 Part 1, Chapter 17 of the Daisy Chain. 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 Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young, Part 1, Chapter 17. Gently supported by the ready aide of Loving Hands, whose little work of toil her grateful prodigality paid, with all the benediction of her smile, she turned her failing feet to the softly cushioned seat, dispensing kindly greetings all the time. R. M. Mills. Three great events signalized the month of January. The first was the opening of the school at Coxmore, with her car transported half a dozen forms, various books, and three dozen plumb buns, Margaret's contribution, in order that the school might begin with a claw. There walked Mr. Wilmot, Richard and Flora, with Mary, in a jumping, capering state of delight, an Ethel, not knowing whether she rejoiced. She kept apart from the rest and hardly spoke, for this long probation had impressed her with a sense of responsibility, and she knew that it was a great work to which she had set her hand, a work in which she must persevere, hand in which she could not succeed in her own strength. She took hold of Flora's hand and squeezed it hard, in a fit of shyness, when they came upon the hamlet, and saw the children watching for them. And when they reached the house, she would faint half-shrank into nothing. There was a swelling of heart that seemed to overwhelm and stifle her, and the effect of which was to keep her standing unhelpful, when the others were busy bringing in the benches and settling the room. It was a tidy room, but it seemed very small when they arranged the benches, and opened the door to the seven and twenty children, and the four or five women who stood waiting. Ethel felt some dismay when they all came pushing in, without order or civility, and would have been utterly at a loss what to do with her scholars. Now she had got them, if Richard and Flora had not marshaled them to the benches. Rough heads, torn garments, staring vacant eyes, and mouths gaping in shy rudeness. It was a sight to disenchant her a visions of pleasure in the work she had set herself. It was well that she had not to take the initiative. Mr. Wilmot said a few simple words to the mothers about the wish to teach their children what was right, and to do the best at present practicable, and then told the children that he hoped they would take pains to be good, and mine what they were taught. Then he desired all to kneel down. He said, the collect. Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings. And then the Lord's prayer. Ethel felt as if she could bear it better. And was more up to the work after this. Next the children were desired to stand round the room, and Mr. Wilmot tried who could say the catechism. The two biggest, a boy and a girl, had not an idea of it. And the boy looked foolish and grand at being asked what was his name. One child was tolerably perfect, and about half a dozen had some dim notions. Three were entirely ignorant of the Lord's prayer. And many of the others did not by any means pronounce the words of it. Jane and Fanny Taylor, Rebecca Watts, and Mrs. Green's little boy were the only ones who, by their own account, used morning and evening prayers. Though on further examination it appeared that Polly and Jenny Hall, and some others, were accustomed to repeat the old rhyme about Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and Una McCarty, and her little brother, Fergus, said something that nobody could make out, but which Mr. Wilmot thought had once been an ave Maria. Some few of the children could read, and several more knew their letters. The least ignorant were selected to form a first class, and Mr. Wilmot promised a prayer book to the first, who should be able to repeat the catechism without a mistake, and a Bible to the first who could read a chapter in it. Then followed a setting of tasks, varying from a verse of a psalm, for the first answer in the catechism, down to the distinction between A, B, and C, all to be ready by next Tuesday, when, whether permitting, a second lesson must be given. Afterwards, a piece of advice of Margaret's was followed, and Flora Redd allowed the assembly the story of Margaret Fletcher, to some that seemed to give great satisfaction, especially to Una, but Ethel was surprised to see that many, and those not only Lin ones, talked and yawned. They had no power of attention even to a story, and the stillness was irksome to such wild cults. It was plain that it was time to leave off, and there was no capacity there which did not find the conclusion agreeable. When the basket was open, and Ethel and Mary distributed the buns with instructions to say thank you. The next Tuesday, some of the lessons were learned. Una is perfectly. The big ignorant boy came no more, and some of the children had learned to behave better, while others behaved worse. Ethel began to know what she was about. Richard's gentleness was eminently successful with the little girls, impressing good manners on them in a marvelous way, and Mary's importance and happiness with alphabet scholars, some bigger than herself, were edifying. Coxmore was fairly launched. The next memorable day was that of Margaret's being first carried downstairs. She had been willing to put it off as long as she could, dreading to witness the change below stairs, and feeling, too, that in entering on the family room without power of leaving it, she was losing all quiet and solitude, as well as giving up that monopoly of her father in his evenings, which had been her great privilege. However, she tried to talk herself into liking it, and was rewarded by the happy commotion it caused, though Doctor May was in a state of excitement and nervousness at the prospect of seeing her on the stairs, and his attempts to conceal it only made it worse, till Margaret knew she should be nervous herself, and wished him out of sight and out of the house till it was over, for without him she had full confidence in the coolness and steadiness of Richard, and by him it was safely and quietly accomplished. She was landed on the sofa, Richard and Flora settling her, and the others crowding round and exclaiming, while the newness of the scene and the change gave her a sense of confusion, and she shed her eyes to recover her thoughts, but opened them the next instant at her father's exclamation that she was overcome, and held to reassure him, and declared herself not tired, and to be very glad to be among them again. But the bustle was oppressive, and her cheerful manner was an effort. She longed to see them all gone, and Flora found it out, sent the children for their walk, and carried off Ethel and the brothers. Doctor May was called out of the room at the same time, and she was left alone. She gazed round her, at the room where, once before, she had seen her mother with a babe in her arms. The children clustered round her, her father exalting in his hen and chicken daisies, herself full of bright undefined hope, radiant with health and activity, and her one trouble such that she now knew the force of her mother's words, that it only proved her happiness. It was not till that moment that Margaret realized the change, found her eyes filling with tears, and as she looked round, and saw the familiar furniture and ornaments, they were instantly checked as she heard her father returning, but not so that he did not perceive them, and exclaimed that it had been too much for her. Oh no, it was only the first time, said Margaret, losing the sense of the painful vacancy in her absorbing desire not to distress her father, and thinking only of him as she watched him stand for some minutes, leaning on the mantle shelf with his hand as shading his forehead. She began to speak as soon as she thought he was ready to have his mind turned away. How nicely Richie managed. He carried me so comfortably and easily. It is enough to spoil me to be so deftly weighted on. I'm glad of it, said Dr. May. I am sure the change is better for you, but he came and looked at her still with great solicitude. Richie can take excellent care of me, she continued, most anxious to divert his thoughts. You see it will do very well indeed for you to take Harry to school. I should like to do so. I should like to see his master and to take Norman with me, said the doctor. It will be just the thing for him now. We would show him the dockyard and all those matters, and such a thorough holiday would set him up again. He is very much better. Much better. He is recovering spirits in town very fast. That leafwork of yours came at a lucky time. I'd like to see him looking out for a curious fern in the hedge-groves. The pursuit has quite brightened him up. And he does it so thoroughly, said Margaret. Ethel fancies it is rather frivolous of him, I believe, but it amuses me to see how men give dignity to what women make trifling. He will know everything about the leaves, hunts up my botany-books, and has taught me a hundred times more of the construction and wonders of them than I ever learned. I, said the doctor, he has been talking a good deal to me about vegetable chemistry. He would make a good scientific botanist if he were to be nothing else. I should be glad if he sticks to it as a pursuit. It is pretty work, and I should like to have gone further with it if I had ever had time for it. I daresay he will, said Margaret. It will be very pleasant if he can go with you how he would enjoy the British Museum if there was time for him to see it. Have you said anything to him yet? No, I waited to see how you were, as it all depends on that. I think it depends still more on something else, whether Norman is as fit to take care of you as Richard is. That's another point. There's nothing but what he could manage now, but I don't like saying anything to him. I know he would undertake anything I wished without a word, and then perhaps dwell on it in fancy and force himself till it would turn to a perfect misery and upset his nerves again. I'm sorry for it. I met him to have followed my trade, but he'll never do for that. However, he has wits enough to make himself what he pleases, and I daresay he will keep it the head of the school after all. How very good he has been in refraining from restlessness. It's beautiful, said Dr. May, with strong emotion. Poor boy, I trust he'll not be disappointed, and I don't think he will, but I've promised him I won't be annoyed if he should lose his place, so we must take a special care not to show any anxiety. However, for this matter, Margaret, I wish he would sound him and see whether it would be more pleasure or pain. Only mind you, don't let him think that I shall be vexed. If he feels that it can't make up his mind, I would not have him fancy that for more than I can tell. This consultation revived the spirits of both, and the others returning found Margaret quite disposed for companionship. If