 CHAPTER IX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENCE. Wherein I speak of most disastrous chances of moving accidents by flood and field of hair-breaths-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 to expect. Flashman's brutality had disgusted most even of his intimate friends, and his cowardice had once more been made plain to the house, for Diggs had encountered him on the morning after the lottery, and after high words on both sides had struck him and the blow was not returned. However, Flashy was not unused to this sort of thing, and had lived through as awkward affairs before, and as Diggs had said, fed and toadied himself back into favour again. Two or three of the boys who had helped to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon and thanked him for not telling anything. Tom sent for him, and was inclined to take the matter 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 I regret to say he didn't keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and won the second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings which he and East contrived to spend in about three days in the purchase of pictures for their study, two new bats and a cricket-ball, all the best that could be got, and a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beefsteak pies all to the rebels. Light come, light go! They wouldn't have been comfortable with money in their pockets in the middle of the half. The embers of Flashman's wroth, however, were still smouldering, and burst out every now and then in sly blows and taunts, and they both felt 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 bullying for Tom and East at Drugby. They now often stole out into the hall at nights, incited there to, partly by the hope of finding digs there and having a talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing something which was against rules. For, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since their loss of character for steadiness in their form, had got into the habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure, just in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall into smuggling, and for the same sort of reasons, thoughtlessness in the first place. It never occurred to them to consider why such and such rules were laid down. The reason was nothing to them, and they only looked upon rules as a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad pluck in them not to accept, and then again in the lower parts of the school they hadn't enough to do. The work of their form they could manage to get through pretty easily. Keeping a good enough place to get their regular yearly remove, and not having much ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous steam was available for games and scrapes. Now, one rule of the house which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to break, was that after supper all fags, except the three on duty in the passages, should remain in their own studies until nine o'clock, and if caught about the passages or hall, or in one another's studies, they were liable to punishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its observance, for most of the sixth spent their evenings in the fifth-form room, where the library was, and the lessons were learnt in common. Every now and then, however, a proposter would be seized with a fit of district visiting, and would make a tour of the passages and hall and the fags' studies. Then, if the owner were entertaining 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. Everyone cut to cover, one small boy diving under the sofa, another under the table, while the owner would hastily pull down a book or two and open them, and cry out in a meek voice, Hello! Who's there? Casting an anxious eye round to see that no protruding leg or elbow could 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, with a well-famed zeal, the door would be opened, young hopeful praying that 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 to find the truance. Well, one evening, in a forbidden hours, Tom and East were in the hall. They occupied the seats before the fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual before the father fire. He was busy with a copy of verses, and East and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the light of the fire and splicing a favourite old fives-back which had sprung. Presently a step came down the bottom passage. They listened a moment, assured themselves that it wasn't a proposter, and then went on with their work, and the door swung open and in walked Flashman. He didn't see Diggs, and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in, and as the boys didn't move for him struck one of them to make them get out of his 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, too, said Diggs, from the end of the hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow. You'll never get rid of that fellow till you lick him, go in at him, both of you, I'll see fair play. Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. East looked at Tom. Shall we try? said he. Yes, said Tom desperately. So the two advanced on Flashman, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were about up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, and in perfect training, while he, though strong and big, was in poor condition from his monstrous habit of stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was, however, Flashman couldn't swallow such an insult as this. Besides he was confident of having easy work, and so faced the boys, saying, you impudent young blackards! Before he could finish his abuse they rushed in on him and began pummeling at all of him which they could reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but the full force of his blows didn't tell. They were too near to him. It was long odds, though, in point of strength, and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards over 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 f*** is it to you, faulted Flashman, who began to lose heart? I'm going to see fair, I tell you, said Diggs with a grin and snapping his great red fingers. Take fair for you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready, Brown? Times up. The small boys rushed in again. Everything they saw was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever. He caught east by the throat and tried to force him back on the ironbound table. Tom grasped his waist, and remembering the old throw he had learned in the veil from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's and threw his whole weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and then over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in the hall. The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay there still. They began to be frightened. Tom stooped down and then cried out, scared out of his wits. He's bleeding awfully. Come here, east. Diggs! He's dying! 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 he groaned. What's the matter, shouted Diggs? My skull's fractured, solved Flashman. Oh, let me run for the housekeeper! cried Tom. What shall we do? Fiddlesticks! It's nothing but the skin-broken, said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head cold water and a bit of rags all he'll want. Let me go! said Flashman, surly, sitting up. I don't want your help. We're really very sorry, began East. Hang your sorrow, answered Flashman, holding his hand kerchief to the place. You shall pay for this, I can tell you both of you. And he walked out of the hall. He can't be very bad, said Tom, with a deep sigh, much relieved to see his enemy march so well. Not he, said Diggs, and you'll see you won't be troubled with him any more. But I say your head's broken, too. Your collar is covered with blood. Is it, though, said Tom, putting up his hand? I didn't know it. Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoiled, and you have got a nasty eye, scud. You'd better go and bathe it well in cold water. It'd be enough, too, if we're done with our friend Flashy, said East, as they made off upstairs to bathe their wounds. They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid a finger on either of them again. But whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could do them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirty enough, and some of it is short a stick, and so it was with the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more or less, and they not at all. Flashman managed to get Tom and East into disfavour, which did not wear off for some time after the author of it had disappeared from the school world. This event, much prayed for by the small fry in general, took place a few months after the above encounter. One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on gin punch at Brownsover, and having exceeded his usual limits, started home uproarious. He fell in with a friend or two coming back from bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented the weather being hot and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink which Flashman had already on board. The short result was that Flashy became beastly drunk. They tried to get him along, but couldn't, so they chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the masters came upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest raised the master's suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited him to examine the freight, and after examination to convoy the hurdle himself up to the school-house, and the doctor, who had long had his eye on 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 unlawful fagging. The cause was righteous. The result had been triumphant to a great extent, but the best of the fifth, even those who had never fagged the small boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully, couldn't help feeling a small grudge against the first rebels. After all, their form had been defied on just grounds, no doubt, so just indeed that they had at once acknowledged the wrong and remained passive in the strife. Had they sided with Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way at once. They couldn't help, on the whole, being glad that they had so acted and that the resistance had been successful against such of their own form as had shown fight. They felt that law and order had gained thereby, but the ring leaders they couldn't quite pardon at once. Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get if we don't mind, was the general feeling. So it is, and must be always, my dear boys, if the angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven and head a successful rise against the most abominable and unrighteous vested interest which this poor old world groans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years, probably for centuries, not only with the upholders of said vested interest, but with the respectable mass of the people whom he had delivered. They wouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers. They would be very careful how they spoke of him in the Palava, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when we have only poor gallant, blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands, men who have holes enough in their armour, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in their lounging chairs and having large balances at their bankers. But you are brave, gallant boys who hate easy chairs and have no balances or bankers. You only want to have your head set straight, to take the right side, so bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong, and that if you see a man or a boy striving earnestly on the weak side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If you can't join him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate remember that he has found something in the world which he will fight and suffer for, which is just what you have got 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 of young Ishma-lites, their hands against every one, and every one's hand against them. It has already been told how they got to war with the masters and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the same. They saw the preposterous cowed by, or joining with the fifth, and shirking their own duties, so they didn't respect them and rendered no willing obedience. It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons of heroes like Old Brook, but was quite another to do the like for Snooks and Green, who had never faced a good scrummage at football, and couldn't keep the passages in order at night. So they only slurred through their fagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not always that, and got the character of sulky unwilling fags. In the fifth form room, after supper, when such matters were often discussed and arranged, their names 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 swap? Who will you give me? Well, let's see, there's Willis, Johnson, no that won't do. Yes, I have 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 for Willis if you like. Who then, asked Snooks, Hall and Brown, wouldn't have him 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 bad fellow, and couldn't help not being able to put down the unruly fifth form. His eye twinkled as he went on. Did I ever tell you about how the young vagabond sold me last half? No? How? Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard and swept the crumbs onto the floor. So at last I was mortal angry and had him up and made him go through the whole performance under my eyes. The dust the young scamp made nearly choked me and showed that he hadn't swept the carpet before. Well, when it was all finished. Now, young gentlemen, says I, mind I expect this to be done every morning. Floor swept, tablecloth taken off and shaken, and everything dusted. Very well, grunts he. Not a bit of it, though, I was quite sure in a day or two that he never took the tablecloth 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 them as usual. Next morning after breakfast up I came, pulled off the cloth, and sure enough there was the paper which fluttered down onto the floor. I was in a towering rage. I've got you now, thought I, and sent for him while I got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, with his hands in his pockets. Didn't I tell you to shake my tablecloth every morning, rodi? Yes, says he. Did you do it this morning? Yes. You young liar! I put these pieces of paper on the table last night, and if you'd taken the tablecloth off you'd have seen them, and so I'm going to give you a good licking. Then my youngster takes one hand out of his pocket, and just stoops down and picks up two of the bits of paper, and holds them out to me. There was written on each, in great round text, Harry East his mark. The young rogue had found my trap out, taken away my paper, and put some of his there every bit earmarked. I had a great mind to lick him for his impudence. But after all, one has no right to be laying traps, so I didn't. Of course I was at his mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks my study was so frowsy I couldn't sit in it. They spoil one's things so, too, chimed in a third boy. Hall and Brown were night-fags last week. I called Fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean. Away they went, and didn't appear again. When they'd had time enough to clean them three times over, I went out to look after them. They weren't in the passages, so down I went into the hall, where I heard music, and there I found them sitting on the table, listening to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks stuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean-spoiled. They've never stood straight since, and I must get some more. However I gave 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 the faults of others, they found themselves outlaws, ticket of leave-men, or what you will in that line, in short, dangerous parties, and lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such parties generally have to put up with. Nevertheless they never quite lost favour with Youngbrook, who was now the cock of the house, and just getting into the sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave them store of good 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 Youngbrook and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn't easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and many of the old, wild, out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as firmly as ever. While they had been quite little boys, the scrapes they got into in the school hadn't much mattered to any one, but now they were in the upper school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to the doctor at once. So they began to come under his notice, and as they were a sort of leaders in a small way amongst their own contemporaries, his eye, which was everywhere, was upon them. It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, and so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety to such a master. You have been told of the first occasion on which they were sent up to the doctor, and the remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much less fear of him than most boys of their standing had. It's all his look, Tom used to say to East, that frightens fellows, don't you remember, he never said anything to us my first half year for being an hour late for locking up. The next time that Tom came before him, however, the interview was of a very different kind. It happened just about the time at which we have now arrived, and was the first of a series of scrapes into which our hero managed now to tumble. The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear stream in which chub, dace, roach, and other coarse fish are, or were, plentiful enough, together with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worth sixpence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital river for bathing, as it has many nice small pools and several good reaches for swimming, all within about a mile of one another, and at an easy twenty minutes walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, or used to be rented, for bathing purposes by the trustees of the school for the boys. The footpath to Brownsover crosses the river by the planks, a curious old single plank bridge running for fifty or sixty yards into the flat meadows on either side of the river, for in the winter there are frequent floods. Above the planks were the bathing places for the smaller boys, sleeths, the first bathing place where all new boys had to begin until they proved to the bathing men three steady individuals