.dt The Cadets of Flemming Hall, by Anna Chapin Ray-A\
Project Gutenberg eBook
.de body {width:80%; margin:auto;}
// make footnotes more legible
// .sr h .sup>.B>.
// max line length
.ll 72
// convert diacritical marks
.cv
// Transcriber’s notes in a nice box.
.de .tnbox {background-color:#E3E4FA;border:1px solid silver;padding: 0.5em;margin:2em 10% 0 10%; }
// Creating a simple box around text.
.de .box {border-style: solid; border-width: medium; padding: 15px}
// verse
.dm verse-start
.sp 1
.in +1
.fs 85%
.nf b
.dm-
.dm verse-end
.nf-
.fs 100%
.in -1
.sp 1
.dm-
// default indentation for .nf l blocks
.nr nfl 4
// Page numbering
.pn off // turn off visible page numbers
// .pn link // turn on page number links
// paragraph formatting, indent paragraphs by 1.0 em.
.nr psi 1.0em
.pi
// include a cover image in HTML only
.if h
.il fn=cover.jpg w=575px
.ca
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is\
placed in the public domain.
.ca-
.pb
.if-
// 001.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
\_
.dv class=box
.nf c
ANNA CHAPIN RAY’S BOOKS.
.nf-
.hr 20%
“A quiet sly humor, a faculty of investing every-day events with a
dramatic interest, a photographic touch which places her characters before
the reader, and a high moral tone are to be remarked in Miss Ray.”
.rj
—Detroit Tribune.
.nf l
HALF A DOZEN BOYS.
12mo. Illustrated $1.25
HALF A DOZEN GIRLS.
12mo. Illustrated 1.25
IN BLUE CREEK CAÑON.
12mo. Illustrated 1.25
CADETS OF FLEMMING HALL.
12mo. Illustrated 1.25
.nf-
.tb
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers. Catalogues sent free
upon application.
.nf-
.tb
.nf c
T. Y. CROWELL & CO.,
New York and Boston.
.nf-
.dv-
.sp 2
// 002.png
.pn +1
// 003.png
.pn +1
.pb
.if h
.il fn=frontis.jpg w=600px
.ca
Their guests proceeded to seat themselves as their tastes
suggested.—Page 15.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: Their guests proceeded to seat themselves as their tastes
suggested.—Page 15.]
.sp 2
.if-
// 004.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 2
.h1
THE CADETS||OF||FLEMMING HALL
.nf c
BY
ANNA CHAPIN RAY
Author of “Half a Dozen Boys,” “Half a Dozen Girls,”
“In Blue Creek Cañon”
NEW YORK: 46 East 14th Street
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
BOSTON: 100 Purchase Street
.nf-
.sp 2
// 005.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
Copyright, 1892,
By T. Y. CROWELL & CO.
.nf-
.sp 4
// 006.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
To
“MY BOYS.”
.nf-
.pm verse-start
“You say you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well.”
Shakespeare.
.pm verse-end
.sp 4
// 007.png
.pn +1
// 008.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
PREFACE.
.hr 15%
.sp 2
From the days of “Tom Brown at Rugby” to
his more modern brothers, the American “New
Senior at Andover,” and the French “Straight
On,” stories of boy school life have gone on multiplying
and still the tale is not all told. Every
school has its slightly different atmosphere, and
calls for its different historian. For that reason,
I offer this picture of life at Flemming Hall.
Though Irving Wilde and the doctor may not be
portraits, still the school life of each one of us has
known one or more similar teachers, from whom
we have gained the inspiration to do broader, truer
work, inspiration which, although unconsciously
received, perhaps unconsciously given, has yet
left its stamp upon all our later work in life.
It is to the courtesy of one such teacher that I
owe the Harrow song with which my story closes.
So far as I know, it has never been in print, on
this side of the Atlantic. My preface, too, would
// 009.png
.pn +1
be incomplete without an expression of my indebtedness
to the boy friend who criticised my athletics,
and above all to the kindness of the artist,
Mr. Clephane, whose thorough and practical knowledge
of cadet life has been invaluable to me.
It is to be hoped that I have done no harm to the
cause of Yale athletics, in making use of the incident
of Captain “Phil” Allen’s daring leap, during
the Yale-Atalanta race, in May, eighteen
hundred and ninety. I can claim no originality in
the climax of my regatta; it is the mere telling of
an historical fact.
If, in spite of my long list of assistants, my boy
readers can find a single line of my story which
shall bring me into closer touch with them, I shall
be more than satisfied.
.ti +10
“Tremont,”
.ti +5
Third January, 1892.
.sp 2
// 010.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS.
.sp 2
.ta r:6 h:30 r:5
CHAPTER || PAGE
I. | The Cadets | #9:ch01#
II. | Flemming and its Ways | #24:ch02#
III. | Leon’s First Day at Flemming | #40:ch03#
IV. | The Boniface Rebellion | #57:ch04#
V. | War in the Color-Guard | #75:ch05#
VI. | Victorious Ninety-Two | #92:ch06#
VII. | How Leon spent his Thanksgiving | #110:ch07#
VIII. | Max makes a Treaty of Peace | #124:ch08#
IX. | In the Storm | #142:ch09#
X. | The Holidays | #163:ch10#
XI. | Stanley Campbell | #181:ch11#
XII. | Midwinter Revels | #198:ch12#
XIII. | The Course of True Love | #218:ch13#
XIV. | Sergeant-Major Arnold | #233:ch14#
XV. | On the Lake | #247:ch15#
XVI. | In the Ravine | #259:ch16#
XVII. | Commencement | #279:ch17#
XVIII. | Forward—March! | #291:ch18#
.ta-
.sp 2
// 011.png
.pn +1
// 012.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
THE
CADETS OF FLEMMING HALL.
.nf-
.hr 20%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch01
CHAPTER I.||THE CADETS.
.sp 2
“There comes the stage!”
At the word, four or five boys came leaping
down the flight of steps and joined the lad watching
at the gate, as the old coach crept slowly up
the hill. The powerful, iron-gray horses, tired out
with their long climb, plodded onward, quite unconscious
of the eager faces above them. Suddenly
a smooth brown head was popped out of the
stage window, followed by an arm that waved
vigorously in answer to the ringing cheer which
greeted the owner’s coming.
“Hurrah, there’s Hal!”
The stage turned in under the arching gateway,
and the horses, quickening their pace as they
// 013.png
.pn +1
reached their journey’s end, toiled up the gravel
driveway leading to the steps. Before they had
fairly stopped, out jumped a boy of sixteen, dressed
in a gray uniform, resplendent with brass buttons.
He was immediately seized and surrounded
by his schoolmates, all talking at once.
“Glad to see you back, old boy!”
“So late I was afraid you had cut Flemming
Hall for good!”
“Why didn’t you wait till Christmas, and done
with it?”
“Where’ve you been all summer?”
“Lots of new fellows here and our new teacher;
you just ought to see him!”
Without deigning to reply to the shower of
questions, as soon as he had shaken hands all
round, the new-comer turned back to the stage
and said,—
“Come, Leon, step out and show yourself.”
As he spoke, a boy two or three years younger
than himself stepped down from the stage and
joined the group, a little shyly, it must be confessed.
But Harry laid a protecting hand on his
shoulder, as he said by way of introduction,—
“See here, you fellows, this kid is my brother,
Leon Arnold. He’s a good fellow, plucky enough
// 014.png
.pn +1
to make up for his small size, and I know you’ll
like him. Now come on, one at a time, and I’ll
tell Leon who you all are, so you can start fair
and square. This is Louis Keith,” he went on,
turning to a slender lad of fifteen whose dark
olive skin and blue-black hair were suggestive of
Japan or China, rather than American birth; “we
call him Ling Wing, or Wing for short. He’s the
dude of Flemming Hall, and immensely proud of
himself when he gets on his dress uniform. This
next one,” he added, pointing to a yellow-haired,
roly-poly youth of about the same age; “is Max
Eliot. Look out for him; he’ll get you into all
sorts of mischief.”
“Don’t you worry, young Arnold; I’ll get you
out again, and that’s more than Hal does for his
friends. Ask him about the night Max and Louis
went after the pies,” interrupted the tallest of the
group, a sixteen-year-old giant who was already
past his six feet and was still stretching upward,
while his small sandy head and blue eyes looked
ridiculously boyish at the top of his manly figure.
“This, Leon,” his brother explained, without
paying the slightest heed to the interruption; “is
Jack Howard, popularly known as Baby. He’s a
good fellow, but an awful drain on the family
// 015.png
.pn +1
purse, for the tailor always charges him double for
his uniforms.”
During the laugh that greeted this sally, a
young man drew near the group, a well-built,
athletic-looking young man dressed in army blue,
whose brown eyes brightened behind their spectacles
as he put out his hand, saying cordially,—
“Harry, I am glad to see you at last. We had
almost given you up.”
Regardless of Leon and of his introductions,
Harry whirled around quickly and grasped the
outstretched hand.
“Lieutenant Wilde! Are you really back here?
How jolly!”
“Back again, as well as ever and delighted to
be with my boys once more, after six months of
rest. They were all here but you, and the doctor
and I were beginning to be afraid you were not
coming, after all. Is this the brother you wrote
about?”
“Oh, yes, this is Leon. Leon, Leon, this is Lieutenant
Wilde,” he added, eagerly pulling his
brother by the sleeve.
Lieutenant Wilde looked at the lad with interest.