to her the evening was sad and strange, like a visit in a dream to some old familiar haunt, finding all unnatural, to the rest it was delightful. The room was no longer dreary, now that there was a center for care and attentions, and the party was no longer broken up. The sense of comfort, cheerfulness, and home-gathering had returned, and the pleasant evening household gossip would round the table almost as it used to do. Dr. May resumed his old habit of skimming a club-book and imparting a cream to the listeners, and Flora gave them some music, a great treat to Margaret, who had long only heard its distant sounds. Margaret found an opportunity of talking to Norman and judged favorably. He was much pleased at the prospect of the journey of seeing a ship so as to have a clearer notion of the scene where Harry's life was to be spent, and though the charge of the arm was a drawback, he did not treat it as insurmountable. A few days' attendance in his father's room gave him confidence in taking Richard's place, and, accordingly, the third important measure was decided on, namely, that he and his father should accompany Harry to the naval school and be absent three nights. Some relations would be glad to receive them in London, and Alan Ernstcliffe, who was studying steam navigation at Woolwich, volunteered to meet them and go with them to Portsmouth. It was a wonderful event. Norman and Harry had never been beyond Whitford in their lives, and none of the young ones could recollect their papa's ever going from home for more than one night. Dr. May laughed at Margaret for her anxiety and excitement on the subject and was more amused at overhearing Richard's precise directions to Norman over the packing up. Hey, Richie, said the doctor, as he saw his Portmanteau law and the key given to Norman, you may well look grave upon it. You won't see it look so tidy when it comes back again, and I believe you are thinking it will be lucky if you see it at all. There was a very affectionate leave taking of Harry, who, growing rather soft-hearted, thought it needful to be disdainful, scolded Mary and Blanche for lugging off his figurehead and assured them they made as much work about it as if he was going to see it once. Then, to put it into any more embraces, he marched off to the station with Tom and nearly caused the others to be too late by the search for him that ensued. In due time, Dr. May and Norman returned, looking the better for the journey. There was, first, to tell of Harry's school and its master, and Alan Ernst Cliff's introduction of him to a nice-looking boy of his own age. Then they were eloquent on the wonders of the dockyard, the victory, the block machinery, and London. While Dr. May went to transact some business, Norman had been with Alan at the British Museum, and though he had intended to see half London besides, there was no tearing him away from the Elgin marbles, and nothing would serve him but bringing Dr. May the next morning to visit the Ninevite bowls. Norman further said, that whereas Papa could never go out of his house without meeting people who had something to say to him, it was the same elsewhere. Six acquaintances he had met unexpectedly in London, and two at Portsmouth. So the conversation went on all the evening to the great delight of all. It was more about things than people, though Flora inquired after Mr. Ernst Cliff and was told he had met them at the station, had been everywhere with them, and had dined at the Mackenzie's each day. How was he looking, Ethel asked, and was told pretty much the same as when he went away. And on a further query from Flora, it appeared that an old naval friend of his father's had hopes of a ship and had promised to have him with him, and thereupon warm hopes were expressed that Harry might have birth in the same. And when is he coming here again, Papa, said Ethel. Eh? Oh, I can't tell. I say, isn't it high time to ring? When they went up at night, everyone felt that half the say had not been said, and there were fresh beginnings on the stairs. Norman triumphantly gave the key to Richard and then called to Ethel. I say, won't you come into my room while I unpack? Oh yes, I should like it very much. Ethel sat on the bed, rolled up in a cloak, while Norman undid his bag, announcing at the same time, Well, Ethel, Papa says I may get to my Euripides tomorrow if I please, and only work an hour at a time. Oh, I am so glad. Then he thinks you're quite well? Yes, I am quite well. I hope I've done with nonsense. And how did you get on with his arm? Very well. He was so patient and told me how to manage. You heard that Sir Matthew said it got much better in these few weeks. Oh, here it is. There's a present for you. Oh, thank you. From you or from Papa? This is mine. Papa has a present for everyone in his bag. He said, at last, that a man with eleven children hadn't need to go to London very often. And you got this beautiful lira in a centium for me? How very kind of you, Norman. It is just what I wished for. Such lovely binding and those embossed edges to the leaves. Oh, they make a pattern as they open. I never saw anything like it. I saw such a one on Miss Rivers' table and asked Ernest Cliff where to get one like it. See, here's what my father gave me. Bishop Ken's manual. That is in readiness for the confirmation. Look, I begged him to put my name though he said it was a pity to do it with his left hand. I didn't like to wait, so I asked him at least to write NWMA and the date. And he has added Prove 23, 24, 25. Let me look it out. She did so, and instead of reading it aloud, looked at Norman full of congratulation. How it ought to make one, and then Norman broke off from the fullness of his heart. I'm glad he put both verses, said Ethel presently. How pleased with you he must be. A silence while brother and sister both gazed intently at the crooked characters. He asked Ethel, with a long breath, resumed her ordinary tone, and said, How well he has come to write with his left hand now. Yes, did you know that he wrote himself to tell Ernest Cliff Sir Matthew's opinion of Margaret? No, did he? Do you know Ethel, said Norman as he knelt on the floor and tumbled miscellaneous articles out of his bag? It is my belief that Ernest Cliff is in love with her and that Papa thinks so. Dear me, cried Ethel, starting up. That is famous. We should always have Margaret at home when he goes to see. But mind, Ethel, for your life you must not say one word to any living creature. Oh no, I promise you I won't, Norman, if you'll only tell me how you found it out. What first put it in my head was the first evening while I was undoing the portmanteau. My father leaned on the mental shelf and sighed and muttered, Poor Ernest Cliff, I wish it may end well. I thought he forgot that I was there so I would not seem to notice, but I soon saw it was that he meant. Oh, cried Ethel eagerly. Oh, I don't know, by Alan's way. Tell me, I want to know what people do when they are in love. Nothing particular, said Norman, smiling. Did you hear him inquire for her? How did he look? I can't tell. That was when he met us at the station before I thought of it, and I had to see to the luggage. But I'll tell you one thing, Ethel. When Papa was talking of her to Mrs. McKinsey at the other end of the room all his attention went away in an instant from what he was saying, and once when Harry said something to me about her he started and looked round so earnestly. Oh yes, that's like people in books. And did he color? No, I don't recollect that he did, said Norman, but I observed he never asked directly after her if he could help it, but always was trying to lead in some roundabout way to hearing what she was doing. Did he call her Margaret? I watched, but to me he always said, Your sister, and if he had to speak of her to Papa he said, Miss May, and then you should have seen his attention to Papa. I could hardly get a chance of doing anything for Papa. Oh, sure of it, cried Ethel, clasping her hands. But poor man, how unhappy he must have been at having to go away when she was so ill. Hi, the last time he saw her was when he carried her upstairs. Oh dear, I hope he will soon come here again. I don't suppose he will. Papa did not ask him. Dear me, Norman, why not? Isn't Papa very fond of him? Why shouldn't he come? Don't you see, Ethel, that would be of no use while poor Margaret is no better if he gained her affections it would only make her unhappy. Oh, but she is much better. She can raise herself up now without help and sat up ever so long this morning without leaning back on her cushions. She is getting well. You know Sir Matthew said she would. Yes, but I suppose Papa thinks they had better say nothing till she is quite well. And when she is, how famous it will be. Then there's another thing. I am sure Papa doesn't care about people being rich. I suppose Alan thinks he ought not to marry unless he can make his wife comfortable. Look here, it would be all very easy. She should stay with us and be comfortable here and he go to sea and get lots of prize money. And that's what you call domestic felicity, said Norman, laughing. He might have her when he was at home, said Ethel. No, no, that would never do, said Norman. Do you think Ernst Cliff, a man that would marry a wife or her father to maintain her? Why, Papa would like it very much. He is not a mercenary father in a book. Hey, what's that? Said a voice Ethel little expected. Contraband talk at contraband times? What's this? Did you hear Papa, said Ethel, looking down? Only your last words as I came up to ask Norman what he had done with my pocketbook. Mind, I ask no impertinent questions, but if you have no objections, I should like to know what gained me the honor of that compliment. Norman, said Ethel, interrogatively, and blushing in amulation of a brother who was crimson. I'll find it, said he, rushing off with a sort of nod and sign that conveyed to Ethel that there was no help for it. So, with much confusion, she whispered into her Papa's ear that Norman had been telling her something he guessed about Mr. Ernstcliff. Her father at first smiled. A pleased, amused smile. Ah, ha, so Master June has his eyes and ears open, has he? A fine bit of gossip to regale you with on his return. He told me to say not one word, said Ethel. Right, mind you don't, said Dr. May, and Ethel was surprised to see how sorrowful his face became. At the same moment, Norman returned still very red and said, I put out the pocketbook, Papa. I think I should tell you I repeated what, perhaps, you did not mean me to hear. You talked to yourself something of pitting Ernstcliff. The doctor smiled again at the boy's high-minded openness, which must have cost an effort of self-humiliation. I can't say little pitchers have long ears. To a maypole like you, Norman, said he. I think I ought rather to apologize for having inadvertently tumbled in among your secrets. I assure you, I did not come to spy on you. Oh, no, no, no, no! repeated Ethel vehemently. Then you didn't mind our talking about it? Of course not, as long as it goes no farther. It is the use of sisters to tell them one's private sentiments. It is not it, Norman? And do you really think it is so, Papa? Ethel could not help whispering. I'm afraid it is, said Dr. May, sighing. Then, as he caught her Ernest eyes, the more I see of Ellen the finer fellow I think him, and the more sorry I am for him. It seems presumptuous, almost wrong, to think of the matter at all while my poor Margaret is in this state, and, if she were well, there are other difficulties which would, perhaps, prevent his speaking, or lead to long years of waiting and wearing out hope. Money, said Ethel? I, though I so far deserve your compliment, Miss, that should be foolish enough, if she were but well, to give my consent tomorrow because I could not help it. Yet one can't live forty-six years in this world without seeing it is wrong to marry without a reasonable dependence, and there won't be much among eleven of you. It makes my heart ache to think of it, come what may, as far as I can see, and without her to judge. The only comfort is that poor Margaret herself knows nothing of it, and is at peace so far. It will be ordered for them anyhow. Good night, my dear. Ethel sought her room, with graver, deeper thoughts of life than she had carried upstairs. