Frances Kane's Fortune Part 26

You may examine him if you like--Willie! this gentleman is a very clever gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. _He'll_ put questions to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between his head and mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And Master Arthur flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in the air, and added, "Bertram! you lazy lout! _will_ you get up and take an interest in my humble efforts for the good of my fellow-creatures?"

Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on to his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and the gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master Arthur's funny speeches; but when Bill found the clever gentleman looking at him, he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman was not at all like his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill reported at home), and he had such a large prominent forehead that he looked as if he were bald.

When he had sat up, he suddenly screwed up his eyes in a very peculiar way, pulled out a double gold eye-gla.s.s, fixed it on his nose, and stared through it for a second; after which his eyes unexpectedly opened to their full extent (they were not small ones), and took a sharp survey of Bill over the top of his spectacles, and this ended, he lay back on his elbow without speaking. Bill then and there decided that Mr. Bartram was very proud, rather mad, and the most disagreeable gentleman he ever saw; and he felt sure could see as well as he (Bill) could, and only wore spectacles out of a peculiar kind of pride and vain-glory which he could not exactly specify. Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate, that he was not very civil, and began at once to talk to the boy himself.

"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? Couldn't your mother spare you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident astonishment.

Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and finally gasped--

"Please, sir, I was scared."

"Scared? What of?"

"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded.

"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?"

"Please, sir, I saw one the other night."

Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-gla.s.s and sat bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.

When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said--

"I've heard something of this, sir, in the village," and then added more which Bill could not hear.

"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive about the garden a bit wherever you like.--Now John."

Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point.

Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short gra.s.s, and seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but now his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at intervals of the conversation going on between John and the young gentleman. What could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to extraordinary energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words "lime-light" and "large sheet," and thought they must be planning a magic-lantern exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word "turnip." At last, as he was rounding the corner of the bed of geraniums, he distinctly heard Mr. Bartram ask,--

"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?"

Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the machine a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the geraniums. What was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he could not interrupt him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much dispirited, and by no means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from the party on the gra.s.s.

When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is no consolation to hear other people laughing over a private joke; moreover, Bill felt that if they were still on the subject of the murdered man and his ghost, their merriment was very unsuitable: Whatever was going on, it was quite evident that Mr. Bartram was the leading spirit of it, for Bill could see Master Arthur waving the one-legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he clapped his friend on the back till the eye-gla.s.s danced upon his nose.

At last Mr. Bartram threw himself back as if closing a discussion, and said loud enough for Bill to hear--

"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward."

Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to him, and he took the bit of broken geranium and went.

"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your misfortunes--geranium? fiddlesticks! put it in your b.u.t.ton-hole--your misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you out of them. John--ahem!--will be--ahem!--engaged to-night, and unable to take his cla.s.s as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with you; so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But mind, this is on one condition. You must not say anything about it--about our walking back with you, I mean--to anybody. Say nothing; but get ready and come to school as usual. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, sir, and the other gentleman as well."

Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he went he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener--

"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as soon as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list ready for you."

Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of the young gentleman rang out into the road.

What did it all mean?

CHAPTER IV.

"The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die), and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and crawed in a fearsome manner."

MANSIE WAUCH.

Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his cla.s.s had arrived, so he took the corner by the fire, sacred to first-comers, and watched the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared, and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was an elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with an admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a length of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, which led some people to say that he "held himself very high." This was the opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by hearing Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his cla.s.s instead of the more backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and he was proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined.

"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them."

Then up came the schoolmaster.

"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's cla.s.s? Thank you, sir. I've put out the books; if you want anything else, sir, p'raps you'll mention it.

When they have done reading, perhaps, sir, you will kindly draft them off for writing, and take the upper cla.s.ses in arithmetic, if you don't object, sir."

Mr. Lindsay did not object.

"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their letters?

All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've no doubt we shall get on together."

"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his friend's ear, "the cla.s.s is composed of boys who ought to have been to school, and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. Some of them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of them confound _b_ and _d_ when they meet with them. They are at one point of general information; namely, they all know what you have just told them, and will none of them know it by next time. _I_ call it the rag-tag and bob-tail cla.s.s. John says they are like forced tulips. They won't blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one standard of reading."

Mr. Lindsay laughed and said,--

"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction.

Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening commenced.

Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill pa.s.sed the new teacher and his cla.s.s, and came to the conclusion that they did "get on together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone that night, and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson.

"It was so clear" and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one great secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer that he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves when there was no hope of being pa.s.sed over, and everybody was waiting.

Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one too.

The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, standing (without his eye-gla.s.s) by the blackboard, had been so strict and yet so entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly kind, that Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent children) appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the Yew-lane Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn began (they always ended the night-school with singing,) that he remembered it.

Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop Ken's glorious old lines--

"Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,"

he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts of his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. Which of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High"?

Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the "grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy, though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold too, and Mr. Lindsay began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking him so far out of his way, through the damp, chilly lane, and began to wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result was, that with some effort he said--