Harry Arnold was one of his favorites, and
on that account he was the more curious to see
// 016.png
.pn +1
Harry’s younger brother. Very different were
the two boys who were standing there in the glare
of the September sun, under their teacher’s gaze.
Harry’s broad shoulders, round face, quiet gray
eyes and firm lips seemed to tell of a more lasting
strength than the thin, wiry figure of Leon, his
laughing, restless brown eyes and mobile mouth;
but the boyish hearts were the same in their quick,
impulsive generosity, in their firm adherence to a
strict code of honor, and in their keen sense of
fun. Though apparently the more yielding of the
two, Leon ruled his brother with an iron rod, and
in spite of the difference in age, he was respected
and admired by Harry, who willingly became his
abject slave.
“And so you are Leon,” Lieutenant Wilde was
saying. “I am glad to welcome you to Flemming
Hall, and I hope you may stay with us as long and
like us as well as Harry has done. The doctor is
waiting for me now, and I must go; but bring your
brother to my room this evening at eight, Harry;
I want to have a talk with him, so I can tell into
what class he is to be put.”
“All right, sir.”
And as Lieutenant Wilde walked away, the
boys all gave him the stiff military salute.
// 017.png
.pn +1
“Well done, young Arnold,” remarked Jack
Howard condescendingly. “You do that very
respectably for a new fellow.”
Leon laughed outright.
“That’s Hal’s work. He’s been coaching me
all summer, so I shouldn’t disgrace him when I
came. It’s been nothing but salute, present arms,
recover arms and all that, till I could do it to suit
him.” And the boy made a few quick turns with
his tightly-rolled umbrella, in place of a more
dangerous weapon.
“There, Leon,” interposed his brother good-naturedly,
“you’re telling family secrets. Come
and see our quarters now. Don’t go off, Paul,”
he continued, as one of the group started to turn
away; “there’s room for you all and more too,
and I have some fine grub in my trunk.”
What boy could withstand such an invitation?
With one consent, the lads followed Harry as he
led the way up the steps, into the broad hall and
up the oak stairs that wound along three sides of
the wall.
“What room are you going to have?” inquired
Max, as he brought up the rear of the procession,
with Harry’s bag in his hand.
“Number fifteen, of course,” said Harry, as he
// 018.png
.pn +1
turned down a side hall. “It’s the largest of the
double rooms and I spoke for it long ago; didn’t
you know that? I shall take Leon in with me for
a term, anyway. Then, if he gets sick of me, he’s
welcome to change. Come in, all of you, and I’ll
have the provisions out in a jiffy.”
While the boys were delaying below, the trunks
had been brought up-stairs, and now stood conveniently
planted in the middle of the floor. Harry
and Leon each fell upon one of them, tugging at
the straps and impressively jingling their large
bunches of keys, most of which, it must be explained,
were slipped on the rings for effect, since
they and their locks had long ago parted company,
never to meet again. In the meantime, their guests
proceeded to seat themselves as their tastes suggested,
perching on any lofty point that presented
itself. Jack Howard arranged himself on the footboard
of the bed, with his long legs curled up
until his knees nearly touched his chin; Louis and
Max each took a chair-back, while Paul Lincoln, a
slender, brown-eyed, rosy-cheeked fellow of seventeen,
settled himself in the high window-seat, with
his feet on the table near by.
“Glad you’re going to have this room,” remarked
Louis, as he passed a caressing hand over
// 019.png
.pn +1
the strap adorning his shoulder. “Max and I are
right across the hall. We couldn’t imagine who
was coming in here, when we saw the room was
engaged. Nobody thought of you, for we supposed
you were booked for a single room.”
“So I was,” responded Harry, as he succeeded
in opening his trunk and tossed a pile of clothing
out upon the floor; “but early in July father decided
to send Leon here, so I wrote to the doctor,
and he said that the Vernons weren’t coming back
and we could have fifteen. Where are you now?
Oh, here you are!”
This apostrophe was addressed to a box of goodly
proportions that soon came to light, and was opened
amid the admiring murmurs of the boys who had
learned, in past terms, to know and appreciate the
boxes packed by Mrs. Arnold.
“Your mother is a trump, Hal!” said Max,
diving into the box to seize a piece of cake in one
hand and a chicken wing in the other. “I just
wish she’d show herself here. We fellows would
make her our best bow, wouldn’t we, Stan?” he
continued, turning to a boy of fourteen who had
not yet spoken, though his rapidly changing expressions
had shown him no uninterested listener
to the conversation.
// 020.png
.pn +1
While the boy addressed nodded in answer to
the question, Harry interrupted,—
“Now tell me all the news. Who is back of the
old boys? Who is there that’s new? Didn’t you
say there was a new teacher?”
At the last question, Max rolled up his eyes and
groaned. It was Jack who answered,—
“Most of the old boys are back, and there are
about twenty new ones, none of them much account
but my young cousin, Harold King. He
must be about Leon’s age, by the looks of him,
and he’s a first-rate little fellow, too. But this
new teacher is the worst I’ve seen.”
“What’s his name?” inquired Harry, while
he passed the box of sponge cake to Stanley
Campbell.
“Boniface. Luke is his first name, but the
fellows call him Bony. He deserves the name,
too.”
“Looks as if he were made of three or four old
skeletons patched together,” remarked Max; and
Louis added scornfully, with a satisfied glance
down at his own well-fitting uniform,—
“His clothes are loose where they ought to be
tight, and tight where they ought to be loose.
I don’t see how the doctor ever came to pick up
such a man.”
// 021.png
.pn +1
“They say he knows most everything, though,”
put in Stanley, rising to the defence of the absent
teacher.
“How old is he?” asked Leon.
“Not so old as he looks,” answered Paul; “but
when you see him, you’ll think he is about fifty,
that he’s lost his last friend and never expects to
have another—”
“And doesn’t want any more, either,” Max went
on. “He acts as if he couldn’t bear us boys; not
a bit like Lieutenant Wilde, but as if all he wanted
was to get his salary, without caring for us at all.”
“Show Hal the way he looks, Max,” said Jack,
clasping his hands around one of his knees, as he
still sat on the footboard of the bed.
Max ran both hands through his soft yellow
hair, until it stood rampant and disorderly on his
head. Then he raised his eyebrows, rolled up his
merry blue eyes and drew down the corners of
his mouth into a mournful curve.
“That’s just about it, Hal,” laughed Paul.
“Max kept doing that this morning when he was
talking to us, and it was all we could do to keep
from shouting.”
“What does he teach?” Harry asked.
“Latin and Greek, in Mr. Winston’s place.
// 022.png
.pn +1
Mr. Winston is going to New York to study to be
a doctor, and this man has come to take his classes.
He isn’t as cross as Mr. Winston used to be; but
he’s sort of dismal, perpetual mullygrubs, you
know, and I don’t believe he’ll ever get much out
of the boys.” And Louis slipped down from his
chair-back and moved across the room to join Paul
in the window.
“The seniors are all down on him,” added Max;
“and most of the juniors don’t like him. If many
more of the boys get to hate him, I don’t believe
the doctor will keep him more than a term.”
“I wish the whole school would get after him,
then,” remarked Paul vindictively. “He uses
words a mile long, but I don’t believe he knows
so very much, Stan; and even if he does, the boys
won’t learn half as much from him as they would
from somebody that was a little less like a walking
funeral. For my part, I like a man that has
some fun and life in him, like Lieutenant Wilde.”
“Who is there that isn’t back?” asked Harry,
while he began to unpack his possessions, dropping
his collars and cuffs in a pile on the floor,
and carefully placing his tennis racket and bat on
the bed.
“All our class are back but Williams and Sothern,”
// 023.png
.pn +1
answered Jack. “How is it with the
juniors, Stan?”
“There have five or six fellows dropped out of
our class,” replied Stanley; “Boothby and Allen
and Crane and the Vernons; not much loss, any of
them except Crane, though. He was one of the
best in ninety-two.”
Stanley’s remark ended in a most unmelodious
croak, for he had just come to the age when his
voice was changing, and the feats that his throat
performed at times, surprised even its owner and
covered him with confusion. It was not so trying
when, as now, he was alone with his friends; but
Stanley’s voice was no respecter of persons, and
whether he was in the class-room or on the parade-ground,
in the midst of a Greek exercise or giving
some military command, his tone would suddenly
change from a manly bass to a piping falsetto, and
poor Stanley would blush and long to hide his
diminished head in some safe retreat where he
could not see the knowing smiles and glances of
his companions.
“Isn’t this a new racket?” asked Max, pouncing
on it as soon as it appeared.
“New in August,” answered Harry proudly.
“I won it in a tournament at Lenox. There were
// 024.png
.pn +1
about a dozen of us played, and I took it in
doubles. Leon took the first prize in singles,
though, and he was one of the smallest that
played.”
“Good for you, young Arnold,” said Paul.
“You are the fellow for Flemming, if you like that
kind of thing. What can you do in football?”
“A little of everything,” replied Leon, with his
head in his trunk as he wrestled with a pile of
books. “I’ve played centre rush for the little
fellows and quarter back for the large ones.”
“You ought to see him get over the ground,
though,” remarked Harry, in a confidential aside
to Jack Howard. “He’s fine in an end play, and
a first-class man for almost any place you want to
put him. What’s the prospect for the season?”
he went on, turning to Paul.
“The second team is a strong one, for the
juniors have some splendid men, and the new fellows
are a good-looking set. We are only fair,
now Williams has gone and Brewster has strained
his knee and can’t play. Stan is to play quarter
back on second, and Louis and Osborn are half
backs. There isn’t anybody in the second class to
help us out, unless your brother is there. Where
are you going to be, Leon?”