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young, Part 1, Chapter 18. Sawing you never in the meadows, where your little feet did pass, down below the sweet white daisies, growing in the long green grass, sawing you never in lilac blossoms, or a casey of white and red, waving brightly in the sunshine, on the tall trees overhead, hymns for children, C-F-A. My dear child, what a storm you have had! How wet you must be! exclaimed Mrs. Larpent, as made of rivers came bounding up the broad staircase at Abbott Stoke Range. Oh no, I am quite dry, feel! Are you sure, said Mrs. Larpent, drawing her darling into a luxurious bedroom lighted up by a glowing fire and full of pretty things? Here, come and take off your wet things, my dear, and Belairis shall bring you some tea. I'm dry, I'm warm, said Mehta, tossing off her plumi hat, as she established herself with her feet on the fender. But where do you think I have been? You have so much to hear, but first, three guesses where we were in the rain. In the Stoneboro Cloisters, that you wanted to see? My dear, you did not keep your papa in the cold there. No, no, we never got there at all. Guess again. At Mr. Edward Wilmots? No. Could it have been at Dr. Mays? Really? Then you must tell me. There, you deserve a good long story, beginning at the beginning, said Mehta, clapping her hands. Wasn't it curious, as we were coming up the last hill, we met some girls in deep mourning with a lady who looked like their governess. I wondered whether they could be Dr. Mays' daughters, and so it turned out they were. Presently there began to fall little square lumps, neither hail nor snow nor rain. It grew very cold, and rain came on. It would have been great fun if I had not been afraid papa would catch cold, and he said we could canter on to the inn. But luckily there was Dr. May walking up the street, and he begged us to come into his house. I was so glad. We were tolerably wet, and Dr. May said something about hoping the girls were at home. Well, when he opened the drawing room door, there was the poor daughter lying on the sofa. Poor girl, tell me of her. Oh, you must go and see her. You won't look at her without losing your heart. Papa liked her so much. See if he does not talk of her all the evening. She looks the picture of goodness and sweetness. Only think of her having some of the main hair and cape jasmine still in water that we sent her so long ago. She shall have some flowers every three days. Well, Dr. May said, there is one at least that is sure to be at home. She felt my habit and said I must go and change it, and she called to a little thing of six telling her to show me the way to flora. She smiled and said she wished she could go herself, but flora would take care of me. Little Blanche came and took a hold of my hand, chattering away. Up we went, up two staircases, and at the top of the last, a girl about seventeen. So pretty. Such deep blue eyes and such a complexion. That's flora, little Blanche said. Flora, this is Miss Rivers, and she's wet, and Margaret says you are to take care of her. So that was your introduction? Yes, we got acquainted in a minute. She took me into a room. Such a room! I believe Belair's would be angry if she had such a one. All up in the roof, no fire, no carpet, except little strips by the beds. There were three beds. Flora used to sleep there till Miss May was ill. Now she dresses there. Yet I am sure they are as much ladies as I am. You are an only daughter, my dear, and a petted one, said Mrs. Larpent, smiling. There are too many of them to make much of, as we do of Armetta. I suppose so, but I did not know that gentle women lived in such a way, said Metta. There were nice things about, a beautiful inlaid workbox of floras, and a rosewood desk, and plenty of books, and a Greek book and dictionary were spread open. I asked Flora if they were hers, and she laughed and said no, and that Ethel would be much discomposed that I had seen them. Ethel keeps up with her brother Norman, only fancy, and he at the head of the school. How clever she must be! But, my dear, were you standing in your wet things all this time? No, I was trying on their frocks, but they trailed on the ground upon me, so she asked if I would come and sit by the nursery fire till my habit was dry. And there was a dear little good-humored baby, so fair and pretty. She was not a bit shy. We'll go to anybody, but they say she likes no one so well as her brother Norman. I had a regular treat of baby nursing. That I had, I could not part with her, the darling. Flora thought we might take her down, and I liked playing with her in the drawing room and talking to Miss May till the fly came to take us home. I wanted to have seen Ethel, but only think Papa has asked Dr. May to bring Flora some day, how I hope he will. Little Maida, having told her story and received plenty of sympathy, proceeded to dress, and, while her maid braided her hair, amusing fit fell upon her. I have seen something of life today, thought she. I had thought of the great difference between us and the poor, but I did not know ladies lived in such different ways. I should be very miserable without belairs, or without a fire in my room. I don't know what I should do if I had to live in that cold, shabby den and do my own hair, yet they think nothing of it, and they are cultivated and ladylike. Is it all fancy and being brought up to it? I wonder if it is right. Yet, dear Papa likes me to have these things and can afford them. I never knew I was luxurious before, and yet I think I must be. One thing I do wish, and that is, that I was of as much use as those girls. I ought to be, I am a motherless girl like them, and I ought to be everything to Papa, just as Miss May is, even lying on the sofa there, and only two years older than I am. I don't think I am of any use at all. He is fond of me, of course, dear Papa, and if I died, I don't know what would become of him, but that's only because I am his daughter. He has only George besides to care for, but, really and truly, he would get on as well without me. I never do anything for him, but now and then playing to him in the evening, and that not always, I am afraid, when I want to be about anything else. He is always petting me and giving me all I want, but I never do anything but my lessons, and going to the school, and the poor people, and that is all pleasure. I have so much that I never miss what I give away. I wonder whether it is all right. Leonora and Agatha have not so much money to do as they please with. They are not so idolized. George said, when he was angry, that Papa idolizes me, but they have all these comforts and luxuries, and never think of anything but doing what they like. They never made me consider as these maize do. I should like to know them more. I do so much when a friend of my own age. It is the only one I have. I have tried to make a friend of Leonora, but I cannot. She never cares for what I do. If she saw these maize, she would look down on them. Dear Mrs. Larpin is better than anyone, but then she is so much older. Flora may shall be my friend. I'll make her call me Mida as soon as she comes. When will it be? The day after tomorrow? But little Mida watched in vain. Dr. May always came with either Richard or the groom to drive him, and if Mida met him and hoped he would bring Flora next time, he only answered that Flora would like it very much, and he hoped soon to do so. The truth was, it was no such everyday matter as Mida imagined. The larger carriage had been broken, and the only vehicle held only the doctor, his charioteer, and in a very minute appendage behind a small son of the gardener to open gates and hold the horse. The proposal had been one of those general invitations to be fulfilled at any time, and therefore easily set aside, and Dr. May, though continually thinking he should like to take his girls to Abbott Stoke, never saw the definite time for so doing, and Flora herself, though charmed with Miss Rivers, and delighted with the prospect of visiting her, only viewed it as a distant prospect. There was plenty of immediate interest to occupy them at home, to say nothing of the increasing employment that Coxmore gave to thoughts, legs, and needles. There was the commencement of the half year when Tom's schoolboy life was to begin, and when it would be proved whether Norman were able to retain his elevation. Margaret had much anxiety respecting the little boy about to be sent into a scene of temptation. Her great confidence was in Richard, who told her that boys did many more wrong things than were known at home, and yet turned out very well, and that Tom would be sure to write himself in the end. Richard had been blameless in his whole school course, but though never partaking in the other boy's evil practices, he could not form an independent estimate of character, and his tone had been a little hurt by sharing the school public opinion of morality. He thought Stoneboro and its temptations inevitable and only wished to make the best of it. Margaret was afraid to harass her father by laying the case before him. All her brothers had gone safely through the school, and it never occurred to her that it was possible that if her father knew the bias of Tom's disposition, he might choose, for the present, at least, some other mode of education. She talked earnestly to Tom, and he listened impatiently. There is an age when boys rebel