywhere. For it's my delight of a likely night, In the season of the year. "

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with shouts of laughter, andthe keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. Theboys thought no more of the matter. 

But now came on the May-fly season; the soft, hazy summer weather laysleepily along the rich meadows by Avon side, and the green and grayflies flickered with their graceful, lazy up-and-down flight overthe reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The May-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemerae--thehappiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and dreams out his fewhours of sunshiny life by English rivers. 

Every little pitiful, coarse fish in the Avon was on the alert forthe flies, and gorging his wretched carcass with hundreds daily, thegluttonous rogues! and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avengethe poor May-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom, having borrowed East's new rod, started by himself to the river. He fished for some time with smallsuccess--not a fish would rise at him; but as he prowled along the bank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the oppositeside, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was deephere, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made offhot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of theDoctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, andin three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump ofwillows. 

It isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish, are in earnestabout anything; but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, andin half an hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at thefoot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, andjust going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up thebank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was theunder-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carryinghis rod. Nothing for it but the tree. So Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. Hehad just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feetup, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at theclump. Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps moreand he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam onthe scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead pointat the foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye andtouch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tomcrouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump. "If I could only get the rod hidden, " thought he, and began gentlyshifting it to get it alongside of him; "willowtrees don't throw outstraight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worse luck. "Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, andthen of Tom's hand and arm. 

"Oh, be up ther', be 'ee?" says he, running under the tree. "Now youcome down this minute. "

"Tree'd at last, " thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close aspossible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces. "I'min for it, unless I can starve him out. " And then he begins to meditategetting along the branch for a plunge, and scramble to the other side;but the small branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford beforehe can get out, so he gives that up. And now he hears the keeperbeginning to scramble up the trunk. That will never do; so he scrambleshimself back to where his branch joins the trunk; and stands with liftedrod. 

"Hullo, Velveteens; mind your fingers if you come any higher. "

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says, "Oh! be you, be it, young measter? Well, here's luck. Now I tells 'ee to come down atonce, and 't'll be best for 'ee. "

"Thank 'ee, Velveteens; I'm very comfortable, " said Tom, shortening therod in his hand, and preparing for battle. 

"Werry well; please yourself, " says the keeper, descending, however, to the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank. "I bean't in nohurry, so you may take your time. I'll l'arn 'ee to gee honest folknames afore I've done with 'ee. "

"My luck as usual, " thinks Tom; "what a fool I was to give him a black!If I'd called him 'keeper, ' now, I might get off. The return match isall his way. "

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch, looking at keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more hethought of it the less he liked it. "It must be getting near secondcalling-over, " thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. "If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough. I can't sit here all night. Wonder ifhe'll rise at silver. "

"I say, keeper, " said he meekly, "let me go for two bob?"

"Not for twenty neither, " grunts his persecutor. 

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, and the sun cameslanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up nearat hand. 

"I'm coming down, keeper, " said Tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tiredout. "Now what are you going to do?"

"Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to the Doctor; them's myorders, " says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, andstanding up and shaking himself. 

"Very good, " said Tom; "but hands off, you know. I'll go with youquietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing. "

Keeper looked at him a minute. "Werry good, " said he at last. And so Tomdescended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper, up tothe Schoolhouse, where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passedthe School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who were standing therecaught the state of things, and rushed out, crying, "Rescue!" But Tomshook his head; so they only followed to the Doctor's gate, and wentback sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom wasup there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tomhad called him blackguard names. "Indeed, sir, " broke in the culprit, "it was only Velveteens. " The Doctor only asked one question. 

"You know the rule about the banks, Brown?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson. "

"I thought so, " muttered Tom. 

"And about the rod, sir?" went on the keeper. "Master's told we as wemight have all the rods--"

"Oh, please, sir, " broke in Tom, "the rod isn't mine. "

The Doctor looked puzzled; but the keeper, who was a good-heartedfellow, and melted at Tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. Tomwas flogged next morning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, andpresented him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, and theybecame sworn friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more fishfrom under the willow that May-fly season, and was never caught again byVelveteens. 

It wasn't three weeks before Tom, and now East by his side, wereagain in the awful presence. This time, however, the Doctor was not soterrible. A few days before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch theballs that went off the court. While standing watching the game, theysaw five or six nearly new balls hit on the top of the School. "I say, Tom, " said East, when they were dismissed, "couldn't we get those ballssomehow?"

"Let's try, anyhow. "

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed a coal-hammer fromold Stumps, bought some big nails, and after one or two attempts, scaledthe Schools, and possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives balls. The place pleased them so much that they spent all their spare timethere, scratching and cutting their names on the top of every tower; andat last, having exhausted all other places, finished up with inscribingH. EAST, T. BROWN, on the minute-hand of the great clock; in the doing ofwhich they held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock's economy. Sonext morning, when masters and boys came trooping down to prayers, andentered the quadrangle, the injured minute-hand was indicating threeminutes to the hour. They all pulled up, and took their time. When thehour struck, doors were closed, and half the school late. Thomas beingset to make inquiry, discovers their names on the minute-hand, andreports accordingly; and they are sent for, a knot of their friendsmaking derisive and pantomimic allusions to what their fate will be asthey walk off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn't make much of it, andonly gives them thirty lines of Homer to learn by heart, and a lectureon the likelihood of such exploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in the town; and asseveral rows and other disagreeable accidents had of late taken placeon these occasions, the Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no boy is to go down into the town. Wherefore East and Tom, forno earthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told not to do, start away, after second lesson, and making a short circuit through thefields, strike a back lane which leads into the town, go down it, andrun plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into the High Street. The master in question, though a very clever, is not a righteous man. He has already caught several of his own pupils, and gives them linesto learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, up to theDoctor, who, on learning that they had been at prayers in the morning, flogs them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the injustice of theircaptor was rankling in their minds; but it was just the end of the half, and on the next evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and saysthe Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another in silent dismay. What can it be now? Which of their countless wrong-doings can he haveheard of officially? However, it's no use delaying, so up they go to thestudy. There they find the Doctor, not angry, but very graver. "He hassent for them to speak to very seriously before they go home. They haveeach been flogged several times in the half-year for direct andwilful breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing no good tothemselves or others, and now they are getting up in the School, andhave influence. They seem to think that rules are made capriciously, andfor the pleasure of the masters; but this is not so. They are made forthe good of the whole School, and must and shall be obeyed. Those whothoughtlessly or wilfully break them will not be allowed to stay at theSchool. He should be sorry if they had to leave, as the School mightdo them both much good, and wishes them to think very seriously in theholidays over what he has said. Good-night. "

And so the two hurry off horribly scared; the idea of having to leavehas never crossed their minds, and is quite unbearable. 

As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, a sturdy, cheeryprepostor of another house, who goes in to the Doctor; and they hearhis genial, hearty greeting of the newcomer, so different to their ownreception, as the door closes, and return to their study with heavyhearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more rules. 

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form--a late arrival and amodel young master--knocks at the Doctor's study-door. "Come in!" Andas he enters, the Doctor goes on, to Holmes--"You see, I do not knowanything of the case officially, and if I take any notice of it at all, I must publicly expel the boy. I don't wish to do that, for I thinkthere is some good in him. There's nothing for it but a good soundthrashing. " He paused to shake hands with the master, which Holmes doesalso, and then prepares to leave. 

"I understand. Good-night, sir. "

"Good-night, Holmes. And remember, " added the Doctor, emphasizing thewords, "a good sound thrashing before the whole house. "

The door closed on Holmes; and the Doctor, in answer to the puzzledlook of his lieutenant, explained shortly. "A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight andweak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal with such acase; so I have asked Holmes to take it up. He is very careful andtrustworthy, and has plenty of strength. I wish all the sixth had asmuch. We must have it here, if we are to keep order at all. "

Now I don't want any wiseacres to read this book, but if they should, ofcourse they will prick up their long ears, and howl, or rather bray, atthe above story. Very good--I don't object; but what I have to add foryou boys is this, that Holmes called a levy of his house after breakfastnext morning, made them a speech on the case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully a "good sound thrashing;" and that yearsafterwards, that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying ithad been the kindest act which had ever been done upon him, and theturning-point in his character; and a very good fellow he became, and acredit to his School. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctor said, "I want to speakto you about two boys in your form, East and Brown. I have just beenspeaking to them. What do you think of them?"

"Well, they are not hard workers, and very thoughtless and full ofspirits; but I can't help liking them. I think they are sound, goodfellows at the bottom. "

"I'm glad of it. I think so too: But they make me very uneasy. They aretaking the lead a good deal amongst the fags in my house, for they arevery active, bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I shan'tlet them stay if I don't see them gaining character and manliness. Inanother year they may do great harm to all the younger boys. "

"Oh, I hope you won't send them away, " pleaded their master. 

"Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, after anyhalf-holiday, that I shan't have to flog one of them next morning, forsome foolish, thoughtless scrape. I quite dread seeing either of them. "

They were both silent for a minute. Presently the Doctor began again:--

"They don't feel that they have any duty or work to do in the school, and how is one to make them feel it?"

"I think if either of them had some little boy to take care of, it wouldsteady them. Brown is the most reckless of the two, I should say. Eastwouldn't get into so many scrapes without him. "

"Well, " said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, "I'll think of it. "And they went on to talk of other subjects. 

PART II. 

 "I [hold] it truth, with him who sings, To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. " --TENNYSON. 

CHAPTER I--HOW THE TIDE TURNED. 

 "Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side. . . . . Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. " --LOWELL. 

The turning-point in our hero's school career had now come, and themanner of it was as follows. On the evening of the first day of the nexthalf-year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who had just beendropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into thematron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when theyfirst get back, however fond they may be of home. 

"Well, Mrs. Wixie, " shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active, little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linen of the boyswho had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, "here we areagain, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away. "

"And, Mary, " cried another (she was called indifferently by eithername), "who's come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How manynew boys are there?"

"Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know you promised to get it forus if you could, " shouted Tom. 

"And am I to sleep in Number 4?" roared East. 

"How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?"

"Bless the boys!" cries Mary, at last getting in a word; "why, you'llshake me to death. There, now, do go away up to the housekeeper's roomand get your suppers; you know I haven't time to talk. You'll findplenty more in the house. --Now, Master East, do let those things alone. You're mixing up three new boys' things. " And she rushed at East, whoescaped round the open trunks holding up a prize. 

"Hullo! look here, Tommy, " shouted he; "here's fun!" and he brandishedabove his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made andmarked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. Thekind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitching with achinghearts little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on theyoung head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, andsnatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them. 

"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go, " said she;"there's some capital cold beef and pickles upstairs, and I won't haveyou old boys in my room first night. "

"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy--come along, Smith. We shallfind out who the young count is, I'll be bound. I hope he'll sleep in myroom. Mary's always vicious first week. "

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, andsaid, "Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you. "

"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute, East. Don't finish thepickles. "

"O Master Brown, " went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, "you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you totake in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years oldthough he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been fromhome before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, andsee that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, andI've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleepthere this half. "

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double studywhich he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatlymoderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far corner ofthe sofa was aware of a slight, pale boy, with large blue eyes and lightfair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at aglance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-yearat a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, orconstant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take in the youngster, and then let him shift forhimself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where wereall his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, andmaking night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to BrownsoverMills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds toget this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they wouldbe together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat'snovels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely nevergo out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always gettinglaughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory femininenickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in hismind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warmheart. "Poor little fellow, " said she, in almost a whisper; "hisfather's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma--such a kind, sweet lady--almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and shesaid one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so--"

"Well, well, " burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort, "I suppose I must give up East. --Come along, young un. What's your name?We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study. "

"His name's George Arthur, " said the matron, walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate hand as the proper preliminary to makinga chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. "I've hadhis books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had newpapered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over thedoor" (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy wascontributing largely to the partnership comforts). "And Mrs. Arnold toldme to say, " she added, "that she should like you both to come up to teawith her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things are just goneup, I know. "

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to go up to tea thefirst night, just as if he were a sixth or fifth form boy, and ofimportance in the School world, instead of the most reckless youngscapegrace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a highersocial and moral platform at once. Nevertheless he couldn't give upwithout a sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper's roomwith East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studies of hisfriends afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half-year, and to gather news of whohad left and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and wherethe new prepostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinkingthat he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, andso marched off along the passages to the Doctor's private house with hisyoung charge in tow, in monstrous good-humour with himself and all theworld. 

It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boyswere received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is stillliving, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the north therespect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle andhigh-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart, now doing its workand bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under theIndian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back withfond and grateful memory to that School-house drawing-room, and datesmuch of its highest and best training to the lessons learnt there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder children, there were oneof the younger masters, young Brooke (who was now in the sixth, andhad succeeded to his brother's position and influence), and anothersixth-form boy, talking together before the fire. The master and youngBrooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intenseglory, and then went on talking. The other did not notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once andinsensibly to feel at their ease and to begin talking to one another, left them with her own children while she finished a letter. The youngones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony hehad been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the winter gloriesof the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the Doctorhimself. 

How frank, and kind, and manly was his greeting to the party by thefire! It did Tom's heart good to see him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one another in the face; and he didn't fail to remark thatBrooke was nearly as tall and quite as broad as the Doctor. And his cupwas full when in another moment his master turned to him with anotherwarm shake of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the late scrapeswhich he had been getting into, said, "Ah, Brown, you here! I hope youleft your father and all well at home?"

"Yes, sir, quite well. "

"And this is the little fellow who is to share your study. Well, hedoesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air, andcricket. And you must take him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange, and Caldecott's Spinney, and show him what a little pretty country wehave about here. "

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grangewere for the purpose of taking rooks' nests (a proceeding stronglydiscountenanced by the owner thereof), and those to Caldecott's Spinneywere prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. Whatdidn't the Doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it! Healmost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines for ever. The teawent merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then ofthe prospects of the half-year--what chance there was for the Balliolscholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Everybody was athis ease, and everybody felt that he, young as he might be, was of someuse in the little School world, and had a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and the young boys afew minutes afterwards took their leave and went out of the private doorwhich led from the Doctor's house into the middle passage. 

At the fire, at the farther end of the passage, was a crowd of boys inloud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching downthe passage. 

"Hullo, Brown! where do you come from?"

"Oh, I've been to tea with the Doctor, " says Tom, with great dignity. 

"My eye!" cried East, "Oh! so that's why Mary called you back, and youdidn't come to supper. You lost something. That beef and pickles was noend good. "

"I say, young fellow, " cried Hall, detecting Arthur and catching him bythe collar, "what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

Tom saw Arthur shrink back and look scared as all the group turned tohim, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by his side tosupport in case of need. 

"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire. "

"Don't call me 'sir, ' you young muff. How old are you?"

"Thirteen. "

"Can you sing?"

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in--"You behanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturdaytwelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet. "

"Do you know him at home, Brown?"

"No; but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer-time, and I haven't had a look at it yet. --Come along, Arthur. "

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, wherehe might advise him on his deportment. 

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown, " was the comment at the fire; and itmust be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, andsurveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with muchsatisfaction. 

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cozy! But lookhere now; you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, anddon't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't yousay you can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother andsisters. "

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

"But, please, " said he, "mayn't I talk about--about home to you?"

"Oh yes; I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know, or they'llcall you home-sick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jollydesk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! Why, your school-bookslook like novels. "

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new, and goodenough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outsidetill the prayer-bell rang. 

I have already described the School-house prayers. They were the same onthe first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by theabsence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stoodall together at the farther table--of all sorts and sizes, like youngbears with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to himwhen he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at theline, and poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he wasleading him upstairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showinghim his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large windowslooking on to the School close. There were twelve beds in the room. Theone in the farthest corner by the fireplace, occupied by the sixth-formboy, who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the restby boys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags (for thefifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms by themselves). Beingfags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen years old, andwere all bound to be up and in bed by ten. The sixth-form boys came tobed from ten to a quarter-past (at which time the old verger came roundto put the candles out), except when they sat up to read. 

Within a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the other boys whoslept in Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to theirown beds, and began undressing, and talking to each other in whispers;while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on oneanother's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor littleArthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea ofsleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed hismind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He couldhardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting atthe bottom of his bed talking and laughing. 

"Please, Brown, " he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like, " said Tom, staring; "that's yourwashhand-stand, under the window, second from your bed. You'll have togo down for more water in the morning if you use it all. " And on he wentwith his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds outto his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for amoment on himself the attention of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing andundressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round morenervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already inbed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonelyboy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day fromhis childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareththe sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that hisback was towards Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and lookedup in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed andsneered, and a big, brutal fellow who was standing in the middle of theroom picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling hima snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next momentthe boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow. 

"Confound you, Brown! what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain. 

"Never mind what I mean, " said Tom, stepping on to the floor, every dropof blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants the other boot, heknows how to get it. "

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment thesixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom andthe rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, and theold verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in anotherminute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with hisusual "Good-night, gen'lm'n. "

There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken toheart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow ofpoor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memorieswhich chased one another through his brain, kept him from thinking orresolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keephimself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then thethought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had madeat her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, andgive himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently, and cried as ifhis heart would break. He was only fourteen years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a littlefellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the School, the tablesturned; before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe inthe other house, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come toschool in other times. The first few nights after he came he did notkneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle wasout, and then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some oneshould find him out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then hebegan to think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, andthen that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lyingdown. And so it had come to pass with Tom, as with all who will notconfess their Lord before men; and for the last year he had probably notsaid his prayers in earnest a dozen times. 

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break hisheart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others whichhe loathed was brought in and burnt in on his own soul. He had lied tohis mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? Andthen the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned forhis weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that hewould stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and helphim, and bear his burdens for the good deed done that night. Then heresolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what acoward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harderthan the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford tolet one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed himfirst all his old friends calling him "Saint" and "Square-toes, " anda dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would bemisunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereasit was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good tothe largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation, "Shall Inot be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any rightto begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, lettingother boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while inpublic at least I should go on as I have done?" However, his good angelwas too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired oftrying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been sostrong, and in which he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket andwaistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then inthe face of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words couldhe say--the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper inthe room--what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go onkneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from hisinmost heart, a still, small voice seemed to breathe forth the words ofthe publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them overand over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his kneescomforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was notneeded: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example, and he went down to the great School with a glimmering of another lessonin his heart--the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirithas conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which the oldprophet learnt in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and thestill, small voice asked, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" that howeverwe may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lordof men is nowhere without His witnesses; for in every society, howeverseemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed theknee to Baal. 

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be producedby his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he kneltdown, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys butthree or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measureowing to the fact that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in theroom except the prepostor; at any rate, every boy knew that he wouldtry upon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of ahard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. Someof the small boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of things totheir chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows triedit on--in one instance or so, where the prepostor heard of it andinterfered very decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, aftera short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and theold state of things went on for some time longer. Before either TomBrown or Arthur left the School-house, there was no room in which it hadnot become the regular custom. I trust it is so still, and that the oldheathen state of things has gone out for ever. 

CHAPTER II--THE NEW BOY. 

 "And Heaven's rich instincts in him grew As effortless as woodland nooks Send violets up and paint them blue. "--LOWELL. 

I do not mean to recount all the little troubles and annoyances whichthronged upon Tom at the beginning of this half-year, in his newcharacter of bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. Heseemed to himself to have become a new boy again, without any of thelong-suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that characterwith moderate success. From morning till night he had the feeling ofresponsibility on his mind, and even if he left Arthur in their studyor in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had him in sightagain. He waited for him at the doors of the school after every lessonand every calling-over; watched that no tricks were played him, and nonebut the regulation questions asked; kept his eye on his plate at dinnerand breakfast, to see that no unfair depredations were made upon hisviands; in short, as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen withone chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing, too, which made it all the harder work;was sadly timid; scarcely ever spoke unless Tom spoke to him first; and, worst of all, would agree with him in everything--the hardest thing inthe world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry sometimes, as theysat together of a night in their study, at this provoking habit ofagreement, and was on the point of breaking out a dozen times with alecture upon the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own andspeaking out, but managed to restrain himself by the thought that hemight only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he hadlearnt from him on his first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve tosit still and not say a word till Arthur began; but he was always beatat that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearinglest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, anddog-tired of sitting tongue-tied. 

It was hard work. But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, andgo through with it so as to satisfy himself; in which resolution hewas much assisted by the chafing of East and his other old friends, whobegan to call him "dry-nurse, " and otherwise to break their small witon him. But when they took other ground, as they did every now and then, Tom was sorely puzzled. 

"Tell you what, Tommy, " East would say; "you'll spoil young Hopeful withtoo much coddling. Why can't you let him go about by himself and findhis own level? He'll never be worth a button if you go on keeping himunder your skirts. "

"Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I'm trying to get himto it every day, but he's very odd. Poor little beggar! I can't make himout a bit. He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of--heseems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut ora blow. "

"That sort of boy's no use here, " said East; "he'll only spoil. Now I'lltell you what to do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made, andput him in with plenty of cotton-wool and a pap-bottle, labelled 'Withcare--this side up, ' and send him back to mamma. "

"I think I shall make a hand of him though, " said Tom, smiling, "saywhat you will. There's something about him, every now and then, whichshows me he's got pluck somewhere in him. That's the only thing afterall that'll wash, ain't it, old Scud? But how to get at it and bring itout?"

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and stuck it in his backhair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one methodof invoking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzledlook, and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That young gentlemanslapped him on the back, and then put his arm round his shoulder, asthey strolled through the quadrangle together. "Tom, " said he, "blest ifyou ain't the best old fellow ever was. I do like to see you go into athing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as you do; but I nevercan get higher than a joke. Everything's a joke. If I was going to beflogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn't helplaughing at it for the life of me. "

"Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the great fives court. "

"Hullo, though, that's past a joke, " broke out East, springing atthe young gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by thecollar. --"Here, Tommy, catch hold of him t'other side before he canholla. "

The youth was seized, and dragged, struggling, out of the quadrangleinto the School-house hall. He was one of the miserable little prettywhite-handed, curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the bigfellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and usebad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything *in this world and the next. One of the avocations in which these younggentlemen took particular delight was in going about and getting fagsfor their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game. Theycarried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of allthe boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn't go. The present youth belongedto a house which was very jealous of the School-house, and always pickedout School-house fags when he could find them. However, this time he'dgot the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of thehall, and East put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner ashake up, took away his list, and stood him up on the floor, while heproceeded leisurely to examine that document. 