// 025.png
.pn +1
“I don’t know yet; second, I think. Lieutenant
Wilde is going to tell me to-night,” answered
Leon who, at the beginning of the football discussion,
had abandoned his unpacking and seated
himself on the table with his feet on the edge of
his open trunk.
“I hope you will, for Hal seems to think you
would be a good man, and our first team is decidedly
weak,” said Jack, uncoiling his long legs and
straightening his shoulders.
“How can I get first team, if I am only second
class?” inquired Leon. “I thought I could only
get on second.”
“We used to divide up according to our playing,
but that let the games all end the same way.
Then we took juniors and seniors against firsts and
seconds, and that wasn’t much fairer, for it put
all the little fellows against the big ones. Now we
have juniors and firsts against seniors and seconds,
so it’s a little more even. We have our great game
of the year on the Saturday before Thanksgiving,
and we begin training next week. I’m captain
of the first, and if you are a good man, I want
you, even if you are small.” And Paul smiled
benignly down upon his new schoolmate, with
the air of being vastly older and wiser and taller
than he.
// 026.png
.pn +1
“Don’t go, Paul,” urged Harry, hospitably
waving his hand towards the box on the table.
“Needs must when Bony drives,” sighed Paul.
“He has given out an endless lesson in Homer
for to-morrow, and I must get it, or be disgraced
at once and forever. I’ll see you at supper-time.”
And he strolled away, to be followed almost immediately
by Jack and Stanley Campbell who was
the head-boy in the junior class.
Max and Louis, who were not afflicted with too
much conscience in the matter of lessons, remained
in the Arnolds’ room, to watch the unpacking and
to talk over any bits of school gossip which had
been omitted, their summer frolics and their winter
plans.
.sp 2
// 027.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch02
CHAPTER II.||FLEMMING AND ITS WAYS.
.sp 2
Far up among the hills, a short distance back
from the Connecticut River, is the little village of
Hilton. It is the smallest of farming towns, only
one or two long streets shaded with tall, arching
elms and bushy maples, and bordered with simple,
old-fashioned houses clustered around the gray
stone church and square town hall. At one end of
the main street is the low building, also of stone,
that serves for store and post-office, one corner being
given up to the business of government, while
the rest of the room is filled with a motley collection
of dry goods, groceries and confectionery
temptingly set forth in glass cases on the counter,
or ranged on the rough pine shelves which line
the walls. This building and the little village
hotel that stands next it, are the favorite resorts of
all the old farmers of the region, for whom the
daily trip to the mail furnishes the main excitement
of life. Although the hour for the coming of the
// 028.png
.pn +1
stage and for the opening of the mail has never
varied within the memory of that oldest inhabitant
without whom any well-regulated village
would be incomplete; on one pretext or another,
the old men come driving up to the door fully an
hour ahead of time, and are apparently much surprised
to find that they are too early and must
wait. In a leisurely fashion, they get down from
their mud-bespattered wagons, tie their horses to
the old posts whose uneven sides bear the marks of
many an equine tooth, and go shuffling into the
hotel whence they presently emerge, wiping their
lips on their checkered shirt sleeves. Then they
settle themselves in the store, where they while
away the hour of waiting by puffing at their pipes
and discussing the weather, the crops and other
matters of local interest, with an indolent disregard
of the fact that, at home, their wives and daughters
are busy with many a task which they might
help to lighten.
Into this peaceful community there came, some
twelve years ago, the startling news that buildings
were to be at once erected for a large school for
boys; and before the sluggish minds of the farmers
had grasped that main fact, the work was well
under way. For a time the busy laborers and the
// 029.png
.pn +1
fast-rising brick walls bade fair to rival the post
office as an attraction for the villagers; but as the
buildings drew near completion and became an
old story, the farmers returned to their former
seats in the hard arm-chairs and on the cracker-barrels
of the store, and thought no more about
the new school-house, save when some group of
gray-coated lads stepped directly into their pathway.
This school was Flemming Hall, “a military and
classical school for boys,” as ran the circular. It
was an excellent school in all respects, and under
the successful management of Dr. Flemming, its
founder, it had gained so high a reputation for
systematic work and discipline as to be overcrowded
with applicants for admission. For this
reason, the doctor was able to select his boys with
care and, in general, the Flemming cadets were an
honorable, manly set of fellows whose work was
well done, and whose fun and mischief were of a
pure, gentlemanly sort. To be sure, an occasional
black sheep would find his way into the flock; but
the moral tone of the place was good, and the
real work of the school was thoroughly and intelligently
carried on.
Dr. Flemming was the right man for the head of
// 030.png
.pn +1
a boys’ school; he not only had a fine, well-trained
mind, but over and above all that, he was genuinely
fond of his boys and anxious to develop the
best possibilities that lay in each one of them. In
this work he was ably seconded by his nephew,
Irving Wilde, who, at the close of his course at
West Point, had resigned from active service, in
order to take charge of the military training in his
uncle’s school. Though still very young, during
the three years he had been at Flemming Hall,
Lieutenant Wilde had gained a strong influence
over the lads in his care, who adored him for his
quiet, even discipline during school hours, as well
as for his apparent interest in all their games and
sports, in which he often had a share.
To Irving Wilde, his pupils were no mere thinking-machines,
to be fed with so much material for
their daily allowance. Instead of that, he watched
and studied each lad separately, never content
until he had mastered his subject and understood
every boyish nature with all its vague, restless
ambitions, its faults and its chances for a good and
useful manhood. The boys never knew just how it
was, but they soon ceased to be surprised when
Lieutenant Wilde seemed to divine their thoughts,
and spoke some word of encouragement for their
// 031.png
.pn +1
nobler aims, or let fall a quiet remark of disapproval
for some wild, boyish freak. It was impossible
for them to resent any interference on the
part of a man who was not only an excellent
teacher, but a champion in all athletic sports as
well, and always ready to join them in their expeditions
up and down the valley and over the hills.
Lieutenant Wilde was such good company that
the boys could not afford to displease him, for
fear he would go with them no more, and, reasoning
in this way, the lads vied with one another to
carry out his wishes until his will had become law
for nearly all of his pupils. A more selfish man
might have abused this power, a less conscientious
man might have regarded it as of little importance;
but Irving Wilde did neither. On the
contrary, he did his best to increase it and to
devote it, not to his own good, but to the best
interests of the boys and of the school. A low
fever and a slow convalescence had forced him to
give up his work for a few months, and the woe of
the boys at his going away was only consoled by
the joy of his reappearance, at the time that our
story opens.
Of the two other teachers, Herr Linden was an
elderly German of majestic proportions who contented
// 032.png
.pn +1
himself, as far as the boys were concerned,
with instilling into them a generous amount of the
French and German tongues. That done, and to
his credit it must be distinctly stated that it was
well done, he went his own way in calm unconcern
of his pupils who, on their side, accepted his
labors as a necessary evil and thought no more
about him outside of school hours.
But the new teacher, Luke Boniface, though a
very common type in northern New England, was
a foreign element at Flemming Hall. The son of
a poor country minister, he had early made up his
mind to work his own way through college and
fit himself for the life of a missionary to India.
With this end kept constantly in view, the years
of his boyhood had been years of hard labor and
stern self-denial. By working through all his
vacations, and occasionally giving up one year of
study, in order to earn enough money to carry
him through the next, he had toiled his way along
until, at the age of twenty-eight, he had just completed
the undergraduate course in a small inland
college. Then more money must be had before
he could take his special professional course, and
to Luke Boniface it seemed that a year of teaching
was the best and easiest way to gain that end.
Some months of this work in a little country
// 033.png
.pn +1
school, a few years before, gave him the right to
call himself experienced; and with the help of
friends, he asked and obtained the position of
classical teacher at Flemming Hall, although his
only practical knowledge of boys was that gained
from teaching the overgrown striplings whose
school life was limited to a few weeks of every
winter, and the chubby, pinafored urchins of the
A B C class. The boys at Flemming filled him
with terror when they assembled before him, on
the first morning of the term. So elegant and
worldly-wise were they that, in comparison, he
felt himself a mere child in their presence. His
embarrassment made him appear even more awkward
and constrained than ever, and long before
the hour was over, he heartily wished himself
away from Flemming Hall once more. Could he
go through with it? His heart almost failed him;
but Luke Boniface was not the man to abandon
the set purpose of years, in the face of a roomful
of rollicking boys. He would remain in his place
and conquer them. During the summer he had
often dreamed of the coming year, of the strong
influence for good which he would exert over the
boys, of the popularity he would gain. Now, as
he glanced about the room, he instinctively tried
// 034.png
.pn +1
to hide his large feet under his chair, and to pull
down the sleeves of his best coat, which all of a
sudden seemed to him to be pitiably mean and
shabby. His years of toil and care had drawn
anxious lines on the face that now flushed a deep,
dark red, as he caught sight of Max who was
roguishly imitating him for the benefit of his
mates. The young man raised his eyebrows, and
pressed firmly together his lips which had shaped
themselves into a melancholy droop. It is a true
old saying that “God makes the other features,
man makes his own mouth.” In the midst of his
petty anxieties and struggles, Luke Boniface had
found neither time nor disposition to be genial;
to him, life was all a hard, stern reality, and his
mouth showed that he felt it to be so. Taken all
in all, he was a man to be honored and respected
rather than loved, sensitive and, like many sensitive
people, fond of pulling himself up by the
roots occasionally, to inspect his growth; conscientious
and anxious for the good of those around
him, nevertheless he was ill at ease, cold and forbidding
in his manner to the very persons whom
he most desired to approach. Moreover, as has
been said, he had little knowledge of boys and
their ways and small desire to increase that knowledge,
// 035.png
.pn +1
though he regarded them as a class of young
savages whom it was his duty to try to improve,
just as one day he hoped to work among the
heathen of India.