who were paid to attend daily through the summer to prevent accidents that they could swim pretty decently, when they were allowed to go up to Anstey's about one hundred and fifty yards below. Here there was a hole about six feet deep and twelve across over which the puffing urchins struggled to the opposite side and thought no small beer of themselves for having been out of their depths. Below the planks came larger and deeper holes, the first of which was rattislaw's, and the last, swifts, a famous hole ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and thirty yards across, from which there was a fine swimming reach right down to the mill. Swifts was reserved for the sixth and fifth forms and had a springboard in two sets of steps. The others had one set of steps each and were used indifferently by all the lower boys, though each house addicted itself more to one hole than to another. The schoolhouse at this time affected rattislaw's hole, and Tom and East, who had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there as regular as the 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 at their pleasure over the whole part of this river, and would not understand that the right, if any, only extended to the rugby side. As ill luck would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, after allowing it for some time without interference, had ordered his keepers not to let the boys fish on his side, the consequence of which had been that there had been first wranglings and then fights between the keepers and the boys, and so keen had the quarrel become that the landlord and his keepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one of the latter, and a fierce fight ensued thereon, had been up to the great school at calling over to identify the delinquents, and it was all the doctor himself and five or six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his authority could prevent the hissing, and so strong was the feeling that the four preposterous of the week walked up and down the school with their canes, shouting ssss, silence, sss, at the top of their voices. However, the chief offenders for the time were flogged and kept in bounds, but the 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 he charged his horse at the mob of boys, and tried to thrash them with his whip, was driven back by cricket bats and wickets, and pursued with pebbles and and fivesballs, while the wretched keepers' lives were a burden to them from having to watch the waters so closely. The schoolhouse boys of Tom's standing, one and all, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short of their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways and especially by means of night-lines. The little tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made his fortune had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this great advantage over their enemies that they spent a large portion of the day in nature's garb by the riverside, and so, when tired of swimming, would get out on the other side and fish, or set night-lines, till the keepers' hove in sight, and then plunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, and the keepers were too wise to follow across the stream. While things were in this state, one day Tom and three or four others were bathing at rattleslaw's, and had, as a matter of course, been taking up and resetting night-lines. They had all left the water, and were sitting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes, from a shirt upwards, when they were aware of a man in a velveteen shooting-coat approaching from the other side. He was a new keeper, so they didn't recognize or notice him till he pulled up right opposite and began. I see some of you gentlemen over this side of fishing just now. Hello, who are you? What business is that of yours, old velveteens? I'm the new underkeeper, and masters told me to keep a sharp lookout on all you young chaps, and I tell thee I mean business, and you'd better keep your own side, or we shall fall out. Well, that's all right, velveteens. Speak out, and let's know your mind at once. Look here, old boy," cried East, holding up a miserable coarse fish or two and a small jack. Would you like to smell him, and see which bank they lived under? I'll give you a bit of advice, keeper," shouted Tom, who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet in the river. You'd better go down there to Swifts, where the big boys are. They're beggars at setting lines, and will put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the five-pounders. Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero as if to take note 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 favourite schoolhouse 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 its 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, and the keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The boys thought no more of the matter. But now came on the mayfly season, the soft, hazy summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows by Avonside, and the green and grey flies flickered with their graceful, lazy, up-and-down flight over the reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The mayflies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemerae, the happiest, laziest, careless-est fly that dances and dreams out his few hours of sun-shiny life by English rivers. Every little pitiful course-fish in the Avon was on the alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcass with hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues, and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge for the poor mayflies. So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom, having borrowed East's new rod, started by himself to the river. He fished for some time, with small success, 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 opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow tree. The stream was deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made off hot foot, and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of the doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump of willows. It isn't often that great chub or any other course-fish are in earnest about anything, but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half an hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping-fellows at the foot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and just going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the bank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was the under-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying his 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. He had just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet up, which stretched out over the river when the keeper arrived at the clump. Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree, two steps more and he would have passed, when, as ill luck would have it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at the foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one. His eye and touch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tom crouched lower along the branch and heard the keeper beating the clump. If only I could get the rod hidden, thought he, and began gently shifting it to get it alongside of him. Willow trees don't throw out straight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worst luck. Alas, the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then of Tom's hand and arm. Oh, be thee up there, be ye, says he, running under the tree. Now you come down this minute. Tree at last thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close as possible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces. I'm in for it unless I can starve him out. And then he begins to meditate, getting along the branch for a plunge and a scramble to the other side. But the small branches are so thick, and the opposite banks so difficult, that the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford before he can get out, so he gives that up. And now he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk. That will never, too. So he scrambles himself back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. Hello, 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 meester. Well, here's luck. Now I tells you to come down at once, and it'll be best for you. Thank you, Velveteens. I'm very comfortable, said Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for battle. Very well, please yourself, says the keeper, descending, however, to the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank. I've been in no hurry, so you may take your time. I'll larny to ye honest folks' names before I done with thee. 