 * A kind and wise critic, an old Rugboean, notes here in the margin: "The small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847. " Before that, too, there were many noble friendships between big and little boys; but I can't strike out the passage. Many boys will know why it is left in. 

"Let me out, let me go!" screamed the boy, in a furious passion. "I'llgo and tell Jones this minute, and he'll give you both the --- thrashingyou ever had. "

"Pretty little dear, " said East, patting the top of his hat. --"Hark howhe swears, Tom. Nicely brought up young man, ain't he, I don't think. "

"Let me alone, --- you, " roared the boy, foaming with rage, and kickingat East, who quietly tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in aplace of safety. 

"Gently, young fellow, " said he; "'tain't improving for littlewhippersnappers like you to be indulging in blasphemy; so you stop that, or you'll get something you won't like. "

"I'll have you both licked when I get out, that I will, " rejoined theboy, beginning to snivel. 

"Two can play at that game, mind you, " said Tom, who had finished hisexamination of the list. "Now you just listen here. We've just comeacross the fives court, and Jones has four fags there already--twomore than he wants. If he'd wanted us to change, he'd have stopped ushimself. And here, you little blackguard, you've got seven names down onyour list besides ours, and five of them School-house. " Tom walked up tohim, and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like awhipped puppy. "Now just listen to me. We ain't going to fag forJones. If you tell him you've sent us, we'll each of us give you sucha thrashing as you'll remember. " And Tom tore up the list and threw thepieces into the fire. 

"And mind you, too, " said East, "don't let me catch you again sneakingabout the School-house, and picking up our fags. You haven't got thesort of hide to take a sound licking kindly. " And he opened the door andsent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle with a parting kick. 

"Nice boy, Tommy, " said East, shoving his hands in his pockets, andstrolling to the fire. 

"Worst sort we breed, " responded Tom, following his example. "Thankgoodness, no big fellow ever took to petting me. "

"You'd never have been like that, " said East. "I should like to have puthim in a museum: Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highlyeducated. Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like adrunken sailor. He'd make a respectable public open its eyes, I think. "

"Think he'll tell Jones?" said Tom. 

"No, " said East. "Don't care if he does. "

"Nor I, " said Tom. And they went back to talk about Arthur. 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell Jones, reasoningthat East and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest fags inthe School, wouldn't care three straws for any licking Jones might givethem, and would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on withinterest. 

After the above conversation, East came a good deal to their study, andtook notice of Arthur, and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thoroughlittle gentleman, and would get over his shyness all in good time; whichmuch comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having anobject in his life--something that drew him out of himself; and it beingthe dull time of the year, and no games going about for which he muchcared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was sayinga great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge was fromlocking-up till supper-time. During this hour or hour and a half he usedto take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance, sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-boundtables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in somechorus of merry voices--in fact, blowing off his steam, as we should nowcall it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur showed himselfso pleased at the arrangement, that it was several weeks before Tom wasever in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in tolook for an old chisel, or some corks, or other article essential to hispursuit for the time being, and while rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure of poorlittle Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table, andhis head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book, on which histears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on thesofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. 

"Why, young un, what's the matter?" said he kindly; "you ain't unhappy, are you?"

"Oh no, Brown, " said the little boy, looking up with the great tears inhis eyes; "you are so kind to me, I'm very happy. "

"Why don't you call me Tom? Lots of boys do that I don't like half somuch as you. What are you reading, then? Hang it! you must come aboutwith me, and not mope yourself. " And Tom cast down his eyes on the book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought tohimself, "Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;" and then said gently, "I'm veryglad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the Bible moremyself. Do you read it every night before supper while I'm out?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together. But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?"

"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive, we always read the lessons after tea; and I love to read them over now, and try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all and Ithink I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. Butit all comes back to me so fresh that I can't help crying sometimes tothink I shall never read them again with him. "

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouragedhim to do so, as his blundering schoolboy reasoning made him think thatArthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But nowhe was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels and bottledbeer; while with very little encouragement Arthur launched into his homehistory, and the prayer-bell put them both out sadly when it rang tocall them to the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, and above all, ofhis father, who had been dead about a year, and whose memory Tom soongot to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did. 

Arthur's father had been the clergyman of a parish in the Midlandcounties, which had risen into a large town during the war, and uponwhich the hard years which followed had fallen with fearful weight. Thetrade had been half ruined; and then came the old, sad story, of mastersreducing their establishments, men turned off and wandering about, hungry and wan in body, and fierce in soul, from the thought of wivesand children starving at home, and the last sticks of furniture going tothe pawnshop; children taken from school, and lounging about the dirtystreets and courts, too listless almost to play, and squalid in ragsand misery; and then the fearful struggle between the employers andmen--lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long course of oft-repeatedcrime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire, and the countyyeomanry. There is no need here to dwell upon such tales: the Englishmaninto whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the name. YouEnglish boys, for whom this book is meant (God bless your bright facesand kind hearts!), will learn it all soon enough. 

Into such a parish and state of society Arthur's father had been thrownat the age of twenty-five--a young married parson, full of faith, hope, and love. He had battled with it like a man, and had lots of fineUtopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity, and such-like, knocked out of his head, and a real, wholesome Christianlove for the poor, struggling, sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, and with and for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and life, driveninto his heart. He had battled like a man, and gotten a man's reward--nosilver tea-pots or salvers, with flowery inscriptions setting forthhis virtues and the appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat living orstall, for which he never looked, and didn't care; no sighs and praisesof comfortable dowagers and well-got-up young women, who worked himslippers, sugared his tea, and adored him as "a devoted man;" but amanly respect, wrung from the unwilling souls of men who fancied hisorder their natural enemies; the fear and hatred of every one who wasfalse or unjust in the district, were he master or man; and the blessedsight of women and children daily becoming more human and more homely, acomfort to themselves and to their husbands and fathers. 

These things, of course, took time, and had to be fought for with toiland sweat of brain and heart, and with the life-blood poured out. Allthat, Arthur had laid his account to give, and took as a matter ofcourse, neither pitying himself, nor looking on himself as a martyr, when he felt the wear and tear making him feel old before his time, andthe stifling air of fever-dens telling on his health. His wife secondedhim in everything. She had been rather fond of society, and much admiredand run after before her marriage; and the London world to which she hadbelonged pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman, and went to settle in that smoky hole Turley; a very nest of Chartismand Atheism, in a part of the country which all the decent families hadhad to leave for years. However, somehow or other she didn't seem tocare. If her husband's living had been amongst green fields and nearpleasant neighbours she would have liked it better--that she neverpretended to deny. But there they were. The air wasn't bad, after all;the people were very good sort of people--civil to you if you were civilto them, after the first brush; and they didn't expect to work miracles, and convert them all off-hand into model Christians. So he and she wentquietly among the folk, talking to and treating them just as they wouldhave done people of their own rank. They didn't feel that they weredoing anything out of the common way, and so were perfectly natural, and had none of that condescension or consciousness of manner which sooutrages the independent poor. And thus they gradually won respect andconfidence; and after sixteen years he was looked up to by the wholeneighbourhood as the just man, the man to whom masters and men couldgo in their strikes, and in all their quarrels and difficulties, and bywhom the right and true word would be said without fear or favour. Andthe women had come round to take her advice, and go to her as a friendin all their troubles; while the children all worshipped the very groundshe trod on. 

They had three children, two daughters and a son, little Arthur, whocame between his sisters. He had been a very delicate boy from hischildhood; they thought he had a tendency to consumption, and so he hadbeen kept at home and taught by his father, who had made a companion ofhim, and from whom he had gained good scholarship, and a knowledge ofand interest in many subjects which boys in general never come acrosstill they are many years older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father had settled thathe was strong enough to go to school, and, after much debating withhimself, had resolved to send him there, a desperate typhus fever brokeout in the town. Most of the other clergy, and almost all the doctors, ran away; the work fell with tenfold weight on those who stood to theirwork. Arthur and his wife both caught the fever, of which he died in afew days; and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to the end, and store up his last words. He was sensible to the last, and calm andhappy, leaving his wife and children with fearless trust for a few yearsin the hands of the Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, andfor whom he, to the best of his power, had lived and died. His widow'smourning was deep and gentle. She was more affected by the request ofthe committee of a freethinking club, established in the town by some ofthe factory hands (which he had striven against with might and main, andnearly suppressed), that some of their number might be allowed to helpbear the coffin, than by anything else. Two of them were chosen, who, with six other labouring men, his own fellow-workmen and friends, borehim to his grave--a man who had fought the Lord's fight even unto thedeath. The shops were closed and the factories shut that day in theparish, yet no master stopped the day's wages; but for many a yearafterwards the townsfolk felt the want of that brave, hopeful, lovingparson and his wife, who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance andhelpfulness, and had almost at last given them a glimpse of what thisold world would be if people would live for God and each other insteadof for themselves. 

What has all this to do with our story? Well, my dear boys, let a fellowgo on his own way, or you won't get anything out of him worth having. I must show you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and trainedlittle Arthur, or else you won't believe in him, which I am resolved youshall do; and you won't see how he, the timid, weak boy, had points inhim from which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and made his presenceand example felt from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself, and without the least attempt at proselytizing. The spirit of his fatherwas in him, and the Friend to whom his father had left him did notneglect the trust. 

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years afterwards, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East occasionally, and sometimes one, sometimes another, of their friends, read a chapter of the Bibletogether, and talked it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterlyastonished, and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur readthe book and talked about the men and women whose lives were there told. The first night they happened to fall on the chapters about the faminein Egypt, and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were a livingstatesman--just as he might have talked about Lord Grey and the ReformBill, only that they were much more living realities to him. The bookwas to him, Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of realpeople, who might do right or wrong, just like any one who was walkingabout in Rugby--the Doctor, or the masters, or the sixth-form boys. Butthe astonishment soon passed off, the scales seemed to drop from hiseyes, and the book became at once and for ever to him the great humanand divine book, and the men and women, whom he had looked uponas something quite different from himself, became his friends andcounsellors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night's reading will besufficient, which must be told here, now we are on the subject, thoughit didn't happen till a year afterwards, and long after the eventsrecorded in the next chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and read the story ofNaaman coming to Elisha to be cured of his leprosy. When the chapter wasfinished, Tom shut his Bible with a slap. 

"I can't stand that fellow Naaman, " said he, "after what he'd seen andfelt, going back and bowing himself down in the house of Rimmon, becausehis effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took thetrouble to heal him. How he must have despised him!"

"Yes; there you go off as usual, with a shell on your head, " struckin East, who always took the opposite side to Tom, half from love ofargument, half from conviction. "How do you know he didn't think betterof it? How do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter don't looklike it, and the book don't say so. "

"I don't care, " rejoined Tom; "why did Naaman talk about bowing down, then, if he didn't mean to do it? He wasn't likely to get more inearnest when he got back to court, and away from the prophet. "

"Well, but, Tom, " said Arthur, "look what Elisha says to him--'Go inpeace. ' He wouldn't have said that if Naaman had been in the wrong. "

"I don't see that that means more than saying, 'You're not the man Itook you for. '"

"No, no; that won't do at all, " said East. "Read the words fairly, andtake men as you find them. I like Naaman, and think he was a very finefellow. "

"I don't, " said Tom positively. 

"Well, I think East is right, " said Arthur; "I can't see but what it'sright to do the best you can, though it mayn't be the best absolutely. Every man isn't born to be a martyr. "

"Of course, of course, " said East; "but he's on one of his pethobbies. --How often have I told you, Tom, that you must drive a nailwhere it'll go. "

"And how often have I told you, " rejoined Tom, "that it'll always gowhere you want, if you only stick to it and hit hard enough. I hatehalf-measures and compromises. "

"Yes, he's a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the whole animal-hair andteeth, claws and tail, " laughed East. "Sooner have no bread any day thanhalf the loaf. "

"I don't know;" said Arthur--"it's rather puzzling; but ain't most rightthings got by proper compromises--I mean where the principle isn't givenup?"

"That's just the point, " said Tom; "I don't object to a compromise, where you don't give up your principle. "

"Not you, " said East laughingly. --"I know him of old, Arthur, and you'llfind him out some day. There isn't such a reasonable fellow in theworld, to hear him talk. He never wants anything but what's rightand fair; only when you come to settle what's right and fair, it'severything that he wants, and nothing that you want. And that's his ideaof a compromise. Give me the Brown compromise when I'm on his side. "

"Now, Harry, " said Tom, "no more chaff. I'm serious. Look here. This iswhat makes my blood tingle. " And he turned over the pages of his Bibleand read, "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego answered and said to theking, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in thismatter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us fromthe burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, Oking. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not servethy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up. " He readthe last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and dwelling on them as ifthey gave him actual pleasure, and were hard to part with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, "Yes, that's a gloriousstory, but it don't prove your point, Tom, I think. There are times whenthere is only one way, and that the highest, and then the men are foundto stand in the breach. "

"There's always a highest way, and it's always the right one, " said Tom. "How many times has the Doctor told us that in his sermons in the lastyear, I should like to know?"

"Well, you ain't going to convince us--is he, Arthur? No Browncompromise to-night, " said East, looking at his watch. "But it's pasteight, and we must go to first lesson. What a bore!"

So they took down their books and fell to work; but Arthur didn'tforget, and thought long and often over the conversation. 

CHAPTER III--ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND. 

 "Let Nature be your teacher: Sweet is the lore which Nature brings. Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things. We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art: Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. "--WORDSWORTH. 

About six weeks after the beginning of the half, as Tom and Arthur weresitting one night before supper beginning their verses, Arthur suddenlystopped, and looked up, and said, "Tom, do you know anything of Martin?"

"Yes, " said Tom, taking his hand out of his back hair, and delighted tothrow his Gradus ad Parnassum on to the sofa; "I know him pretty well. He's a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He's called Madman, youknow. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum thingsabout him. He tamed two snakes last half, and used to carry them aboutin his pocket; and I'll be bound he's got some hedgehogs and rats in hiscupboard now, and no one knows what besides. "

"I should like very much to know him, " said Arthur; "he was next to mein the form to-day, and he'd lost his book and looked over mine, and heseemed so kind and gentle that I liked him very much. "

"Ah, poor old Madman, he's always losing his books, " said Tom, "andgetting called up and floored because he hasn't got them. "

"I like him all the better, " said Arthur. 

"Well, he's great fun, I can tell you, " said Tom, throwing himself backon the sofa, and chuckling at the remembrance. "We had such a game withhim one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for sometime in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, and she toldthe Doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before dinner, when he came downfrom the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding intothe hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, andpreciously we stared, for he don't come in like that once a year, unlessit is a wet day and there's a fight in the hall. 'East, ' says he, 'justcome and show me Martin's study. ' 'Oh, here's a game, ' whispered therest of us; and we all cut upstairs after the Doctor, East leading. Aswe got into the New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the Doctorand his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman's den. Then that stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun. TheMadman knew East's step, and thought there was going to be a siege. 

"'It's the Doctor, Martin. He's here and wants to see you, ' sings outEast. 

"Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door opened, and there wasthe old Madman standing, looking precious scared--his jacket off, hisshirt-sleeves up to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all coveredwith anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like asailor-boy's, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. 'Twasall the Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East and I, who werelooking in under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie wasstanding on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and lookingdisgusted and half-poisoned. 

"'What can you be about, Martin?' says the Doctor. 'You really mustn'tgo on in this way; you're a nuisance to the whole passage. '

"'Please, sir, I was only mixing up this powder; there isn't any harmin it. And the Madman seized nervously on his pestle and mortar, toshow the Doctor the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went onpounding--click, click, click. He hadn't given six clicks before, puff!up went the whole into a great blaze, away went the pestle and mortaracross the study, and back we tumbled into the passage. The magpiefluttered down into the court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, howling, with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctor caught hold of him, and called to us to fetch some water. 'There, you silly fellow, ' saidhe, quite pleased, though, to find he wasn't much hurt, 'you see youdon't know the least what you're doing with all these things; and now, mind, you must give up practising chemistry by yourself. ' Then he tookhold of his arm and looked at it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, andhis eyes twinkled; but he said, quite grave, 'Here, you see, you've beenmaking all these foolish marks on yourself, which you can never get out, and you'll be very sorry for it in a year or two. Now come down to thehousekeeper's room, and let us see if you are hurt. ' And away wentthe two, and we all stayed and had a regular turn-out of the den, tillMartin came back with his hand bandaged and turned us out. However, I'llgo and see what he's after, and tell him to come in after prayers tosupper. " And away went Tom to find the boy in question, who dwelt in alittle study by himself, in New Row. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such a fancy for, was one ofthose unfortunates who were at that time of day (and are, I fear, still)quite out of their places at a public school. If we knew how to useour boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated as a naturalphilosopher. He had a passion for birds, beasts, and insects, and knewmore of them and their habits than any one in Rugby--except perhaps theDoctor, who knew everything. He was also an experimental chemist on asmall scale, and had made unto himself an electric machine, from whichit was his greatest pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to anysmall boys who were rash enough to venture into his study. And thiswas by no means an adventure free from excitement; for besides theprobability of a snake dropping on to your head or twining lovingly upyour leg, or a rat getting into your breeches-pocket in search of food, there was the animal and chemical odour to be faced, which always hungabout the den, and the chance of being blown up in some of the manyexperiments which Martin was always trying, with the most wondrousresults in the shape of explosions and smells that mortal boy ever heardof. Of course, poor Martin, in consequence of his pursuits, had becomean Ishmaelite in the house. In the first place, he half-poisoned all hisneighbours, and they in turn were always on the lookout to pounce uponany of his numerous live-stock, and drive him frantic by enticing hispet old magpie out of his window into a neighbouring study, and makingthe disreputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar. ThenMartin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court someten feet across, the window of which was completely commanded by thoseof the studies opposite in the Sick-room Row, these latter being ata slightly higher elevation. East, and another boy of an equallytormenting and ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, andhad expended huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments ofannoyance for the behoof of Martin and his live colony. One morningan old basket made its appearance, suspended by a short cord outsideMartin's window, in which were deposited an amateur nest containing fouryoung hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of Martin's life, for thetime being, and which he was currently asserted to have hatched uponhis own person. Early in the morning and late at night he was to beseen half out of window, administering to the varied wants of his callowbrood. After deep cogitation, East and his chum had spliced a knife onto the end of a fishing-rod; and having watched Martin out, had, afterhalf an hour's severe sawing, cut the string by which the basketwas suspended, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with hideousremonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, returning from his shortabsence, collected the fragments and replaced his brood (except onewhose neck had been broken in the descent) in their old location, suspending them this time by string and wire twisted together, defiantof any sharp instrument which his persecutors could command. But, likethe Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East and his chum had an answer forevery move of the adversary, and the next day had mounted a gun in theshape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of their window, trained so as tobear exactly upon the spot which Martin had to occupy while tending hisnurslings. The moment he began to feed they began to shoot. In vain didthe enemy himself invest in a pea-shooter, and endeavour to answer thefire while he fed the young birds with his other hand; his attention wasdivided, and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs told on hisface and hands, and drove him into howlings and imprecations. Hehad been driven to ensconce the nest in a corner of his alreadytoo-well-filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts of his owninvention, for the sieges were frequent by the neighbours when anyunusually ambrosial odour spread itself from the den to the neighbouringstudies. The door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the frameof the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it the owner carried onhis varied pursuits--much in the same state of mind, I should fancy, as a border-farmer lived in, in the days of the moss-troopers, when hishold might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any minute of nightor day. 

"Open, Martin, old boy; it's only I, Tom Brown. "

"Oh, very well; stop a moment. " One bolt went back. "You're sure Eastisn't there?"

"No, no; hang it, open. " Tom gave a kick, the other bolt creaked, and heentered the den. 

Den indeed it was--about five feet six inches long by five wide, andseven feet high. About six tattered school-books, and a few chemicalbooks, Taxidermy, Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, thelatter in much better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The othershelves, where they had not been cut away and used by the owner forother purposes, were fitted up for the abiding-places of birds, beasts, and reptiles. There was no attempt at carpet or curtain. The table wasentirely occupied by the great work of Martin, the electric machine, which was covered carefully with the remains of his table-cloth. Thejackdaw cage occupied one wall; and the other was adorned by a smallhatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin candle-box, in which hewas for the time being endeavouring to raise a hopeful young family offield-mice. As nothing should be let to lie useless, it was well thatthe candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin never had. A poundwas issued to him weekly, as to the other boys; but as candles wereavailable capital, and easily exchangeable for birds' eggs or youngbirds, Martin's pound invariably found its way in a few hours toHowlett's the bird-fancier's, in the Bilton road, who would give ahawk's or nightingale's egg or young linnet in exchange. Martin'singenuity was therefore for ever on the rack to supply himself witha light. Just now he had hit upon a grand invention, and the den waslighted by a flaring cotton wick issuing from a ginger-beer bottle fullof some doleful composition. When light altogether failed him, Martinwould loaf about by the fires in the passages or hall, after the mannerof Diggs, and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the firelight. 