The large grounds of Flemming Hall lay a little
to the south of the town. Turning abruptly from
the street, the drive wound up a steep hillside to
the group of brick buildings on the level ground
at the top. From there, a magnificent view
opened out in every direction. Old Flemming,
as it was called, the dormitory where the boys all
lived, fronted towards the west, and, standing on
its broad piazza, one could look far away into the
Green Mountains, beyond the river whose gray
water shone here and there through the trees below.
At the south the hills rose, range on range,
some thickly wooded, others more open and dotted
with white farmhouses, long, rambling barns, and
herds of black and white cattle grazing over the
smooth pastures. In the other direction lay the
little village nestled among its trees, and beyond
that, the mountains, blue and misty in the distance.
Directly in front, the smooth green lawn
sloped away to the street, and half-way down the
hill was the pretty red cottage where Dr. Flemming
lived with his wife and little daughter. At
// 036.png
.pn +1
the right of the dormitory rose the square tower
on the recitation hall; at the left was the armory,
with the stars and stripes flying above it. Back
of the armory was the much-trodden parade-ground,
and beyond lay the great fields given up
to baseball, football and tennis, for Dr. Flemming
believed that boys needed plenty of out-door exercise
and that, indulged in moderately, such exercise
was a help rather than a hindrance to the
lessons. Having once made sure of sound bodies,
by a careful selection of his teachers and a no less
careful oversight of their work, he would succeed
in developing the sound minds to put into them.
So well did he carry out his ideas that there was
nearly as much rivalry in the class-rooms as in the
games, and it was by no means uncommon to find
the same boy excelling in both connections.
As Leon followed his brother into the great
dining-room, that first night, he glanced curiously
up and down the room to see his new companions.
The seventy or more cadets who were grouped
about the four long tables, looked so much alike,
in their gray uniforms, that he had some difficulty
in recognizing the half-dozen of them to whom
Harry had introduced him, in the afternoon. But
soon Jack Howard’s tall figure caught his eye, and
// 037.png
.pn +1
the next moment, he found himself sitting down
opposite Max Eliot who was casting significant
glances towards the far corner of the room. Leon
followed the direction of his eyes and saw a young
man with a discouraged, anxious face and a head
of bristly brown hair, seated at the upper end of
the table diagonally across from the one at which
they were taking their places.
“That’s Bony,” whispered Max, leaning across
the table. “Isn’t he fine?”
Leon gave a nod of assent.
“Hope I don’t get at his table,” Max went on,
in the same tone; “his face would sour the milk on
the oatmeal, mornings, and I don’t want to have
my appetite destroyed in that way.”
“You look as if you were pining away, Max,”
remarked Leon’s right-hand neighbor.
“So I am,” responded Max, with a pretended
sigh. “You could pack my appetite in a pill-box,
and put on the cover. By the way, Alex, this is
Leon Arnold, Hal’s brother. Arnold, this fellow
is Alex Sterne, a bright and shining light of the
senior class.”
Leon turned slightly, to be met by two blue eyes
which gazed so squarely and steadily into his own
that they would have had a look almost of defiance,
// 038.png
.pn +1
had they not been softened by the mouth
below them. There was an air of candor and
truthfulness about the lad, about his broad, open
forehead and the clear eyes which looked into
Leon’s, that gave the new-comer a sudden feeling
that this was a friend to be trusted. Moved by
this attraction, he said, with a laugh,—
“Max doesn’t seem to fancy the new teacher.”
“He’s not so bad,” answered Alex, as he scientifically
speared an olive. “He isn’t pretty to look
at, I know; but he would be well enough in class,
if the fellows would let him alone. Have you
seen the doctor?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll like him; all the boys do. He’s a good
man, and Lieutenant Wilde is another.”
“I’ve seen him,” said Leon; “and he told us to
come to his room to-night. Where does he live,
at the doctor’s?”
“No; he’s down there now, but he rooms here
and sits at the head of this table. There’s always
a squabble among the boys, to see who shall sit
near him. He’s so jolly that he keeps them in a
roar, all meal-times. Is this the first time you
have been away to school?”
Leon modestly confessed his inexperience.
// 039.png
.pn +1
“Well, Flemming is a good place to come to,
and I know you’ll like it. You start at an advantage,”
Alex went on, in a lower voice; “in being
Harry Arnold’s brother. Everybody here likes
Hal, and if you’re the fellow you look, they’ll like
you too, provided you keep out of mischief.”
And he turned away from Leon, and began to talk
with the boy on the other side of him.
“I saw you chumming with Alex Sterne at
supper to-night,” remarked Harry, as the boys
were starting for Lieutenant Wilde’s room. “How
did you like him?”
“Immensely,” responded Leon, with unexpected
fervor.
“You’re all right there,” answered Harry;
“Alex is one of the finest fellows at Flemming.
He’s older than most of us, nineteen, and adjutant
of our battalion, the truest, steadiest, most all-round
sort of fellow we’ve ever had here. I don’t
believe he has an enemy in the school, and that’s
more than anybody else can say. I’ll tell you
more about him some day; but this is Lieutenant
Wilde’s room.”
A cordial “come in” answered Harry’s knock,
and the boys entered the bright, attractive room,
half bedroom, half study. Lieutenant Wilde tossed
his magazine on the table.
// 040.png
.pn +1
“It’s you, is it, Arnold?” he said, as he came
forward to greet the boys. “And I am glad to
see you too, Leon. Sit down by the fire; I have
it for looks, not warmth.” And he drew up two
or three chairs before the ruddy grate that lent
an air of cosy comfort to the chilly September
evening.
“We may as well proceed to business at once,”
remarked the young man, when they were seated.
“Some of the other boys may be in soon, and I
want to find out what Leon knows, while we are
alone.” And in a pleasant, off-hand way, he
began to question the boy about his past work,
while Harry amused himself with the magazine
that Lieutenant Wilde had laid aside. The examination
was a most informal one, and was over
and done before Leon had time to be frightened.
“Your brother will easily go into the second,”
Lieutenant Wilde said then, as he turned back to
Harry. “And now tell me what you have been
about, all summer.”
Harry was just entering on an account of his
doings, when a knock announced the arrival of
Alex Sterne and Jack Howard, who were closely
followed by Max Eliot and Stanley Campbell; for
Lieutenant Wilde’s room was a favorite resort with
// 041.png
.pn +1
the boys, and it had long been his habit to hold a
sort of open court in it, on every Wednesday and
Saturday evening. Though any and all of the
cadets were welcome, it was Harry and his
half-dozen intimates who were most often to be
met with, gathered around the fire, or walking up
and down the long room, now talking over their
lessons, now planning some holiday excursion or,
quite as often, listening meekly to a timely little
lecture from Lieutenant Wilde, for some thoughtless,
mischievous freak, too slight to be brought
before the doctor’s notice.
This evening was the first Saturday of the new
year, and with one consent the boys grouped
themselves about their teacher, waiting to hear of
the way he had spent his time during the six
months that he had been away from them. It was
all so pleasant and sociable, so unlike the usual
relation between teacher and pupil that, for a time,
Leon was content to sit quiet and listen to the
spirited narrative of Lieutenant Wilde, to his lively
description of the quaint little southern town where
he had gone for rest and change, of his summer
camping tour in the Yellowstone Park, where he
caught his fish for dinner in one stream and cooked
them in the boiling waters of the next one, only
// 042.png
.pn +1
a few paces distant. But it was impossible to
feel himself an outsider long, for Lieutenant
Wilde constantly turned the conversation in his
direction, in such a winning, friendly way that
the lad was soon as much at home as any of the
others; and long before “lights out” had sounded,
he had mentally sworn allegiance to this young
man who joked and laughed like a boy, yet never
failed to keep a certain quiet, kindly dignity of
his own which made the lads feel that, although
he was a real friend and companion, still he was
never to be trifled with or opposed.
// 043.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
CHAPTER III.||LEON’S FIRST DAY AT FLEMMING.
.sp 2
“Say, Hal, how does it look?” asked Leon
eagerly.
It was early the next morning, so early that
Harry was still dozing between the sheets; but
Leon stood before the square mirror, trying in
vain to get a glimpse of his own back and legs
which, for the first time, were clothed in cadet
gray. The suit he had worn the day before was
tossed carelessly across the foot of his bed, and for
half an hour he had been devoting all his attention to
his toilet, then turning and twisting himself before
the glass, to assure himself that the new uniform
was to his liking. The change of costume was
becoming to the lad. He already looked more
the man and the soldier than he had done the
evening before, and thanks to Harry’s persevering
efforts during the summer, he carried himself with
the ease of an old cadet, rather than the conscious
awkwardness of the raw recruit, first donning his
// 044.png
.pn +1
regimentals. But after he had inspected himself
in every possible position, and gone through a sort
of rudimentary drill of salutes and facings, he
began to wish for the admiration of some disinterested
person, so he remorselessly waked up his
brother. At the third call, Harry rolled over
sleepily.
“Ha-um!” he remarked, with a vigorous yawn.
“Wake up, Hal!” Leon implored him. “I
want you to see if I’m all right.”
