The Hero of Garside School Part 22

He did not pause till he came in sight of the old flag waving above the school. Had he disgraced that flag--the legacy of a brave soldier? Had he dishonoured it? G.o.d would be his judge.

He pa.s.sed three or four boys as he entered the grounds. They knew nothing of what had happened at the sand-pit. One boy spoke to him, but Paul took no heed of him. He had not heard him. He was as though deaf and blind to all around him. He did not pause till he reached one of the cla.s.s-rooms; then his head fell on his arms.

The shouts and jeers followed him, and broke harshly in upon the stillness of the room. With startling distinctness he could hear them, and the cry went ringing through his brain:

"The n.o.ble champion of the Gargoyles!"

Then resting there, with his head bowed on his arms, he searched his conscience, and asked himself the question--"Have I done right?" Had he acted as his father would have wished him to act had he been living? Had he done right in the sight of G.o.d? Yes, he felt confident he had done right in refusing to fight Wyndham, though he could not explain to his cla.s.s-mates why he had so acted. That night ride was known only to Stanley and him. It was impossible for him to divulge the secret to his Form. He must suffer their taunts in silence, trusting that the time would soon come when he might speak.

"There's one good thing, old Stan will understand me. I can make it clear enough to him. He ought to be here by this time. Why doesn't he come?" he asked himself.

He tried to shake off the gloom that oppressed him, but could not. His head went to the desk again, and again he heard the yells and hooting of the boys at the pit; but the cries seemed fainter.

"Why doesn't Stan come--why doesn't Stan come?" he kept asking himself.

He rested thus for some time--how long he knew not--when he was roused by a timid hand resting on his arm, while a gentle voice whispered: "Percival."

He looked up quickly. Hibbert was standing beside him, his face, usually so pale, was slightly flushed, as the brown eyes turned to Paul.

"I haven't disturbed you, have I?" he asked.

"What do you want with me, Hibbert?" Paul asked rather sharply; for he did not like the lad breaking in upon him so quietly.

"You looked so wretched and miserable I could not help coming in. You're not angry with me, are you?"

"Angry with you? No; why should I be?" answered Paul, forcing a smile to his face at the boy's eager question.

"Oh, I'm so used to people being angry with me, except you and--and Mr.

Weevil."

"Mr. Weevil! Doesn't he ever get angry with you?"

"No; he's very good to me."

Paul was rather astonished at this piece of information, knowing that Weevil had a reputation for harshness.

"Glad to hear it. He makes it up on the other fellows." Paul's mind flitted back to the night when Stanley was sent to Dormitory X. "But why aren't you outside, enjoying yourself with your cla.s.s-mates?"

"They never want me to play with them. I'm no good at their games,"

answered the boy sadly; "but I've been with some of them this afternoon.

I was at the--sand-pit."

He volunteered the information with some hesitation. Paul flushed. What had happened would soon be known, then, to every boy in the school.

"We found out what was going to happen in our Form; and so I went with the rest to see you--to see you----"

Again the boy hesitated.

"To see me turn tail and run. Out with it. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings," cried Paul bitterly. "The other fellows won't. You'll hear what they'll be calling me presently--quite a choice collection of names--cur, pariah, coward, and the rest of it."

"No, not coward. I know you couldn't be," said the boy confidently. "Any one can see that by looking in your face. I know you had some reason for going away. It's that made you so wretched. I knew you would be, and so--and so after waiting a little time to see what would happen, I followed after you."

Paul was touched at Hibbert's devotion. In that one moment the boy had repaid a hundredfold the little act of kindness he had shown him when he first entered the school. He had come to Paul in his loneliness, and had brought a ray of sunshine into the gloom that had suddenly sprung up around him.

"Do you know, Hibbert, you're a very good little chap to speak of me as you do, and to think of me as you do? I'm a long way off deserving it, I can tell you. You waited after I left the sand-pit, you say, to see what would happen? What did happen? They kept up the groans for me till they were tired, I suppose?"

"Don't speak of it," said the boy, shivering.

"You needn't be afraid of giving me pain, I tell you. I'm getting pretty tough. After they'd done hooting me----"

"While they were still hooting you, Moncrief threw off his jacket, and leapt into your place."

"What!" cried Paul, starting to his feet, and staring at the boy. "Leapt into my place?"

"Yes, stood up to the Beetle--the fellow they call Wyndham; then the hooting stopped, and our fellows cheered madly, specially when Newall came forward and backed up Moncrief major."

"Newall! backed up Moncrief!" repeated Paul, bewildered. "Do you mean to say Moncrief fought with Wyndham?"

"Yes, wildly--madly."

Paul closed his eyes, shuddering. He could see the two confronting each other, and staggering about in the sand-pit. For some moments he could not speak, and when his hands came from his face, it was as white as the boy's before him.

"And who--who came off best, Hibbert?"

"I don't know. I--I could not stop. To see them fighting so made me--made me feel bad all over. I'm not like other boys. And--and all the time I was thinking of you; so I hastened here, and--and found you."

"They were still fighting as you left?"

"Yes, yes; but where are you going?"

Paul had seized his cap and turned to the door.

"To see what has happened."

"It will be all over by now; don't go," pleaded the boy.

But Paul was deaf to Hibbert's pleading.

"What have I done--what have I done?" he asked himself as he rushed into the grounds. "Fool--fool, not to have guessed what would happen!"

Somehow we do rarely guess what will happen. Things which seem so clear to us after they have happened are quite hidden from our sight beforehand. The best of us grope about in the dark, and stumble blindly along as Paul Percival had done.

Paul rushed on--back--back to the sand-pit. Suddenly he came to a dead stop. The hum of many voices reached his ears. A crowd of boys were coming towards him.

CHAPTER XVI