The Crofton Boys Part 14

"Yes, in their different ways and degrees. Would you say that they were hardly treated? Or would you rather suppose that their Father gave them something more and better to do than they had planned for themselves?"

"He must know best, of course: but it does seem hard that that very thing should happen to them. Huber would not have so much minded being deaf, perhaps; or that musical man being blind; or Richard Grant losing his foot, instead of his hand: for he did not want to go round the world."

"No doubt their hearts often swelled within them at their disappointments: but I fully believe that they found very soon that G.o.d's will was wiser than their wishes. They found, if they bore their trial well, that there was work for their hearts to do, far n.o.bler than any work that the head can do through the eye, and the ear, and the hand. And they soon felt a new and delicious pleasure, which none but the bitterly disappointed can feel."

"What is that?"

"The pleasure of rousing their souls to bear pain, and of agreeing with G.o.d silently, when n.o.body knows what is in their hearts. There is a great pleasure in the exercise of the body,--in making the heart beat, and the limbs glow, in a run by the sea-side, or a game in the playground; but this is nothing to the pleasure there is in exercising one's soul in bearing pain,--in finding one's heart glow with the hope that one is pleasing G.o.d."

"Shall I feel that pleasure?"

"Often and often, I have no doubt,--every time that you can willingly give up your wish to be a soldier or a sailor,--or anything else that you have set your mind upon, if you can smile to yourself, and say that you will be content at home.--Well, I don't expect it of you yet. I dare say it was long a bitter thing to Beethoven to see hundreds of people in raptures with his music, when he could not hear a note of it.

And Huber--"

"But did Beethoven get to smile?"

"If he did, he was happier than all the fine music in the world could have made him."

"I wonder--O! I wonder if I ever shall feel so."

"We will pray to G.o.d that you may. Shall we ask Him now?"

Hugh clasped his hands. His mother kneeled beside the bed, and, in a very few words, prayed that Hugh might be able to bear his misfortune well, and that his friends might give him such help and comfort as G.o.d should approve.

"Now, my dear, you will sleep again," she said, as she arose.

"If you will lie down too, instead of sitting by the fire. Do, mother."

She did so; and they were soon both asleep.

CHAPTER NINE.

CROFTON QUIET.

The boys were all in the school-room in the grey of the morning;--no one late. Mr Tooke was already there. Almost every boy looked wistfully in the grave face of the master;--almost every one but his own son. He looked down; and it seemed natural: for his eyes were swollen with crying. He had been crying as much as Proctor: but, then, so had Dale.

"Your school-fellow is doing well," said Mr Tooke, in a low voice, which, however, was heard to the farthest end of the room. "His brother will tell you that he saw him quietly asleep; and I have just seen him so. He deserves to do well; for he is a brave little boy. He is the youngest of you; but I doubt whether there is a more manly heart among you all."

There was a murmur, as if everybody wished to agree to this. That murmur set Phil crying again.

"As to how this accident happened," continued the master, "I have only to say this. The coping-stone of the wall was loose,--had become loosened by the frost. Of that I am aware. But it would not,--it could not have fallen, if your school-fellow had not been pulled from the top of the wall. Several hands pulled him,--as many as could get a hold.

Whose these hands were, it would be easy to ascertain; and it would not be difficult to discover whose was the hand which first laid hold, and gave the rest their grasp. But--" How earnestly here did every one look for the next words!--"But your school-fellow considers the affair an accident,--says he himself was cross."

"No! No! We plagued him," cried many voices.

"Well! He is sure no one meant him any harm, and earnestly desires that no further inquiry may be made. For his part, nothing, he declares, shall ever induce him to tell who first seized him."

The boys were about to give a loud cheer, but stopped, for Hugh's sake, just in time. There was no want of signs of what they felt. There was no noise; but there were many tears.

"I do not think that a promise of impunity can be any great comfort to those concerned," continued Mr Tooke: "but such comfort as they can find in it, they may. Both from my wish to indulge one who has just sustained so great a misfortune, and because I think he is right, I shall never inquire,--never wish to know more than I do of the origin of this accident. His mother declares the same, on the part of both of his parents. I hope you will every one feel yourselves put upon honour, to follow my example."

Another general murmur, in sign of agreement.

"The only thing you can now do for your school-fellow," concluded the master, "is to be quiet throughout the day. As soon as he can be removed, he will be carried to Mr Shaw's. Till then, you will take care that he loses no rest through you,--Now, first cla.s.s, come up."

While this cla.s.s was up, Phil's neighbour began whispering; and the next boy leaned over to hear; and one or two came softly up behind: but, though they were busily engaged in question and answer, the master's stern voice was not heard (as usual when there was talking) to say "Silence there!" His cla.s.s saw him looking that way, once or twice; but he took no notice. Phil had seen his brother, and was privileged to tell.

"So you saw him! Did you get a real good sight of him?"

"Yes. I stayed some time; half-an-hour, I dare say."

"What did he look like? Did he say anything?"

"Say anything!" cried Dale: "why, did you not hear he was asleep?"

"What did he look like, then?"

"He looked as he always does when he is asleep, as far as I could see.

But we did not bring the light too near, for fear of waking him."

"Did you hear--did anybody tell you anything about it?"

"Yes: my mother told me whatever I wanted to know."

"What? What did she tell you?"

"She says it will not be so very bad a lameness as it might have been-- as if he had not had his knee left. That makes a great difference.

They make a false foot now, very light; and if his leg gets quite properly well, and we are not too much in a hurry, and we all take pains to help Hugh to practise walking carefully at first, he may not be very lame."

"Oh! Then, it is not so bad," said one, while Tooke, who was listening, gave a deep sigh of relief.

"Not so bad!" exclaimed Phil. "Why, he will never be so strong--so able and active as other men. He will never be able to take care of himself and other people. He will be so unlike other people always; and now, while he is a boy, he will never--"

The images of poor Hugh's privations and troubles as a schoolboy were too much for Phil, and he laid down his head on his desk, to hide his grief. As for Tooke, he walked away, looking the picture of wretchedness.

"When will you see him again?" asked Dale, pa.s.sing his arm round Phil's neck.

"To-day, if he is pretty well. My mother promised me that."

"Do you think you could get leave for me too? I would not make any noise, nor let him talk too much, if I might just see him."

"I'll see about it," said Phil.

As Mrs Proctor was placing the pillows comfortably, for Hugh to have his breakfast, after he was washed, and the bed made nicely smooth, he yawned, and said he was sleepy still, and that he wondered what o'clock it was. His mother told him it was a quarter past ten.

"A quarter past ten! Why, how odd! The boys are half through school, almost, and I am only just awake!"