“Guess so.” And Harry turned back and composed
himself to sleep once more, without bestowing
a glance on his brother.
Leon crossed the room and shook him, for he
felt that this was the time, if ever, when he had a
right to demand fraternal advice and approval; but
Harry only pulled the blanket over his head and
sleepily murmured,—
“Go ’way.”
“Won’t you?” said Leon. “Well, we’ll see
about it.” And filling a bath sponge with water,
he cautiously approached the bed, with one hand
suddenly twitched away the blanket and with the
other dropped the sponge directly into Harry’s
face. This time his efforts were crowned with
success. Harry sat up spluttering and wrathful.
// 045.png
.pn +1
“Confound you, Leon!” he shouted, as he
hurled the dripping sponge straight at his brother,
who dodged just in time to let it drop harmlessly
on the floor behind him. “Why can’t you let a
fellow sleep? What are you waking me up for,
in the middle of the night?”
“’Tisn’t; it’s morning,” returned Leon coolly;
“and besides, I wanted you to see whether I’d put
on my rig the way it ought to go. I knew you’d
hate to have me appear with my coat on hind side
before. Just cast your eye over me and see if I’m
all here.”
“Did you get up at this time in the morning,
just for this?” And Harry surveyed his brother
with a scorn which soon changed to ill-concealed
approval, as his eye rested on the trim, straight
figure before him.
“You do carry it off better than most of the
new fellows, Leon; that’s a fact. You must button
your coat, though, and just pull up your left
cuff a little, for it shows too much. There, that’s
all right.”
“Then I do look well?” asked Leon, blushing
like a girl at his own vanity.
“Yes, you’re O.K., only don’t let your finery
make a Miss Nancy of you. Now, do let me go
to sleep. It’s a good hour to breakfast time.”
// 046.png
.pn +1
“All right; I’m going out to explore.” And
catching up his cap, he departed, leaving Harry to
resume his nap.
Fifteen minutes were enough to show him the
grounds and the outside of the buildings. On his
way back to Old Flemming he met Stanley and
Alex, who were just starting for a walk.
“You’re early, young Arnold,” Alex called, as
he drew near. “If you’ve nothing better to do,
come with us.”
“Where are you bound?” asked Leon, secretly
longing to accept the invitation, but afraid he
might be intruding.
“Only just to the village and back,” answered
Stanley, pushing back his cap to let the cool morning
air strike his forehead. “Come on.”
Leon accepted this repeated invitation, and the
three boys tramped away up the road, which
stretched along between two stone walls overgrown
with blackberry vines and the dainty sprays
of the Virginia creeper.
“What do you do here, Sundays?” asked Leon,
stooping to break off a top-heavy spray of golden-rod
that was lazily supporting itself against a
rock.
“A little of everything,” answered Stanley.
// 047.png
.pn +1
“Sunday is an off day and we aren’t kept nearly
so close. We don’t really begin work till to-morrow
morning, anyway.”
“When does drill begin?” inquired Leon.
“You new fellows will be put right at it,” Alex
replied. “You’ll be divided up into squads and
put in charge of the sergeants till you can salute
and march and manage a gun without knocking
the next fellow’s head off. After that, you can
drill with the battalion.”
“It’s no end of fun to see the new fellows on
drill, for they make such work of the ‘military
goose-step,’ and when they first get their rifles,
they’re all the time dropping them on their own
toes, in parade rest and order arms,” added Stanley.
“We used to go over to watch them, but it
rattled them so badly that Lieutenant Wilde made
us stop.”
“What is he?” asked Leon. “What’s his rank,
I mean?”
“He ranks lieutenant in the army,” said Alex;
“but here he’s commandant and major of our battalion.
You’ll get on to the ranking soon,” he
added encouragingly.
“Oh, Hal’s told me some of it, and he’s given
me ever so much drill this summer, so he said that,
// 048.png
.pn +1
after a day or two, I could go right into battalion
drill, with the other fellows of my class.”
“Good thing you have a brother,” said Stanley.
“Most of us have to learn it all after we get here,
and precious slow work it is, too.”
“Hullo, what’s this?” exclaimed Leon suddenly,
as he glanced up the road ahead of them. “This
thing coming looks like a scarecrow out for a morning
stroll.”
“That’s one of Hilton’s characters,” answered
Alex. “He’s kind of a half-witted fellow that lives
in the woods north of the village. You must go
to see him some day, for he’s delighted to have us
boys call on him, and his cabin, where he lives all
alone, is well worth the seeing. Just bow to him
when you meet him; it pleases him immensely.”
The subject of the conversation was hurrying
along towards them, with a curiously uncertain,
rocking gait. The huge felt hat that covered
his head and rested on his shoulders behind, was
pushed off from his forehead, showing long, lank
wisps of yellowish white hair; and the ragged gray
coat whose tatters were fluttering airily in the morning
breeze, made him look so much like what Leon
had called him, “A scarecrow out for a morning
stroll,” that one felt moved to peep under his coat
// 049.png
.pn +1
for the supporting cross-sticks and straw which
went to make up his body. Trudging along by
his side was a mite of a boy with a bushy thatch of
tousled flaxen hair, and dressed in a jacket and
trousers of blue checked gingham. The strange
pair seemed to be well-tried friends, for the urchin
was chattering earnestly to his venerable companion
who looked down at him with a simpering,
vacant expression, as if only half understanding
the simple talk of his little comrade.
“Who’s the boy?” asked Leon, after watching
them for a moment, in amused silence.
“Cappy Toomsen, short for Caspar,” said Alex.
“It isn’t a cheerful name, I confess; but it doesn’t
seem to worry Master Cappy, for a more jolly little
imp never lived. He is a great admirer of old
Jerry, and the two are off somewhere together,
almost every day.”
“How do? Fi’ day. New boy. Who he?”
remarked Jerry, planting himself in their path at
this moment, and pointing at Leon who flushed
under his broad stare.
“Hullo, Jerry!” responded Stanley, nodding
good-naturedly to the old man. “This is Leon
Arnold, a new boy at Flemming.”
“Arno’, Leon Arno’,” said the old fellow, bobbing
// 050.png
.pn +1
his head wisely. “Jerry likes Flemming
boy!”
“Well he may,” remarked Stanley, as he went
on. “He gets many an old coat and bit of money
out of them.”
“The Hilton people call him Flemming’s ragbag,”
added Alex. “He goes round, most of the
time, dressed in our cast-off uniforms. Jerry
always insists on being introduced to every new
boy that comes to Flemming, and he has an endless
memory for names and faces, so he’ll never
forget you, you may be sure.”
Quarter of an hour later, the boys went in to
breakfast. At the dining-room door, Leon was
waylaid by his brother.
“Where in the world have you been, Leon?”
he said eagerly. “I’ve been looking all round for
you, to tell you that word just came up from the
doctor’s that we’re to dine there to-night. Isn’t
that jolly? It’s because you’re a new fellow, with
a brother among the old boys. He always invites
them.”
At breakfast, the new seats for the term were
assigned, and Leon found himself between Stanley
Campbell and Mr. Boniface, with Max opposite
him. Farther down the table were Alex and
// 051.png
.pn +1
Louis, while Harry was across the room, next to
Lieutenant Wilde. As the boys took their seats,
Max introduced Leon to still another table-companion,
George Winslow by name, who glanced
up long enough to nod indifferently, then began
to eat his breakfast with a perfect unconcern.
Leon watched him with an instinctive feeling of
repulsion, for he formed a complete contrast to
the genial good-nature of the other boys around
him; and his low, square head with its cold, steel-gray
eyes and heavy under jaw, was as little agreeable
as was his habit of taking in his food in
stolid silence, and with an utter disregard for the
needs of those about him. He was still deliberately
turning over the pile of muffins, to select the
brownest and lightest, when he caught Leon’s
stare of amused astonishment. He paused long
enough to give back one look of defiance which
made Leon hastily drop his eyes, while his face
flushed as if he had been struck a blow. That
one look told Leon, plainly as words, that here he
had found an enemy. When he glanced up again,
Stanley was giving an account of their meeting
with Jerry.
“Jerry’s a rare specimen,” commented Max, as
with a fine unconsciousness, he slipped his hand
// 052.png
.pn +1
under that of George Winslow, and brought away
the last muffin on the plate. “Oh, beg your pardon;
were you after that?” he asked innocently,
then continued, “You just wait till you get inside
the church this morning, you’ll see more odd
people there than you ever supposed were in the
world.”
When the long line of boys was marshalled into
the little church, Leon was forcibly reminded of
the remark which Max had made at breakfast for,
accustomed as he was to the city and its ways, the
place and people filled him with amazement. The
church itself was a low, square room in which
only the middle seats faced the minister, while
along each side of the room were rows of pews
slightly raised and facing each other, thus giving
their occupants a fine opportunity to see everything
that concerned the congregation. The warm
September sun streamed in at the unshaded windows,
making the two tall stoves with their long
stretches of rusty pipe seem quite unnecessary.
Huddled together in the corner, around the
wheezy little organ, sat the half-dozen singers,
while at the foot of the low pulpit lay a shaggy
yellow dog with one eye, who had followed the
minister up the aisle and taken his place with an
// 053.png
.pn +1
air of calm assurance which told, as plainly as
words could have done, that his appearance at
church was as regular as the coming of Sunday
itself. The congregation, except for the Flemming
boys, was limited to a few women whose
pleasant, gentle faces looked strangely overpowered
by their vast and top-heavy bonnets,
while here and there was a subdued-looking
farmer in his ill-fitting suit of Sunday clothes, or
a freckled, sun-burned child. The boys of the
school occupied the seats along the left side of the
room; and from his seat between Harry and Louis,
Leon glanced about, now at the tin basins hung
by wires underneath the joints in the stove-pipe,
now at old Jerry who, from his seat by the door,
was lending a vacant attention to all that was
passing, now at the dog who seemed impressed
with the solemn nature of his surroundings, and
lay quiet, only scratching his head, now and again,
with a deprecating, apologetic air.