against female rule and are not yet softened by the chivalry of manhood, and Tom was at this time of light. He did not like to be lectured by a sister, secretly disputed her right, and, proud of becoming a schoolboy, had not the generous deference for her weakness felt by his elder brothers. He was all the time peeling the stick as if to show that he was not attending, and he raised up his shoulder impetishly whenever she came to a mention of the religious duty of sincerity. She did not long continue her advice, and much disappointed and concerned, tried to console herself with hoping that he might have heeded more than he seemed to do. He was placed tolerably high in the school, and Norman, who had the first choice of fags, took him instead of Hector Earnscliffe, who had just passed beyond the part of the school liable to be fat. He said he liked school, looked bright when he came home in the evening, and the sisters hoped all was right. Everyone was just now anxiously watching Norman, especially his father, who strove in vain to keep back all manifestation of his earnest desire to see him retain his post. Resolutely did the doctor refrain from asking any questions when the boys came in, but he could not keep his eyes from studying the face to see whether it bore marks of mental fatigue and from following him about the room to discover whether he found it necessary, as he had done last autumn, to spend the evening in study. It was no small pleasure to see him come in with his handful of horse chestnut and hazel buds and proceed to fetch the microscope and botany books, throwing himself eagerly into the study of the wonders of their infant forms, searching deeply into them with Margaret and talking them over with his father. He was very glad to promote the pursuit, one in which he had always taken great interest. Another night, Dr. May was for a moment disturbed by seeing the school books put out, but Norman had only some notes to compare, and while he did so, he was remarking on florist music and joining in the conversation so freely as to prove it was no labor to him. In truth he was evidently quite recovered, entirely himself again, except that he was less boyish. He had been very lively and full of merry nonsense. His ardor for play had gone off with his high spirits, and there was a manliness of manner and tone of mind that made him appear above his real age. At the end of a fortnight he volunteered to tell his father that all was right. I am not afraid of not keeping my place, he said. You were quite right, Papa. I am more up to my work than I was ever before, and it comes to me quite fresh and pleasant. I don't promise to get the Randall Scholarship if order and cheviot stay on, but I can quite keep up to the mark in schoolwork. That's right, said Dr. May, I am much rejoiced. Are you sure you do it with ease and without its haunting you at night? Oh yes, quite sure. I can't think what has made Dr. Hoxton set us up in such easy things this time. It is very lucky for me for one gets so much less time to unselfish ducks. What, with keeping order? I, said Norman, I fancy they think they may take liberties because I am new and young. I am the owners of the hall at once and do my own work by snatches as I can. Can you make them attend to you? Why yes, pretty well. When it comes to the point, will you or will you not? Cheviot is a great help too and has all the weight of being the eldest fellow amongst us. But still, you find it harder worked in learning. You would rather have to master the dead language than the live tongues. If you had Norman, then added, one knows what to be at with the dead better than with the living. They don't make parties against one. I don't wonder at it. It was very hard on some of those great fellows to have me set before them. But I do not think it is fair to visit it by putting up the little boys to all sorts of mischief. Shameful, said the doctor warmly, but never mind, Norman. Keep your temper and do your own duty and you are man enough to drown such petty spike. I hope I shall manage rightly, said Norman. But I shall be glad if I can get the Randall and get away to Oxford. School is not what it used to be and if you don't think me too young. No, I don't. Certainly not. Trouble has made a man of you, Norman, and you are a fitter to be with men than boys. In the meantime, if you can be patient with these fellows, you'll be of great use to any one like you at the head of the school in my time. They would have kept me out of no end of scrapes. How does Tom get on? He is not likely to fall into this set, I trust. I'm not sure, said Norman. He does pretty well on the whole. Some of them began by bullying him and that made him claim Cushevio and Ernest Cliff and the better party. But lately, I have thought Anderson Jr. rather making up to him and I don't know whether they don't think that tempting him over to them would be the surest way of vexing me. I have an eye over him and I hope he may get settled into the steadier sort before next half. After a silence, Norman said, Papa, there is a thing I can't settle in my own mind. Suppose there have been wrong things done when older boys and excellence too were at the head of the school, yet they never interfered. Do you think I ought to let it go on? Certainly not, or why is power given to you? So I thought, said Norman. I can't see it otherwise. I wish I could, for it will be horrid to set about it and they'll think it a regular shame in me to meddle. Oh, I know what I came into this study for. I want you to be so kind as to lend me your pocket Greek testament. I gave Harry my little one. You are very welcome. What do you want it for? Norman colored. I met with the sermon the other day that recommended reading a bit of it every day, and I thought I should like to try. Now the confirmation is coming. One can always have some quiet by getting away into the cluster. Bless you, my boy. While you go on in this way, I have not much fear but that you'll know how to manage. Norman's rapid progress affected another of the household in an unexpected way. Margaret, my dear, I wish to speak to you, said Miss Winter, appearing when Margaret thought everyone was gone out walking. She would have said, I am very sorry for it, so ominous was the commencement. And her expectations were fulfilled when Miss Winter had solemnly seated herself and taken out her netting. I wish to speak to you about, dear Ethel, said the governess. You know how unwilling I always am to make any complaint, but I cannot be satisfied with her present way of going on. Indeed, said Margaret, I am much grieved to hear this. I thought she had been taking great pains to improve. So she was at one time. I would not by any means wish to deny it, and it is not of her learning, though I speak, but of a hurried, careless way of doing everything and an irritability at being interfered with. Margaret knew how Miss Winter often tried Ethel's temper and was inclined to take her sister's part. Ethel's time is so fully occupied, she said. That is the very thing that I was going to observe, my dear. Her time is too much occupied, and my conviction is that it is hurtful to a girl of her age. This was a new idea to Margaret, who was silent, longing to prove Miss Winter wrong, and not have to see poor Ethel pain by having to relinquish any of her cherished pursuits. You see, there is that cocks more, said Miss Winter. You did not know how far off it is, here, much too great a distance for a young girl to be walking continually in all weathers. That's a question for Papa, thought Margaret. Besides continued Miss Winter, those children engrossed almost all her time and thoughts. She is working for them, preparing lessons, running after them continually. It takes off her home mind from her proper occupations, unsettles her, and I do think it is beyond what befits the idea of her age. Margaret was silent. In addition, said Miss Winter, she is at every spare moment busy with Latin and Greek, and I cannot think that to keep pace with a boy of Norman's age and ability can be desirable for her. It is a great deal, said Margaret, but I am convinced that she does more than is right, continued Miss Winter. She may not feel any ill effects at present, but she may depend on it. It will tell on her by and by. Besides, she does not attend to anything properly. At one time she was improving uniqueness and orderly habits. Now you surely must have seen how much less tidy her hair and dress have been. I have thought her hair looking rather rough, said Margaret, disconsolidely. No wonder, said Miss Winter, for Flora and Mary tell me she hardly spends five minutes over it in the morning and with a book before her the whole time. If I send her up to make it fit to be seen, I meet with looks of annoyance. She leaves her books and all parts of the schoolroom for Mary to put away, and her table drawer is one mass of confusion. Her lessons she does well enough I own, though what I should call much too fast. But have you looked at her work lately? She does not work very well, said Margaret, who was at that moment, though Miss Winter did not know it, regathering a poor child's rock that Ethel had galloped through with more haste than good speed. She works a great deal worse than little bledge, said Miss Winter, and though it may not be the fashion to say so in these days, I consider good needlework far more important than accomplishments. Well, then, Margaret, I should wish you only just to look at her writing. And Miss Winter opened a French exercise book certainly containing anything but elegant specimens of penmanship. Ethel's best writing was an upright, disjointed needle, looking more like Greek than anything else, except where here and there it made insane efforts to become running hand, and thereby lost its sole previous good quality of legibility, while the lines waved about the sheet in almost any direction but the horizontal. The necessity she believed herself under of doing what Eric called writing with the end of her nose and her always holding her pen with fingers almost in the ink added considerably to the difficulty of the performance. This being at her best, the worst may be supposed to be indescribable when dashed off in a violent hurry and considerably garnished with blots. Margaret thought she had seen the worst and was sighing at being able to say nothing for it when Miss Winter confounded her by turning a leaf and showing it was possible to make a still wilder combination of scramble, niggle, scratch, and crookedness, and this was supposed to be an amended addition. Miss Winter explained that Ethel had in an extremely short time performed an exercise in which no fault could be detected except the writing, which was pronounced to be too atrocious to be shown up to Anne Ballant. On being desired to write it over again she had obeyed with a very bad grace and some