"Well, old boy, you haven't got any sweeter in the den this half. Howthat stuff in the bottle stinks! Never mind; I ain't going to stop; butyou come up after prayers to our study. You know young Arthur. We've gotGray's study. We'll have a good supper and talk about bird-nesting. "

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, and promised tobe up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth form boys hadwithdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion of their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat down to their supper in the hall, Tom and Arthur, having secured their allowances of bread and cheese, started on theirfeet to catch the eye of the prepostor of the week, who remained incharge during supper, walking up and down the hall. He happened to be aneasy-going fellow, so they got a pleasant nod to their "Please may I goout?" and away they scrambled to prepare for Martin a sumptuous banquet. This Tom had insisted on, for he was in great delight on the occasion, the reason of which delight must be expounded. The fact was that thiswas the first attempt at a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, and Tom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with which he himself becamehail-fellow-well-met with anybody, and blundered into and out of twentyfriendships a half-year, made him sometimes sorry and sometimes angry atArthur's reserve and loneliness. True, Arthur was always pleasant, andeven jolly, with any boys who came with Tom to their study; but Tom feltthat it was only through him, as it were, that his chum associatedwith others, and that but for him Arthur would have been dwelling ina wilderness. This increased his consciousness of responsibility;and though he hadn't reasoned it out and made it clear to himself yetsomehow he knew that this responsibility, this trust which he had takenon him without thinking about it, head over heels in fact, was thecentre and turning-point of his school-life, that which was to make himor mar him, his appointed work and trial for the time being. And Tomwas becoming a new boy, though with frequent tumbles in the dirt andperpetual hard battle with himself, and was daily growing in manfulnessand thoughtfulness, as every high-couraged and well-principled boy must, when he finds himself for the first time consciously at grips with selfand the devil. Already he could turn almost without a sigh from theSchool-gates, from which had just scampered off East and three or fourothers of his own particular set, bound for some jolly lark not quiteaccording to law, and involving probably a row with louts, keepers, or farm-labourers, the skipping dinner or calling-over, some of PhoebeJennings's beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all as arelish. He had quite got over the stage in which he would grumble tohimself--"Well, hang it, it's very hard of the Doctor to have saddled mewith Arthur. Why couldn't he have chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin, orany of the fellows who never do anything but walk round the close, andfinish their copies the first day they're set?" But although all thiswas past, he longed, and felt that he was right in longing, for moretime for the legitimate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing, andfishing, within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be his companion;and he felt that when the "young un" (as he now generally called him)had found a pursuit and some other friend for himself, he should beable to give more time to the education of his own body with a clearconscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to pass; he almost hailed it asa special providence (as indeed it was, but not for the reasons hegave for it--what providences are?) that Arthur should have singled outMartin of all fellows for a friend. "The old Madman is the very fellow, "thought he; "he will take him scrambling over half the country afterbirds' eggs and flowers, make him run and swim and climb like an Indian, and not teach him a word of anything bad, or keep him from his lessons. What luck!" And so, with more than his usual heartiness, he dived intohis cupboard, and hauled out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two orthree bottles of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used onstate occasions; while Arthur, equally elated at the easy accomplishmentof his first act of volition in the joint establishment, produced fromhis side a bottle of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. Ina minute or two the noise of the boys coming up from supper was heard, and Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing his bread and cheese; andthe three fell to with hearty good-will upon the viands, talking fasterthan they ate, for all shyness disappeared in a moment before Tom'sbottled-beer and hospitable ways. "Here's Arthur, a regular youngtown-mouse, with a natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing to breakhis neck climbing trees, and with a passion for young snakes. "

"Well, I say, " sputtered out Martin eagerly, "will you come to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott's Spinney then? for I know of a kestrel'snest, up a fir-tree. I can't get at it without help; and, Brown, you canclimb against any one. "

"Oh yes, do let us go, " said Arthur; "I never saw a hawk's nest nor ahawk's egg. "

"You just come down to my study, then, and I'll show you five sorts, "said Martin. 

"Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection in the house, out andout, " said Tom; and then Martin, warming with unaccustomed good cheerand the chance of a convert, launched out into a proposed bird-nestingcampaign, betraying all manner of important secrets--a golden-crestedwren's nest near Butlin's Mound, a moor-hen who was sitting on nine eggsin a pond down the Barby road, and a kingfisher's nest in a corner ofthe old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he said, that noone had ever got a kingfisher's nest out perfect, and that the BritishMuseum, or the Government, or somebody, had offered 100 pounds to anyone who could bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the middle ofwhich astounding announcement, to which the others were listening withopen ears, and already considering the application of the 100 pounds, aknock came to the door, and East's voice was heard craving admittance. 

"There's Harry, " said Tom; "we'll let him in. I'll keep him steady, Martin. I thought the old boy would smell out the supper. "

The fact was, that Tom's heart had already smitten him for not askinghis fidus Achates to the feast, although only an extempore affair; andthough prudence and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together aloneat first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to open thedoor, broach another bottle of beer, and hand over the old ham-knuckleto the searching of his old friend's pocket-knife. 

"Ah, you greedy vagabonds, " said East, with his mouth full, "I knewthere was something going on when I saw you cut off out of hall soquick with your suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom! You are a wunner forbottling the swipes. "

"I've had practice enough for the sixth in my time, and it's hard if Ihaven't picked up a wrinkle or two for my own benefit. "

"Well, old Madman, and how goes the bird-nesting campaign? How'sHowlett? I expect the young rooks'll be out in another fortnight, andthen my turn comes. "

"There'll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month yet; shows how muchyou know about it, " rejoined Martin, who, though very good friends withEast, regarded him with considerable suspicion for his propensity topractical jokes. 

"Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but grub and mischief, " saidTom; "but young rook pie, specially when you've had to climb for them, is very pretty eating. --However, I say, Scud, we're all going after ahawk's nest to-morrow, in Caldecott's Spinney; and if you'll come andbehave yourself, we'll have a stunning climb. "

"And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray! I'm your man. "

"No, no; no bathing in Aganippe; that's where our betters go. "

"Well, well, never mind. I'm for the hawk's nest, and anything thatturns up. "

And the bottled-beer being finished, and his hunger appeased, Eastdeparted to his study, "that sneak Jones, " as he informed them, who hadjust got into the sixth, and occupied the next study, having instituteda nightly visitation upon East and his chum, to their no smalldiscomfort. 

When he was gone Martin rose to follow, but Tom stopped him. "No onegoes near New Row, " said he, "so you may just as well stop here and doyour verses, and then we'll have some more talk. We'll be no end quiet. Besides, no prepostor comes here now. We haven't been visited once thishalf. "

So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the three fell to workwith Gradus and dictionary upon the morning's vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in which such tasks weredone at Rugby, in the consulship of Plancus. And doubtless the methodis little changed, for there is nothing new under the sun, especially atschools. 

Now be it known unto all you boys who are at schools which do notrejoice in the time-honoured institution of the vulgus (commonlysupposed to have been established by William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported to Rugby by Arnold more for the sake of the lines whichwere learnt by heart with it than for its own intrinsic value, as I'vealways understood), that it is a short exercise in Greek or Latin verse, on a given subject, the minimum number of lines being fixed for eachform. 

The master of the form gave out at fourth lesson on the previous day thesubject for next morning's vulgus, and at first lesson each boy had tobring his vulgus ready to be looked over; and with the vulgus, acertain number of lines from one of the Latin or Greek poets then beingconstrued in the form had to be got by heart. The master at first lessoncalled up each boy in the form in order, and put him on in the lines. If he couldn't say them, or seem to say them, by reading them off themaster's or some other boy's book who stood near, he was sent back, and went below all the boys who did so say or seem to say them; butin either case his vulgus was looked over by the master, who gave andentered in his book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so manymarks as the composition merited. At Rugby vulgus and lines were thefirst lesson every other day in the week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, andSaturdays; and as there were thirty-eight weeks in the school year, itis obvious to the meanest capacity that the master of each form hadto set one hundred and fourteen subjects every year, two hundred andtwenty-eight every two years, and so on. Now, to persons of moderateinvention this was a considerable task, and human nature being prone torepeat itself, it will not be wondered that the masters gave the samesubjects sometimes over again after a certain lapse of time. To meetand rebuke this bad habit of the masters, the schoolboy mind, with itsaccustomed ingenuity, had invented an elaborate system of tradition. Almost every boy kept his own vulgus written out in a book, and thesebooks were duly handed down from boy to boy, till (if the tradition hasgone on till now) I suppose the popular boys, in whose hands bequeathedvulgus-books have accumulated, are prepared with three or four vulguseson any subject in heaven or earth, or in "more worlds than one, " whichan unfortunate master can pitch upon. At any rate, such lucky fellowshad generally one for themselves and one for a friend in my time. Theonly objection to the traditionary method of doing your vulguses was therisk that the successions might have become confused, and so that youand another follower of traditions should show up the same identicalvulgus some fine morning; in which case, when it happened, considerablegrief was the result. But when did such risk hinder boys or men fromshort cuts and pleasant paths?

Now in the study that night Tom was the upholder of the traditionarymethod of vulgus doing. He carefully produced two large vulgus-books, and began diving into them, and picking out a line here, and an endingthere (tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had gotten allthat he thought he could make fit. He then proceeded to patch his tagstogether with the help of his Gradus, producing an incongruous andfeeble result of eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for his form, and finishing up with two highly moral lines extra, making ten inall, which he cribbed entire from one of his books, beginning "O genushumanum, " and which he himself must have used a dozen times before, whenever an unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation or languageunder the sun, was the subject. Indeed he began to have great doubtswhether the master wouldn't remember them, and so only throw them in asextra lines, because in any case they would call off attention from theother tags, and if detected, being extra lines, he wouldn't be sent backto do more in their place, while if they passed muster again he wouldget marks for them. 

The second method, pursued by Martin, may be called the dogged orprosaic method. He, no more than Tom, took any pleasure in the task, but having no old vulgus-books of his own, or any one's else, couldnot follow the traditionary method, for which too, as Tom remarked, hehadn't the genius. Martin then proceeded to write down eight lines inEnglish, of the most matter-of-fact kind, the first that came into hishead; and to convert these, line by line, by main force of Gradus anddictionary into Latin that would scan. This was all he cared for--toproduce eight lines with no false quantities or concords: whether thewords were apt, or what the sense was, mattered nothing; and as thearticle was all new, not a line beyond the minimum did the followers ofthe dogged method ever produce. 

The third, or artistic method, was Arthur's. He considered first whatpoint in the character or event which was the subject could most neatlybe brought out within the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get hisidea into the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even twelvelines if he couldn't do this. He then set to work as much as possiblewithout Gradus or other help, to clothe his idea in appropriate Latin orGreek, and would not be satisfied till he had polished it well up withthe aptest and most poetic words and phrases he could get at. 

A fourth method, indeed, was used in the school, but of too simplea kind to require a comment. It may be called the vicarious method, obtained amongst big boys of lazy or bullying habits, and consistedsimply in making clever boys whom they could thrash do their wholevulgus for them, and construe it to them afterwards; which latter is amethod not to be encouraged, and which I strongly advise you all notto practise. Of the others, you will find the traditionary mosttroublesome, unless you can steal your vulguses whole (experto crede), and that the artistic method pays the best both in marks and other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o'clock, and Martin having rejoicedabove measure in the abundance of light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other conveniences almost unknown to him for getting through thework, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and do his verses therewhenever he liked, the three boys went down to Martin's den, and Arthurwas initiated into the lore of birds' eggs, to his great delight. The exquisite colouring and forms astonished and charmed him, who hadscarcely ever seen any but a hen's egg or an ostrich's, and by the timehe was lugged away to bed he had learned the names of at least twentysorts, and dreamed of the glorious perils of tree-climbing, and that hehad found a roc's egg in the island as big as Sinbad's, and clouded likea tit-lark's, in blowing which Martin and he had nearly been drowned inthe yolk. 

CHAPTER IV--THE BIRD-FANCIERS. 

 "I have found out a gift for my fair-- I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me the plunder forbear, She would say 'twas a barbarous deed. "--ROWE. 

 "And now, my lad, take them five shilling, And on my advice in future think; So Billy pouched them all so willing, And got that night disguised in drink. "--MS. Ballad. 

The next morning, at first lesson, Tom was turned back in his lines, and so had to wait till the second round; while Martin and Arthur saidtheirs all right, and got out of school at once. When Tom got out andran down to breakfast at Harrowell's they were missing, and Stumpsinformed him that they had swallowed down their breakfasts and gone offtogether--where, he couldn't say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast, and went first to Martin's study and then to his own; but no signs ofthe missing boys were to be found. He felt half angry and jealous ofMartin. Where could they be gone?

He learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no very good temper, and then went out into the quadrangle. About ten minutes before schoolMartin and Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless; and catchingsight of him, Arthur rushed up, all excitement, and with a bright glowon his face. 

"O Tom, look here!" cried he, holding out three moor-hen's eggs; "we'vebeen down the Barby road, to the pool Martin told us of last night, andjust see what we've got. "

Tom wouldn't be pleased, and only looked out for something to find faultwith. 

"Why, young un, " said he, "what have you been after? You don't mean tosay you've been wading?"

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up in a moment andlook piteous; and Tom with a shrug of his shoulders turned his anger onMartin. 

"Well, I didn't think, Madman, that you'd have been such a muff as tolet him be getting wet through at this time of day. You might have donethe wading yourself. "

"So I did, of course; only he would come in too, to see the nest. Weleft six eggs in. They'll be hatched in a day or two. "

"Hang the eggs!" said Tom; "a fellow can't turn his back for a momentbut all his work's undone. He'll be laid up for a week for this preciouslark, I'll be bound. "

"Indeed, Tom, now, " pleaded Arthur, "my feet ain't wet, for Martin mademe take off my shoes and stockings and trousers. "

"But they are wet, and dirty too; can't I see?" answered Tom; "andyou'll be called up and floored when the master sees what a state you'rein. You haven't looked at second lesson, you know. "

O Tom, you old humbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learningtheir lessons! If you hadn't been floored yourself now at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn't have been with them? And you've takenaway all poor little Arthur's joy and pride in his first birds' eggs, and he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes down his bookswith a sigh, thinking he has done something horribly wrong, whereas hehas learnt on in advance much more than will be done at second lesson. 

But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up, and makes some frightfulshots, losing about ten places, and all but getting floored. Thissomewhat appeases Tom's wrath, and by the end of the lesson he hasregained his temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to getright again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing Martin blowingthe eggs and gluing them carefully on to bits of cardboard, and notesthe anxious, loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And then he thinks, "What an ill-tempered beast I am! Here's just what Iwas wishing for last night come about, and I'm spoiling it all, " and inanother five minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and isrepaid by seeing his little sensitive plant expand again and sun itselfin his smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations for theirexpedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing-irons, filling largepill-boxes with cotton-wool, and sharpening East's small axe. They carryall their munitions into calling-overs and directly afterwards, havingdodged such prepostors as are on the lookout for fags at cricket, thefour set off at a smart trot down the Lawford footpath, straight forCaldecott's Spinney and the hawk's nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new sensation tohim, getting companions, and he finds it very pleasant, and means toshow them all manner of proofs of his science and skill. Brown and Eastmay be better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, but out inthe fields and woods see if I can't teach them something. He hastaken the leadership already, and strides away in front with hisclimbing-irons strapped under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and his pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton-wool, and otheretceteras. Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and East hishatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without a check, Arthur beganto lag; and Tom seeing this shouted to Martin to pull up a bit. "Weain't out hare-and-hounds. What's the good of grinding on at this rate?"

"There's the Spinney, " said Martin, pulling up on the brow of a slopeat the bottom of which lay Lawford brook, and pointing to the top of theopposite slope; "the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this end. And down by the brook there I know of a sedge-bird's nest. We'll go andlook at it coming back. "

"Oh, come on, don't let us stop, " said Arthur, who was getting excitedat the sight of the wood. So they broke into a trot again, and were soonacross the brook, up the slope, and into the Spinney. Here they advancedas noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies should beabout, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at the top of which Martinpointed out with pride the kestrel's nest, the object of their quest. 

"Oh, where? which is it?" asks Arthur, gaping up in the air, and havingthe most vague idea of what it would be like. 

"There, don't you see?" said East, pointing to a lump of mistletoe inthe next tree, which was a beech. He saw that Martin and Tom were busywith the climbing-irons, and couldn't resist the temptation of hoaxing. Arthur stared and wondered more than ever. 

"Well, how curious! It doesn't look a bit like what I expected, " saidhe. 

"Very odd birds, kestrels, " said East, looking waggishly at his victim, who was still star-gazing. 

"But I thought it was in a fir-tree?" objected Arthur. 

"Ah, don't you know? That's a new sort of fir which old Caldecottbrought from the Himalayas. "

"Really!" said Arthur; "I'm glad I know that. How unlike our firs theyare! They do very well too here, don't they? The Spinney's full ofthem. "

"What's that humbug he's telling you?" cried Tom, looking up, havingcaught the word Himalayas, and suspecting what East was after. 

"Only about this fir, " said Arthur, putting his hand on the stem of thebeech. 

"Fir!" shouted Tom; "why, you don't mean to say, young un, you don'tknow a beech when you see one?"

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East exploded inlaughter which made the wood ring. 

"I've hardly ever seen any trees, " faltered Arthur. 

"What a shame to hoax him, Scud!" cried Martin. --"Never mind, Arthur;you shall know more about trees than he does in a week or two. "

"And isn't that the kestrel's nest, then?" asked Arthur. "That! Why, that's a piece of mistletoe. There's the nest, that lump of sticks upthis fir. "

"Don't believe him, Arthur, " struck in the incorrigible East; "I justsaw an old magpie go out of it. "

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by a grunt, ashe buckled the last buckle of his climbing-irons, and Arthur lookedreproachfully at East without speaking. 

But now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult tree to climb untilthe branches were reached, the first of which was some fourteen feetup, for the trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed; in fact, neither of the boys could reach more than half round it with their arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it without success atfirst; the fir bark broke away where they stuck the irons in as soon asthey leant any weight on their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn'tenough to keep them up; so, after getting up three or four feet, downthey came slithering to the ground, barking their arms and faces. Theywere furious, and East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure, "Two to one on the old magpie!"

"We must try a pyramid, " said Tom at last. "Now, Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against the tree!"

"I dare say! and have you standing on my shoulders with the irons on. What do you think my skin's made of?" However, up he got, and leantagainst the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with his arms asfar as he could. 

"Now then, Madman, " said Tom, "you next. "

"No, I'm lighter than you; you go next. " So Tom got on East's shoulders, and grasped the tree above, and then Martin scrambled up on to Tom'sshoulders, amidst the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, witha spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground, clasped thestem some ten feet up, and remained clinging. For a moment or two theythought he couldn't get up; but then, holding on with arms and teeth, heworked first one iron then the other firmly into the bark, got anothergrip with his arms, and in another minute had hold of the lowest branch. 

"All up with the old magpie now, " said East; and after a minute'srest, up went Martin, hand over hand, watched by Arthur with fearfuleagerness. 

"Isn't it very dangerous?" said he. 

"Not a bit, " answered Tom; "you can't hurt if you only get goodhand-hold. Try every branch with a good pull before you trust it, andthen up you go. "

Martin was now amongst the small branches close to the nest, andaway dashed the old bird, and soared up above the trees, watching theintruder. 

"All right--four eggs!" shouted he. 

"Take 'em all!" shouted East; "that'll be one a-piece. "

"No, no; leave one, and then she won't care, " said Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn't count, and were quite content aslong as you left one egg. I hope it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes and the thirdinto his mouth, the only other place of safety, and came down like alamplighter. All went well till he was within ten feet of the ground, when, as the trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and atlast down he came with a run, tumbling on to his back on the turf, spluttering and spitting out the remains of the great egg, which hadbroken by the jar of his fall. 

"Ugh, ugh! something to drink--ugh! it was addled, " spluttered he, whilethe wood rang again with the merry laughter of East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their things, and went off tothe brook, where Martin swallowed huge draughts of water to get ridof the taste; and they visited the sedge-bird's nest, and from thencestruck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges and brakes asthey went along; and Arthur at last, to his intense delight, was allowedto climb a small hedgerow oak for a magpie's nest with Tom, who kept allround him like a mother, and showed him where to hold and how to throwhis weight; and though he was in a great fright, didn't show it, and wasapplauded by all for his lissomness. 

They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there, close to them, lay agreat heap of charming pebbles. 

"Look here, " shouted East; "here's luck! I've been longing for somegood, honest pecking this half-hour. Let's fill the bags, and have nomore of this foozling bird-nesting. "

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag he carried full ofstones. They crossed into the next field, Tom and East taking one sideof the hedges, and the other two the other side. Noise enough they madecertainly, but it was too early in the season for the young birds, andthe old birds were too strong on the wing for our young marksmen, and flew out of shot after the first discharge. But it was great fun, rushing along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after stone atblackbirds and chaffinches, though no result in the shape of slaughteredbirds was obtained; and Arthur soon entered into it, and rushed to headback the birds, and shouted, and threw, and tumbled into ditches, andover and through hedges, as wild as the Madman himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird (who wasevidently used to the thing and enjoyed the fun, for he would wait tillthey came close to him, and then fly on for forty yards or so, and, withan impudent flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset), came beating down a high double hedge, two on each side. 

"There he is again, " "Head him, " "Let drive, " "I had him there, " "Takecare where you're throwing, Madman. " The shouts might have been heard aquarter of a mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards off by afarmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctoring sheep in a fold inthe next field. 

Now, the farmer in question rented a house and yard situate at the endof the field in which the young bird-fanciers had arrived, which houseand yard he didn't occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, likea brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in maintaining on thepremises a large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. Of course, all sorts of depredators visited the place from time to time: foxes andgipsies wrought havoc in the night; while in the daytime, I regretto have to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and consequentdisappearances of ancient and respectable fowls were not unfrequent. Tom and East had during the period of their outlawry visited the farm inquestion for felonious purposes, and on one occasion had conquered andslain a duck there, and borne away the carcass triumphantly, hidden intheir handkerchiefs. However, they were sickened of the practice by thetrouble and anxiety which the wretched duck's body caused them. Theycarried it to Sally Harrowell's, in hopes of a good supper; but she, after examining it, made a long face, and refused to dress or haveanything to do with it. Then they took it into their study, and beganplucking it themselves; but what to do with the feathers, where to hidethem?

"Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!" groaned East, holding a bagful in his hand, and looking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half plucked. 

"And I do think he's getting high, too, already, " said Tom, smelling athim cautiously, "so we must finish him up soon. "

"Yes, all very well; but how are we to cook him? I'm sure I ain't goingto try it on in the hall or passages; we can't afford to be roastingducks about--our character's too bad. "

"I wish we were rid of the brute, " said Tom, throwing him on the tablein disgust. And after a day or two more it became clear that got rid ofhe must be; so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and puthim in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he was found in theholidays by the matron, a gruesome body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and thebold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an exampleof the first boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouchedbehind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were approaching allunconscious. Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in thehedge just at this particular moment of all the year? Who can say?Guinea-fowls always are; so are all other things, animals, and persons, requisite for getting one into scrapes--always ready when any mischiefcan come of them. At any rate, just under East's nose popped out the oldguinea-hen, scuttling along and shrieking, "Come back, come back, "at the top of her voice. Either of the other three might perhaps havewithstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has inhis hand at her, and then rushes to turn her into the hedge again. Hesucceeds, and then they are all at it for dear life, up and down thehedge in full cry, the "Come back, come back, " getting shriller andfainter every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creep downthe hedge towards the scene of action. They are almost within a stone'sthrow of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tomcatches sight of them, and sings out, "Louts, 'ware louts, your side!Madman, look ahead!" and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries him awayacross the field towards Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been byhimself, he would have stayed to see it out with the others, but nowhis heart sinks and all his pluck goes. The idea of being led up to theDoctor with Arthur for bagging fowls quite unmans and takes half the runout of him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East andMartin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gap, and come peltingafter Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time. The farmer and hismen are making good running about a field behind. Tom wishes to himselfthat they had made off in any other direction, but now they are all infor it together, and must see it out. 

