The Crofton Boys Part 15

"They slept through the whole night, I dare say. You were awake a good many times; and you and I had some talk. Do you remember that? Or has it gone out of your head with your sound sleep?"

"No, no: I remember that," said Hugh. "But it was the oddest, longest night!--and yesterday too! To think that it is not a whole day yet since it all happened! Oh! Here comes my breakfast. What is it?

Coffee!"

"Yes: we know you are fond of coffee; and so am I. So we will have some together."

"How comfortable!" exclaimed Hugh; for he was really hungry; which was no wonder, after the pain and exhaustion he had gone through. His state was like that of a person recovering from an illness--extremely ready to eat and drink, but obliged to be moderate.

When warmed and cheered by his coffee, Hugh gave a broad hint that he should like to see Phil, and one or two more boys--particularly Dale.

His mother told him that the surgeon, Mr Annanby, would be coming soon.

If he gave leave, Phil should come in, and perhaps Dale. So Hugh was prepared with a strong entreaty to Mr Annanby on the subject; but no entreaty was needed. Mr Annanby thought he was doing very well; and that he would not be the worse for a little amus.e.m.e.nt and a little fatigue this morning, if it did not go on too long. So Phil was sent for, when the surgeon was gone. As he entered, his mother went out to speak to Mr Tooke, and write home.

She then heard from Mr Tooke and from Firth and Dale, how strong was the feeling in Hugh's favour--how strong the sympathy for his misfortune throughout the school. Hugh had seen no tears from her; but she shed them now. She then earnestly entreated that Hugh might not hear what she had just been told. He felt no doubt of the kindness of his schoolfellows, and was therefore quite happy on that score. He was very young, and to a certain degree vain; and if this event went to strengthen his vanity, to fill his head with selfish thoughts, it would be a misfortune indeed. The loss of his foot would be the least part of it. It lay with those about him to make this event a deep injury to him, instead of the blessing which all trials are meant by Providence eventually to be. They all promised that, while treating Hugh with the tenderness he deserved, they would not spoil the temper in which he had acted so well, by making it vain and selfish. There was no fear, meantime, of Phil's doing him any harm in that way; for Phil had a great idea of the privileges and dignity of seniority; and his plan was to keep down little boys, and make them humble; not being aware that to keep people down is not the way to make them humble, but the contrary.

Older people than Phil, however, often fall into this mistake. Many parents do, and many teachers; and very many elder brothers and sisters.

Phil entered the room shyly, and stood by the fire, so that the bed-curtain was between him and Hugh.

"Are you there, Phil?" cried Hugh, pulling aside the curtain.

"Yes," said Phil; "how do you do this morning?"

"Oh, very well. Come here. I want to know ever so many things. Have you heard yet anything real and true about the new usher?"

"No," replied Phil. "But I have no doubt it is really Mr Crabbe who is coming, and that he will be here after Christmas. Why, Hugh, you look just the same as usual!"

"So I am just the same, except under this thing," pointing to the hoop, or basket, which was placed over his limb, to keep off the weight of the bed-clothes. "I am not hurt anywhere else, except this bruise;" and he showed a black bruise on his arm, such as almost any schoolboy can show, almost any day.

"That's nothing," p.r.o.nounced Phil.

"The other was, though, I can tell you," declared Hugh.

"Was it very, very bad? Worse than you had ever fancied?"

"Oh! Yes. I could have screamed myself to death. I did not, though.

Did you hear me, did anybody hear me call out?"

"I heard you--just outside the door there--before the doctors came."

"Ah! But not after, not while uncle was here. He cried so! I could not call out while was he crying so. Where were you when they were doing it?"

"Just outside the door there. I heard you once--only once; and that was not much."

"But how came you to be there? It was past bedtime. Had you leave to be up so late?"

"I did not ask it; and n.o.body meddled with me."

"Was anybody there with you?"

"Yes, Firth. Dale would not. He was afraid and he kept away."

"Oh! Is not he very sorry?"

"Of course. n.o.body can help being sorry."

"Do they all seem sorry? What did they do? What do they say?"

"Oh! They are very sorry; you must know that."

"Anybody more than the rest?"

"Why some few of them cried; but I don't know that that shows them to be more sorry. It is some people's way to cry--and others not."

Hugh wished much to learn something about Tooke; but, afraid of showing what was in his thoughts, he went off to quite another subject.

"Do you know, Phil," said he, "you would hardly believe it, but I have never been half so miserable as I was the first day or two I came here?

I don't care now, half so much, for all the pain, and for being lame, and--Oh! But I can never be a soldier or a sailor--I can never go round the world! I forgot that."

And poor Hugh hid his face in his pillow.

"Never mind!" said Phil, stooping over him very kindly. "Here is a long time before you; and you will get to like something else just as well.

Papa wanted to be a soldier, remember, and could not; and he is as happy as ever he can be, now that he is a shop-keeper in London. Did you ever see anybody merrier than my father is? I never did. Come! Cheer up, Hugh! You will be very happy somehow."

Phil kissed him: and when Hugh looked up in surprise, Phil's eyes were full of tears.

"Now I have a good mind to ask you," said Hugh, "something that has been in my mind ever since."

"Ever since when?"

"Ever since I came to Crofton. What could be the reason that you were not more kind to me then?"

"I! Not kind?" said Phil, in some confusion. "Was not I kind?"

"No. At least I thought not. I was so uncomfortable,--I did not know anybody, or what to do; and I expected you would show me, and help me.

I always thought I could not have felt lonely with you here; and then when I came, you got out of my way, as if you were ashamed of me, and you did not help me at all; and you laughed at me."

"No; I don't think I did that."

"Yes, you did, indeed."

"Well, you know, little boys always have to shift for themselves when they go to a great school--"

"But why, if they have brothers there? That is the very thing I want to know. I think it is very cruel."

"I never meant to be cruel, of course. But--but--the boys were all ready to laugh at me about a little brother that was scarcely any better than a girl;--and consider how you talked on the coach, and what ridiculous hair you had,--and what a fuss you made about your money and your pocket,--and how you kept popping out things about Miss Harold, and the girls, and Susan."

"You _were_ ashamed of me, then."

"Well, what wonder if I was?"