St. Winifred's Part 25

"I think I've heard that observation before," said Henderson, dodging away. "Ah, Walter, how do you do, my dear old fellow? I hope you're sitting on the throne of health, and reclining under the canopy of a well-organised brain."

"More than you are, Flip," said Walter laughing. "You seem madder than ever."

"That he is," said Power; "since his return he's made on an average fifteen thousand bad puns. You ought to be grateful, though, for he and I have got some coffee going for you in my study. Come along; the Familiar will see that your luggage is all right."

"Yes; and I shall make bold to bring in a shrimp to tea," said Henderson, seizing hold of Eden.

"All right. I meant to ask you, Eden," said Power, shaking the little boy affectionately by the hand; "have you enjoyed the holidays?"

"Not very much," said Eden.

"You're not looking as bright as I should like," said Power; "never mind; if you didn't enjoy the holidays you must enjoy the half."

"That I shall. I hope, Walter, you'll be in the same dormitory still.

What shall I do if you're not?"

"O, how's that to be, Flip?" asked Walter; "you said you'd try to get some of us put together in one dormitory. That would be awfully jolly.

I don't want to leave you, Eden, and would like you to be moved too; but I can't bear Harpour and that lot."

"I've partly managed it and partly failed," said Henderson. "You and the shrimp still stay with the rest of the set in Number 10, but as there was a vacant bed I got myself put there too."

"Hurrah!" said Walter and Eden both at once; "that's capital."

"Let me see," said Walter; "there are Jones and Harpour--brutes certainly both of them; and Cradock--well, he's rather a bargee, but he's not altogether bad; and Anthony, and Franklin, who are both far jollier than they used to be; indeed I like old Franklin very much; so with you and Eden we shall get on famously."

The first few days of term pa.s.sed very pleasantly. The masters met the boys in the kindliest spirit, and the boys, fresh from home and with the sweet influences of home still playing over them, did not begin at once to reweave the ravelled threads of evil school tradition. They were all on good terms with each other and with themselves, full of good resolutions, cheerful, and happy.

All our boys had got their removes. Walter had won a double remove and was now under his friend Mr Percival. Kenrick was in the second fifth, and Power, young as he was, had now attained the upper fifth, which stands next to the dignity of the monitors and the sixth.

The first Sunday of term was a glorious day of early spring, and the boys, according to their custom, scattered themselves in various groups in the grounds about Saint Winifred's School. The favourite place of resort was a broad green field at the back of the buildings, shaded by n.o.ble trees, and half encircled by a bend of the river. Here, on a fine Sunday, between dinner and afternoon school, you were sure to find the great majority of the boys walking arm in arm by twos and threes, or sitting with books on the willow trunks that overhung the stream, or stretched out at full length upon the gra.s.s, and lazily learning Scripture repet.i.tion.

It was a sweet spot and a pleasant time; but Walter generally preferred his beloved seash.o.r.e; and on this afternoon he was sitting there talking to Power, while Eden, perched on the top of a piece of rock close by, kept murmuring to himself his afternoon lesson. The conversation of the two boys turned chiefly on the holidays which were just over, and Power was asking Walter about his visit to Kenrick's house.

"How did you enjoy the visit, Walter?"

"Very much for some things. Mrs Kenrick is the sweetest lady you ever saw."

"But Ken is always abusing Fuzby--isn't that the name?"

"Yes; it isn't a particularly jolly place, certainly, but he doesn't make the best of it; he makes up his mind to detest it."

"Why?"

"O, I don't know. They didn't treat his father well. His father was curate of the place."

"As far as I've seen, Fuzby isn't singular in that respect. It's no easy thing in most places for a poor clergyman to keep on good terms with his people."

"Yes; but Ken's father does seem to have been abominably treated." And Walter proceeded to tell Power the parts of Mr Kenrick's history which Kenrick had told him.

When he had finished the story he observed that Eden had shut up his book and was listening intently.

"Hallo, Arty," said Walter, "I didn't mean you to hear."

"Didn't you? I'm so sorry. I really didn't know you meant to be talking secrets, for you weren't talking particularly low."