“I seen them boys laughin’ at Bose, ma,” he
heard a sharp-faced child say to her portly companion,
as they were coming out of church.
“More shame to ’em, Sairy, to hev their thoughts
on sech carnal things! But,” added the good dame
severely, as she glared down at her little daughter,
// 054.png
.pn +1
“ef your own eyes had ’a’ b’en where they’d ought
to be, you wouldn’t ’a’ seen it.”
“That dog is another of Hilton’s characters,”
Louis was explaining, as the boys walked away
down the road. “He was brought up from his
puppyhood to go to church, and he behaves better
than most of the children.”
“He has the advantage over the kids though,”
put in Max from behind, where he was walking
with Harry. “Bose can go to sleep when the sermon
gets too dry, and they aren’t allowed to.
I saw old Mrs. Wilson wake up her little girl
six and a half times to-day, Wing.”
“Which was the half-time?” asked Leon.
“The time she poked her and she didn’t wake
up,” responded Max promptly, while the boys
laughed at his mathematics.
So the nonsense ran on until the boys reached
the steps of Old Flemming. There they separated,
Harry, Stanley and Louis going to their rooms to
write their home letters before the hour for dinner,
while Alex, with Max and Leon, sat down on the
steps in the sunshine.
“Come take a walk, Max?” asked a gay voice
behind them.
Max sprang up at once, exclaiming,—
// 055.png
.pn +1
“Hullo, Frank; where’ve you been all the
morning?”
“In my room; I didn’t feel just right, so I cut
church. Now I want to stretch myself a little.
Come on.” And as the two boys walked away,
Leon heard the new-comer ask,—
“Who’s the new fellow?”
“Hal Arnold’s brother.”
“Any good?”
By this time, they were too far away for Leon to
catch their words, but he sat staring after them, as
if dazzled by the rich, dark beauty of the stranger.
When they were out of sight, he turned back to
Alex.
“Who’s that?” he asked eagerly.
Alex, too, had been watching the boys, while
something like a frown gathered on his face.
“That’s Frank Osborn,” he answered. “I don’t
see what makes Max so wild to be with him.”
“Why not?” inquired Leon, surprised at his
change of tone.
“Because he’s the worst friend Max can have,”
said Alex abruptly. “He’s a Southerner with plenty
of money and brains; but he’s no dig and he gets
Max into scrapes the whole time. He’s not really
bad, only a little fast, and getting worse; but he
// 056.png
.pn +1
laughs at Max for being slow and makes him think
it’s manly to just steer clear of being expelled.
He’s not ugly, though, like Winslow, the fellow
you saw at breakfast. He’s nothing but a bully,
and you don’t want to have much to do with him.
But you have Hal to look out for you, and he’s
steady as a deacon, so you’re all right.”
The shadows were stretching out in long lines
from the western hills, as Leon turned away from
the mirror after a prolonged season of prinking,
and rather nervously followed his brother down
the stairs, out of the house and down the hill to
the doctor’s door. In spite of Harry’s delight
at the invitation, Leon was dreading the prospect
of dining with the master of Flemming. However,
such an invitation was not to be refused, and he
was soon being ushered into a cosy parlor, where
a little girl of six was sitting alone in front of a
crackling fire. She was a dainty maiden, with a
tangle of long brown curls and a pair of roguish
brown eyes that shone with excitement, as she
came bounding forward to meet Harry, with a
patient-looking gray cat so doubled up over her
arm that its lank tail and pointed ears met below.
“Hullo, Gyp!” exclaimed Harry, catching her
up, as she reached him.
// 057.png
.pn +1
“Hullo!” she answered, returning his caress as
a matter of course. “Papa told me to stay here
till you came, so I could call him d’reckly. I kept
Mouse for company, you see.”
“Is this the same old Mouse?” inquired Harry,
laughing. “I thought the rats ate her up, long
ago.”
“No, course not,” responded Gyp, in a tone of
contempt for Harry’s mistaken idea. “Mouse
[=a]ted all the rats up; that’s the way ’twas. Now
I’ll call papa.” And she vanished, carrying the
long-suffering Mouse head downward in her arms.
“Gyp is a great institution,” laughed Harry.
“She and Mouse make no end of fun for us, and
she’s as bright as Mouse is stupid. That cat
must have been damaged in her infancy, I know.”
At this point, Gyp reappeared, triumphantly
leading by the hand a gentleman whom she introduced
as “papa.” Dr. Flemming might have been
forty or forty-five years old, and though his tall,
slight figure and thin face with its silky, yellow
moustache and deep-set blue eyes, suggested delicate
health, yet, there was no air of languor in
either his words or manner. He welcomed both
boys cordially, and at once set about entertaining
them in a pleasant, friendly way that delighted
// 058.png
.pn +1
Leon as much as did the quaint, dry wit which
came into almost every remark he made. A few
moments later, Mrs. Flemming entered the room,
and Leon found her a bright, motherly little woman
with a delightfully long memory for the different
boys of the school, and the pet hobbies of each
one of them.
After an informal dinner and an evening of
pleasant talk, the boys reluctantly rose, to say
good night. Dr. Flemming rose, too, and, taking
Leon’s hand in both his own firm, slender ones
and looking down into the lad’s eyes so keenly
that Leon felt he could see into the very depths of
his soul, he said kindly,—
“Arnold, you are just starting out into a new
life, and I say to you what I say to all the boys
when they come here. You will miss your home
in many ways; you will find many things here
that are new and strange. Do the very best you
can in everything, whether it is work or play. Be
generous and manly and, above all else, be true,
true to yourself and true to the hopes of your parents
in sending you to us, and we shall all be satisfied.
And one more word: at the first, when you
choose your friends, remember that, in a school
the size of this, there are all sorts of boys, and
// 059.png
.pn +1
choose those that will be a help to you, instead
of a pull-back. Boys can’t be too careful about
their friends, for with them it is just as it is with
anything else. If you handle something black, a
little of the color is likely to rub off on you.
Look for the best and truest boys and, for your
share, try to be as good for them as they are for
you. Then your life at Flemming will be a pleasant
and a happy one. And now, good night.”
And he dismissed them, with a friendly smile.
// 060.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV.||THE BONIFACE REBELLION.
.sp 2
The real work of the term began in earnest,
the next morning, and Leon found himself in a
class of fifteen or twenty boys, nearly all of them
older than himself, and among whom he looked in
vain for one of the lads that he had seen in Harry’s
room. George Winslow’s scowling face was the
only familiar one that met his eye, and Leon gladly
turned away from him, to make a closer study of
his new companions. At his right hand sat a boy
of eleven, with an abnormally large head and a
dry, weazened, lead-colored face, who appeared to
feel it his duty to maintain the credit of the class
by answering all the questions addressed to any
of its members. At Leon’s other side was a boy
of about his own age, whose mocking brown eyes
were dancing with fun, as he watched Leon’s other
neighbor; and he looked so bright and companionable
that Leon ventured to whisper, under cover of
suppressing a yawn,—
// 061.png
.pn +1
“Who’s the fellow next me?”
“I don’t know,” answered the other; “I’m new
here. Don’t you know him?”
“No; I’m new, too. Isn’t he a terror?” responded
Leon.
Both boys kept their eyes intently fixed on their
books, for a few moments. Then Leon attempted
another question.
“What’s your name?” he asked cautiously,
with his gaze still on the page before him.
“Harold King,” replied his neighbor. “What’s
yours?”
“Leon Arnold; I’m Hal Arnold’s brother.
Aren’t you Jack Howard’s cousin? He said something
or other about you.”
“Yes. Hush! Do hear that fellow go on. He
must be one of the fiends.”
“Fiends!” echoed Leon in wonder; for his
sole association with the word was the idea of a
black hobgoblin, and his neighbor only resembled
his mental picture of that race, in the size of his
head.
“That’s what Jack called them,” answered
Harold, as the class rose to go back to the main
school-room. “He says they call those little bits
of pert fellows that think they know it all, fiends.
Not a bad name, either,” he added, with a wink.
// 062.png
.pn +1
Leon’s reply was prevented by a sudden push
from behind, and the next instant George Winslow
passed him, jostling him roughly as he went.
The rudeness of the motion was so uncalled for
and so evidently intentional that Leon, as he stood
his ground and gazed proudly into the lowering
face before him, felt that sooner or later it would
be war to the knife between them.
He felt so still more during his first drill, that
afternoon. The armory was given up to the new
cadets, together with the half-dozen non-commissioned
officers who were detailed for their
instruction, under the general supervision of Lieutenant
Wilde. There were a few words of explanation
of the duties of the soldier, the object and
aim of the drill, and then the novices were divided
into squads of four and assigned to the care of
their different instructors. As he took his place,
Leon glanced up to find himself confronted by
George Winslow. However, the weeks of faithful
training that he had received from Harry, made
him feel no hesitation in obeying the orders which
were issued, and he promptly set to work to take
the required positions for setting up and saluting,
confident that he could hold his own with the raw
recruits by his side. But for some reason or other,
// 063.png
.pn +1
his best endeavors proved quite unavailing, and
he found himself constantly called to account,
now for having his shoulders uneven, now for inattention,
and again for delayed obedience. At
first he was annoyed by these continual reprimands;
then he grew indignant, for he fancied he
caught a little smile of satisfaction on Winslow’s
face, as he ordered,—
“Right hand—salute!” Then suddenly struck
down Leon’s raised hand, saying sharply, “Get in
position before I command, and hurry up about it.”