"You won't leave the young un, will you?" says he, as they haul poorlittle Arthur, already losing wind from the fright, through the nexthedge. "Not we, " is the answer from both. The next hedge is a stiffone; the pursuers gain horribly on them, and they only just pull Arthurthrough, with two great rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherdcomes up on the other side. As they start into the next field, they areaware of two figures walking down the footpath in the middle of it, andrecognize Holmes and Diggs taking a constitutional. Those good-naturedfellows immediately shout, "On. " "Let's go to them and surrender, "pants Tom. Agreed. And in another minute the four boys, to the greatastonishment of those worthies, rush breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the matter; and then the whole is explainedby the appearance of the farmer and his men, who unite their forces andbear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom's heart beats frightfully quick, ashe ponders, "Will they stand by us?"

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; and that younggentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of kicking his shins, looksappealingly at Holmes, and stands still. 

"Hullo there; not so fast, " says Holmes, who is bound to stand up forthem till they are proved in the wrong. "Now what's all this about?"

"I've got the young varmint at last, have I, " pants the farmer; "why, they've been a-skulking about my yard and stealing my fowls--that'swhere 'tis; and if I doan't have they flogged for it, every one on 'em, my name ain't Thompson. "

Holmes looks grave and Diggs's face falls. They are quite ready tofight--no boys in the school more so; but they are prepostors, andunderstand their office, and can't uphold unrighteous causes. 

"I haven't been near his old barn this half, " cries East. "Nor I, " "NorI, " chime in Tom and Martin. 

"Now, Willum, didn't you see 'em there last week?"

"Ees, I seen 'em sure enough, " says Willum, grasping a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit that "if it worn'tthey 'twas chaps as like 'em as two peas'n;" and "leastways he'll swearhe see'd them two in the yard last Martinmas, " indicating East and Tom. 

Holmes has had time to meditate. "Now, sir, " says he to Willum, "you seeyou can't remember what you have seen, and I believe the boys. "

"I doan't care, " blusters the farmer; "they was arter my fowlsto-day--that's enough for I. --Willum, you catch hold o' t'other chap. They've been a-sneaking about this two hours, I tells 'ee, " shouted he, as Holmes stands between Martin and Willum, "and have druv a matter of adozen young pullets pretty nigh to death. "

"Oh, there's a whacker!" cried East; "we haven't been within a hundredyards of his barn; we haven't been up here above ten minutes, and we'veseen nothing but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound. "

"Indeed, that's all true, Holmes, upon my honour, " added Tom; "weweren't after his fowls; guinea-hen ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we've seen nothing else. "

"Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o' t'other, Willum, and come along wi'un. "

"Farmer Thompson, " said Holmes, warning off Willum and the prong withhis stick, while Diggs faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingerslike pistol-shots, "now listen to reason. The boys haven't been afteryour fowls, that's plain. "

"Tells 'ee I see'd'em. Who be you, I should like to know?"

"Never you mind, farmer, " answered Holmes. "And now I'll just tell youwhat it is: you ought to be ashamed of yourself for leaving all thatpoultry about, with no one to watch it, so near the School. You deserveto have it all stolen. So if you choose to come up to the Doctor withthem, I shall go with you, and tell him what I think of it. "

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides, he wanted to getback to his flock. Corporal punishment was out of the question, the oddswere too great; so he began to hint at paying for the damage. Arthurjumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer immediatelyvalued the guinea-hen at half a sovereign. 

"Half a sovereign!" cried East, now released from the farmer's grip;"well, that is a good one! The old hen ain't hurt a bit, and she's sevenyears old, I know, and as tough as whipcord; she couldn't lay anotheregg to save her life. "

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer two shillings, and his man one shilling; and so the matter ended, to the unspeakablerelief of Tom, who hadn't been able to say a word, being sick at heartat the idea of what the Doctor would think of him; and now the wholeparty of boys marched off down the footpath towards Rugby. Holmes, whowas one of the best boys in the School, began to improve the occasion. "Now, you youngsters, " said he, as he marched along in the middle ofthem, "mind this; you're very well out of this scrape. Don't you go nearThompson's barn again; do you hear?"

Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

"Mind, I don't ask questions, " went on Mentor, "but I rather think someof you have been there before this after his chickens. Now, knockingover other people's chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. It's a nasty word, but that's the plain English of it. If the chickenswere dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn't take them, I know that, anymore than you would apples out of Griffith's basket; but there's no realdifference between chickens running about and apples on a tree, and thesame articles in a shop. I wish our morals were sounder in such matters. There's nothing so mischievous as these school distinctions, whichjumble up right and wrong, and justify things in us for which poor boyswould be sent to prison. " And good old Holmes delivered his soul on thewalk home of many wise sayings, and, as the song says, "Gee'd 'em a sight of good advice;"

which same sermon sank into them all, more or less, and very penitentthey were for several hours. But truth compels me to admit that East, atany rate, forgot it all in a week, but remembered the insult which hadbeen put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole and otherhair-brained youngsters committed a raid on the barn soon afterwards, in which they were caught by the shepherds and severely handled, besideshaving to pay eight shillings--all the money they had in the world--toescape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study from this time, andArthur took to him so kindly that Tom couldn't resist slight fits ofjealousy, which, however, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel'seggs had not been broken, strange to say, and formed the nucleusof Arthur's collection, at which Martin worked heart and soul, andintroduced Arthur to Howlett the bird-fancier, and instructed him inthe rudiments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthurallowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists; whichdecoration, however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the end ofthe half-year he had trained into a bold climber and good runner, and, as Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds, flowers, and many other things, as our good-hearted and facetious young friendHarry East. 

CHAPTER V--THE FIGHT:

 "Surgebat Macnevisius Et mox jactabat ultro, Pugnabo tua gratia Feroci hoc Mactwoltro. "--Etonian. 

There is a certain sort of fellow--we who are used to studying boys allknow him well enough--of whom you can predicate with almost positivecertainty, after he has been a month at school, that he is sure to havea fight, and with almost equal certainty that he will have but one. TomBrown was one of these; and as it is our well-weighed intention to givea full, true, and correct account of Tom's only single combat with aschool-fellow in the manner of our old friend Bell's Life, let thoseyoung persons whose stomachs are not strong, or who think a good set-towith the weapons which God has given us all an uncivilized, unchristian, or ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter at once, for it won't beto their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those days for two School-house boys tohave a fight. Of course there were exceptions, when some cross-grained, hard-headed fellow came up who would never be happy unless he wasquarrelling with his nearest neighbours, or when there was someclass-dispute, between the fifth form and the fags, for instance, whichrequired blood-letting; and a champion was picked out on each sidetacitly, who settled the matter by a good hearty mill. But, for themost part, the constant use of those surest keepers of the peace, theboxing-gloves, kept the School-house boys from fighting one another. Twoor three nights in every week the gloves were brought out, either in thehall or fifth-form room; and every boy who was ever likely to fight atall knew all his neighbours' prowess perfectly well, and could tell to anicety what chance he would have in a stand-up fight with any otherboy in the house. But, of course, no such experience could be gotten asregarded boys in other houses; and as most of the other houses were moreor less jealous of the School-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I should like to know?From the cradle to the grave, fighting, rightly understood, is thebusiness, the real highest, honestest business of every son of man. Every one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, bethey evil thoughts and habits in himself, or spiritual wickednesses inhigh places, or Russians, or Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry, who will not let him live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for quakers, or any other body of men, to uplift theirvoices against fighting. Human nature is too strong for them, and theydon't follow their own precepts. Every soul of them is doing his ownpiece of fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might be a betterworld without fighting, for anything I know, but it wouldn't be ourworld; and therefore I am dead against crying peace when there is nopeace, and isn't meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folkfighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but I'd a deal soonersee them doing that than that they should have no fight in them. Sohaving recorded, and being about to record, my hero's fights of allsorts, with all sorts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an accountof his passage-at-arms with the only one of his school-fellows whom heever had to encounter in this manner. 

It was drawing towards the close of Arthur's first half-year, andthe May evenings were lengthening out. Locking-up was not till eighto'clock, and everybody was beginning to talk about what he would do inthe holidays. The shell, in which form all our dramatis personae noware, were reading, amongst other things, the last book of Homer's"Iliad, " and had worked through it as far as the speeches of the womenover Hector's body. It is a whole school-day, and four or five of theSchool-house boys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are preparingthird lesson together. They have finished the regulation forty lines, and are for the most part getting very tired, notwithstandingthe exquisite pathos of Helen's lamentation. And now several longfour-syllabled words come together, and the boy with the dictionarystrikes work. 

"I am not going to look out any more words, " says he; "we've done thequantity. Ten to one we shan't get so far. Let's go out into the close. "

"Come along, boys, " cries East, always ready to leave "the grind, " as hecalled it; "our old coach is laid up, you know, and we shall have one ofthe new masters, who's sure to go slow and let us down easy. "

So an adjournment to the close was carried nem. Con. , little Arthur notdaring to uplift his voice; but, being deeply interested in what theywere reading, stayed quietly behind, and learnt on for his own pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form was unwell, and theywere to be heard by one of the new masters--quite a young man, who hadonly just left the university. Certainly it would be hard lines if, by dawdling as much as possible in coming in and taking their places, entering into long-winded explanations of what was the usual course ofthe regular master of the form, and others of the stock contrivances ofboys for wasting time in school, they could not spin out the lesson sothat he should not work them through more than the forty lines. As towhich quantity there was a perpetual fight going on between the masterand his form--the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive resistance, that it was the prescribed quantity of Homer for a shell lesson; theformer, that there was no fixed quantity, but that they must always beready to go on to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within thehour. However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the new master got onhorribly quick. He seemed to have the bad taste to be really interestedin the lesson, and to be trying to work them up into something likeappreciation of it, giving them good, spirited English words, insteadof the wretched bald stuff into which they rendered poor old Homer, andconstruing over each piece himself to them, after each boy, to show themhow it should be done. 

Now the clock strikes the three-quarters; there is only a quarter of anhour more, but the forty lines are all but done. So the boys, one afteranother, who are called up, stick more and more, and make balder andever more bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty near beat bythis time, and feels ready to knock his head against the wall, or hisfingers against somebody else's head. So he gives up altogether thelower and middle parts of the form, and looks round in despair at theboys on the top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he can strikea spark or two, and who will be too chivalrous to murder the mostbeautiful utterances of the most beautiful woman of the old world. Hiseye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish construing Helen'sspeech. Whereupon all the other boys draw long breaths, and begin tostare about and take it easy. They are all safe: Arthur is the head ofthe form, and sure to be able to construe, and that will tide on safelytill the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek before construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn't paying much attention, is suddenlycaught by the falter in his voice as he reads the two lines--

[greek text deleted]

He looks up at Arthur. "Why, bless us, " thinks he, "what can be thematter with the young un? He's never going to get floored. He's sureto have learnt to the end. " Next moment he is reassured by the spiritedtone in which Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself to drawingdogs' heads in his notebook, while the master, evidently enjoying thechange, turns his back on the middle bench and stands before Arthur, beating a sort of time with his hand and foot, and saying; "Yes, yes, ""Very well, " as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that falter, and againlooks up. He sees that there is something the matter; Arthur can hardlyget on at all. What can it be?

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, and fairly burstsout crying, and dashes the cuff of his jacket across his eyes, blushingup to the roots of his hair, and feeling as if he should like to go downsuddenly through the floor. The whole form are taken aback; most of themstare stupidly at him, while those who are gifted with presence of mindfind their places and look steadily at their books, in hopes of notcatching the master's eye and getting called up in Arthur's place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected to tears by the most touching thing inHomer, perhaps in all profane poetry put together, steps up to him andlays his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, "Never mind, my littleman, you've construed very well. Stop a minute; there's no hurry. "

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above Tom on that day, inthe middle bench of the form, a big boy, by name Williams, generallysupposed to be the cock of the shell, therefore of all the school belowthe fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess oftheir elders, used to hold forth to one another about Williams's greatstrength, and to discuss whether East or Brown would take a licking fromhim. He was called Slogger Williams, from the force with which it wassupposed he could hit. In the main, he was a rough, goodnatured fellowenough, but very much alive to his own dignity. He reckoned himselfthe king of the form, and kept up his position with the strong hand, especially in the matter of forcing boys not to construe more than thelegitimate forty lines. He had already grunted and grumbled to himselfwhen Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines; but now that hehad broken down just in the middle of all the long words, the Slogger'swrath was fairly roused. 

"Sneaking little brute, " muttered he, regardless of prudence--"clappingon the water-works just in the hardest place; see if I don't punch hishead after fourth lesson. "

"Whose?" said Tom, to whom the remark seemed to be addressed. 

"Why, that little sneak, Arthur's, " replied Williams. 

"No, you shan't, " said Tom. 

"Hullo!" exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with great surprise for amoment, and then giving him a sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom's books flying on to the floor, and called the attentionof the master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state ofthings, said, --

"Williams, go down three places, and then go on. "

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded to go below Tomand two other boys with great disgust; and then, turning round andfacing the master, said, "I haven't learnt any more, sir; our lesson isonly forty lines. "

"Is that so?" said the master, appealing generally to the top bench. Noanswer. 

"Who is the head boy of the form?" said he, waxing wroth. 

"Arthur, sir, " answered three or four boys, indicating our friend. 

"Oh, your name's Arthur. Well, now, what is the length of your regularlesson?"

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, "We call it only forty lines, sir. "

"How do you mean--you call it?"

"Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain't to stop there when there's time toconstrue more. "

"I understand, " said the master. --"Williams, go down three more places, and write me out the lesson in Greek and English. And now, Arthur, finish construing. "

"Oh! would I be in Arthur's shoes after fourth lesson?" said the littleboys to one another; but Arthur finished Helen's speech without anyfurther catastrophe, and the clock struck four, which ended thirdlesson. 

Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying fourth lesson, duringwhich Williams was bottling up his wrath; and when five struck, and thelessons for the day were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance onthe innocent cause of his misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the rest, and on comingout into the quadrangle, the first thing he saw was a small ring ofboys, applauding Williams, who was holding Arthur by the collar. 

"There, you young sneak, " said he, giving Arthur a cuff on the head withhis other hand; "what made you say that--"

"Hullo!" said Tom, shouldering into the crowd; "you drop that, Williams;you shan't touch him. "

"Who'll stop me?" said the Slogger, raising his hand again. 

"I, " said Tom; and suiting the action to the word he struck the armwhich held Arthur's arm so sharply that the Slogger dropped it with astart, and turned the full current of his wrath on Tom. 

"Will you fight?"

"Yes, of course. "

"Huzza! There's going to be a fight between Slogger Williams and TomBrown!"

The news ran like wildfire about, and many boys who were on their wayto tea at their several houses turned back, and sought the back of thechapel, where the fights come off. 

"Just run and tell East to come and back me, " said Tom to a smallSchool-house boy, who was off like a rocket to Harrowell's, juststopping for a moment to poke his head into the School-house hall, wherethe lower boys were already at tea, and sing out, "Fight! Tom Brown andSlogger Williams. "

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, butter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of themselves. The greater part of theremainder follow in a minute, after swallowing their tea, carrying theirfood in their hands to consume as they go. Three or four only remain, who steal the butter of the more impetuous, and make to themselves anunctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through the quadrangle, carryinga sponge, and arrive at the scene of action just as the combatants arebeginning to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he stripped off hisjacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied his handkerchief round hiswaist, and rolled up his shirtsleeves for him. "Now, old boy, don't youopen your mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit--we'll doall that; you keep all your breath and strength for the Slogger. " Martinmeanwhile folded the clothes, and put them under the chapel rails; andnow Tom, with East to handle him, and Martin to give him a knee, stepsout on the turf, and is ready for all that may come; and here is theSlogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for the fray. 

It doesn't look a fair match at first glance: Williams is nearly twoinches taller, and probably a long year older than his opponent, and heis very strongly made about the arms and shoulders--"peels well, " as thelittle knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say, who stand outsidethe ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but taking no activepart in the proceedings. But down below he is not so good by anymeans--no spring from the loins, and feeblish, not to say shipwrecky, about the knees. Tom, on the contrary, though not half so strong in thearms, is good all over, straight, hard, and springy, from neck to ankle, better perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by theclear white of his eye, and fresh, bright look of his skin, that he isin tip-top training, able to do all he knows; while the Slogger looksrather sodden, as if he didn't take much exercise and ate too muchtuck. The time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two standup opposite one another for a moment, giving us time just to make ourlittle observations. 

"If Tom'll only condescend to fight with his head and heels, " as Eastmutters to Martin, "we shall do. "

But seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, making play with bothhands. Hard all is the word; the two stand to one another like men;rally follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if he thoughtto finish the whole thing out of hand. "Can't last at this rate, " saythe knowing ones, while the partisans of each make the air ringwith their shouts and counter-shouts of encouragement, approval, anddefiance. 

"Take it easy, take it easy; keep away; let him come after you, "implores East, as he wipes Tom's face after the first round with a wetsponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman'slong arms which tremble a little from excitement. 

"Time's up, " calls the time-keeper. 

"There he goes again, hang it all!" growls East, as his man is at itagain, as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom getsout and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, anddeposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house, and the School-houseare silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere. 

"Two to one in half-crowns on the big un, " says Rattle, one of theamateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy, good-natured face. 

"Done!" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out hisnotebook to enter it, for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets theselittle things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges for next round, andhas set two other boys to rub his hands. 

"Tom, old boy, " whispers he, "this may be fun for you, but it's death tome. He'll hit all the fight out of you in another five minutes, and thenI shall go and drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him; use yourlegs; draw him about. He'll lose his wind then in no time, and you cango into him. Hit at his body too; we'll take care of his frontispieceby-and-by. "

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already that he couldn't goin and finish the Slogger off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed histactics completely in the third round. He now fights cautiously, gettingaway from and parrying the Slogger's lunging hits, instead of tryingto counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the ring afterhim. "He's funking; go in, Williams, " "Catch him up, " "Finish him off, "scream the small boys of the Slogger party. 

"Just what we want, " thinks East, chuckling to himself, as he seesWilliams, excited by these shouts, and thinking the game in his ownhands, blowing himself in his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom is keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom always on thedefensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly blown. 

"Now, then, Tom, " sings out East, dancing with delight. Tom goes in in atwinkling, and hits two heavy body blows, and gets away again before theSlogger can catch his wind, which when he does he rushes with blind furyat Tom, and being skilfully parried and avoided, overreaches himself andfalls on his face, amidst terrific cheers from the School-house boys. 

"Double your two to one?" says Groove to Rattle, notebook in hand. 

"Stop a bit, " says that hero, looking uncomfortably at Williams, who ispuffing away on his second's knee, winded enough, but little the worsein any other way. 

After another round the Slogger too seems to see that he can't go in andwin right off, and has met his match or thereabouts. So he too beginsto use his head, and tries to make Tom lose his patience, and come inbefore his time. And so the fight sways on, now one and now the othergetting a trifling pull. 

Tom's face begins to look very one-sided--there are little queer bumpson his forehead, and his mouth is bleeding; but East keeps the wetsponge going so scientifically that he comes up looking as fresh andbright as ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but bythe nervous movement of his elbows you can see that Tom's body blows aretelling. In fact, half the vice of the Slogger's hitting is neutralized, for he daren't lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It istoo interesting by this time for much shouting, and the whole ring isvery quiet. 

"All right, Tommy, " whispers East; "hold on's the horse that's to win. We've got the last. Keep your head, old boy. "

But where is Arthur all this time? Words cannot paint the poor littlefellow's distress. He couldn't muster courage to come up to the ring, but wandered up and down from the great fives court to the corner of thechapel rails, now trying to make up his mind to throw himself betweenthem, and try to stop them; then thinking of running in and telling hisfriend Mary, who, he knew, would instantly report to the Doctor. The stories he had heard of men being killed in prize-fights rose uphorribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of "Well done, Brown!" "Huzza for theSchool-house!" rose higher than ever, he ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was won. Catching sight of Tom's face in the stateI have described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his mind;he rushed straight off to the matron's room, beseeching her to get thefight stopped, or he should die. 

But it's time for us to get back to the close. What is this fiercetumult and confusion? The ring is broken, and high and angry words arebeing bandied about. "It's all fair"--"It isn't"--"No hugging!" Thefight is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, tended bytheir seconds, while their adherents wrangle in the middle. East can'thelp shouting challenges to two or three of the other side, though henever leaves Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom, seeing a goodopening, had closed with his opponent, and after a moment's struggle, had thrown him heavily, by help of the fall he had learnt from hisvillage rival in the Vale of White Horse. Williams hadn't the ghost ofa chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke at once onthe Slogger faction that if this were allowed their man must be licked. There was a strong feeling in the School against catching hold andthrowing, though it was generally ruled all fair within limits; so thering was broken and the fight stopped. 

The School-house are overruled--the fight is on again, but there is tobe no throwing; and East, in high wrath, threatens to take his man awayafter next round (which he don't mean to do, by the way), when suddenlyyoung Brooke comes through the small gate at the end of the chapel. TheSchool-house faction rush to him. "Oh, hurrah! now we shall get fairplay. "

"Please, Brooke, come up. They won't let Tom Brown throw him. "

"Throw whom?" says Brooke, coming up to the ring. "Oh! Williams, I see. Nonsense! Of course he may throw him, if he catches him fairly above thewaist. "

Now, young Brooke, you're in the sixth, you know, and you ought to stopall fights. He looks hard at both boys. "Anything wrong?" says he toEast, nodding at Tom. 

"Not a bit. "

"Not beat at all?"

"Bless you, no! Heaps of fight in him. --Ain't there, Tom?"

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

"How's he?" nodding at Williams. 

"So so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He won't stand abovetwo more. "

"Time's up!" The boys rise again and face one another. Brooke can't findit in his heart to stop them just yet, so the round goes on, the Sloggerwaiting for Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out shouldhe come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that that must bestopped, or his sponge will soon go up in the air. 

And now another newcomer appears on the field, to wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great wooden receptacle for dust under his arm. He has been sweeping out the schools. 