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 is all his way. The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolently across the branch, looking at keeper. A pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he thought of it, the less he liked it. It must be getting near second calling over, thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. If he takes me up, I should be flogged safe enough. I can't sit here all night. Wonder if he'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 came slanting in through the willow branches, and telling of locking up near at hand. I'm coming down, keeper, said Tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tired out. Now, what are you going to do? Walkie up to school, and give he over to the doctor. Them's my orders, says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and shaking himself. Very good, said Tom, but hands off, you know, I'll go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing. So looked at him a minute. Very good, said he, at last. And so Tom descended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to the schoolhouse, where they arrived just at locking up. As they passed the school gates, the tadpole and several others who were standing there caught the state of things and rushed out crying, Rescue! But Tom shook his head, so they only followed to the doctor's gate, and went back sorely puzzled. Now changed and stern the doctor seemed from the last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him Blaggard 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. Masters told us we might 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-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next morning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, and presented him with half a crown for giving up the rod-claim, and they became sworn friends. And I regret to say that Tom had many more fish from under the willow that mayfly season, and was never caught again by Velveteens. It wasn't three weeks before Tom, and now east by his side, were again in the awful presence. This time, however, the doctor was not so terrible. A few days before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls that went off the court. While standing watching the game, they saw five or six nearly new balls hit onto the top of the school. I say, Tom, said east, when they went dismissed. Couldn't we get those balls somehow? Let's try anyhow. So they recanointed the walls carefully, borrowed a coal-hammer from old stumps, bought some big nails, and after one or two attempts scaled the schools, and possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives-balls. The place pleased them so much that they spent all their spare time there, scratching and cutting their names on the top of every tower, and at last having exhausted all other places finished up with inscribing H. East, T. Brown, on the minute hand of the Great Clock, in the doing of which they held the minute hand and disturbed the clock's economy. So next morning, when masters and boys came trooping down to prayers and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute hand was indicating three minutes to the hour. They all pulled up and took their time. When the hour struck, doors were closed, and half the school late. Thomas, being sent to make inquiry, discovers their names on the minute hand and reports accordingly, and they are sent for, and not of their friends making derisive and pantomimic allusions as to what their fate will be as they walk off. But the doctor, after hearing their story, doesn't make much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood of such exploits ending in broken bones. Alas! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in the town, and as several rows and other disagreeable accidents had of late taken place on 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, for no earthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told not to do, start away after second lesson, and making a short circuit through the fields, strike a back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and run 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 lines to learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, up to the doctor, who, 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 their captor 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 says the doctor wants to see them. They look at one another in silent dismay. What can it be now? Which of their countless wrongdoings can he have heard of officially? However, it's no use delaying, so up they go to the study. There they find the doctor, not angry, but very grave. He has sent for them to speak to very seriously before they go home. They have each been flogged several times in the half year for direct and willful breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing no good to themselves or others, and now they are getting up in the school and have influence. They seem to think that rules are made capriciously and for the pleasure of the masters. But this is not so. They are made for the good of the whole school, and must and shall be obeyed. Those who thoughtlessly or willfully break them will not be allowed to stay at the school. He should be very sorry if they had to leave, as the school might do them both much good, and wishes them to think very seriously in the holidays over what he has said. Good night! And so the two hurry off horribly scared. The idea of having to leave has never crossed their minds and is quite unbearable. As they go out they meet at the door old Holmes, a sturdy, cheery proposter of another house who goes into the doctor, and they hear his genial hearty greeting of the newcomer so different to their own reception as the door closes, and return to their study with heavy hearts and tremendous resolves to break no more rules. Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, a later rival, and a model young master, knocks at the doctor's study door. Come in! And as he enters the doctor goes on to Holmes. You see, I do not know anything 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 think there is some good in him. There's nothing for it but a good sound thrashing. He paused to shake hands with the master, which Holmes does also, and then prepares to leave. I understand. Good night, sir. Good night, Holmes, and remember, added the doctor emphasizing the words, a good sound thrashing before the whole house. The door closed on Holmes, and the doctor, in answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained shortly, a gross case of bullying. Wharton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and weak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal with such a case, so I have asked Holmes to take it up. He is very careful and trustworthy and has plenty of strength. I wish all the sixth had as much. We must have it here if we are to keep order at all. Now I don't want any wise-acres to read this book, but if they should, of course they will prick up their long ears and howl, or rather bray at the above story. Very good, I don't object. But what I have to add for you boys is this, that Holmes called a levy of his house after breakfast next morning, made them a speech on the case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully a good sound thrashing, and that years afterwards that boy sought out Holmes and thanked him, saying that it had been the kindest act which ever had been done upon him, and the turning point in his character, and a very good fellow he became, and a credit to his school. After some other talk between them the doctor said, I want to speak to you about two boys in your form, East and Brown. I have just been speaking to them. What do you think of them? Well, they are not hard workers, and very thoughtless and full of spirits, but I can't help liking them. I think they are sound good fellows at the bottom. I am glad of it. I think so too, but they make me very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good deal amongst the fags in my house, for they are very active, bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I shan't let them stay if I don't see them gaining character and manliness. In another 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 any half holiday, that I shan't have to flog one of them next morning for some 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 would steady them. Brown is the most reckless of the two, I should say. East wouldn'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. CHAPTER I HOW THE TIDE TURNED LOWELL The turning point in our hero's school career had now come, and the manner of it was as follows. On the evening of the first day of the next half year, Tom, East, and another schoolhouse boy who had just been dropped at the spread eagle by the old regulator, rushed into the matron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in, when they first 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 boys who had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes. Here we are again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away. And Mary cried another. She was called indifferently by either name. Who's come back? Has the doctor made old Jones leave? How many new boys are there? Am I and East to have Grey's study? You know you promise to get it for us if you could, shouted Tom. And am I to sleep in number four, wrought East? How's old Sam and Bogle and Sally? Bless the boys, cries Mary, at last getting in a word. Why, you'll shake me to death. There now, do go away up to the housekeeper's room and get your suppers. You know I haven't time to talk. You'll find plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let those things alone. You're mixing up three new bice-things. And she rushed at East, who escaped round the open trunks, holding up a prize. Hello, look here, Tommy, shouted he. Here's fun. And he brandished above his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. The kind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitching with aching hearts, little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the young head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and snatched 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 have any of you boys in my room first night. Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy, come along, Smith. I shall find out who the young count is, I'll be bound. I hope he'll sleep in my room. Mary's always vicious first week. As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and said, 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 the pickles. Oh, Master Brown went on the little matron when the rest had gone. You ought to have graze a study, Mrs Arnold says, and she wants you to take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old, though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from home before. And I told Mrs Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and I've given him the bed next to yours in number four, so East can't sleep there this half. Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was aware of a slight pale boy with large blue eyes and light, fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half year at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety to anyone who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take in the youngster, and then let him shift to himself. And if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a bottled beer cellar under his window, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to brown-sover mills and caldicot spinny. East and he had made up their minds to get this study, and then every night from locking up till ten they would be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled beer, read Marriott's novels, and sort Bird's Eggs. And this new boy would most likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting laughed at, and called Molly or Jenny or some derogatory feminine nickname. The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. "'Poor little fellow,' said she, in almost a whisper, "'his father's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mama, such a kind, sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning, and she said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so, well, well, birthed in Tom with something like a sigh at the effort. I suppose I must give up East. Come along, young one. 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 making a chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. I've had his books and things put into the study, which his mama has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new green beige curtains over the door. The diplomatic matron threw this in to show that the new boy was contributing largely to the partnership comforts. And Mrs. Arnold told me to say, she added, that she should like you both to come up to tea with her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things had just gone up, I know.' Here was an announcement for Master Tom. He was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a sixth or fifth-form boy, and of importance in the school world, instead of the most reckless young scape-grace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher social and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he couldn't give up without a sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper's room with East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studious of his friends 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 who had left and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and where the new preposter's slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinking that he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and so marched off along the passages to the doctor's private house with his young charge in tow, in monstrous good humour with himself and all the world. It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys were received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still living, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the north, the respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and high-bred hospitality. I, many is the brave heart, now doing its work and bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with fond and grateful memory to that school-house drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and best training to the lessons learnt there. Besides Mrs. Arnold, and one or two of the elder children, there were one of the younger masters, Youngbrook, who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to his brother's position and influence, and another sixth-born boy, talking together before the fire. The master and Youngbrook, now a great strapping fellow, six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and then went on talking. The other did not notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once and insensibly to feel at their ease and to begin talking to one another, left them with her own children while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he had been riding out hunting, and hearing voices of the winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the doctor himself. How frank and kind and manly was his greeting to the party by the fire! It did Tom's heart good to see him and Youngbrook shake hands, and look one another in the face, and he didn't fail to remark that Brook was nearly as tall and quite as broad as the doctor. And his cup was full when in another moment his master turned to him with another warm shake of the hand, and seemingly oblivious of all the late scrapes which he had been getting into said, ah, Brown, you here? I hope you left your father and all well at home? Yes, sir, quite well. And this is the little fellow who is to share your study. Well, he doesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some rugby air and cricket, and you must take him some good long walks to Bilton Grange and Caldecott Spinney, and show him what a little pretty country we have about here. Tom wondered if the doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking Rook's Nests, a proceeding strongly discontinent by the owner thereof, and those to Caldecott Spinney were prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What didn't the doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it! He almost resolved to abjure Rook Pies' and night-lines for ever. The tea went merrily off, the doctor now talking of holiday-doings, and then of the prospects of the half-year, what chance there was for the Balliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Everybody was at his ease, and everybody felt that he, young as he might be, was of some use 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 a few minutes afterwards took their leave and went out of the private door which 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 in loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great shout of greeting as Tom was recognized marching down the passage. Hello, 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 you didn't come to supper. You lost something. That beef and pickles was no end good. I say, young fellow, cried Hall, detecting Arthur and catching him by the 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 to him, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by his side to support in case of need. Arthur, sir, I come from Tevinshire. 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 be hanged, tadpole. He'll have to sing whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet. Do you know him at home, Brown? No, but he's my chum in grey'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, where he might advise him on his deportment. What a queer chum for Tom Brown, was the comment at the fire, and it must be confessed, so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new Green Bay's curtains and the carpet and sofa with much satisfaction. I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cosy! But look here now, you must answer straight up when the fellow speak to you, and don't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say you can sing, and don't you ever talk about home or your mother and sisters? Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. But please, said he, may I talk about home to you? Oh yes, I like it, but don't talk to boys you don't know, or they'll call you homesick, or Mama's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! Why, your school-books look like novels! And Tom, with soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside till the prayer-bell rang. I have already described the school-house prayers. They were the same on the first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood altogether at the father-table, of all sorts and sizes, like young bears with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to him when he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and poor slight Arthur standing with them, and as he was leading him upstairs to number four, directly after prayers and showing him his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large windows looking onto the school close. There were twelve beds in the room, the one in the farthest corner by the fireplace, occupied by the sixth-form boy, who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by boys in the lower fifth and other junior-forms, all fags for the fifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms by themselves. Being fags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen years old, and were all bound to be up and in bed by ten. The sixth-form boys came to bed from ten to a quarter past, at which time the old verger came round to put the candles out, except when they sat up to read. In a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all the other boys who slept in number four had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began undressing and talking to each other in whispers, while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly 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 at the 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 your wash-hand stand, under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all.' And he went on with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his wash-hand stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room. On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and undressing and put on his night-gown. He then looked around more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, 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 lonely boy. 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 from his childhood, to open his heart to him who heareth the cry and beareth the 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 his back was towards Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big, brutal fellow who was standing in the middle of the room picked up a slipper and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling young shaver. Then Tom saw the hole, and the next moment the 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 onto the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling. If any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it.' What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixth-formed boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with his usual, "'Good night, gentlemen!' There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement and the flood of memories which chased one another through his brain kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the thought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and give 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 if his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old. It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at rugby. A few years later, when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned. Before he died, in the school-house at least, and I believe in the other-house, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to school in other times. The first few nights after he came he did not kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one should find him out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then he began to think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and then that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling or sitting or lying down. And so it had come to pass with Tom, as with all who will not confess their Lord before men. And for the last year he had probably not said his prayers in earnest a dozen times. Poor Tom, the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break his heart, was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which he loathed was brought in and burnt in on his own soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done that which he, bragged as he was, dared not do. The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him and help him and bear his burdens for the good deed done that night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all and what a coward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed him first all his old friends calling him saint and square-toes and a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be misunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy, whereas it was his duty to keep all means of influence that he might do good to the largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation. Shall I not be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Would I not rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that I do so and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least I should go on as I have done. However, his good angel was too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been so strong and in which he had found peace. Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say. The bell mocked him. He was listening for every whisper in the room. What were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican. God be merciful to me a sinner. He repeated them over and over, singing to them as for his life, and rose from his knees, comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not needed. Two other boys, besides Arthur, had already followed his example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering of another lesson in his heart, the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world, and that other one which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice asked, What doest thou hear, Elijah, that however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the king and lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses, for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was, in some measure, owing to the fact that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in the room except the preposter. At any rate every boy knew that he would try upon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some of the small boys of number four communicated the new state of things to their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows tried it on. In one instance or so, where the preposter heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with partial success. But in the rest, after a short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state of things went on for some time longer. Before either Tom Brown or Arthur left the school-house, there was no room in which it had not become the regular custom. I trust that it is so still, and that the old heathen state of things had gone out for ever. End of Part 2, Chapter 1. Part 2, Chapter 2 of Tom Brown's School Days. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Icy Jumbo. Tom Brown's School Days by Thomas Hughes. Part 2, Chapter 2. 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 which thronged upon Tom at the beginning of this half-year, in his new character of bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. He seemed to himself to have become a new boy again without any of the long suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that character with moderate success. From morning till night he had the feeling of responsibility on his mind, and even if he left Arthur in their study or in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had him in sight again. He waited for him at the doors of the school after every lesson and every calling over. Watched that no tricks were played him, and none but the regulation questions asked. Kept his eye on his plate at dinner and breakfast to see that no unfair depredations were made upon his vians. In short, as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen with one 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 in the world for a brown to bear. He got quite angry sometimes, as they sat together of a night in their study, at this provoking habit of agreement, and was on the point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecturer upon the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and speaking out, but managed to restrain himself by the thought that he might only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he had learnt from him on his first night at number four. Then he would resolve to sit still and not say a word till Arthur began. But he was always beat at that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, and dog tired of sitting tongue-tied. It was hard work. But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and go through with it so as to satisfy himself. In which resolution he was much assisted by the chafing of East and his other old friends, who began calling him dry nurse, and otherwise to break their small wit upon 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 with too much coddling. Why can't you let him go about by himself and find his own level? He'll never be worth a button if you go on keeping him under your skirts. Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet. I'm trying to get him to it every day, but he's very odd. Poor little beggar, I can't make him out at all. He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of. He seems all over nerves. Anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut or a blow. That sort of boy's no use here, said East. He'll only spoil. Now I'll tell you what to do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made, and put him in with plenty of cotton wool and a papp-bottle, labelled, with care, this side up, and send him back to Mamar. I think I shall make a hand of him, though, said Tom, smiling. Say what you will. There's something about him every now and then, which shows me he's got pluck somewhere in him. That's the only thing, after all, that'll wash, ain't it, old scud? But how to get at it and bring it out? Tom took one hand out of his britch's pocket and stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That young gentleman slapped him on the back and then put his arm round his shoulder as they strolled through the quadrangle together. Tom said he, blessed if you ain't the best old fellow ever was, I do like to see you go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as you do, but I never can get higher than a joke. Everything's a joke. If I was going to be flogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn't help laughing at it for the life of me. Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the Great Fives Court. Hello, though. That's past a joke, broke out East, springing at the young gentleman who addressed them and catching him by the collar. Here, Tommy, catch hold of him to the other side before he can holler. The youth was seized and dragged, struggling out of the quadrangle into the schoolhouse hall. He was one of the miserable little pretty white-handed, curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and use bad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything in this world and the next. Footnote. A kind and wise critic, an old rugbyan, notes here in the margin, the small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841 to 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. End of footnote. One of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took particular delight was in going about and getting fags for their protectors when those heroes were playing any game. They carried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn't go. The present youth belonged to a house which was very jealous of the school house and always picked out schoolhouse fags when he could find them. However, this time he'd got the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of the hall, and East put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a shake-up, took away his list, and stood him up on the floor while he proceeded leisurely to examine that document. Let me out! Let me go! screamed the boy in a furious passion. I'll go and tell Jones this minute and he'll give you both a thrashing-you-ever hat. Pretty little dear, said East, patting the top of his hat. Hark how he swears, Tom! Nicely brought up young man, ain't he? I don't think. Let me alone, am you? roared the boy, foaming with rage and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him up and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety. Gently young fellow, said he, taint him proving for little whippersnappers 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 the boy, beginning to snivel. Two can play at that game, mind you, said Tom, who had finished his examination of the list. Now just you listen here. We've just come across the Fivescourt, and Jones has four fags there already, two more than he wants. If he'd wanted us to change, he'd have stopped us himself, and here, you little blabbered, you've got seven names down on your list besides ours and five of them Schoolhouse. Tom walked up to him and jerked him onto his legs. He was, by this time, whining like a whipped puppy. Now just listen to me. We ain't going to fag for Jones. If you tell him you sent us, will each of us give you such thrashing as you'll remember? And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire. And mind you, too, said East, don't let me catch you again sneaking about the Schoolhouse and picking up our fags. You haven't got the sort of hide to take a sound licking kindly. And he opened the door and sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle with a parting kick. You'd never have been like that, said East. I should like to have put him in a museum. Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated, stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a drunken 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, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest fags in the School, wouldn't care three straws for any licking Jones might give them and would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on with interest. After the above conversation East came a good deal to their study and took notice of Arthur and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentleman and would get over his shyness all in good time, which much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having an object in his life, something that drew him out of himself, and it being the dull time of year and no games going about for which he much cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying a great deal. The time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge was from locking up till suppertime. During this hour, or hour and a half, he used to take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance, sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old ironbound tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some chorus of merry voices, in fact, blowing off his steam as we should now call it. This process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other article essential to his pursuit 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 poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book on which his tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once and sat down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. Why, youngen, what's the matter, he said kindly? You ain't unhappy, are you? Oh, no, Brown, said the little boy, looking up with the great tears in his eyes. You are so kind to me. I am very happy. Why don't you call me Tom? Lots of boys do that. I don't like half as much as you. What are you reading, then? Pang it! You must come about with 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 to himself Lesson number two, Tom Brown, and then said gently, I'm very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the Bible more myself. 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 I think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. But it all comes back to me so fresh that I can't help crying sometimes to think that I shall never read them again with him. Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouraged him to do so, as his blundering schoolboy reasoning made him think that Arthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But now he was fairly interested and forgot all about chisels and bottled beer, while with very little encouragement Arthur launched into his home history and the prayer-bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them to the hall. From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home and above all of his father, who had been dead about a year and whose memory Tom soon got to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did. Arthur's father had been the clergyman of a parish in the Midland Counties which had risen into a large town during the war and upon which the hard years which followed had fallen with fearful weight. The trade had been half ruined and then came the old sad story of masters reducing their establishments, men turned off and wandering about, hungry and one in body and fierce in soul from the thought of wives and children starving at home and the last sticks of furniture going to the pawn-shop, children taken from school and lounging about the dirty streets and courts, all listless almost to play and squalid in rags and misery. And then the fearful struggle between the employers and men, lowerings of wages, strikes and the long course of oft-repeated crime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire and the county yeomanry. There is no need here to dwell upon such tales. The Englishman into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the name. You English boys, for whom this book is meant, God bless your bright faces and kind hearts, we'll learn it all soon enough. Into such a parish and state of society Arthur's father had been thrown at 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 fine utopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity and such like, knocked out of his head and a real wholesome Christian love for the poor struggling, sinning men of whom he felt himself one and with and for whom he spent fortune and strength and life driven into his heart. He had battled like a man and gotten a man's reward, no silver teapots or salvers with flowery inscriptions setting forth his virtues and the appreciation of a genteel parish, no fat living or stall for which he never looked and didn't care, for praises of comfortable dowagers and well-got-up young women who worked him slippers, sugared his tea and adored him as a devoted man, but a manly respect rung from the unwilling souls of men who fancied his order their natural enemies, the fear and hatred of everyone who was false or unjust in the district where he master all man and the blessed sight of women and children daily becoming more human and more homely, a comfort to themselves and to their husbands and fathers. These things, of course, took time and had to be