murmurs about Coxmore and produced a second specimen, which in addition to other defects had some elicions from errant carelessness depriving it of its predecessors merits of being good French. Miss Winter had been so provoked that she believed this to be an effect of ill temper and declared that she should certainly have kept Ethel at home to write it over again if it had not so happened that Dr. May had proposed to walk part of the way with her and Richard and governance was unwilling to bring her into disgrace with him. Margaret was so grateful to her for this forbearance that it disposed her to listen the more patiently to the same representations put in what Miss Winter fancied different forms. Margaret was much perplexed. She could not but see much truth in what Miss Winter said and yet she could not bear to thwart Ethel whom she admired with her whole heart and that dry experience and prejudiced preciseness did not seem capable of entering into her sister's thirst for learning and action. When Miss Winter said Ethel would grow up odd, eccentric, and blue Margaret was ready to answer that she would be superior to everyone and when the governance urged her to insist on Coxmore being given up she felt impatient of that utter want of sympathy for the good work. All that evening Margaret longed time to reflect, but it never came till she was in bed and when she had made up her mind how to speak to Ethel it was five times harder to secure her alone. Even when Margaret had her in the room by herself, she looked wild and eager and said she could not stay she had some lucidities to do. Won't you stay with me a little while quietly said Margaret we hardly ever have one of our talks. I didn't mean to vex you dear Margaret I like nothing so well only we are never alone and I have no time pray do spare me a minute Ethel for I have something that I must say to you and I'm afraid you won't like it so do listen kindly oh said Ethel Miss Winter has been talking to you I know she said she would tell you that she wants me to give up Coxmore you aren't dreaming of it Margaret indeed dear Ethel I should be very sorry but one thing I'm sure of that there is something to miss in your way of going on did she show you that horrid exercise yes well I know it was bad as writing but just listen Margaret we promised six of the children to print them each a verse of a hymn on a card to learn Richie did three and then could not go on for the book that the others were in was lost till last evening and then he was writing for Papa so I thought I would do them before we went to Coxmore and that I should squeeze time out of the morning but I got a bit of Sophocles that was so horribly hard it ate up all my time and I don't understand it properly now I must get Norman to tell me and that ran in my head and maybe make a mistake in my some and have to begin it again then just as I thought I had saved time over the exercise comes Miss Winter and tells me I must do it over again and scolds me besides about the ink on my fingers she would send me up at once to get it off and I could not find nurse and her bottle of stuff for it so that wasted ever so much more time and I was so vexed that really and truly my hand shook and I could not write any better no I thought it looked as if you had been in one of your agonies and she thought I did it on purpose and that made me angry and so we got into a dispute and away went all the little moment I might have had and I was forced to go to Coxmore as a promise breaker don't you think you had better have taken pains at first well so I did with a sense but I had time to look at the writing much you would have made better speed if you had oh yes I know I was wrong but it is a great plague altogether really Margaret I shan't get Thucydides done you must wait a little longer please Ethel for I want to say to you that I am afraid you are doing too much and that prevents you from doing things well as you were trying to do last autumn you are not thinking of my not going to Coxmore cried Ethel vehemently I want you to consider what is to be done dear Ethel you thought last autumn a great deal of curing your careless habits now you seem not to have time to attend you can do a great deal very fast I know but isn't it a pity to be always in a hurry it isn't Coxmore that is the reason said Ethel no you did pretty well when you began but you know that was in the holidays when you had no Latin and Greek to do oh but Margaret they won't take so much time when I have once got over the difficulties and see my way but just now they have put Norman into such a frightfully difficult difficulty that I can hardly get on at all with it and there's a new kind of Greek verses too and I don't make out from the book how to manage them Norman showed me on Saturday but mine won't be right when I've got over that I shan't be so hurried but Norman will go on to something harder I suppose I dare say I shall be able to do it perhaps you might but I want you to consider if you are not working beyond what can be good for Norman is much clever than most boys and you are a year younger and besides doing all his work at the head of the school this whole business of the day you have Coxmore to attend to and your own lessons besides reading all the books that come into the house now isn't that more than it's reasonable to expect any head and hands to do properly but if I can do it but can you dear Ethel aren't you always racing from one thing or doing them by halves feeling hunted and then growing vexed I know I've been crossed lately said Ethel but it's the being so bothered and why are you bothered isn't it that you undertake too much what would you have me do said Ethel and an injured unconvinced voice not give up my children no said Margaret but don't think me very unkind if I say suppose you left off trying to keep up oh Margaret Margaret and her eyes filled with tears we have hardly missed doing the same every day since the first Latin grammar was put into his hands I know it would be very hard said Margaret but Ethel continued in a piteous tone a little sentimental from high high at cock up to our cakes and bida fucadidu we have gone on together and I can't bear to give it up I'm sure I can stop Ethel I really doubt whether you can do you know that Norman was telling Papa the other day that it was very odd Dr. Hoxton give him such easy lessons Ethel looked very much mortified you see said Margaret kindly we all know that men have more power than women and I suppose the time has come for Norman to pass beyond you he would not be clever than anyone if he could not do more than a girl at home he has so much more time for it said Ethel that's the very thing now consider Ethel his work after he goes to Oxford will be doing his very utmost and you know what an utmost that is if you could keep up with him at all you must give your whole time and thoughts to it and when you had done so if you could get all the honors in the university what would it come to you can't take a first class I don't want one said Ethel I only can't bear not to do as Norman does and I like Greeks so much and for that would you give up being a useful steady daughter and sister at home the sort of woman that dear mama wished to make you and a comfort to Papa Ethel was silent and large tears were gathering you own that that is the first thing yes said Ethel frankly and that is what she failed in most yes then Ethel dearest when you made up your mind to Coxmore you knew those things could not be done without a sacrifice yes but I didn't think it would be this Margaret was wise enough not to press her and she sat down and sighed pitifully presently she said Margaret if you'd only let me leave off that stupid old French and horrid dull reading with Miss Winter I should have plenty of time for everything and what does one learn when Mary read poetry she can't understand you work don't you but indeed Ethel don't say that I can let you leave off anything I don't feel as if I had that authority if it be done at all it must be by Papa's consent and if you wish me to ask him about it I will only I think it would vex Miss Winter and I don't think dear mama would have liked Greek and Coxmore to swallow up all the little common lady like things Ethel made two or three great gulps Margaret must I give up everything and forget all my Latin and Greek I should think that would be a great pity said Margaret if you were to give up the verse making and the trying to do as much as Norman and fix some time in the day half an hour perhaps for your Greek I think it might do very well thank you said Ethel but relieved I'm glad you don't want me to leave it all off I hope Norman won't be vexed she added looking a little melancholy but Norman had not by any means the sort of sentiment on the subject that she had of course you know Ethel said he it must have come to this some time or other and if you find those verses too hard and that they take up too much of your time you had better give them up Ethel did not like anything to be said to be too hard for her and was very near pleading she only wanted time but some recollection came across her and presently she said I suppose it is a wrong sort of ambition to want to learn more in one's own way when one is told it is not good for one I was just going to say I hated being a woman and having these tiresome little trifles my duty instead of learning which is yours Norman I'm glad you did not said Norman for it would have been very silly of you I assure you Ethel it is really time for you to stop or you would get into a regular learned lady and be good for nothing I don't mean that knowing more than other people would make you so but minding nothing else would this argument from Norman himself did much to reconcile Ethel's mind to the sacrifice she had made and when she went to bed she tried to work out the question in her own mind whether her eagerness for classical learning was a wrong sort of ambition to know what other girls did not and whether it was right to crave for more knowledge than was thought advisable for her she only bewildered herself and went to sleep before she had settled anything but that she knew she must make all give way to Papa first and secondly to Coxmore meanwhile Margaret had told her father all that had passed he was only surprised to hear that Ethel had kept up so long with Norman not that it was quite right that she should not undertake so much agreeing more entirely than Margaret had expected with Miss Winters' view that it would be hurtful to body as well as mind it is perfectly ridiculous to think of her attempting it he said I am glad you have put a stop to it I am glad I have said Margaret and dear Ethel behaves so very well if she had resisted it would have pussed me very much I must have asked you to settle it but it is very odd Papa Ethel is the one of them all who treats