"You'd better stop, gentlemen, " he says; "the Doctor knows that Brown'sfighting--he'll be out in a minute. "

"You go to Bath, Bill, " is all that that excellent servitor gets byhis advice; and being a man of his hands, and a stanch upholder of theSchool-house, can't help stopping to look on for a bit, and see TomBrown, their pet craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys feel this, and summonevery power of head, hand, and eye to their aid. A piece of luck oneither side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he has all thelegs, and can choose his own time. The Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarterslowly over the ground, the evening sun comes out from behind a cloudand falls full on Williams's face. Tom darts in; the heavy right handis delivered, but only grazes his head. A short rally at close quarters, and they close; in another moment the Slogger is thrown again heavilyfor the third time. 

"I'll give you three or two on the little one in half-crowns, " saidGroove to Rattle. 

"No, thank 'ee, " answers the other, diving his hands farther into hiscoat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the turret whichleads to the Doctor's library suddenly opens, and he steps into theclose, and makes straight for the ring, in which Brown and the Sloggerare both seated on their seconds' knees for the last time. 

"The Doctor! the Doctor!" shouts some small boy who catches sight ofhim, and the ring melts away in a few seconds, the small boys tearingoff, Tom collaring his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through thelittle gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell's with hisbackers, as lively as need be; Williams and his backers making off notquite so fast across the close; Groove, Rattle, and the other biggerfellows trying to combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, andwalking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, and not fastenough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the time the Doctor getsthere, and touches his hat, not without a slight inward qualm. 

"Hah! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. Don't you know that Iexpect the sixth to stop fighting?"

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had expected, but he wasrather a favourite with the Doctor for his openness and plainness ofspeech, so blurted out, as he walked by the Doctor's side, who hadalready turned back, --

"Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us to exercise adiscretion in the matter too--not to interfere too soon. "

"But they have been fighting this half-hour and more, " said the Doctor. 

"Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they're the sort of boys who'll beall the better friends now, which they wouldn't have been if they hadbeen stopped, any earlier--before it was so equal. "

"Who was fighting with Brown?" said the Doctor. 

"Williams, sir, of Thompson's. He is bigger than Brown, and had the bestof it at first, but not when you came up, sir. There's a good deal ofjealousy between our house and Thompson's, and there would have beenmore fights if this hadn't been let go on, or if either of them had hadmuch the worst of it. "

"Well but, Brooke, " said the Doctor, "doesn't this look a little asif you exercised your discretion by only stopping a fight when theSchool-house boy is getting the worst of it?"

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

"Now remember, " added the Doctor, as he stopped at the turret-door, "this fight is not to go on; you'll see to that. And I expect you tostop all fights in future at once. "

"Very well, sir, " said young Brooke, touching his hat, and not sorry tosee the turret-door close behind the Doctor's back. 

Meantime Tom and the stanchest of his adherents had reached Harrowell's, and Sally was bustling about to get them a late tea, while Stumps hadbeen sent off to Tew, the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for Tom'seye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might show well in themorning. He was not a bit the worse, except a slight difficulty in hisvision, a singing in his ears, and a sprained thumb, which he kept ina cold-water bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and listened to thebabel of voices talking and speculating of nothing but the fight, andhow Williams would have given in after another fall (which he didn't inthe least believe), and how on earth the Doctor could have got to knowof it--such bad luck! He couldn't help thinking to himself that he wasglad he hadn't won; he liked it better as it was, and felt very friendlyto the Slogger. And then poor little Arthur crept in and sat downquietly near him, and kept looking at him and the raw beef with suchplaintive looks that Tom at last burst out laughing. 

"Don't make such eyes, young un, " said he; "there's nothing the matter. "

"Oh, but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can't bear thinking it was all forme. "

"Not a bit of it; don't flatter yourself. We were sure to have had itout sooner or later. "

"Well, but you won't go on, will you? You'll promise me you won't goon?"

"Can't tell about that--all depends on the houses. We're in the handsof our countrymen, you know. Must fight for the School-house flag, if sobe. "

However, the lovers of the science were doomed to disappointment thistime. Directly after locking-up, one of the night-fags knocked at Tom'sdoor. 

"Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form room. "

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates sitting at theirsupper. 

"Well, Brown, " said young Brooke, nodding to him, "how do you feel?"

"Oh, very well, thank you, only I've sprained my thumb, I think. "

"Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn't the worst of it, I couldsee. Where did you learn that throw?"

"Down in the country when I was a boy. "

"Hullo! why, what are you now? Well, never mind, you're a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper. "

Tom obeyed, by no means loath. And the fifth-form boy next filled him atumbler of bottled beer, and he ate and drank, listening to the pleasanttalk, and wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one of thatmuch-envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, "You must shake hands to-morrowmorning; I shall come and see that done after first lesson. "

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook hands with greatsatisfaction and mutual respect. And for the next year or two, wheneverfights were being talked of, the small boys who had been present shooktheir heads wisely, saying, "Ah! but you should just have seen the fightbetween Slogger Williams and Tom Brown!"

And now, boys all, three words before we quit the subject. I have putin this chapter on fighting of malice prepense, partly because I want togive you a true picture of what everyday school life was in my time, andnot a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat picture, and partly because ofthe cant and twaddle that's talked of boxing and fighting with fistsnowadays. Even Thackeray has given in to it; and only a few weeks agothere was some rampant stuff in the Times on the subject, in an articleon field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will sometimes fight. Fightingwith fists is the natural and English way for English boys to settletheir quarrels. What substitute for it is there, or ever was there, amongst any nation under the sun? What would you like to see take itsplace?

Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and football. Not oneof you will be the worse, but very much the better, for learning to boxwell. Should you never have to use it in earnest, there's no exercisein the world so good for the temper and for the muscles of the back andlegs. 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all means. When thetime comes, if it ever should, that you have to say "Yes" or "No" toa challenge to fight, say "No" if you can--only take care you makeit clear to yourselves why you say "No. " It's a proof of the highestcourage, if done from true Christian motives. It's quite right andjustifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. But don't say "No" because you fear a licking, and say or think it'sbecause you fear God, for that's neither Christian nor honest. And ifyou do fight, fight it out; and don't give in while you can stand andsee. 

CHAPTER VI--FEVER IN THE SCHOOL. 

 "This our hope for all that's mortal And we too shall burst the bond; Death keeps watch beside the portal, But 'tis life that dwells beyond. " --JOHN STERLING. 

Two years have passed since the events recorded in the last chapter, andthe end of the summer half-year is again drawing on. Martin has left andgone on a cruise in the South Pacific, in one of his uncle's ships; theold magpie, as disreputable as ever, his last bequest to Arthur, livesin the joint study. Arthur is nearly sixteen, and at the head of thetwenty, having gone up the school at the rate of a form a half-year. East and Tom have been much more deliberate in their progress, and areonly a little way up the fifth form. Great strapping boys they are, but still thorough boys, filling about the same place in the house thatyoung Brooke filled when they were new boys, and much the same sortof fellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur has done much for both ofthem, especially for Tom; but much remains yet to be done, if theyare to get all the good out of Rugby which is to be got there in thesetimes. Arthur is still frail and delicate, with more spirit than body;but, thanks to his intimacy with them and Martin, has learned to swim, and run, and play cricket, and has never hurt himself by too muchreading. 

One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper in the fifth-formroom, some one started a report that a fever had broken out at one ofthe boarding-houses. "They say, " he added, "that Thompson is very ill, and that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northampton. "

"Then we shall all be sent home, " cried another. "Hurrah! five weeks'extra holidays, and no fifth-form examination!"

"I hope not, " said Tom; "there'll be no Marylebone match then at the endof the half. "

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn't believe the report;but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Robertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had long conferences with the Doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor addressed the wholeschool. There were several cases of fever in different houses, he said;but Dr. Robertson, after the most careful examination, had assured himthat it was not infectious, and that if proper care were taken, there could be no reason for stopping the school-work at present. Theexaminations were just coming on, and it would be very unadvisable tobreak up now. However, any boys who chose to do so were at liberty towrite home, and, if their parents wished it, to leave at once. He shouldsend the whole school home if the fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other case. Before theend of the week thirty or forty boys had gone, but the rest stayed on. There was a general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it wascowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright afternoon, while thecricket-match was going on as usual on the big-side ground. The Doctor, coming from his deathbed, passed along the gravel-walk at the sideof the close, but no one knew what had happened till the next day. Atmorning lecture it began to be rumoured, and by afternoon chapel wasknown generally; and a feeling of seriousness and awe at the actualpresence of death among them came over the whole school. In all the longyears of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke words which sankdeeper than some of those in that day's sermon. 

"When I came yesterday from visiting all but the very death-bed of himwho has been taken from us, and looked around upon all the familiarobjects and scenes within our own ground, where your common amusementswere going on with your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt therewas nothing painful in witnessing that; it did not seem in any wayshocking or out of tune with those feelings which the sight of a dyingChristian must be supposed to awaken. The unsuitableness in point ofnatural feeling between scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness didnot at all present itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any ofthose faults had been brought before me which sometimes occur amongstus; had I heard that any of you had been guilty of falsehood, or ofdrunkenness, or of any other such sin; had I heard from any quarter thelanguage of profaneness, or of unkindness, or of indecency; had I heardor seen any signs of that wretched folly which courts the laugh offools by affecting not to dread evil and not to care for good, then theunsuitableness of any of these things with the scene I had just quittedwould indeed have been most intensely painful. And why? Not because suchthings would really have been worse than at any other time, but becauseat such a moment the eyes are opened really to know good and evil, because we then feel what it is so to live as that death becomes aninfinite blessing, and what it is so to live also that it were good forus if we had never been born. "

Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about Arthur, but he cameout cheered and strengthened by those grand words, and walked up aloneto their study. And when he sat down and looked round, and saw Arthur'sstraw hat and cricket-jacket hanging on their pegs, and marked all hislittle neat arrangements, not one of which had been disturbed, the tearsindeed rolled down his cheeks; but they were calm and blessed tears, andhe repeated to himself, "Yes, Geordie's eyes are opened; he knows whatit is so to live as that death becomes an infinite blessing. But do I? OGod, can I bear to lose him?"

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys sickened, but Arthur wasreported worse each day, and his mother arrived early in the week. Tommade many appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried toget up to the sick-room; but the housekeeper was always in the way, andat last spoke to the Doctor, who kindly but peremptorily forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday, and the burial service, so soothingand grand always, but beyond all words solemn when read over a boy'sgrave to his companions, brought him much comfort, and many strangenew thoughts and longings. He went back to his regular life, and playedcricket and bathed as usual. It seemed to him that this was the rightthing to do, and the new thoughts and longings became more brave andhealthy for the effort. The crisis came on Saturday; the day week thatThompson had died; and during that long afternoon Tom sat in his studyreading his Bible, and going every half-hour to the housekeeper's room, expecting each time to hear that the gentle and brave little spirithad gone home. But God had work for Arthur to do. The crisis passed:on Sunday evening he was declared out of danger; on Monday he sent amessage to Tom that he was almost well, had changed his room, and was tobe allowed to see him the next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the open window, through which the raysof the western sun stole gently, lighting up his white face and goldenhair. Tom remembered a German picture of an angel which he knew; oftenhad he thought how transparent and golden and spirit-like it was; andhe shuddered, to think how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as ifhis blood had all stopped short, as he realized how near the other worldhis friend must have been to look like that. Never till that moment hadhe felt how his little chum had twined himself round his heart-strings, and as he stole gently across the room and knelt down, and put his armround Arthur's head on the pillow, felt ashamed and half-angry at hisown red and brown face, and the bounding sense of health and power whichfilled every fibre of his body, and made every movement of mere living ajoy to him. He needn't have troubled himself: it was this very strengthand power so different from his own which drew Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thin, white hand, on which the blue veins stood out soplainly, on Tom's great brown fist, and smiled at him; and then lookedout of the window again, as if he couldn't bear to lose a moment of thesunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round which the rookswere circling and clanging, returning in flocks from their evening'sforaging parties. The elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outsidethe window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling, and making it upagain; the rooks, young and old, talked in chorus, and the merry shoutsof the boys and the sweet click of the cricket-bats came up cheerilyfrom below. 

"Dear George, " said Tom, "I am so glad to be let up to see you at last. I've tried hard to come so often, but they wouldn't let me before. "

"Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day about you, and how she wasobliged to make the Doctor speak to you to keep you away. I'm very gladyou didn't get up, for you might have caught it; and you couldn't standbeing ill, with all the matches going on. And you're in the eleven, too, I hear. I'm so glad. "

"Yes; ain't it jolly?" said Tom proudly. "I'm ninth too. I made forty atthe last pie-match, and caught three fellows out. So I was put inabove Jones and Tucker. Tucker's so savage, for he was head of thetwenty-two. "

"Well, I think you ought to be higher yet, " said Arthur, who was asjealous for the renown of Tom in games as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

"Never mind. I don't care about cricket or anything now you're gettingwell, Geordie; and I shouldn't have hurt, I know, if they'd have let mecome up. Nothing hurts me. But you'll get about now directly, won't you?You won't believe how clean I've kept the study. All your things arejust as you left them; and I feed the old magpie just when you used, though I have to come in from big-side for him, the old rip. He won'tlook pleased all I can do, and sticks his head first on one side andthen on the other, and blinks at me before he'll begin to eat, till I'mhalf inclined to box his ears. And whenever East comes in, you shouldsee him hop off to the window, dot and go one, though Harry wouldn'ttouch a feather of him now. "

Arthur laughed. "Old Gravey has a good memory; he can't forget thesieges of poor Martin's den in old times. " He paused a moment, and thenwent on: "You can't think how often I've been thinking of old Martinsince I've been ill. I suppose one's mind gets restless, and likes towander off to strange, unknown places. I wonder what queer new pets theold boy has got. How he must be revelling in the thousand new birds, beasts, and fishes!"

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a moment. "Fancy himon a South Sea island, with the Cherokees, or Patagonians, or somesuch wild niggers!" (Tom's ethnology and geography were faulty, but sufficient for his needs. ) "They'll make the old Madman cockmedicine-man, and tattoo him all over. Perhaps he's cutting about nowall blue, and has a squaw and a wigwam. He'll improve their boomerangs, and be able to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent after himby the Doctor to take them away. "

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang story, but thenlooked grave again, and said, "He'll convert all the island, I know. "

"Yes, if he don't blow it up first. "

"Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used to laugh at him and chaffhim, because he said he was sure the rooks all had calling-over orprayers, or something of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang? Well, I declare, " said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom's laughing eyes, "I do think he was right. Since I've been lying here, I've watched themevery night; and, do you know, they really do come and perch, all ofthem, just about locking-up time; and then first there's a regularchorus of caws; and then they stop a bit, and one old fellow, or perhapstwo or three in different trees, caw solos; and then off they all goagain, fluttering about and cawing anyhow till they roost. "

"I wonder if the old blackies do talk, " said Tom, looking up at them. "How they must abuse me and East, and pray for the Doctor for stoppingthe slinging!"

"There! look, look!" cried Arthur; "don't you see the old fellow withouta tail coming up? Martin used to call him the 'clerk. ' He can't steerhimself. You never saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can'tsteer himself home, and gets carried right past the trees, and has tobear up again and again before he can perch. "

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys were silent, andlistened to it. The sound soon carried Tom off to the river and thewoods, and he began to go over in his mind the many occasions on whichhe had heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had to packhis rod in a hurry and make a run for it, to get in before the gateswere shut. He was roused with a start from his memories by Arthur'svoice, gentle and weak from his late illness. 

"Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very seriously?"

"No, dear old boy, not I. But ain't you faint, Arthur, or ill? What canI get you? Don't say anything to hurt yourself now--you are very weak;let me come up again. "

"No, no; I shan't hurt myself. I'd sooner speak to you now, if you don'tmind. I've asked Mary to tell the Doctor that you are with me, so youneedn't go down to calling-over; and I mayn't have another chance, forI shall most likely have to go home for change of air to get well, andmayn't come back this half. "

"Oh, do you think you must go away before the end of the half? I'mso sorry. It's more than five weeks yet to the holidays, and all thefifth-form examination and half the cricket-matches to come yet. Andwhat shall I do all that time alone in our study? Why, Arthur, it willbe more than twelve weeks before I see you again. Oh, hang it, I can'tstand that! Besides who's to keep me up to working at the examinationbooks? I shall come out bottom of the form, as sure as eggs is eggs. "

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for he wanted toget Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking it would do him harm; butArthur broke in, --

"Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you'll drive all I had to say out of my head. And I'm already horribly afraid I'm going to make you angry. "

"Don't gammon, young un, " rejoined Tom (the use of the old name, dear tohim from old recollections, made Arthur start and smile and feel quitehappy); "you know you ain't afraid, and you've never made me angry sincethe first month we chummed together. Now I'm going to be quite sober fora quarter of an hour, which is more than I am once in a year; so makethe most of it; heave ahead, and pitch into me right and left. "

"Dear Tom, I ain't going to pitch into you, " said Arthur piteously; "andit seems so cocky in me to be advising you, who've been my backbone eversince I've been at Rugby, and have made the school a paradise to me. Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go head over heels at once, asyou said when you taught me to swim. Tom, I want you to give up usingvulgus-books and cribs. "

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if the effort had beengreat; but the worst was now over, and he looked straight at Tom, whowas evidently taken aback. He leant his elbows on his knees, and stuckhis hands into his hair, whistled a verse of "Billy Taylor, " and thenwas quite silent for another minute. Not a shade crossed his face, but he was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up, and caught Arthur'sanxious look, took his hand, and said simply, --

"Why, young un?"

"Because you're the honestest boy in Rugby, and that ain't honest. "

"I don't see that. "

"What were you sent to Rugby for?"

"Well, I don't know exactly--nobody ever told me. I suppose because allboys are sent to a public school in England. "

"But what do you think yourself? What do you want to do here, and tocarry away?"

Tom thought a minute. "I want to be A1 at cricket and football, and allthe other games, and to make my hands keep my head against any fellow, lout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, and toplease the Doctor; and I want to carry away just as much Latin and Greekas will take me through Oxford respectably. There, now, young un; Inever thought of it before, but that's pretty much about my figure. Ain't it all on the square? What have you got to say to that?"

"Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you want, then. "

"Well, I hope so. But you've forgot one thing--what I want to leavebehind me. I want to leave behind me, " said Tom, speaking slow, andlooking much moved, "the name of a fellow who never bullied a littleboy, or turned his back on a big one. "

Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment's silence went on, "You say, Tom, you want to please the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him bywhat he thinks you do, or by what you really do?"

"By what I really do, of course. "

"Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books?"

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he couldn't give in. "Hewas at Winchester himself, " said he; "he knows all about it. "

"Yes; but does he think you use them? Do you think he approves of it?"

"You young villain!" said Tom, shaking his fist at Arthur, half vexedand half pleased, "I never think about it. Hang it! there, perhaps hedon't. Well, I suppose he don't. "

Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his friend well, and waswise in silence as in speech. He only said, "I would sooner have thedoctor's good opinion of me as I really am than any man's in the world. "

After another minute, Tom began again, "Look here, young un. How onearth am I to get time to play the matches this half if I give up cribs?We're in the middle of that long crabbed chorus in the Agamemnon. I canonly just make head or tail of it with the crib. Then there's Pericles'sspeech coming on in Thucydides, and 'The Birds' to get up for theexamination, besides the Tacitus. " Tom groaned at the thought of hisaccumulated labours. "I say, young un, there's only five weeks or soleft to holidays. Mayn't I go on as usual for this half? I'll tell theDoctor about it some day, or you may. "

Arthur looked out of the window. The twilight had come on, and all wassilent. He repeated in a low voice: "In this thing the Lord pardon thyservant, that when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worshipthere, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow down myself in the house ofRimmon, when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardonthy servant in this thing. "

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the boys were againsilent--one of those blessed, short silences in which the resolves whichcolour a life are so often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. "You've been very ill indeed, haven'tyou, Geordie?" said he, with a mixture of awe and curiosity, feeling asif his friend had been in some strange place or scene, of which he couldform no idea, and full of the memory of his own thoughts during the lastweek. 

"Yes, very. I'm sure the Doctor thought I was going to die. He gave methe Sacrament last Sunday, and you can't think what he is when one isill. He said such brave, and tender, and gentle things to me, I feltquite light and strong after it, and never had any more fear. My motherbrought our old medical man, who attended me when I was a poor sicklychild. He said my constitution was quite changed, and that I'm fit foranything now. If it hadn't, I couldn't have stood three days of thisillness. That's all thanks to you, and the games you've made me fondof. "

"More thanks to old Martin, " said Tom; "he's been your real friend. "

"Nonsense, Tom; he never could have done for me what you have. "

"Well, I don't know; I did little enough. Did they tell you--you won'tmind hearing it now, I know--that poor Thompson died last week? Theother three boys are getting quite round, like you. "

"Oh yes, I heard of it. "

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of the burial-servicein the chapel, and how it had impressed him, and, he believed, all theother boys. "And though the Doctor never said a word about it, " said he, "and it was a half-holiday and match-day, there wasn't a game played inthe close all the afternoon, and the boys all went about as if it wereSunday. "

"I'm very glad of it, " said Arthur. "But, Tom, I've had such strangethoughts about death lately. I've never told a soul of them, not even mymother. Sometimes I think they're wrong, but, do you know, I don't thinkin my heart I could be sorry at the death of any of my friends. "

Tom was taken quite aback. "What in the world is the young un afternow?" thought he; "I've swallowed a good many of his crotchets, but thisaltogether beats me. He can't be quite right in his head. " He didn'twant to say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the dark; however, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an answer, so at last he said, "I don'tthink I quite see what you mean, Geordie. One's told so often to thinkabout death that I've tried it on sometimes, especially this last week. But we won't talk of it now. I'd better go. You're getting tired, and Ishall do you harm. "

"No, no; indeed I ain't, Tom. You must stop till nine; there's onlytwenty minutes. I've settled you shall stop till nine. And oh! do let metalk to you--I must talk to you. I see it's just as I feared. You thinkI'm half mad. Don't you, now?"

"Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as you ask me. "

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, "I'll tell you how it allhappened. At first, when I was sent to the sick-room, and found I hadreally got the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought I shoulddie, and I could not face it for a moment. I don't think it was sheercowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was to be taken away frommy mother and sisters and you all, just as I was beginning to see my wayto many things, and to feel that I might be a man and do a man's work. To die without having fought, and worked, and given one's life away, was too hard to bear. I got terribly impatient, and accused God ofinjustice, and strove to justify myself. And the harder I strove thedeeper I sank. Then the image of my dear father often came across me, but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a heavy, numbing throb seemed totake hold of my heart, and say, 'Dead-dead-dead. ' And I cried out, 'Theliving, the living shall praise Thee, O God; the dead cannot praisethee. There is no work in the grave; in the night no man can work. ButI can work. I can do great things. I will do great things. Why wilt thouslay me?' And so I struggled and plunged, deeper and deeper, and wentdown into a living black tomb. I was alone there, with no power to stiror think; alone with myself; beyond the reach of all human fellowship;beyond Christ's reach, I thought, in my nightmare. You, who are braveand bright and strong, can have no idea of that agony. Pray to God younever may. Pray as for your life. "

Arthur stopped--from exhaustion, Tom thought; but what between his fearlest Arthur should hurt himself, his awe, and his longing for him to goon, he couldn't ask, or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. "I don't know how longI was in that state--for more than a day, I know; for I was quiteconscious, and lived my outer life all the time, and took my medicines, and spoke to my mother, and heard what they said. But I didn't take muchnote of time. I thought time was over for me, and that that tomb waswhat was beyond. Well, on last Sunday morning, as I seemed to lie inthat tomb, alone, as I thought, for ever and ever, the black, dead wallwas cleft in two, and I was caught up and borne through into the lightby some great power, some living, mighty spirit. Tom, do you rememberthe living creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel? It was just like that. 'When they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise ofgreat waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as thenoise of an host; when they stood, they let down their wings. ' 'Andthey went every one straight forward: whither the spirit was to go, theywent; and they turned not when they went. ' And we rushed through thebright air, which was full of myriads of living creatures, and pausedon the brink of a great river. And the power held me up, and I knew thatthat great river was the grave, and death dwelt there, but not the deathI had met in the black tomb. That, I felt, was gone for ever. For on theother bank of the great river I saw men and women and children rising uppure and bright, and the tears were wiped from their eyes, and they puton glory and strength, and all weariness and pain fell away. And beyondwere a multitude which no man could number, and they worked at somegreat work; and they who rose from the river went on and joined in thework. They all worked, and each worked in a different way, but all atthe same work. And I saw there my father, and the men in the old townwhom I knew when I was a child--many a hard, stern man, who never cameto church, and whom they called atheist and infidel. There they were, side by side with my father, whom I had seen toil and die for them, andwomen and little children, and the seal was on the foreheads of all. AndI longed to see what the work was, and could not; so I tried to plungein the river, for I thought I would join them, but I could not. Then Ilooked about to see how they got into the river. And this I could notsee, but I saw myriads on this side, and they too worked, and I knewthat it was the same work, and the same seal was on their foreheads. Andthough I saw that there was toil and anguish in the work of these, andthat most that were working were blind and feeble, yet I longed no moreto plunge into the river, but more and more to know what the work was. And as I looked I saw my mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and hundreds more whom I knew; and at last I saw myselftoo, and I was toiling and doing ever so little a piece of the greatwork. Then it all melted away, and the power left me, and as it leftme I thought I heard a voice say, 'The vision is for an appointed time;though it tarry, wait for it, for in the end it shall speak and not lie, it shall surely come, it shall not tarry. ' It was early morning I know, then--it was so quiet and cool, and my mother was fast asleep in thechair by my bedside; but it wasn't only a dream of mine. I know itwasn't a dream. Then I fell into a deep sleep, and only woke afterafternoon chapel; and the Doctor came and gave me the Sacrament, as Itold you. I told him and my mother I should get well--I knew I should;but I couldn't tell them why. Tom, " said Arthur gently, after anotherminute, "do you see why I could not grieve now to see my dearest frienddie? It can't be--it isn't--all fever or illness. God would never havelet me see it so clear if it wasn't true. I don't understand it all yet;it will take me my life and longer to do that--to find out what the workis. "

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. Tom could not speak; he wasalmost afraid to breathe, lest he should break the train of Arthur'sthoughts. He longed to hear more, and to ask questions. In anotherminute nine o'clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called themboth back into the world again. They did not answer, however, for amoment; and so the door opened, and a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of Arthur's hand, and thenstooped down and kissed him. 

"My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. Why didn't you havelights? You've talked too much, and excited yourself in the dark. "

"Oh no, mother; you can't think how well I feel. I shall start withyou to-morrow for Devonshire. But, mother, here's my friend--here's TomBrown. You know him?"

"Yes, indeed; I've known him for years, " she said, and held out herhand to Tom, who was now standing up behind the sofa. This was Arthur'smother: tall and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn backfrom the broad, white forehead, and the calm blue eye meeting his sodeep and open--the eye that he knew so well, for it was his friend'sover again, and the lovely, tender mouth that trembled while helooked--she stood there, a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to be hismother, and one whose face showed the lines which must be written on thefaces of good men's wives and widows, but he thought he had never seenanything so beautiful. He couldn't help wondering if Arthur's sisterswere like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her face; he could neitherlet it go nor speak. 

"Now, Tom, " said Arthur, laughing, "where are your manners? You'll staremy mother out of countenance. " Tom dropped the little hand with a sigh. "There, sit down, both of you. --Here, dearest mother; there's roomhere. " And he made a place on the sofa for her. --"Tom, you needn't go;I'm sure you won't be called up at first lesson. " Tom felt that hewould risk being floored at every lesson for the rest of his naturalschool-life sooner than go, so sat down. "And now, " said Arthur, "I haverealized one of the dearest wishes of my life--to see you two together. "

And then he led away the talk to their home in Devonshire, and thered, bright earth, and the deep green combes, and the peat streams likecairngorm pebbles, and the wild moor with its high, cloudy tors for agiant background to the picture, till Tom got jealous, and stood up forthe clear chalk streams, and the emerald water meadows and great elmsand willows of the dear old royal county, as he gloried to call it. Andthe mother sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in their life. The quarterto ten struck, and the bell rang for bed, before they had well beguntheir talk, as it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

"Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie?" said he, as he shook hisfriend's hand. "Never mind, though; you'll be back next half. And Ishan't forget the house of Rimmon. "

Arthur's mother got up and walked with him to the door, and there gavehim her hand again; and again his eyes met that deep, loving look, whichwas like a spell upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, "Good-night. You are one who knows what our Father has promised to thefriend of the widow and the fatherless. May He deal with you as you havedealt with me and mine!"

Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about owing everything good inhim to Geordie, looked in her face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed downstairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas camekicking at the door, to tell him his allowance would be stopped if hedidn't go off to bed. (It would have been stopped anyhow, but that hewas a great favourite with the old gentleman, who loved to come out inthe afternoons into the close to Tom's wicket, and bowl slow twisters tohim, and talk of the glories of bygone Surrey heroes, with whom hehad played former generations. ) So Tom roused himself, and took uphis candle to go to bed; and then for the first time was aware ofa beautiful new fishing-rod, with old Eton's mark on it, and asplendidly-bound Bible, which lay on his table, on the title-pageof which was written--"TOM BROWN, from his affectionate and gratefulfriends, Frances Jane Arthur; George Arthur. "

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he dreamt of. 

CHAPTER VII--HARRY EAST'S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES. 

 "The Holy Supper is kept indeed, In whatso we share with another's need Not that which we give, but what we share, For the gift without the giver is bare. Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbour and Me. " --LOWELL, The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and Gower met as usualto learn their second lesson together. Tom had been considering how tobreak his proposal of giving up the crib to the others, and having foundno better way (as indeed none better can ever be found by man or boy), told them simply what had happened; how he had been to see Arthur, whohad talked to him upon the subject, and what he had said, and for hispart he had made up his mind, and wasn't going to use cribs any more;and not being quite sure of his ground, took the high and pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say "how that, having learnt his lessons withthem for so many years, it would grieve him much to put an end to thearrangement, and he hoped, at any rate, that if they wouldn't go onwith him, they should still be just as good friends, and respect oneanother's motives; but--"

Here the other boys, who had been listening with open eyes and ears, burst in, --

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Gower. "Here, East, get down the crib andfind the place. "

"O Tommy, Tommy!" said East, proceeding to do as he was bidden, "that itshould ever have come to this! I knew Arthur'd be the ruin of you someday, and you of me. And now the time's come. " And he made a dolefulface. 

"I don't know about ruin, " answered Tom; "I know that you and I wouldhave had the sack long ago if it hadn't been for him. And you know it aswell as I. "

"Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I own; but this newcrotchet of his is past a joke. "

"Let's give it a trial, Harry; come. You know how often he has beenright and we wrong. "

"Now, don't you two be jawing away about young Square-toes, " struck inGower. "He's no end of a sucking wiseacre, I dare say; but we've no timeto lose, and I've got the fives court at half-past nine. "

"I say, Gower, " said Tom appealingly, "be a good fellow, and let's tryif we can't get on without the crib. "

"What! in this chorus? Why, we shan't get through ten lines. "

"I say, Tom, " cried East, having hit on a new idea, "don't you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, and old Momus caught me construingoff the leaf of a crib which I'd torn out and put in my book, and whichwould float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be flogged for it?"

"Yes, I remember it very well. "

"Well, the Doctor, after he'd flogged me, told me himself that he didn'tflog me for using a translation, but for taking it in to lesson, andusing it there when I hadn't learnt a word before I came in. He saidthere was no harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard passages, if you tried all you could first to make them out without. "

"Did he, though?" said Tom; "then Arthur must be wrong. "

"Of course he is, " said Gower--"the little prig. We'll only use the cribwhen we can't construe without it. --Go ahead, East. "

And on this agreement they started--Tom, satisfied with having made hisconfession, and not sorry to have a locus penitentiae, and not to bedeprived altogether of the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in turn, and the cribbeing handed to the one whose turn it was to construe. Of courseTom couldn't object to this, as, was it not simply lying there to beappealed to in case the sentence should prove too hard altogether forthe construer? But it must be owned that Gower and East did not makevery tremendous exertions to conquer their sentences before havingrecourse to its help. Tom, however, with the most heroic virtue andgallantry, rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded mannerfor nominative and verb, and turning over his dictionary frantically forthe first hard word that stopped him. But in the meantime Gower, whowas bent on getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib, and thensuggest, "Don't you think this is the meaning?" "I think you must takeit this way, Brown. " And as Tom didn't see his way to not profiting bythese suggestions, the lesson went on about as quickly as usual, andGower was able to start for the fives court within five minutes of thehalf-hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they looked at one another fora minute, Tom puzzled, and East chokefull of fun, and then burst into aroar of laughter. 

"Well, Tom, " said East, recovering himself, "I don t see any objectionto the new way. It's about as good as the old one, I think, besides theadvantage it gives one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one'sneighbours. "

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. "I ain't so sure, " said he; "youtwo fellows carried me off my legs. I don't think we really tried onesentence fairly. Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to you?"

"Yes. And I'll swear I couldn't make out one of my sentences to-day--no, nor ever could. I really don't remember, " said East, speaking slowly andimpressively, "to have come across one Latin or Greek sentence this halfthat I could go and construe by the light of nature. Whereby I am sureProvidence intended cribs to be used. "

"The thing to find out, " said Tom meditatively, "is how long one oughtto grind at a sentence without looking at the crib. Now I think if onefairly looks out all the words one don't know, and then can't hit it, that's enough. "

"To be sure, Tommy, " said East demurely, but with a merry twinkle in hiseye. "Your new doctrine too, old fellow, " added he, "when one comes tothink of it, is a cutting at the root of all school morality. You'lltake away mutual help, brotherly love, or, in the vulgar tongue, givingconstrues, which I hold to be one of our highest virtues. For how canyou distinguish between getting a construe from another boy and using acrib? Hang it, Tom, if you're going to deprive all our school-fellowsof the chance of exercising Christian benevolence and being goodSamaritans, I shall cut the concern. "

"I wish you wouldn't joke about it, Harry; it's hard enough to see one'sway--a precious sight harder than I thought last night. But I supposethere's a use and an abuse of both, and one'll get straight enoughsomehow. But you can't make out, anyhow, that one has a right to use oldvulgus-books and copy-books. "

"Hullo, more heresy! How fast a fellow goes downhill when he once getshis head before his legs. Listen to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books!Why, you Goth, ain't we to take the benefit of the wisdom and admire anduse the work of past generations? Not use old copy-books! Why, youmight as well say we ought to pull down Westminster Abbey, and put up ago-to-meeting shop with churchwarden windows; or never read Shakespeare, but only Sheridan Knowles. Think of all the work and labour that ourpredecessors have bestowed on these very books; and are we to make theirwork of no value?"

"I say, Harry, please don't chaff; I'm really serious. "

"And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure of others ratherthan our own, and above all, that of our masters? Fancy, then, thedifference to them in looking over a vulgus which has been carefullytouched and retouched by themselves and others, and which must bringthem a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they'd met the thoughtor expression of it somewhere or another--before they were bornperhaps--and that of cutting up, and making picture-frames round allyour and my false quantities, and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, youwouldn't be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over the 'O genushumanum' again, and then look up doubtingly through his spectacles, andend by smiling and giving three extra marks for it--just for old sake'ssake, I suppose. "

"Well, " said Tom, getting up in something as like a huff as he wascapable of, "it's deuced hard that when a fellow's really trying to dowhat he ought, his best friends'll do nothing but chaff him and try toput him down. " And he stuck his books under his arm and his hat on hishead, preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, to testify withhis own soul of the faithlessness of friendships. 

"Now don't be an ass, Tom, " said East, catching hold of him; "you knowme well enough by this time; my bark's worse than my bite. You can'texpect to ride your new crotchet without anybody's trying to stick anettle under his tail and make him kick you off--especially as we shallall have to go on foot still. But now sit down, and let's go over itagain. I'll be as serious as a judge. "

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed eloquent about all therighteousnesses and advantages of the new plan, as was his wont wheneverhe took up anything, going into it as if his life depended upon it, andsparing no abuse which he could think of, of the opposite method, whichhe denounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, mean, lying, and no one knowswhat besides. "Very cool of Tom, " as East thought, but didn't say, "seeing as how he only came out of Egypt himself last night at bedtime. "

"Well, Tom, " said he at last, "you see, when you and I came to schoolthere were none of these sort of notions. You may be right--I dare sayyou are. Only what one has always felt about the masters is, that it'sa fair trial of skill and last between us and them--like a match atfootball or a battle. We're natural enemies in school--that's the fact. We've got to learn so much Latin and Greek, and do so many verses, andthey've got to see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do somuch less without getting caught, that's one to us. If they can get moreout of us, or catch us shirking, that's one to them. All's fair in warbut lying. If I run my luck against theirs, and go into school withoutlooking at my lessons, and don't get called up, why am I a snob or asneak? I don't tell the master I've learnt it. He's got to find outwhether I have or not. What's he paid for? If he calls me up and I getfloored, he makes me write it out in Greek and English. Very good. He'scaught me, and I don't grumble. I grant you, if I go and snivel to him, and tell him I've really tried to learn it, but found it so hard withouta translation, or say I've had a toothache, or any humbug of that kind, I'm a snob. That's my school morality; it's served me, and you too, Tom, for the matter of that, these five years. And it's all clear and fair, no mistake about it. We understand it, and they understand it, and Idon't know what we're to come to with any other. "

Tom looked at him pleased and a little puzzled. He had never heardEast speak his mind seriously before, and couldn't help feeling howcompletely he had hit his own theory and practice up to that time. 

"Thank you, old fellow, " said he. "You're a good old brick to beserious, and not put out with me. I said more than I meant, I dare say, only you see I know I'm right. Whatever you and Gower and the rest do, Ishall hold on. I must. And as it's all new and an uphill game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on tight at first. "

"Very good, " said East; "hold on and hit away, only don't hit under theline. "

"But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shan't be comfortable. Now, I'llallow all you've said. We've always been honourable enemies with themasters. We found a state of war when we came, and went into it ofcourse. Only don't you think things are altered a good deal? I don'tfeel as I used to the masters. They seem to me to treat one quitedifferently. "

"Yes, perhaps they do, " said East; "there's a new set you see, mostly, who don't feel sure of themselves yet. They don't want to fight tillthey know the ground. "

"I don't think it's only that, " said Tom. "And then the Doctor, he doestreat one so openly, and like a gentleman, and as if one was workingwith him. "

"Well, so he does, " said East; "he's a splendid fellow, and when I getinto the sixth I shall act accordingly. Only you know he has nothing todo with our lessons now, except examining us. I say, though, " looking athis watch, "it's just the quarter. Come along. "

As they walked out they got a message, to say that Arthur was juststarting, and would like to say goodbye. So they went down to theprivate entrance of the School-house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, Tomthought. 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with him, and Tom mumbledthanks for the presents he had found in his study, and looked roundanxiously for Arthur's mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humour, looked quaintly atArthur, and said, --

"So you've been at it again, through that hot-headed convert of yoursthere. He's been making our lives a burden to us all the morning aboutusing cribs. I shall get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I'mcalled up. "

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in, --

"Oh, it's all right. He's converted already; he always comes through themud after us, grumbling and sputtering. "

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, wishing Arthur apleasant holiday, Tom, lingering behind a moment to send his thanks andlove to Arthur's mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and succeeded so far asto get East to promise to give the new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they were sitting alonein the large study, where East lived now almost, "vice Arthur on leave, "after examining the new fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be thegenuine article ("play enough to throw a midge tied on a singlehair against the wind, and strength enough to hold a grampus"), theynaturally began talking about Arthur. Tom, who was still bubbling overwith last night's scene and all the thoughts of the last week, andwanting to clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which he couldnever do without first going through the process of belabouring somebodyelse with it all, suddenly rushed into the subject of Arthur's illness, and what he had said about death. 

East had given him the desired opening. After a serio-comic grumble, "that life wasn't worth having, now they were tied to a young beggarwho was always 'raising his standard;' and that he, East, was like aprophet's donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after the donkey-manwho went after the prophet; that he had none of the pleasure of startingthe new crotchets, and didn't half understand them, but had to take thekicks and carry the luggage as if he had all the fun, " he threw his legsup on to the sofa, and put his hands behind his head, and said, --

"Well, after all, he's the most wonderful little fellow I ever cameacross. There ain't such a meek, humble boy in the school. Hanged ifI don't think now, really, Tom, that he believes himself a much worsefellow than you or I, and that he don't think he has more influence inthe house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, and isn't ten yet. Buthe turns you and me round his little finger, old boy--there's no mistakeabout that. " And East nodded at Tom sagaciously. 

"Now or never!" thought Tom; so, shutting his eyes and hardening hisheart, he went straight at it, repeating all that Arthur had said, asnear as he could remember it, in the very words, and all he had himselfthought. The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went on, and severaltimes he felt inclined to stop, give it all up, and change the subject. But somehow he was borne on; he had a necessity upon him to speak it allout, and did so. At the end he looked at East with some anxiety, and wasdelighted to see that that young gentleman was thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, that in the stage of his inner life at which Tom had latelyarrived, his intimacy with and friendship for East could not have lastedif he had not made him aware of, and a sharer in, the thoughts that werebeginning to exercise him. Nor indeed could the friendship have lastedif East had shown no sympathy with these thoughts; so that it was agreat relief to have unbosomed himself, and to have found that hisfriend could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East's levity was onlyskin-deep, and this instinct was a true one. East had no want ofreverence for anything he felt to be real; but his was one of thosenatures that burst into what is generally called recklessness andimpiety the moment they feel that anything is being poured upon them fortheir good which does not come home to their inborn sense of right, orwhich appeals to anything like self-interest in them. Daring andhonest by nature, and outspoken to an extent which alarmed allrespectabilities, with a constant fund of animal health and spiritswhich he did not feel bound to curb in any way, he had gained forhimself with the steady part of the school (including as well those whowished to appear steady as those who really were so) the character of aboy with whom it would be dangerous to be intimate; while his own hatredof everything cruel, or underhand, or false, and his hearty respect forwhat he would see to be good and true, kept off the rest. 

Tom, besides being very like East in many points of character, hadlargely developed in his composition the capacity for taking the weakestside. This is not putting it strongly enough: it was a necessity withhim; he couldn't help it any more than he could eating or drinking. Hecould never play on the strongest side with any heart at football orcricket, and was sure to make friends with any boy who was unpopular, ordown on his luck. 

Now, though East was not what is generally called unpopular, Tom feltmore and more every day, as their characters developed, that hestood alone, and did not make friends among their contemporaries, andtherefore sought him out. Tom was himself much more popular, for hispower of detecting humbug was much less acute, and his instincts weremuch more sociable. He was at this period of his life, too, largelygiven to taking people for what they gave themselves out to be; buthis singleness of heart, fearlessness, and honesty were just what Eastappreciated, and thus the two had been drawn into great intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom's guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in reading the Bible; buttheir discussions had almost always turned upon the characters of themen and women of whom they read, and not become personal to themselves. In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious discussion, notknowing how it might end, and fearful of risking a friendship very dearto both, and which they felt somehow, without quite knowing why, would never be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at itsfoundation, after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we could get on withoutit. But we can't. However, you'll all find, if you haven't found it outalready, that a time comes in every human friendship when you must godown into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is there to yourfriend, and wait in fear for his answer. A few moments may do it; andit may be (most likely will be, as you are English boys) that you willnever do it but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to beworth the name. You must find what is there, at the very root and bottomof one another's hearts; and if you are at one there, nothing on earthcan or at least ought to sunder you. 

East had remained lying down until Tom finished speaking, as if fearingto interrupt him; he now sat up at the table, and leant his head on onehand, taking up a pencil with the other, and working little holes withit in the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil, and said, "Thank you very much, old fellow. There's no other boy inthe house would have done it for me but you or Arthur. I can see wellenough, " he went on, after a pause, "all the best big fellows look on mewith suspicion; they think I'm a devil-may-care, reckless young scamp. So I am--eleven hours out of twelve, but not the twelfth. Then all ofour contemporaries worth knowing follow suit, of course: we're very goodfriends at games and all that, but not a soul of them but you andArthur ever tried to break through the crust, and see whether there wasanything at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won't stand andthey know that. "

"Don't you think that's half fancy, Harry?"

"Not a bit of it, " said East bitterly, pegging away with his pencil. "I see it all plain enough. Bless you, you think everybody's asstraightforward and kindhearted as you are. "

"Well, but what's the reason of it? There must be a reason. You can playall the games as well as any one and sing the best song, and are thebest company in the house. You fancy you're not liked, Harry. It's allfancy. "

"I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popular enough with all thebad ones, but that I won't have, and the good ones won't have me. "

"Why not?" persisted Tom; "you don't drink or swear, or get out atnight; you never bully, or cheat at lessons. If you only showed youliked it, you'd have all the best fellows in the house running afteryou. "

"Not I, " said East. Then with an effort he went on, "I'll tell you whatit is. I never stop the Sacrament. I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how that tells against me. "

"Yes, I've seen that, " said Tom, "and I've been very sorry for it, andArthur and I have talked about it. I've often thought of speaking toyou, but it's so hard to begin on such subjects. I'm very glad you'veopened it. Now, why don't you?"