fought for with toil and sweat of brain and heart and with the life-blood poured out. All that Arthur had laid his account to give and took as a matter of course neither pitying himself nor looking on himself as a martyr when he felt the wear and tear making him feel old before his time and the stifling air of fever dens telling on his health. His wife seconded him in everything. She had been rather fond of society and much admired and run after before her marriage and the London world to which she had belonged pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman and went to settle in that smoky whole Turley, a very nest of chartism and atheism in a part of the country which all the decent families had had to leave for years. Somehow or other she didn't seem to care. If her husband's living had been amongst green fields and near-pleasant neighbours she would have liked it better. That she never pretended to deny. But there they were. The air wasn't bad after all. The people were a very good sort of people. Civil to you if you were civil to them after the first brush and they didn't expect to work miracles and convert them all offhand into model Christians. So he and she went quietly among the folk talking to and treating them just as they would have done people of their own rank. They didn't feel they were doing anything out of the common way and so were perfectly natural and had none of that condescension or consciousness of manner which so outrages the independent poor. And thus they gradually won respect and confidence and after sixteen years he was looked up to by the whole neighbourhood as the just man to whom masters and men could go in their strikes and in all their quarrels and difficulties and by whom the right and true word would be said without fear or favour. And the women had come round to take her advice and go to her as a friend in all their troubles while the children all worshipped the very ground she trod on. They had three children two daughters and a son, little Arthur who came between his sisters. He had been a very delicate boy from his childhood. They thought he had a tendency to consumption and so he had been kept at home and taught by his father who had made a companion of him and from whom he had gained good scholarship and a knowledge of and interest in many subjects which boys in general never come across till they are many years older. Just as he reached his thirtieth year and his father had settled that he was strong enough to go to school and after much debating with himself had resolved to send him there a desperate typhus fever broke out 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 their work. Arthur and his wife both caught the fever of which he died in a few 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 and happy leaving his wife and children with fearless trust for a few years in the hand of the Lord and friend who had lived and died for him and for whom he, to the best of his power had lived and died. His widow's morning was deep and gentle. She was more affected by the request of the committee of a free thinking club established in the town by some of the factory hands which he had striven against with might and main and nearly suppressed that some of their number might be allowed to help bear the coffin than by anything else. Two of them were chosen who, with six other laboring men his own fellow workmen and friends bore him to his grave a man who had fought the Lord's fight even unto the death. The shops were closed and the factories shut that day in the parish yet no master stopped the day's wages but for many a year afterwards the townsfolk felt the want of that brave, hopeful, loving parson and his wife who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and helpfulness and had almost at last given them a glimpse of what this old world would be if people would live for God and each other instead of for themselves. What has all this to do with our story? Well, my dear boys let a fellow go 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 trained little Arthur or else you won't believe in him which I am resolved you shall do and you won't see how he, the timid, weak boy had points in him from which the bravest and strongest recoiled and made his presence and example felt from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself and without the least attempt at proselytising. The spirit of his father was in him and the friend to whom his father had left him did not neglect the trust. After supper that night and almost nightly for some years afterwards Tom and Arthur and by degrees east occasionally and sometimes one, sometimes another of their friends read a chapter of the Bible together and talked it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly astonished and almost shocked at the sort of way in which Arthur read the book and talked about the men and women whose lives were there told. The first night they happened to fall about the famine in Egypt and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were a living statesman just as he might have talked about Lord Grey and the reform bill only that they were much more living realities to him. The book was to him, Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of real people who might do right or wrong just like anyone who was walking about in rugby, the doctor or the masters or the sixth form boys. But the astonishment soon passed off. The scales seemed to drop from his eyes and the book became at once and forever to him the great human and divine book and the men and women whom he had looked upon as something quite different from himself became his friends and counsellors. For our purposes however the history of one night's reading will be sufficient which must be told here now we are on the subject though it didn't happen till a year afterwards and long after the events recorded in the next chapter of our story. Arthur, Tom and East were together one night and read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished Tom shut his Bible with a slap. I can't stand that fellow Naaman said he after what he'd seen and felt going back and bowing himself down in the house of Riman because his effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder if Elisha took the trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him. Yes, there you go off as usual with a shell on your head struck in East who always took the opposite side to Tom half from love of argument half from conviction. How do you know he didn't think better of it? How do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter don't look like 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 in earnest when he got back to court and away from the Prophet. Well, but Tom said Arthur look what Elisha says to him go in peace he wouldn't have said that if Naaman had been in the wrong. I don't see that that means more than saying you are not the man I took you for. No, no that won't do at all said East read the words fairly and take men as you find them I like Naaman and think he was a very fine fellow I don't said Tom positively. Well, I think East is right said Arthur I can't see but what it's right to do the best you can though it may 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 pet hobbies how often have I told you Tom that you must drive a nail where it'll go and how often have I told you rejoined Tom that it'll always go where you want if you only stick to it and hit it hard enough I hate half measures and compromises yes, he's a whole hogman is Tom must have the whole animal, hair and teeth claws and tail laughed East sooner have no bread any day than half the loaf I don't know said Arthur it's rather puzzling but ain't most right things got by proper compromises I mean where the principle isn't given up 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'll find him out someday there isn't such a reasonable fellow in the world to hear him talk he never wants anything but what's right and fair only when you come to settle what's right and fair it's everything that he wants and nothing that you want and that's his idea of 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 is what makes my blood tingle and he turned over the pages of his Bible and read Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego answered and said to the king oh Nebuchadnezzar we are not careful to answer thee in this matter if it be so our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace and he will deliver us out of thine hand oh king but if not be it known unto thee oh king that we will not serve thy gods nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up he read the last verse twice emphasizing the knots and dwelling on them as if they gave him actual pleasure they were hard to part with they were silent a minute and then Arthur said yes that's a glorious story but it don't prove your point Tom I think there are times when there is only one way and that the highest and then the men are found to 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 last year I should like to know don't convince us is he Arthur no brown compromise tonight said east looking at his watch but it's past eight and we must go to first lesson what a bore so they took down their books and fell to work but Arthur didn't forget and thought long and often over the conversation