me most as if I had real authority over her she lets me scold her asks my lead never seems to recollect for a moment how little older I am and how much clever she is I am sure I never should have submitted so readily and that always makes it more difficult to me to direct her I don't like to take upon me with her because it seems wrong to have her obey me as if she were a mere child she is a fine creature said Doctor May emphatically it just shows the fact the higher the mind the readier the submission but you don't mean that you have any difficulty with the others oh no no Flora never could need any interference especially for me and Mary is a thorough good girl I only meant that Ethel lays herself out to be ruled in quite a remarkable way I am sure though she does love learning her real love is for goodness and for you Papa Ethel would have thought her sacrifice well paid for had she seen her father's look of mournful pleasure End of Part 1 Chapter 18 Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gerkin Gilbert, Arizona Part 1 Chapter 19 of The Daisy Chain 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 Nancy Cochran-Gerkin Gilbert, Arizona The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young Part 1 Chapter 19 Oh Rufal Seen When from a nook obscure His little sister doth his peril see all playful as she sate She grows to mirror She finds full soon her wanted spirits flee She meditates a prayer to set him free Shins stone The setting sun shone into the great west window of the school at Stoneboro On its bare walls the master's desks the forms polished with use and the square inky hacked and huge chests carved with the names of the generations of boys About six or eight little boys were clearing away the books or papers that they, or those who owned them as fags, had left astray and a good deal of talk and laughing was going on among them. Ha! exclaimed one. Here has Harrison left his book behind him that he was showing us the gladiators in and standing by the third master's desk he turned over a page or two of Smith's antiquities exclaiming it is full of pictures here's an old man blowing the bellows let me see cried Tom May precipitating himself across the benches and over the desk with so little caution that there was an outcry and to his horror he beheld inks build over Mr. Harrison's book while there, August, you've been and done it you'll catch it, resounded on all sides what good will steering with your mouth open do exclaimed Edward Anderson the eldest present here a bit of blotting paper this moment Tom dreadfully frightened handed a sheet torn from an old paper case that he had inherited from Harry saying despairingly it won't take it out will it no little stupid head but don't you see I'm stopping it from running down the edges or soaking in he won't be the wiser till he opens it again at that place when he does he will said the bewildered Tom let him it won't tell tales he's coming cried another boy he's close at the door Anderson hastily shut the book over the blotting paper which he did not venture to retain in his hand dragged Tom down from the desk and was apparently entirely occupied with arranging his own box when Mr. Harrison came in Tom crouched behind the raised lid quaking in every limb conscious he ought to confess the destitute of resolution to do so and in a perfect agony as the master went to his desk took out the book and carried it away so unconscious that larkins a great wag only waited till his back was turned to exclaim old fellow you don't know what you've got there hello hey junior will you never leave off-staring you won't see a bit farther for it said Edward Anderson shaking him by the ear come to your senses and know your friends he'll open it gas Tom so he will but I bet 90 to 1 it is not at that page or if he does it won't tell tales unless indeed he happened to see you standing there crouching and shaking that's the right way to bring him upon you but suppose he opens it and knows who is in school what then do you think we can't stand by each other and keep our own counsel but the blotting paper suppose he knows that there was a laugh all round at this as if Harrison knew everyone's blotting paper yes but Harry used to write his name all over his sea and draw union jacks on it if he did the date is not there do you think the ink is going to say March 2nd why should not July have done it last half July would have told if he had said Larkins that's no go I that's the way the maze are all like girls can't keep a secret not one of them there I've done more for you than ever one of them would have done own it and he strode up to Tom and grasped his wrist to force a confession from him but he'll ask when he finds it out let him we know nothing about it don't be coming to good boy over me like your brothers that won't do I know whose eyes are not too short sided to read upside down Tom shrank and looked abject clinging to the hope that Mr. Harrison would not open the book for weeks months or years but the next morning his heart died within him when he beheld the unfortunate piece of blotting paper by Mr. Harrison with the inquiry whether anyone knew to whom it belonged and what made it worse was that his sight would not reach far enough to assure him whether Harry's name was on it and he dreaded that Norman or Hector Ernstcliffe should recognize the nautical designs however both let it pass and no one through the whole school attempted to identify it one danger was passed but the next minute Mr. Harrison opened his smith antiquities at the page and understood the black witness Tom gazed round in despair he could not see his brother's face but Edward Anderson from the second form returned him a glass of contemptuous encouragement this book said Mr. Harrison was left in school for a quarter of an hour yesterday when I opened it again it was in this condition do any of you know how it happened a silence and he continued who was in school at this time junior can you tell me anything of it no sir you know nothing of it no sir cold shields crept over Tom as Mr. Harrison looked round to refresh his memory Larkins do you know how this happened no sir said Larkins boldly satisfying his conscience because he had not seen the manner of the overthrow Ernstcliffe were you there no sir Tom's timid heart fluttered in dim hope that he had been overlooked as Mr. Harrison paused and said remember it is concealment that is evil not the damage to the book I shall have a good opinion ever after of a boy honest enough to confess may junior I saw you he added hopefully and kindly don't be afraid to speak out if you did meet with a miss chance Tom colored and turned pale Anderson and Larkins grimaced at him to remind him that they had told untruths for his sake he must not betray them it was the justification he wanted he was relieved to fancy himself obliged to tell the direct falsehood for which a long course of petty active deceits had paved the way for he was in deadly terror of the effects of truth no sir he could hardly believe he had said the words or that they would be so readily accepted for Mr. Harrison had only the impression that he knew who the guilty person was and would not tell and therefore put no more questions to him but after a few more vain inquiries was baffled and gave up the investigation Tom thought he should have been very unhappy he had always heard the deceit was a heavy burden and would give continual stings but he was surprised to find himself very comfortable on the whole and able to dismiss repentance as well as terror his many underhand ways with Richard had taken away the tenderness of his conscience though his knowledge of what was right was clear and he was quite ready to accept the feeling prevalent at Stoneboro that truth was not made for schoolboys the axiom was prevalent but not universal and parties were running high Norman May who as head boy had in play hours the responsibility and almost the authority of a master had taken higher ground than was usual with the well-disposed and felt his duty to check abuses and not practices that his predecessors had allowed his friend Shevio and the right-minded set maintained his authority with all their might but Harvey Anderson regarded his interference as vexatious always took the part of the offenders and opposed him in every possible way thus gathering as his adherence not only the idle and mischievous but the weak and mediocre and among this set there was a positive bitterness of feeling to May and all whom they considered as belonging to him in shielding Tom May and leading him to deceive the younger Anderson had gained a conquest in him the Mays had fallen from that pinnacle of truth which was a standing reproach to the average Stoneboro code and from that time he was under the special patronage of his friend the most ingenious arts of saying a lesson without learning it and of showing up other people's tasks whispers and signs were directed to him to help him out of difficulties and he was sought out and put forward whenever a forbidden pleasure was to be enjoyed by stealth these were his stimulants under a heavy bondage he was teased and frightened bullied and tormented whenever it was the fancy of that Anderson and his associates to make his timidity their sport he was scorned and ill treated and driven by bodily terror into acts alarming to his conscience dangerous in their consequences and painful in their perpetration and yet among all his sufferings the little coward dreaded nothing so much as truth though it would have set him free at once from this wretched tyranny accepting on holidays ended hours when the town boys were allowed to go home there were strict rules confining all except the sixth form to their bounds consisting of two large courts and an extensive field ordered by the river and the road on the opposite side of the bridge was a turnpike gate where the keeper exposed stalls of various eatables very popular among the boys chiefly because they were not allowed to deal there ginger beer could also be procured and there were suspicions that the bottle so-called contained something contraband August said Norman as they were coming home from his school one evening did I see you coming over the bridge? Tom would not answer so you have been at ball hatchets gate? I can't think what could take you there if you want tarts I am sure poor old beddies are just as good what made you go there? nothing said Tom well mind you don't do it again or I shall have to take you in hand which I shall be very sorry to do that man is a regular bad character and neither my father nor Dr. Hoxton would have one of us have anything to do with him as you know Tom was in hopes it was over but Norman went on I am afraid you are getting into a bad way why won't you mind what I have told you plenty of times before that no good comes of going after net Anderson and