"I've never been confirmed, " said East. 

"Not been confirmed!" said Tom, in astonishment. "I never thought ofthat. Why weren't you confirmed with the rest of us nearly three yearsago? I always thought you'd been confirmed at home. "

"No, " answered East sorrowfully; "you see this was how it happened. LastConfirmation was soon after Arthur came, and you were so taken up withhim I hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent round for usabout it, I was living mostly with Green's set. You know the sort. Theyall went in. I dare say it was all right, and they got good by it; Idon't want to judge them. Only all I could see of their reasons drove mejust the other way. 'Twas 'because the Doctor liked it;' 'no boy goton who didn't stay the Sacrament;' it was the 'correct thing, ' in fact, like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I couldn't stand it. I didn'tfeel that I wanted to lead a different life. I was very well contentas I was, and I wasn't going to sham religious to curry favour with theDoctor, or any one else. "

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more diligently than ever withhis pencil. Tom was ready to cry. He felt half sorry at first that hehad been confirmed himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliestfriend--to have left him by himself at his worst need for those longyears. He got up and went and sat by East, and put his arm over hisshoulder. 

"Dear old boy, " he said, "how careless and selfish I've been. But whydidn't you come and talk to Arthur and me?"

"I wish to Heaven I had, " said East, "but I was a fool. It's too latetalking of it now. "

"Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, don't you?"

"I think so, " said East. "I've thought about it a good deal; only, oftenI fancy I must be changing, because I see it's to do me good here--justwhat stopped me last time. And then I go back again. "

"I'll tell you now how 'twas with me, " said Tom warmly. "If it hadn'tbeen for Arthur, I should have done just as you did. I hope I should. Ihonour you for it. But then he made it out just as if it was taking theweak side before all the world--going in once for all against everythingthat's strong and rich, and proud and respectable, a little band ofbrothers against the whole world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too, only he said a great deal more. "

"Ah!" groaned East, "but there again, that's just another of mydifficulties whenever I think about the matter. I don't want to be oneof your saints, one of your elect, whatever the right phrase is. Mysympathies are all the other way--with the many, the poor devils who runabout the streets and don't go to church. Don't stare, Tom; mind, I'mtelling you all that's in my heart--as far as I know it--but it's all amuddle. You must be gentle with me if you want to land me. Now I've seena deal of this sort of religion; I was bred up in it, and I can't standit. If nineteen-twentieths of the world are to be left to uncovenantedmercies, and that sort of thing, which means in plain English to go tohell, and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, why--"

"Oh! but, Harry, they ain't, they don't, " broke in Tom, really shocked. "Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn't gone! I'm such a fool about these things. But it's all you want too, East; it is indeed. It cuts both wayssomehow, being confirmed and taking the Sacrament. It makes you feel onthe side of all the good and all the bad too, of everybody in the world. Only there's some great dark strong power, which is crushing you andeverybody else. That's what Christ conquered, and we've got to fight. What a fool I am! I can't explain. If Arthur were only here!"

"I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean, " said East. 

"I say, now, " said Tom eagerly, "do you remember how we both hatedFlashman?"

"Of course I do, " said East; "I hate him still. What then?"

"Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had a great struggle aboutthat. I tried to put him out of my head; and when I couldn't do that, Itried to think of him as evil--as something that the Lord who was lovingme hated, and which I might hate too. But it wouldn't do. I broke down;I believe Christ Himself broke me down. And when the Doctor gave me thebread and wine, and leant over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashman, as if it had been you or Arthur. "

East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom could feel the tabletremble. At last he looked up. "Thank you again, Tom, " said he; "youdon't know what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see now howthe right sort of sympathy with poor devils is got at. "

"And you'll stop the Sacrament next time, won't you?" said Tom. 

"Can I, before I'm confirmed?"

"Go and ask the Doctor. "

"I will. "

That very night, after prayers, East followed the Doctor, and the oldverger bearing the candle, upstairs. Tom watched, and saw the Doctorturn round when he heard footsteps following him closer than usual, andsay, "Hah, East! Do you want to speak to me, my man?"

"If you please, sir. " And the private door closed, and Tom went to hisstudy in a state of great trouble of mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back. Then he rushed inbreathless. 

"Well, it's all right, " he shouted, seizing Tom by the hand. "I feel asif a ton weight were off my mind. "

"Hurrah, " said Tom. "I knew it would be; but tell us all about it. "

"Well, I just told him all about it. You can't think how kind and gentlehe was, the great grim man, whom I've feared more than anybody on earth. When I stuck, he lifted me just as if I'd been a little child. And heseemed to know all I'd felt, and to have gone through it all. And Iburst out crying--more than I've done this five years; and he sat downby me, and stroked my head; and I went blundering on, and told himall--much worse things than I've told you. And he wasn't shocked a bit, and didn't snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it was all nothing butpride or wickedness, though I dare say it was. And he didn't tell menot to follow out my thoughts, and he didn't give me any cut-and-driedexplanation. But when I'd done he just talked a bit. I can hardlyremember what he said yet; but it seemed to spread round me likehealing, and strength, and light, and to bear me up, and plant me on arock, where I could hold my footing and fight for myself. I don't knowwhat to do, I feel so happy. And it's all owing to you, dear old boy!"And he seized Tom's hand again. 

"And you're to come to the Communion?" said Tom. 

"Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays. "

Tom's delight was as great as his friend's. But he hadn't yet hadout all his own talk, and was bent on improving the occasion: so heproceeded to propound Arthur's theory about not being sorry for hisfriends' deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, and bywhich he was much exercised; for he didn't feel it honest to take whatpleased him, and throw over the rest, and was trying vigorously topersuade himself that he should like all his best friends to dieoff-hand. 

But East's powers of remaining serious were exhausted, and in fiveminutes he was saying the most ridiculous things he could think of, tillTom was almost getting angry again. 

Despite of himself, however, he couldn't help laughing and giving it up, when East appealed to him with, "Well, Tom, you ain't going to punch myhead, I hope, because I insist upon being sorry when you got to earth?"

And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried to learn firstlesson, with very poor success, as appeared next morning, when they werecalled up and narrowly escaped being floored, which ill-luck, however, did not sit heavily on either of their souls. 

CHAPTER VIII--TOM BROWN'S LAST MATCH. 

 "Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely ere Youth fly, with life's real tempest would be coping; The fruit of dreamy hoping Is, waking, blank despair. "--CLOUGH, Ambarvalia. 

The curtain now rises upon the last act of our little drama, forhard-hearted publishers warn me that a single volume must of necessityhave an end. Well, well! the pleasantest things must come to an end. I little thought last long vacation, when I began these pages to helpwhile away some spare time at a watering-place, how vividly many an oldscene which had lain hid away for years in some dusty old corner of mybrain, would come back again, and stand before me as clear and bright asif it had happened yesterday. The book has been a most grateful taskto me, and I only hope that all you, my dear young friends, who read it(friends assuredly you must be, if you get as far as this), will be halfas sorry to come to the last stage as I am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad side to it. As the oldscenes became living, and the actors in them became living too, manya grave in the Crimea and distant India, as well as in the quietchurchyards of our dear old country, seemed to open and send forth theirdead, and their voices and looks and ways were again in one's ears andeyes, as in the old School-days. But this was not sad. How should it be, if we believe as our Lord has taught us? How should it be, when one moreturn of the wheel, and we shall be by their sides again, learning fromthem again, perhaps, as we did when we were new boys. 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to us once who hadsomehow or another just gone clean out of sight. Are they dead orliving? We know not, but the thought of them brings no sadness with it. Wherever they are, we can well believe they are doing God's work andgetting His wages. 

But are there not some, whom we still see sometimes in the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, whom we could probably find almost anyday in the week if we were set to do it, yet from whom we are reallyfarther than we are from the dead, and from those who have gone out ofour ken? Yes, there are and must be such; and therein lies the sadnessof old School memories. Yet of these our old comrades, from whom morethan time and space separate us, there are some by whose sides we canfeel sure that we shall stand again when time shall be no more. We maythink of one another now as dangerous fanatics or narrow bigots, withwhom no truce is possible, from whom we shall only sever more and moreto the end of our lives, whom it would be our respective duties toimprison or hang, if we had the power. We must go our way, and theytheirs, as long as flesh and spirit hold together; but let our own Rugbypoet speak words of healing for this trial:--

 "To veer how vain! on, onward strain, Brave barks, in light, in darkness too; Through winds and tides one compass guides, -- To that, and your own selves, be true. 

 "But, O blithe breeze, and O great seas, Though ne'er that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again; Together lead them home at last. 

 "One port, methought, alike they sought, One purpose hold where'er they fare. O bounding breeze, O rushing seas, At last, at last, unite them there!" *

 * Clough, Ambarvalia. 

This is not mere longing; it is prophecy. So over these too, our oldfriends, who are friends no more, we sorrow not as men without hope. Itis only for those who seem to us to have lost compass and purpose, andto be driven helplessly on rocks and quicksands, whose lives are spentin the service of the world, the flesh, and the devil, for self alone, and not for their fellow-men, their country, or their God, that we mustmourn and pray without sure hope and without light, trusting only thatHe, in whose hands they as well as we are, who has died for them as wellas for us, who sees all His creatures

 "With larger other eyes than ours, To make allowance for us all, "

will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them also home. 

Another two years have passed, and it is again the end of the summerhalf-year at Rugby; in fact, the School has broken up. The fifth-formexaminations were over last week, and upon them have followed thespeeches, and the sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and they tooare over now. The boys have gone to all the winds of heaven, except thetown boys and the eleven, and the few enthusiasts besides who have askedleave to stay in their houses to see the result of the cricket matches. For this year the Wellesburn return match and the Marylebone match areplayed at Rugby, to the great delight of the town and neighbourhood, andthe sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers who have been reckoningfor the last three months on showing off at Lord's ground. 

The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, after an interviewwith the captain of the eleven, in the presence of Thomas, at which hearranged in what school the cricket dinners were to be, and all othermatters necessary for the satisfactory carrying out of the festivities, and warned them as to keeping all spirituous liquors out of the close, and having the gates closed by nine o'clock. 

The Wellesburn match was played out with great success yesterday, theSchool winning by three wickets; and to-day the great event of thecricketing year, the Marylebone match, is being played. What a match ithas been! The London eleven came down by an afternoon train yesterday, in time to see the end of the Wellesburn match; and as soon as it wasover, their leading men and umpire inspected the ground, criticising itrather unmercifully. The captain of the School eleven, and one ortwo others, who had played the Lord's match before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and several of the Lord's men, accompanied them; while the restof the eleven looked on from under the Three Trees with admiring eyes, and asked one another the names of the illustrious strangers, andrecounted how many runs each of them had made in the late matches inBell's Life. They looked such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows thattheir young adversaries felt rather desponding as to the result of themorrow's match. The ground was at last chosen, and two men set to workupon it to water and roll; and then, there being yet some half-hour ofdaylight, some one had suggested a dance on the turf. The close washalf full of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailedwith enthusiasm. The cornopean player was still on the ground. In fiveminutes the eleven and half a dozen of the Wellesburn and Marylebone mengot partners somehow or another, and a merry country-dance was going on, to which every one flocked, and new couples joined in every minute, tillthere were a hundred of them going down the middle and up again; and thelong line of school buildings looked gravely down on them, every windowglowing with the last rays of the western sun; and the rooks clangedabout in the tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and resolved onhaving their country-dance too; and the great flag flapped lazily in thegentle western breeze. Altogether it was a sight which would have madeglad the heart of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he werehalf as good a fellow as I take him to have been. It was a cheerfulsight to see. But what made it so valuable in the sight of the captainof the School eleven was that he there saw his young hands shakingoff their shyness and awe of the Lord's men, as they crossed hands andcapered about on the grass together; for the strangers entered intoit all, and threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted like boys;while old Mr. Aislabie stood by looking on in his white hat, leaning ona bat, in benevolent enjoyment. "This hop will be worth thirty runs tous to-morrow, and will be the making of Raggles and Johnson, " thinks theyoung leader, as he revolves many things in his mind, standing by theside of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not leave for a minute, for hefeels that the character of the School for courtesy is resting on hisshoulders. 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old Thomas beginningto fidget about with the keys in his hand, he thought of the Doctor'sparting monition, and stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding theloud-voiced remonstrances from all sides; and the crowd scattered awayfrom the close, the eleven all going into the School-house, where supperand beds were provided for them by the Doctor's orders. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as to the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether it would be best to play steadyor freely; and the youngest hands declared that they shouldn't be abit nervous, and praised their opponents as the jolliest fellows in theworld, except perhaps their old friends the Wellesburn men. How fara little good-nature from their elders will go with the right sort ofboys!

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the intense relief of manyan anxious youngster, up betimes to mark the signs of the weather. Theeleven went down in a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the coldbath in a corner of the close. The ground was in splendid order, andsoon after ten o'clock, before spectators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lord's men took their places at the wickets--the School, with the usual liberality of young hands, having put their adversariesin first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, and called play, and thematch has begun. 

"Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!" cries the captain, catchingup the ball and sending it high above the rook trees, while the thirdMarylebone man walks away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely setsup the middle stump again and puts the bails on. 

"How many runs?" Away scamper three boys to the scoring table, and areback again in a minute amongst the rest of the eleven, who are collectedtogether in a knot between wicket. "Only eighteen runs, and threewickets down!" "Huzza for old Rugby!" sings out Jack Raggles, thelong-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called "Swiper Jack, "and forthwith stands on his head, and brandishes his legs in the airin triumph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels, and throws himover on to his back. 

"Steady there; don't be such an ass, Jack, " says the captain; "wehaven't got the best wicket yet. Ah, look out now at cover-point, " addshe, as he sees a long-armed bare-headed, slashing-looking player comingto the wicket. "And, Jack, mind your hits. He steals more runs than anyman in England. "

And they all find that they have got their work to do now. Thenewcomer's off-hitting is tremendous, and his running like a flash oflightning. He is never in his ground except when his wicket is down. Nothing in the whole game so trying to boys. He has stolen three byes inthe first ten minutes, and Jack Raggles is furious, and begins throwingover savagely to the farther wicket, until he is sternly stopped by thecaptain. It is all that young gentlemen can do to keep his team steady, but he knows that everything depends on it, and faces his work bravely. The score creeps up to fifty; the boys begin to look blank; and thespectators, who are now mustering strong, are very silent. The ballflies off his bat to all parts of the field, and he gives no rest andno catches to any one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, andthe goddess who presides over it loves to bring down the most skilfulplayers. Johnson, the young bowler, is getting wild, and bowls a ballalmost wide to the off; the batter steps out and cuts it beautifully towhere cover-point is standing very deep--in fact almost off the ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along about three feet from theground; he rushes at it, and it sticks somehow or other in the fingersof his left hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the wholefield. Such a catch hasn't been made in the close for years, and thecheering is maddening. "Pretty cricket, " says the captain, throwinghimself on the ground by the deserted wicket with a long breath. Hefeels that a crisis has passed. 

I wish I had space to describe the match--how the captain stumped thenext man off a leg-shooter, and bowled small cobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for the last wicket; how the Lord's men were out byhalf-past twelve o'clock for ninety-eight runs; how the captain ofthe School eleven went in first to give his men pluck, and scoredtwenty-five in beautiful style; how Rugby was only four behind inthe first innings; what a glorious dinner they had in the fourth-formschool; and how the cover-point hitter sang the most topping comicsongs, and old Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches that ever were heard, afterwards. But I haven't space--that's the fact; and so you must fancyit all, and carry yourselves on to half-past seven o'clock, when theSchool are again in, with five wickets down, and only thirty-two runsto make to win. The Marylebone men played carelessly in their secondinnings, but they are working like horses now to save the match. 

There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered up and down theclose; but the group to which I beg to call your especial attentionis there, on the slope of the island, which looks towards thecricket-ground. It consists of three figures; two are seated on a bench, and one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight andrather gaunt man, with a bushy eyebrow and a dry, humorous smile, isevidently a clergyman. He is carelessly dressed, and looks rather usedup, which isn't much to be wondered at, seeing that he has just finishedsix weeks of examination work; but there he basks, and spreads himselfout in the evening sun, bent on enjoying life, though he doesn't quiteknow what to do with his arms and legs. Surely it is our friend theyoung master, whom we have had glimpses of before, but his face hasgained a great deal since we last came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, straw hat, thecaptain's belt, and the untanned yellow cricket shoes which all theeleven wear, sits a strapping figure, near six feet high, with ruddy, tanned face and whiskers, curly brown hair, and a laughing, dancing eye. He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, and dandlinghis favourite bat, with which he has made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young mannineteen years old, a prepostor and captain of the eleven, spendinghis last day as a Rugby boy, and, let us hope, as much wiser as he isbigger, since we last had the pleasure of coming across him. 

And at their feet on the warm, dry ground, similarly dressed, sitsArthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat across his knees. He too is nolonger a boy--less of a boy, in fact, than Tom, if one may judge fromthe thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler, too, than onecould wish; but his figure, though slight, is well knit and active, andall his old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent, quaintfun, with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens to the brokentalk between the other two, in which he joins every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining in the cheeringwhich follows every good hit. It is pleasing to see the easy, friendlyfooting which the pupils are on with their master, perfectly respectful, yet with no reserve and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom hasclearly abandoned the old theory of "natural enemies" in this case atany rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and see what we cangather out of it. 

"I don't object to your theory, " says the master, "and I allow you havemade a fair case for yourself. But now, in such books as Aristophanes, for instance, you've been reading a play this half with the Doctor, haven't you?"

"Yes, the Knights, " answered Tom. 

"Well, I'm sure you would have enjoyed the wonderful humour of it twiceas much if you had taken more pains with your scholarship. "

"Well, sir, I don't believe any boy in the form enjoyed the sets-tobetween Cleon and the Sausage-seller more than I did--eh, Arthur?" saidTom, giving him a stir with his foot. 

"Yes, I must say he did, " said Arthur. "I think, sir, you've hit uponthe wrong book there. "

"Not a bit of it, " said the master. "Why, in those very passages ofarms, how can you thoroughly appreciate them unless you are master ofthe weapons? and the weapons are the language, which you, Brown, havenever half worked at; and so, as I say, you must have lost all thedelicate shades of meaning which make the best part of the fun. "

"Oh, well played! bravo, Johnson!" shouted Arthur, dropping his bat andclapping furiously, and Tom joined in with a "Bravo, Johnson!" whichmight have been heard at the chapel. 

"Eh! what was it? I didn't see, " inquired the master. "They only got onerun, I thought?"

"No, but such a ball, three-quarters length, and coming straight for hisleg bail. Nothing but that turn of the wrist could have saved him, andhe drew it away to leg for a safe one. --Bravo, Johnson!"

"How well they are bowling, though, " said Arthur; "they don't mean to bebeat, I can see. "

"There now, " struck in the master; "you see that's just what I have beenpreaching this half-hour. The delicate play is the true thing. I don'tunderstand cricket, so I don't enjoy those fine draws which you tell meare the best play, though when you or Raggles hit a ball hard away forsix I am as delighted as any one. Don't you see the analogy?"

"Yes, sir, " answered Tom, looking up roguishly, "I see; only thequestion remains whether I should have got most good by understandingGreek particles or cricket thoroughly. I'm such a thick, I never shouldhave had time for both. "

"I see you are an incorrigible, " said the master, with a chuckle; "butI refute you by an example. Arthur there has taken in Greek and crickettoo. "

"Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to him. Why, when hefirst came I remember he used to read Herodotus for pleasure as I didDon Quixote, and couldn't have made a false concord if he'd tried everso hard; and then I looked after his cricket. "

"Out! Bailey has given him out. Do you see, Tom?" cries Arthur. "Howfoolish of them to run so hard. "

"Well, it can't be helped; he has played very well. Whose turn is it togo in?"

"I don't know; they've got your list in the tent. "

"Let's go and see, " said Tom, rising; but at this moment Jack Ragglesand two or three more came running to the island moat. 

"O Brown, mayn't I go in next?" shouts the Swiper. 

"Whose name is next on the list?" says the captain. 

"Winter's, and then Arthur's, " answers the boy who carries it; "butthere are only twenty-six runs to get, and no time to lose. I heardMr. Aislabie say that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eightexactly. "

"Oh, do let the Swiper go in, " chorus the boys; so Tom yields againsthis better judgment. 

"I dare say now I've lost the match by this nonsense, " he says, as hesits down again; "they'll be sure to get Jack's wicket in three or fourminutes; however, you'll have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard hit ortwo, " adds he, smiling, and turning to the master. 

"Come, none of your irony, Brown, " answers the master. "I'm beginning tounderstand the game scientifically. What a noble game it is, too!"

"Isn't it? But it's more than a game. It's an institution, " said Tom. 

"Yes, " said Arthur--"the birthright of British boys old and young, ashabeas corpus and trial by jury are of British men. "

"The discipline and reliance on one another which it teaches isso valuable, I think, " went on the master, "it ought to be such anunselfish game. It merges the individual in the eleven; he doesn't playthat he may win, but that his side may. "

"That's very true, " said Tom, "and that's why football and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are such much better games than fives orhare-and-hounds, or any others where the object is to come in first orto win for oneself, and not that one's side may win. "

"And then the captain of the eleven!" said the master; "what a post ishis in our School-world! almost as hard as the Doctor's--requiring skilland gentleness and firmness, and I know not what other rare qualities. "

"Which don't he may wish he may get!" said Tom, laughing; "at any ratehe hasn't got them yet, or he wouldn't have been such a flat to-night asto let Jack Raggles go in out of his turn. "

"Ah, the Doctor never would have done that, " said Arthur demurely. "Tom, you've a great deal to learn yet in the art of ruling. "

"Well, I wish you'd tell the Doctor so then, and get him to let me stoptill I'm twenty. I don't want to leave, I'm sure. "

"What a sight it is, " broke in the master, "the Doctor as a ruler!Perhaps ours is the only little corner of the British Empire whichis thoroughly, wisely, and strongly ruled just now. I'm more and morethankful every day of my life that I came here to be under him. "

"So am I, I'm sure, " said Tom, "and more and more sorry that I've got toleave. "

"Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of some wise act ofhis, " went on the master. "This island now--you remember the time, Brown, when it was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated byfrost-bitten fags in February and March?"