“Arnold’s position was correct,” said Lieutenant
Wilde’s voice over his shoulder; then he added
quietly, “that will do, Winslow. I will take
charge of this squad myself, for the rest of the
afternoon.”
The dismissal was final, and Winslow dared not
disobey; so, with one furious glance at Leon, he
went away, and Lieutenant Wilde took his place.
Drilling under him was an entirely different matter;
and Leon left the armory, half an hour later,
happy in the promise of being promoted to drill
with the battalion, so soon as he should have had
a little practice in the manual of arms. But, as
he left the dining-room that night, he was stopped
by Winslow, who planted himself directly in his
pathway.
// 064.png
.pn +1
“I owe you one for this, Arnold,” he said, in a
low, distinct voice; “and if it means reporting me
to the doctor, you’ll be sorry for it.”
“You’ll have trouble with Winslow yet, Leon,”
said Harry, at bed-time when Leon told him of the
day’s events. “I don’t see what started him after
you, but he’s always taking just such spites. He’s
an awful bully and, if it only wasn’t against the
rules of the school, the best thing you could do
would be to give him a good sound thrashing.”
In the meantime, matters had not gone well
for Mr. Boniface, that morning. The general
school-room had been left in his charge, for the
doctor was busy with the new cadets, and Lieutenant
Wilde’s classes met in the little laboratory
up-stairs. The ten or twelve seniors were
grouped at the front of the room for their Latin
recitation, and Mr. Boniface was trying to give
them his undivided attention and, at the same
time, to keep a watchful eye on Max and Frank
Osborn and half a dozen kindred spirits who occupied
the far corner of the room. The poor teacher
was nervous, that morning. In spite of the careful
preparation which he had given his lesson, he
felt sure that he was not holding the interest of
his pupils who presented every appearance of
// 065.png
.pn +1
languid inattention. As he glanced from Jack
Howard who was lounging in his seat, with his
eyes fixed on the tree just outside the window, to
Harry Arnold who was making an elaborate pattern
of dots and dashes on the margin of his
Cicero, he raised his eyebrows and gave a deep,
though half-unconscious sigh. The sound was
promptly echoed from the distant corner; and
when Luke Boniface looked over in that direction,
he found the boys all laughing except Max who,
perfectly serious, was deep in his lesson, swaying
to and fro with his eyes fixed on his book and his
lips moving silently. Though in his own mind
there was no doubt as to the culprit, it was too
slight an offence to be taken up, and Mr. Boniface
could only resolve to watch himself more closely
in the future, that he might present no such opportunities
to the fun-loving Max.
The lessons went heavily on, marked by an
entire absence of sympathy between teacher and
pupil. If Mr. Boniface tried to give some bit of
interesting information, it was received with perfect
unconcern; if he attempted any pleasantry,
it was heard with stolid silence; when he was
stern and severe, it produced no more effect.
When Irving Wilde came in, at the end of the
// 066.png
.pn +1
third hour, to take charge of the room, he found
the other teacher looking almost distracted, while
the boys were all in a high state of glee over the
pranks of Max and Frank Osborn. As Lieutenant
Wilde took his place at the desk, with a reproachful
glance at the uproarious boys, the older man
noted with envy how the faces before him grew
bright and interested, and how suddenly the room
was stilled. For a moment he stood looking
about the room and rubbing his hand up and down
over his hair, as was his habit, when annoyed or
perplexed. Then he hastily gathered up his
books and left the room, with a miserable certainty
that his morning had been wasted.
And so it went on, day after day. While there
was no open outbreak or breach of discipline, yet
the new teacher was subjected to all sorts of petty
annoyances by the lads, who had taken a dislike
to his gloomy, serious manner. Order was out of
the question, and any attempts, on the master’s
part, to establish it were worse than useless, for
the boys promptly turned the tables and came off
victors, again and again. However, it had taken
but a short time for Mr. Boniface to single out
Max as the leader in much of the iniquity, and
after watching him closely for a week, he surprised
// 067.png
.pn +1
him, one morning, by an invitation to occupy the
seat directly in front of the master’s desk which
was extended to serve for both master and boy.
With a good-natured smile, Max picked up his
books and marched down the aisle to the appointed
place, where he seated himself, with a triumphant
backward glance at his mates, triumphant, for this
was a fresh vantage point for an attack.
It was the habit of the awkward young teacher
to sit with his feet stretched far out in front of him,
quite regardless of the fact that, in this way, his
coarse shoes were exposed to the gaze of the whole
school. Max had studied these shoes well, and
was never tired of drawing them from every possible
point of view, exaggerating their defects with
the skill peculiar to boyish caricature.
As soon as the master’s mind was again on his
class, Max displayed a bit of paper on which his
friends made out the terse inscription: “Got ’em.”
It was but two words, it is true; but it was enough
to rouse their curiosity, to see what the fertile brain
of Max could mean by this novel declaration of war.
They watched and waited; but they only saw Max
put his elbows on his desk, clutch his yellow top-knot
with both hands and fall to studying with a
will, as if heartily ashamed of his fault and
// 068.png
.pn +1
resolved to make amends. But if their teacher
was deceived, the boys, who knew their friend
better, were not. His sudden devotion to his
book, at such a time and in such a place, could
only mean fresh mischief. Suddenly Leon, who
was looking on, saw the teacher give a violent
start, while Max quite as suddenly raised his head,
with an affectation of perfect surprise, and meekly
begged his pardon. The face of Luke Boniface
flushed, and he looked suspiciously at Max. He
could read nothing, however, in the boy’s unconscious
expression, so he merely bowed, in recognition
of the apology, and went on with his lesson.
Half an hour later, the mystified boys saw the
same performance repeated. At the close of the
morning session, Max was told that he could
return to his seat.
Late that afternoon, several of the boys were
sitting on the piazza rail, resting after a lively
hour of football practice, when Jack Howard suddenly
inquired,—
“I say, Max, what was it you did to Bony this
morning, to make him jump so?”
Max chuckled at the recollection, but vouchsafed
no other reply.
“Go on and tell us, Max,” urged Louis, hooking
// 069.png
.pn +1
his toes into the railing to balance himself, as he
leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“What’s the use?” responded Max. “I may
want to do it again some day, and I don’t want
you all to get on to it; it’s my own invention.”
“Nonsense, Max; we won’t steal it, and we
couldn’t do it, if we would; we’re all too good for
that sort of thing,” put in Harry Arnold, from the
step near by, where he sat leaning against the end
of the rail.
“Much you are!” returned Max ironically.
“Well, I’ll tell you; I just happened to step on
his toe, that’s all.”
“Happened?” inquired Paul Lincoln, taking
careful aim at a belated mosquito, as he spoke.
“Yes, happened,” repeated Max solemnly. “You
see, when I study, I get so interested that I can’t
keep on the lookout to see what my feet are doing.
To-day they wouldn’t stay on the floor, but, first
thing I knew, they were way up in the air. Of
course I put them down again, as quick as I found
it out, and Bony’s feet were right in the way.
See? I begged his pardon, though. But the
queerest thing about it all was that pretty soon I
did that very same thing again. Strange how
interested a fellow can get in his lessons, isn’t it?”
// 070.png
.pn +1
And Max paused to look innocently around at the
group.
“It was an untoward event, anyway,” remarked
Paul.
The boys groaned at the pun.
“Oh, come, you fellows,” observed Harry; “I
feel sort of sorry for Bony, once in a while. I
hate him as badly as any of you; but we are leading
him a dog’s life between us.”
The boys turned and looked at him in surprise.
Harry Arnold was a lad whose opinion carried
weight in the school, and a hush followed his clear
voice. It was Jack who broke the momentary
silence.
“That’s true enough, Hal; but he isn’t obliged
to stay here. The sooner he clears out, the better
we fellows would like it, and he may take the hint,
in time.”
“I wonder if the doctor likes him?” said Leon.
“I don’t see how he can,” said Louis, while he
carefully brushed his cap and replaced it on the
back of his head. “I have an idea that the doctor
took him out of charity.”
“That’s just it,” responded Harry, clasping his
hands behind his head. “Bony’s got to grub along
somewhere till he gets money enough to pay for
// 071.png
.pn +1
his course in the seminary. If he gets turned out
here, it will be no easy thing for him to get in
somewhere else.”
“The sooner he goes off for a missionary, the
better it will be for this side of the world,”
remarked Jack encouragingly. “You’re right
there, Hal, and we ought to do our share towards
sending him off in a hurry.”
“If he only wasn’t so grumpy, I wouldn’t mind,”
added Max; “but I hate a man that can’t see a
joke when it’s fired at him head first; and then it’s
such fun to see him get mad over every little
thing.” And Max twisted up his face in imitation
of his teacher’s frown.
“I don’t blame you much, Max,” said Harry
candidly. “He is pretty bad; I don’t see what
makes him so uncommonly disagreeable.”
“One thing’s sure,” suggested Max, laughing;
“when he goes as a missionary, the cannibals
won’t do anything but taste him, for he’s so sour
that he’ll set their teeth on edge, first thing.”