acts worthy and that's set what were you doing with them today? but receiving no answer he went on you always sulk when I speak to you I suppose you think I have no right to row you but I do it to save you from worse you can't never be found out this startled Tom but Norman had no suspicion if you go on you will get into some awful scrape and Papa will be grieved I would not for all the world have him put out of heart about you think of him Tom and try to keep straight Tom would say nothing that his elder brother was harder upon him than anyone else would be and Norman grew warmer if you let Anderson Jr. get hold of you and teach you his tricks you'll never be good for anything he seems good natured now but he will turn against you as you did with Harry I know how it is and you had better take my word and trust to me and straightforwardness when you get into a mess I'm in no scrape said Tom that Norman lost patience and spoke with more displeasure you will be then if you go out of bounds and run Anderson's errands and shirk work you'd better take care it is my place to keep order and I can't let you off for being my brother so remember if I catch you going to a ball hatchets again you may make sure of a licking so the warning closed Tom were alarmed at the aspect of right which he fancied terrific and Norman was some compunction at having lost temper and threaten when he meant to have gained him by kindness Norman recollected his threat with a qualm of dismay when at the end of the week as he was returning from a walk with Shavio Tom darted out of the gatehouse he was flying across the bridge with something under his arm when Norman laid a detaining hand on his collar making a sign at the same time to Shavio to leave them here said Norman sternly marching Tom into the field so you've been there again what's that under your jacket only what I was sent for and he tried to squeeze it under the flap what is it a bottle only a bottle of ink Norman seized it and gave Tom a fierce angry shake but the indignation was mixed with sorrow oh Tom these fellows have brought you a pretty pass they thought of such a thing from us Tom cowered but felt only terror speak truth said Norman ready to shake it out of him is this for Anderson Jr under those eyes flashing with generous sorrowful wrath he dared not utter another falsehood but Anderson's threats chained him and he preferred his thralldom to throwing himself on the mercy of his brother who loved him he would not speak I am glad it is not for yourself Norman but do you remember what I said in case I found you there again oh don't don't cried the boy I would never have gone if they had not made me made you said Norman disdainfully how they would have thrashed me they pinched my fingers in the box they pulled my ears oh don't poor little fellow said Norman but it is your own fault if you won't keep with me but I must not let you off I must keep my word Tom cried, sobbed and implored in vain I can't help it he said and now don't howl I had rather no one knew it it will soon be over I never thought to have this to do to one of us Tom roared and struggled chill releasing him he said there that will do stop bellowing I was obliged and I can't have hurt you much he added more kindly while Tom went on crying and turning from him it is nothing to care about I am sure look up and he pulled down his hands say you are sorry speak the truth keep with me and no one shall hurt you again very different this from Tom's chosen associates but he was still obdurate, sullen and angry and would not speak nor open his heart to those kind words after one more I could not help it Tom you've no business to be sulky Norman took up the bottle opened it smelled and tasted and was about to throw it into the river when Tom exclaimed oh don't don't what will they do to me give it to me did they give you the money to pay for it yes let me have it how much was it four pence I'll settle that and the bottle slashed in the river now then Tom don't brood on it anymore here's a chance for you of getting quit of their errands if you will keep in my sight I'll take care no one bulls you and you may still leave off these disgraceful tricks and do well but Tom's evil spirit whispered that Norman had beaten him that he should never have any diversion again and that Anderson would punish him and there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing that his perverse silence really distressed his brother if you will go on in this way I can't help it but you'll be sorry some day," said Norman and he walked thoughtfully on looking back to see where Tom was following as he did slowly meditating on the way how he should avert his tyrant's displeasure Norman stood for a moment at the door surveying the court then walked up to a party of boys and laid his hand on the shoulder of one holding a silver four pence to him Anderson Jr. said he there's your money I'm not going to let Stoneborough School be turned into a gin palace I give you notice it is not to be now you are not to bully May Jr. for telling me he did not I found him out leaving Anderson to himself he looked for Tom but not seeing him he entered the cluster for it was the arrow when he used to read there but he could not fix his mind he went to the bench where he had laying on the examination day looked out on the green grass where the graves were mother mother he murmured have I been harsh to your poor little tender sickly boy I couldn't help it oh if you were but here we are all going wrong what shall I do how should Tom be kept from this evil it is ruining him mean false cowardly sullen all that is worst and your son oh mother and all I do only let him shrink more from me it will break my father's heart and you will not be there to comfort him Norman covered his face with his hands and a fit of bitter grief came over him but his sorrow was now not what it had been before his father's resignation had tempered it and soon it turned to prayer, resolution and hope he would try again to reason quietly with him when the alarm of detection and irritation should have gone off but alas Tom had learned to look on all reproof as rowing and considered it as an additional injury from a brother who according to the Anderson view should have connived at his offenses and turned a deafened ear and dogged countenance to all he said the foolish boy sought after the Anderson still more and Norman became more dispirited about him greatly missing Harry that constant companion and follower who would have shared his perplexities and removed half of them in his own part of the school by the influence of his high courageous and truthful spirit in the meantime Richard was studying hard at home with greater hopefulness and vigor than he had ever thrown into his work before suppose Ethel had once said to him that when you are a clergyman you could be cured of Coxmore when there is a church there when? said Richard smiling at the presumption of the scheme and yet it formed itself into a sort of different hope perhaps they might persuade Mr. Ramston to take him as a curate with a view to Coxmore and his prospect, vague as it was gave an object and hope to his studies everyone thought the delay of his examination favorable to him and he now read with a determination to succeed Dr. May had offered to let him read with Mr. Harrison but Richard thought he was getting on pretty well with the help Norman gave him for it appeared that ever since Norman's return from London he had been assisting Richard who was not above being taught by a younger brother while on the other hand Norman much struck by his humility would not for the world have published that he was fit to act as his elder's tutor one evening when the two boys came in from school Tom gave a great start and pulling Mary by the sleeve whispered how came that book here it is Mr. Harrison's yes I know but how came it here Richard borrowed it to look out something and Ethel brought it down a little reassured Tom took up an exciting storybook and ensconced himself by the fire but his agonies were great during the ensuing conversation Norman Ethel was exclaiming in delight do you know this book? Smith yes it is in the school library there's everything in it that one wants I do believe here is such an account of ancient galleys I never knew how they managed their banks of rowers before oh and the Greek houses look at the pictures too some of them are the same as Mr. Rivers' gems said Norman standing behind her and turning the leaves in search of a favorite oh what did I see is that ink? said Flora from the opposite side of the table yes didn't you hear said Ethel Mr. Harrison told Richie when he borrowed it that unluckily one day this spring he left it in school and some of the boys must have upset an ink stand over it but though he asked them all round each denied it there were such things to happen and it was a prize book too while Ethel spoke she opened the mark page to show the extent of the calamity and as she did so Mary exclaimed dear me how funny why how did Harry's blotting paper get in there Tom shrank into nothing set his teeth and pinched his fingers ready to wish they were on Mary's throat more especially as the words made some sensation exchanged looks and their father who had been reading sharply raised his eyes and said Harry's blotting paper how do you know that Mary it is Harry said she all unconscious because of that anchor up in one corner and the union jack in the other don't you see Ethel yes said Ethel nobody drew that but Harry I and there are his buttons said Mary much amused and delighted with these relics for her beloved Harry don't you remember one day last holidays Papa desired Harry to write and ask Mr. Ernst Cliff what clothes he ought to have for the naval school and all the time he was writing the letter he was drawing savers buttons on his blotting paper I wonder how ever it got into Mr. Harrison's book poor Mary's honest wits did not jump to a conclusion quite so fast as other peoples and she little knew what she was doing when she came to the library she exclaimed I know Harry gave his paper case to Tom that's the way it got to school Tom exclaimed his father suddenly and angrily where are you going the bed might have been miserable Tom twisting his hands a dead silence of consternation fell on all the room Mary gazed from one to the other mystified at the effect of her words frightened at her father's loud voice Tom's trembling confusion the stillness lasted for some moments and was first broken by Flora as if she had caught at a probability some of my views the first blotting paper that came to hand come here Tom said the doctor in a voice not loud but trembling with anxiety then laying his hand on his shoulder look in my face Tom hung his head and his father put his hand under his chin and raised the pale terrified face don't be afraid to tell us the meaning