"The noise of the waves prevents that. But never mind; I don't suppose it's any secret. Ken never told me not to mention it. Only, of course, you mustn't tell any one, you know, as it clearly isn't a thing to be talked about."

"No," said Eden; "I won't mention it, of course. So other people have unhappy homes as well as me," he added in a low tone.

"What, isn't your home happy, Arty?" asked Power.

Eden shook his head. "It used to be, but this holidays mamma married again. She married Colonel Braemar--and I _can't bear_ him." The words were said so energetically as to leave no doubt that he had some grounds for the dislike; but Power said--

"Hush, Arty, you must try to like him. Are you sure you know your Rep.

perfectly?"

"Yes."

"Then let's take a turn till the bell rings."

While this conversation was going on by the sh.o.r.e, a very different scene was being enacted in the Croft, as the field was called which I above described.

It happened that Jones, and one of his set, named Mackworth, were walking up and down the Croft in one direction, while Kenrick and Whalley, one of his friends, were pacing up and down the same avenue in the opposite direction, so that the four boys pa.s.sed each other every five minutes. The first time they met, Kenrick could not help noticing that Jones and Mackworth nudged each other derisively as he pa.s.sed, and looked at him with a glance unmistakably impudent. This rather surprised him, though he was on bad terms with them both. Kenrick had not forgotten how grossly Jones had bullied him when he was a new boy, and before he had risen out of the sphere in which Jones could dare to bully him with impunity. He was now so high in the school as to be well aware that Jones would be nearly as much afraid to touch him as he always was to annoy any one of his own size and strength; and Kenrick had never hesitated to show Jones the quiet but quite measureless contempt which he felt for his malice and meanness. Mackworth was a bully of another stamp; he was rather a clever fellow, set himself up for an aristocrat on the strength of being second cousin to a baronet, studied "De Brett's Peerage," dressed as faultlessly as Tracy himself, and affected at all times a studious politeness of manner. He had been a good deal abroad, and as he constantly adopted the airs and the graces of a fashionable person, the boys had felicitously named him French Varnish. But Mackworth was a dangerous enemy, for he had one of the most biting tongues in the whole school, and there were few things which he enjoyed more than making a young boy wince under his cutting words.

When Kenrick came to school, his wardrobe, the work of Fuzbeian artists, was not only well worn--for his mother was too poor to give him new clothes--but also of a somewhat odd cut; and accordingly the very first words Mackworth had ever addressed to Kenrick were--

"You new fellow, what's your father?"

"My father is dead," said Kenrick in a low tone.

"Then what _was_ he?"

"He was curate of Fuzby."

"Curate was he; a slashing trade that," was the brutal reply. "Curate of Fuzby? are you sure it isn't Fusty?"

Kenrick looked at him with a strange glowing of the eyes, which, so far from disconcerting Mackworth, only made him chuckle at the success of his taunt. He determined to exercise the lancet of his tongue again, and let fresh blood if possible.

"Well, glare-eyes! so you didn't like my remark?"

Kenrick made no answer, and Mackworth continued--

"What charity-boy has left you his off-cast clothes? May I ask if your jacket was intended to serve also as a looking-gla.s.s? and is it the custom in your part of the country not to wear breeches below the knees?"

There was a corrosive malice in this speech so intense that Kenrick never saw Mackworth without recalling the shame and anguish it had caused. Fresh from home, full of quick sensibility, feeling ridicule with great keenness, Kenrick was too much pained by these words even for anger. He had hung his head and slunk away. For days after, until, at his most earnest entreaty, his mother had incurred much privation to afford him a new and better suit, he had hardly dared to lift up his face. He had fancied himself a mark for ridicule, and the sense of shabbiness and poverty had gone far to crush his spirit. After a time he recovered, but never since that day had he deigned to speak to Mackworth a single word.

He was surprised, therefore, at the obtrusive impertinence of these two fellows, and when next he pa.s.sed them, he surveyed them from head to foot with a haughty and indignant stare. The moment after he heard them burst into a laugh, and begin talking very loudly.

"It was the rummiest vehicle you ever saw," he heard Jones say; "a cart, I a.s.sure you--nothing more or less, and drawn by the very scraggiest scarecrow of a blind horse."