"Of course I do, " said Tom; "didn't I hate spending two hours in theafternoon grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives bat? Butturf-cart was good fun enough. "

"I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights with thetownspeople; and then the stealing flowers out of all the gardens inRugby for the Easter show was abominable. "

"Well, so it was, " said Tom, looking down, "but we fags couldn't helpourselves. But what has that to do with the Doctor's ruling?"

"A great deal, I think, " said the master; "what brought island-faggingto an end?"

"Why, the Easter speeches were put off till midsummer, " said Tom, "andthe sixth had the gymnastic poles put up here. "

"Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and put the idea ofgymnastic poles into the heads of their worships the sixth form?" saidthe master. 

"The Doctor, I suppose, " said Tom. "I never thought of that. "

"Of course you didn't, " said the master, "or else, fag as you were, you would have shouted with the whole school against putting down oldcustoms. And that's the way that all the Doctor's reforms have beencarried out when he has been left to himself--quietly and naturally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die out;no wavering, and no hurry--the best thing that could be done for thetime being, and patience for the rest. "

"Just Tom's own way, " chimed in Arthur, nudging Tom with hiselbow--"driving a nail where it will go;" to which allusion Tom answeredby a sly kick. 

"Exactly so, " said the master, innocent of the allusion and by-play. 

Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up above his great brownelbows, scorning pads and gloves, has presented himself at the wicket;and having run one for a forward drive of Johnson's, is about to receivehis first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and fourwickets to go down--a winning match if they play decently steady. Theball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack on the outsideof the thigh, and bounding away as if from india-rubber, while theyrun two for a leg-bye amidst great applause and shouts from Jack's manyadmirers. The next ball is a beautifully-pitched ball for the outerstump, which the reckless and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hitsright round to leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening. Onlyseventeen runs to get with four wickets! The game is all but ours!

It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his wicket, with his batover his shoulder, while Mr. Aislabie holds a short parley with hismen. Then the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slowtwisters. Jack waves his hand triumphantly towards the tent, as much asto say, "See if I don't finish it all off now in three hits. "

Alas, my son Jack, the enemy is too old for thee. The first ball of theover Jack steps out and meets, swiping with all his force. If he hadonly allowed for the twist! But he hasn't, and so the ball goes spinningup straight in the air, as if it would never come down again. Away runsJack, shouting and trusting to the chapter of accidents; but the bowlerruns steadily under it, judging every spin, and calling out, "I haveit, " catches it, and playfully pitches it on to the back of the stalwartJack, who is departing with a rueful countenance. 

"I knew how it would be, " says Tom, rising. "Come along; the game'sgetting very serious. "

So they leave the island and go to the tent; and after deepconsultation, Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the wicket with a lastexhortation from Tom to play steady and keep his bat straight. To thesuggestions that Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, "Arthuris the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the wicket is onlykept up. "

"I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven, " said the master, as theystood together in front of the dense crowd, which was now closing inround the ground. 

"Well, I'm not quite sure that he ought to be in for his play, " saidTom, "but I couldn't help putting him in. It will do him so much good, and you can't think what I owe him. "

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the whole field becomesfevered with excitement. Arthur, after two narrow escapes, scores one, and Johnson gets the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, andJohnson's batting worthy the occasion. He makes here a two, and there aone, managing to keep the ball to himself, and Arthur backs up and runsperfectly. Only eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives it forwardfor two, and feels prouder than when he got the three best prizes, athearing Tom's shout of joy, "Well played, well played, young un!"

But the next ball is too much for the young hand, and his bails flydifferent ways. Nine runs to make, and two wickets to go down: it is toomuch for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to take the Lord's mento the train pulls up at the side of the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tomconsult, and give out that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. And so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson carry out their bats, and, it being a one day's match, the Lord's men are declared thewinners, they having scored the most in the first innings. 

But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and all the School eleven, as they accompany their conquerors to the omnibus, and send them offwith three ringing cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands allround, saying to Tom, "I must compliment you, sir, on your eleven, and Ihope we shall have you for a member if you come up to town. "

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back into the close, andeverybody was beginning to cry out for another country-dance, encouragedby the success of the night before, the young master, who was justleaving the close, stopped him, and asked him to come up to tea athalf-past eight, adding, "I won't keep you more than half an hour, andask Arthur to come up too. "

"I'll come up with you directly, if you'll let me, " said Tom, "for Ifeel rather melancholy, and not quite up to the country-dance and supperwith the rest. "

"Do, by all means, " said the master; "I'll wait here for you. "

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the tent, to tellArthur of the invitation, and to speak to his second in command aboutstopping the dancing and shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur promised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So Tom handedhis things over to the man in charge of the tent, and walked quietlyaway to the gate where the master was waiting, and the two took theirway together up the Hillmorton road. 

Of course they found the master's house locked up, and all the servantsaway in the close--about this time, no doubt, footing it away on thegrass, with extreme delight to themselves, and in utter oblivion of theunfortunate bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment in the shapeof meals was his "dish of tea" (as our grandmothers called it) in theevening; and the phrase was apt in his case, for he always poured hisout into the saucer before drinking. Great was the good man's horror atfinding himself shut out of his own house. Had he been alone hewould have treated it as a matter of course, and would have strolledcontentedly up and down his gravel walk until some one came home; but hewas hurt at the stain on his character of host, especially as the guestwas a pupil. However, the guest seemed to think it a great joke, andpresently, as they poked about round the house, mounted a wall, fromwhich he could reach a passage window. The window, as it turned out, wasnot bolted, so in another minute Tom was in the house and down at thefront door, which he opened from inside. The master chuckled grimly atthis burglarious entry, and insisted on leaving the hall-door and twoof the front windows open, to frighten the truants on their return; andthen the two set about foraging for tea, in which operation the masterwas much at fault, having the faintest possible idea of where to findanything, and being, moreover, wondrously short-sighted; but Tom, by asort of instinct, knew the right cupboards in the kitchen and pantry, and soon managed to place on the snuggery table better materials for ameal than had appeared there probably during the reign of his tutor, whowas then and there initiated, amongst other things, into the excellenceof that mysterious condiment, a dripping-cake. The cake was newly baked, and all rich and flaky; Tom had found it reposing in the cook's privatecupboard, awaiting her return; and as a warning to her they finishedit to the last crumb. The kettle sang away merrily on the hob of thesnuggery, for, notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, throwing both the windows wide open at the same time; the heaps of booksand papers were pushed away to the other end of the table, and the greatsolitary engraving of King's College Chapel over the mantelpiece lookedless stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in the twilightto the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other indifferent subjects, theconversation came naturally back to Tom's approaching departure, overwhich he began again to make his moan. 

"Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you will miss us, " saidthe master. "You are the Nestor of the School now, are you not?"

"Yes, ever since East left, " answered Tom. "By-the-bye, have you heardfrom him?"

"Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he started for India tojoin his regiment. "

"He will make a capital officer. "

"Ay, won't he!" said Tom, brightening. "No fellow could handle boysbetter, and I suppose soldiers are very like boys. And he'll never tellthem to go where he won't go himself. No mistake about that. A braverfellow never walked. "

"His year in the sixth will have taught him a good deal that will beuseful to him now. "

"So it will, "' said Tom, staring into the fire. "Poor dear Harry, " hewent on--"how well I remember the day we were put out of the twenty! Howhe rose to the situation, and burnt his cigar-cases, and gave away hispistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority of the sixth, andhis new duties to the Doctor, and the fifth form, and the fags! Ay, andno fellow ever acted up to them better, though he was always a people'sman--for the fags, and against constituted authorities. He couldn'thelp that, you know. I'm sure the Doctor must have liked him?" said Tom, looking up inquiringly. 

"The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appreciates it, " said themaster dogmatically; "but I hope East will get a good colonel. He won'tdo if he can't respect those above him. How long it took him, even here, to learn the lesson of obeying!"

"Well, I wish I were alongside of him, " said Tom. "If I can't be atRugby, I want to be at work in the world, and not dawdling away threeyears at Oxford. "

"What do you mean by 'at work in the world'?" said the master, pausingwith his lips close to his saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

"Well, I mean real work--one's profession--whatever one will have reallyto do and make one's living by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not only at play in the world, " answered Tom, ratherpuzzled to find out himself what he really did mean. 

"You are mixing up two very different things in your head, I think, Brown, " said the master, putting down the empty saucer, "and you oughtto get clear about them. You talk of 'working to get your living, ' and'doing some real good in the world, ' in the same breath. Now, you may begetting a very good living in a profession, and yet doing no good at allin the world, but quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep the latterbefore you as your one object, and you will be right, whether you makea living or not; but if you dwell on the other, you'll very likely dropinto mere money-making, and let the world take care of itself for goodor evil. Don't be in a hurry about finding your work in the world foryourself--you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet; but justlook about you in the place you find yourself in, and try to make thingsa little better and honester there. You'll find plenty to keep your handin at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And don't be led away to thinkthis part of the world important and that unimportant. Every corner ofthe world is important. No man knows whether this part or that is mostso, but every man may do some honest work in his own corner. " And thenthe good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of work whichhe might take up as an undergraduate, and warned him of the prevalentuniversity sins, and explained to him the many and great differencesbetween university and school life, till the twilight changed intodarkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing in by the backentrance. 

"I wonder where Arthur can be, " said Tom at last, looking at his watch;"why, it's nearly half-past nine already. "

"Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, forgetful of hisoldest friends, " said the master. "Nothing has given me greaterpleasure, " he went on, "than your friendship for him; it has been themaking of you both. "

"Of me, at any rate, " answered Tom; "I should never have been here nowbut for him. It was the luckiest chance in the world that sent him toRugby and made him my chum. "

"Why do you talk of lucky chances?" said the master. "I don't know thatthere are any such things in the world; at any rate, there was neitherluck nor chance in that matter. "

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. "Do you remember when theDoctor lectured you and East at the end of one half-year, when you werein the shell, and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes?"

"Yes, well enough, " said Tom; "it was the half-year before Arthur came. "

"Exactly so, " answered the master. "Now, I was with him a few minutesafterwards, and he was in great distress about you two. And after sometalk, we both agreed that you in particular wanted some object in theSchool beyond games and mischief; for it was quite clear that you neverwould make the regular school work your first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of the next half-year, looked out the best of the newboys, and separated you and East, and put the young boy into your study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean on you, you wouldbegin to stand a little steadier yourself, and get manliness andthoughtfulness. And I can assure you he has watched the experiment eversince with great satisfaction. Ah! not one of you boys will ever knowthe anxiety you have given him, or the care with which he has watchedover every step in your school lives. "

Up to this time Tom had never given wholly in to or understood theDoctor. At first he had thoroughly feared him. For some years, as I havetried to show, he had learnt to regard him with love and respect, andto think him a very great and wise and good man. But as regarded his ownposition in the School, of which he was no little proud, Tom had no ideaof giving any one credit for it but himself, and, truth to tell, was avery self-conceited young gentleman on the subject. He was wont to boastthat he had fought his own way fairly up the School, and had never madeup to or been taken up by any big fellow or master, and that it wasnow quite a different place from what it was when he first came. And, indeed, though he didn't actually boast of it, yet in his secret soulhe did to a great extent believe that the great reform in the Schoolhad been owing quite as much to himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, had done him good, and taught him a good deal; so hadother boys in different ways, but they had not had the same means ofinfluence on the School in general. And as for the Doctor, why, he wasa splendid master; but every one knew that masters could do very littleout of school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with hischief, so far as the social state of the School was concerned, andthought that the Doctor would find it no easy matter to get on withouthim. Moreover, his School Toryism was still strong, and he looked stillwith some jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the matterof change, and thought it very desirable for the School that he shouldhave some wise person (such as himself) to look sharply after vestedSchool-rights, and see that nothing was done to the injury of therepublic without due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find that, besides teaching the sixth, andgoverning and guiding the whole School, editing classics, and writinghistories, the great headmaster had found time in those busy yearsto watch over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and his particularfriends, and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the same time, and allthis without taking the least credit to himself, or seeming to know, orlet any one else know, that he ever thought particularly of any boy atall. 

However, the Doctor's victory was complete from that moment over TomBrown at any rate. He gave way at all points, and the enemy marchedright over him--cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and the land transportcorps, and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years to do it;but now it was done thoroughly, and there wasn't a corner of him leftwhich didn't believe in the Doctor. Had he returned to School again, andthe Doctor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and football, andthe Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of the most cherished Schoolinstitutions, Tom would have supported him with the blindest faith. Andso, after a half confession of his previous shortcomings, and sorrowfuladieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beautifully-bound volumesof the Doctor's sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to theSchoolhouse, a hero-worshipper, who would have satisfied the soul ofThomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, Jack Ragglesshouting comic songs and performing feats of strength, and was greetedby a chorus of mingled remonstrance at his desertion and joy at hisreappearance. And falling in with the humour of the evening, he was soonas great a boy as all the rest; and at ten o'clock was chaired roundthe quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, "For he's a jolly good fellow, " while old Thomas, ina melting mood, and the other School-house servants, stood looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up all the cricketingaccounts, went round to his tradesmen and other acquaintance, and saidhis hearty good-byes; and by twelve o'clock was in the train, and awayfor London, no longer a school-boy, and divided in his thoughts betweenhero-worship, honest regrets over the long stage of his life which wasnow slipping out of sight behind him, and hopes and resolves for thenext stage upon which he was entering with all the confidence of a youngtraveller. 

CHAPTER IX--FINIS. 

 "Strange friend, past, present, and to be; Loved deeplier, darklier understood; Behold I dream a dream of good, And mingle all the world with thee. "--TENNYSON. 

In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again at the well-knownstation; and leaving his bag and fishing-rod with a porter, walkedslowly and sadly up towards the town. It was now July. He had rushedaway from Oxford the moment that term was over, for a fishing ramble inScotland with two college friends, and had been for three weeks livingon oatcake, mutton-hams, and whisky, in the wildest parts of Skye. Theyhad descended one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea ferry;and while Tom and another of the party put their tackle togetherand began exploring the stream for a sea-trout for supper, the thirdstrolled into the house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently hecame out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, andan old newspaper in his hand, and threw himself on the heathery scrubwhich met the shingle, within easy hail of the fishermen. There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth young England, "improving his mind, " as he shouted to them, by the perusal of thefortnight-old weekly paper, soiled with the marks of toddy-glasses andtobacco-ashes, the legacy of the last traveller, which he had huntedout from the kitchen of the little hostelry, and, being a youth ofa communicative turn of mind, began imparting the contents to thefishermen as he went on. 

"What a bother they are making about these wretched corn-laws! Here'sthree or four columns full of nothing but sliding scales and fixedduties. Hang this tobacco, it's always going out! Ah, here's somethingbetter--a splendid match between Kent and England, Brown, Kent winningby three wickets. Felix fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out!"

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, answered only with agrunt. 

"Anything about the Goodwood?" called out the third man. 

"Rory O'More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss, " shouted the student. 

"Just my luck, " grumbled the inquirer, jerking his flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy, sullen splash, and frightening Tom'sfish. 

"I say, can't you throw lighter over there? We ain't fishing forgrampuses, " shouted Tom across the stream. 

"Hullo, Brown! here's something for you, " called out the reading mannext moment. "Why, your old master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead. "

Tom's hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his line and flies went alltangling round and round his rod; you might have knocked him over with afeather. Neither of his companions took any notice of him, luckily; andwith a violent effort he set to work mechanically to disentangle hisline. He felt completely carried off his moral and intellectual legs, asif he had lost his standing-point in the invisible world. Besides which, the deep, loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the shockintensely painful. It was the first great wrench of his life, the firstgap which the angel Death had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten down, and spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good forhim and for many others in like case, who had to learn by that lossthat the soul of man cannot stand or lean upon any human prop, howeverstrong, and wise, and good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand andlean will knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful way, until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily laboured at his line, the thought struck him, "It maybe all false--a mere newspaper lie. " And he strode up to the recumbentsmoker. 

"Let me look at the paper, " said he. 

"Nothing else in it, " answered the other, handing it up to himlistlessly. "Hullo, Brown! what's the matter, old fellow? Ain't youwell?"

"Where is it?" said Tom, turning over the leaves, his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he could not read. 

"What? What are you looking for?" said his friend, jumping up andlooking over his shoulder. 

"That--about Arnold, " said Tom. 

"Oh, here, " said the other, putting his finger on the paragraph. Tomread it over and over again. There could be no mistake of identity, though the account was short enough. 

"Thank you, " said he at last, dropping the paper. "I shall go for awalk. Don't you and Herbert wait supper for me. " And away he strode, up over the moor at the back of the house, to be alone, and master hisgrief if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and wondering, and, knockingthe ashes out of his pipe, walked over to Herbert. After a short parleythey walked together up to the house. 

"I'm afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled Brown's fun for thistrip. "

"How odd that he should be so fond of his old master, " said Herbert. Yetthey also were both public-school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom's prohibition, waited supperfor him, and had everything ready when he came back some half an hourafterwards. But he could not join in their cheerful talk, and the partywas soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. One thingonly had Tom resolved, and that was, that he couldn't stay in Scotlandany longer: he felt an irresistible longing to get to Rugby, and thenhome, and soon broke it to the others, who had too much tact to oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Caledonian Canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as fast as boat and railway could carry him to the Rugbystation. 

As he walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid of being seen, and took the back streets--why, he didn't know, but he followed hisinstinct. At the School-gates he made a dead pause; there was not a soulin the quadrangle--all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with anothereffort he strode through the quadrangle, and into the School-houseoffices. 

He found the little matron in her room in deep mourning; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved nervously about. She was evidently thinking ofthe same subject as he, but he couldn't begin talking. 

"Where shall I find Thomas?" said he at last, getting desperate. 

"In the servants' hall, I think, sir. But won't you take anything?" saidthe matron, looking rather disappointed. 

"No, thank you, " said he, and strode off again to find the oldverger, who was sitting in his little den, as of old, puzzling overhieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles as Tom seized his hand and wrung it. 

"Ah! you've heard all about it, sir, I see, " said he. Tom nodded, andthen sat down on the shoe-board, while the old man told his tale, andwiped his spectacles, and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honestsorrow. 

By the time he had done Tom felt much better. 

"Where is he buried, Thomas?" said he at last. 

"Under the altar in the chapel, sir, " answered Thomas. "You'd like tohave the key, I dare say?"

"Thank you, Thomas--yes, I should, very much. "

And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then got up, as thoughhe would go with him; but after a few steps stopped short, and said, "Perhaps you'd like to go by yourself, sir?"

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to him, with an injunctionto be sure and lock the door after him, and bring them back before eighto'clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into the close. Thelonging which had been upon him and driven him thus far, like thegad-fly in the Greek legends, giving him no rest in mind or body, seemedall of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up and pall. "Whyshould I go on? It's no use, " he thought, and threw himself at fulllength on the turf, and looked vaguely and listlessly at all thewell-known objects. There were a few of the town boys playing cricket, their wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the big-sideground--a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of a captain of theeleven. He was very nearly getting up to go and send them off. "Pshaw!they won't remember me. They've more right there than I, " he muttered. And the thought that his sceptre had departed, and his mark was wearingout, came home to him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He waslying on the very spot where the fights came off--where he himself hadfought six years ago his first and last battle. He conjured up the scenetill he could almost hear the shouts of the ring, and East's whisper inhis ear; and looking across the close to the Doctor's private door, half expected to see it open, and the tall figure in cap and gown comestriding under the elm-trees towards him. 

No, no; that sight could never be seen again. There was no flag flyingon the round tower; the School-house windows were all shuttered up; andwhen the flag went up again, and the shutters came down, it would beto welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he hadhonoured was lying cold and still under the chapel floor. He would go inand see the place once more, and then leave it once for all. New men andnew methods might do for other people; let those who would, worship therising star; he, at least, would be faithful to the sun which hadset. And so he got up, and walked to the chapel door, and unlocked it, fancying himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding onhis own selfish sorrow. 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for a moment to glanceover the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, and hewalked up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat himself down there to collect his thoughts. 

And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting in order not alittle. The memories of eight years were all dancing through his brain, and carrying him about whither they would; while, beneath them all, hisheart was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could never bemade up to him. The rays of the evening sun came solemnly through thepainted windows above his head, and fell in gorgeous colours on theopposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by littleand little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then, leaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned aloud. If he couldonly have seen the Doctor again for one five minutes--have told him allthat was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved and reverencedhim, and would, by God's help, follow his steps in life and death--hecould have borne it all without a murmur. But that he should have goneaway for ever without knowing it all, was too much to bear. "But am Isure that he does not know it all?" The thought made him start. "May henot even now be near me, in this very chapel? If he be, am I sorrowingas he would have me sorrow, as I should wish to have sorrowed when Ishall meet him again?"

He raised himself up and looked round, and after a minute rose andwalked humbly down to the lowest bench, and sat down on the very seatwhich he had occupied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the oldmemories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing himas he let himself be carried away by them. And he looked up at the greatpainted window above the altar, and remembered how, when a little boy, he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks, before the painted glass came; and the subscription for the paintedglass, and the letter he wrote home for money to give to it. And there, down below, was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand onthat first day, scratched rudely in the oak panelling. 

And then came the thought of all his old schoolfellows; and form afterform of boys nobler, and braver, and purer than he rose up and seemed torebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and werefeeling--they who had honoured and loved from the first the man whom hehad taken years to know and love? Could he not think of those yet dearerto him who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, and werenow without a husband or a father? Then the grief which he began toshare with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up once more, andwalked up the steps to the altar, and while the tears flowed freely downhis cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down there his shareof a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to bear in his ownstrength. 

Here let us leave him. Where better could we leave him than at thealtar before which he had first caught a glimpse of the glory of hisbirthright, and felt the drawing of the bond which links all livingsouls together in one brotherhood--at the grave beneath the altar of himwho had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart tillit could feel that bond?

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his soul is fuller ofthe tomb and him who lies there than of the altar and Him of whom itspeaks. Such stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young andbrave souls, who must win their way through hero-worship to the worshipof Him who is the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only through ourmysterious human relationships--through the love and tenderness andpurity of mothers and sisters and wives, through the strength andcourage and wisdom of fathers and brothers and teachers--that we cancome to the knowledge of Him in whom alone the love, and the tenderness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of allthese dwell for ever and ever in perfect fullness.