of this if any of your friends have done it we will keep your secret look up and speak out how did your blotting paper come there Tom had been attempting his former system of silent sulleness but there was anger at Mary and fear of his father to agitate him and in his impatient desire at this being held in question he burst out into a violent fit of pride I can't have you roaring here to distress Margaret said doctor May come into the study with me but Tom who seemed fairly out of himself would not stir and a screaming and kicking scene took place before he was carried into the study by his brothers and there left with his father Mary meantime dreadfully alarmed and perceiving that in some way she was the cause had thrown herself upon Margaret sobbing inconsolably as she begged to know what was the matter and why Papa was angry with Tom had she made him so Margaret Creston soothed her to the best of her ability trying to persuade her that if Tom had done wrong it was better for him it should be known and assuring her that no one could think her unkind nor a tell tale then dismissing her to bed and Mary was not unwilling to go for she could not bear to meet Tom again only begging and a whispered to Ethel that if your Tom had not done it she would come and tell her I'm afraid there is no hope of that sighed Ethel as the door closed on Mary after all said Laura he is not sitting being if he has only done it and not confessed that is not so bad it is only the usual fashion of boys has he been asked did he deny it said Ethel looking Norman's face as if she ventured to put the question and she only received sorrowful signs as answers at the same moment doctor May called him no one spoke Margaret Creston had on the sofa and looked very mournful Richard stood by the fire without moving limb or feature Laura worked fast and Ethel leaned back on an arm chair biting the end of a paper knife the doctor and Norman came back together I have sent him up to bed said doctor May I must take him to Harrison tomorrow morning it is a terrible business has he confessed it said Margaret I can hardly call such a thing a confession I warmed it out bit by bit I could not tell whether he was telling truth or not till I called Norman in but he has not said anything more untrue yes he has though said doctor May indignally he said Ned Anderson put the paper there and had been taking up the ink with it then when I came to cross examine him I found that though Anderson did take up the ink it was Tom himself who knocked it down I never heard anything like it I never could have believed it it must all be Ned Anderson's doing cried flora there are enough to spoil anybody I am afraid they have done him a great deal of harm said Norman and what have you been about all this time the doctor to keenly grieve to be just I should have thought that with you at the head of the school the child might have been kept out of mischief but there have you been going your own way and leaving him to be ruined by the very worst set of voice Norman's color rose with the extreme pain this unjust accusation cost him and his voice though low was not without irritation I have tried I have not done as much as I ought perhaps no I think not indeed interrupted his father sending a boy there brought up as he had been without the least tendency to deceit here no one could see Norman's burning cheeks and brow bit downwards in the effort to keep back an indignant reply without bursting out in exculpation and Richard looked up while the three sisters all at once began oh no no papa I left Margaret to finish poor little Tom had not always been sincere indeed and why was I left to send him to school without knowing it the place of all others to foster deceit it was my fault papa said Margaret and mine put in Richard and she continued Ethel told us we were very wrong and I wish we had followed her advice it was by far the best but we were afraid of vexing you everyone seems to have been combined to hide what they odd not said Dr. May though speaking to her much more softly than to Norman to whom he turned angrily again pray how came you not to identify this paper I did not know it said Norman speaking with difficulty he ought never to have been sent to school said the doctor that tendency was the very worst beginning it was a great pity I was very wrong said Margaret in great concern I did not mean to blame you my dear said her father affectionately I know you only meant act for the best but and he put his hand over his face and then came the sign grown which pain Margaret ten thousand times more than reproaches and which in an instant dispersed all the indignation burning within Norman though the pain remained at his father's thinking him guilty of neglect but he did not like at that moment to speak in self justification after a short space Dr. May desired to hear the deceptions to which Margaret had alluded and made Norman tell what he knew of the affair of the blotted book although spoke hopefully when she had heard it well do you know I think he will do better now you see Edward made him conceal it and he has been going on with it on his mind and in that boys power ever sense but now it is cleared up and confessed he will begin afresh and do better don't you think so Norman don't you Papa I should have more hope if I had seen anything like confession or patents said Dr. May but that provoked me more than all I could only perceive that he was sorry to be found out and afraid of punishment perhaps when he has recovered the first fright he will come to his better self said Margaret for she guessed what indeed was a case that the doctors anger on this first shock and the fault he most abhorred had been so great that a fearful cowering spirit would be completely overwhelmed and as there had been no sorrow shown for the fault there had been none of that softening and relenting that one so much love and confidence everyone felt that talking only made them more unhappy they tried to return to their occupations and so passed the time till night then as Richard was carrying out upstairs Norman lingered to say Papa I am very sorry you should think I neglected Tom I dare say I might have done better for him but indeed I have tried I am sure you have Norman I spoke hastily my boy you will not think more of it when a thing like this comes on a man he hardly knows what he says if Harry were here said Norman anxious to turn from the real loss and grief as well as to talk away that feeling of being apologized to it would all do better he would make a link with Tom but I have so little naturally to do with the second form that it is not easy to keep him in sight yes yes I know that very well it is no one's fault by my own I should not have sent him there without knowing him better but you see how it is Norman I have trusted to her till I have grown neglectful and it is well if it is not the ruin of him perhaps he will take a turn as Ethel says answered Norman cheerfully good night Papa I have a blessing to be thankful for I knew at least murmured the doctor to himself what other young fellow of that age and spirit would have born so patiently with my injustice not I I am sure a fine father I show myself to these poor children neglect helplessness oh Maggie Margaret had so bad a headache the next day that she could not come downstairs the punishment was they heard a flogging at the time and an imposition so long that it was likely to occupy a large portion of the play hours till the end of the half year his father said and Norman silently agreed a very good thing it will keep him out of mischief but Margaret only wished she could learn it from him and took upon herself all the blame from beginning to end she said little to her father for it distressed him to see her grieve he desired her not to dwell on the subject caressed her called her his comfort and support and did all he could to console her but it was beyond his power her sisters by listening to her only made her worse dear dear Papa she exclaimed how kind he is but he can never depend upon me again I have been the ruin of my poor little Tom well said Richard quietly I can't see why you should put yourself into such a state about it this took Margaret by surprise have not it done very wrong and perhaps hurt Tom for life I hope not said Richard you and I made a mistake but it does not follow that Tom would have kept out of this grave if we had told my father our notion it would not have been on my conscience said Margaret he would not have sent him to school I don't know that said Richard at any rate we meant to do right and only made a mistake it was unfortunate but I can't tell why you go on and make yourself ill by fancying it worse than it is the boy has done very wrong but people get cured of such things in time and it is nonsense to fret as if you were not a mere child of 8 years old you did not teach him to seat no but I concealed it Papa is disappointed when he thought he could trust me well I suppose no one could expect never to make mistakes said Richard in his sober tone self sufficiency exclaimed Margaret that has been the root of all do you know Richie I believe I was expecting that I could always judge rightly you generally do said Richard no one else could do half what you do said Papa and all of you till you have spoke me I have thought it myself Richie it is true said Richard but then said Margaret I have grown to think much of it and not like to be interfered with I thought I could manage by myself and when I said I would not worry Papa it was half because I like the doing and settling all about the children myself oh if it could have been visited in any way but by poor Tom's false well said Richard if you felt so it was a pity though I never should have guessed it but you see you will never feel so again and as Tom is only one and there are nine to govern it is all for the best his deliberate common sense made her laugh a little and she owned he might be right it is a good lesson against my love of being first but indeed it is difficult to prepare to be harassed he could not at first but now he is strong and well it is different he looks terribly thin and worn still side Margaret so much older I think he will never get back his young looks but except his weak arm he is quite well and then his his quick way of speaking may do harm yes that was what I feared for Tom said Richard I think I see it now my father always is right in the main though he is apt to frighten one at first and it is what ought to be that he should rule his own house but now Margaret it is silly to worry about it anymore let me finish baby and don't think of it and Margaret allowed his reasonableness and let herself be comforted after all Richard's solid soberness had more influence over her than anything else End of Part 1 Chapter 19 Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen Gilbert, Arizona