At this point, a window just above their heads
was abruptly closed. As they heard the sound,
the boys exchanged glances of consternation.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Jack Howard.
“That’s Bony’s window. Do you suppose he’s
been up there, all this time?”
// 072.png
.pn +1
“I hope he enjoyed himself, then,” answered
Louis, as he slipped down from the rail.
“I don’t know as I much care if he did hear,”
said Max deliberately. “I don’t want to be ugly
and hurt his feelings, any more than Hal does;
but now honestly, if he knew just what we thought
of him, perhaps he’d try to treat us a little more
decently.”
But how well he did know just what they
thought of him! Sitting by the open window, in
the yellow sunset light, Mr. Boniface had been
quite absorbed in his work until the repeated use
of his unpleasant nickname had roused him from
his book, and forced him to listen. It was only
for a few moments that he had sat there; but it
was long enough to hear Harry’s attempted defence
and final confession to sharing in the general
dislike, to writhe under the jests of Max and to
note the contempt in the tone of all the boys.
Then he closed the window; but it was too late,
for the winged words, sharp as arrows, had already
flown in and struck home, touching just the points
where he knew himself weakest. And with all
their teasing, they were sorry for him; that was
the worst of it all. He could bear their dislike,
but not their half-scornful pity, as to an inferior.
// 073.png
.pn +1
Just because their lives had been spent in luxury,
should they despise him on account of his struggle
with poverty? The thought galled him, and with
his arms folded tightly in front of him and his
head bowed, he paced angrily up and down the
room.
Irving Wilde found him so, when he knocked at
his door, half an hour later, to return a borrowed
book. As he heard the nervous steps, he paused
for a moment to listen. Then he rapped with
decision.
“Come in,” said an unwelcoming voice.
“I just came to bring back your book,” said
Lieutenant Wilde, looking with some surprise on
the flushed face and angry eyes of his host, who
stood facing him, without making the slightest
movement towards receiving the book. “I am
afraid I am intruding,” he went on.
“No,” the other man replied briefly; “I’m not
busy.”
Irving Wilde felt a little perplexed. It was
evident that Mr. Boniface was in some trouble,
but his rather hostile manner made it difficult to
offer any sympathy. The lieutenant put the book
down on the table and turned to go away.
“Sit down,” said the other abruptly.
// 074.png
.pn +1
It was more a command than an invitation, and
Lieutenant Wilde meekly obeyed, wondering what
was to follow.
“I thought,” he was beginning vaguely, when
Mr. Boniface interrupted him.
“Lieutenant Wilde, what am I going to do
about these boys?” he said, rushing at once into
the midst of his subject, with the air of a man too
much in earnest to waste time in mere words.
Lieutenant Wilde met him with equal directness.
“What boys?” he inquired. “Has there been
any fresh trouble, Mr. Boniface?”
“No,” burst out the other; “nothing fresh, but
it’s a matter of every day, and it’s wearing the life
out of me. They hate me and they try to annoy
me in every way, till I feel like an old dog, at the
mercy of a crowd of snarling, yelping puppies.
I’ve tried everything, but it’s getting worse every
day. I want the boys to like me, and I want to
like them,” he continued, resuming his march;
“but it’s come to where we regard each other as
sworn enemies. It’s spoiling the best years of my
life and sapping my best energies.”
“Oh, pshaw, Boniface!” exclaimed Lieutenant
Wilde, with sudden impatience; “men in
// 075.png
.pn +1
our position haven’t any business to know whether
we have any best energies or not; all we are here
for is to make the best we can out of our boys.
But I beg your pardon,” he added more quietly;
“I didn’t mean to be rude. Who are the boys
that are annoying you?”
Luke Boniface dropped into a chair and began
twisting his watch-chain restlessly.
“All the boys, more or less; but most of all,
that Max Eliot and his set.”
“Max Eliot?” responded the other teacher
thoughtfully. “Max is an incorrigible imp; but
really, Mr. Boniface, he isn’t a bad boy, only a
thoughtless, mischievous tease. I am sorry he’s
made you trouble, for I think he and his set are
the finest fellows in the school.”
Mr. Boniface looked at him incredulously.
“Have you ever found Max doing anything
really dishonorable?” asked Lieutenant Wilde.
“All that set of boys are wide-awake, happy-go-lucky
fellows, ready for any amount of fun, and
often a little too careless of others’ feelings; but
I don’t believe one of them would lie, if it were to
save himself from being expelled.”
“They must be remarkable boys,” said Mr.
Boniface sarcastically.
// 076.png
.pn +1
Irving Wilde turned on him with a frown; then
he controlled himself and said quietly,—
“That is just where you lose ground with the
boys, Mr. Boniface, by making them feel that you
distrust them. Do you remember what the Rugby
fellows used to say: ‘It’s no fun to lie to Arnold,
for he always believes us.’ There’s a great deal
of truth there. Treat boys like honorable gentlemen
and, to a great extent, they will become so.
Watch them like pickpockets, and they will act
accordingly. Boys are quick to see when they are
trusted, and nine out of ten of them will do their
best to be worthy of the trust. Try and see if it
isn’t so, Boniface.” And he beamed on his companion
with such hearty good-will that Mr. Boniface
was forced to admit the truth of his remark,
as far as he himself was concerned.
There were a few moments of silence; then
Lieutenant Wilde rose and moved across the room
to where his host was sitting. Leaning on the
back of his chair, he said, with the genial, off-hand
manner that was peculiarly his own,—
“Now, Boniface, take the advice of a friend,
and forget all about your best energies. Excuse
my speaking so freely; but you asked my opinion,
you know. Trust the lads and make them feel
// 077.png
.pn +1
that you trust them; like them as well as you can
and show them all the liking that you feel. That
is the main thing in dealing with boys. And then,
if you could only be a little more sociable with
them, talk to them at table and when you meet
them around the grounds, till you know every
single fellow for what he really is; then I promise
you that they will do their share towards meeting
you. For my part, I’ll have a little talk with
Eliot and Howard and two or three more of them,
and I hope your trouble will be mostly over.”
And he went away, leaving Mr. Boniface to
ponder on his words.
// 078.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V.||WAR IN THE COLOR-GUARD.
.sp 2
It was the hour for afternoon drill. The trumpets
had rung out in the quick, tripping arpeggios
of assembly and the companies had formed for
roll-call, then marched to their places upon the
battalion parade-ground. In the centre of the
line stood the color-sergeant, Frank Osborn, with
his senior corporals at either hand, Leon on his
right, on his left Winslow and Smythe, the “fiend”
of the second class. Beyond them, to the left
and right, stretched the four companies of the
battalion, while still farther to the right stood the
band.
From the first, Leon had been fascinated by the
perfect order and regularity of the battalion drill,
where every man and every piece were only well-adjusted
parts of the whole, and where any trifling
delay or irregularity on the part of a single cadet
was enough to mar the work of an entire company.
So heartily had he thrown himself into the training
// 079.png
.pn +1
that now, after six weeks of it, he was promoted
to be one of the ranking color-corporals, and each
day proudly took his place beside Frank Osborn,
who never looked half so handsome and dashing
as when on duty, with the soft, bright folds of the
flag drooping beside his dark oval face. And yet,
with all his attraction for Leon, the younger boy
felt a certain distrust of this brilliant comrade,
which prevented their daily association from ever
ripening into anything like an intimacy. It was
not that he was not always bright and companionable,
quick to plan and bold to execute the frolics
which seemed to add zest to his school life, and
equally ready to take the consequences of his many
sins. But, after all, there was a look about the imperious
young face, about the proudly arching lips
and the restless eyes, that told of his descent from
the flower of Southern chivalry, a chivalry which
might too easily become hot-tempered and wild, in
spite of a firm and resolute control. Leon’s New
England training held him aloof from the gay,
rollicking fellows who met in Osborn’s room to
take counsel how best to shirk the hours of study,
and to hold late suppers, after “lights out” had
sounded, and the Flemming world was supposed
to be sleeping the sleep of the just. Max alone,
// 080.png
.pn +1
of all the Arnolds’ friends, was frequently at one
of these revels; for with his eager activity, he was
always ready for fun, in almost any shape that
offered, and was filled with a boyish admiration
for Osborn’s lavish generosity and high-handed
carelessness of discipline. The consequences of
the intimacy were often disastrous to poor Max,
for while his friend contrived to emerge unscathed
from scrape after scrape, Max was singularly luckless,
and was continually finding himself reduced
from the rank to which his brilliant scholarship
and excellent drill had raised him.
Of all the boys in the school, there was no other
set so closely bound together in all their tastes and
pursuits, as the little group of seniors and juniors
who were most often to be found in the Arnolds’
room, or with Max and Louis, across the hall.
For the past two years their intimacy had been
growing steadily. Other friendships had sprung
up and died away, in the meantime; but these
seven lads stood firmly together, never quarrelling
and rarely disagreeing, in spite of the wide difference
in their characters. Instead of that, indeed,
they were a mutual help and check to each other,
so that steady Alex Sterne was stirred up by the
irrepressible Max whom he vainly tried to keep in
// 081.png
.pn +1
order; while careless Jack and dandified Louis
each rubbed off a little of the other’s peculiarity,
for though Jack laughed at Louis’s careful precision
of speech and dress, he unconsciously lost much of
his own slang and disorder by his daily association
with his friend.
To this little circle, Leon and Harold King had
been admitted, on account of their relationship to
Harry and Jack; and except for the mere work of
the class-room, they mingled little with the second
class cadets, greatly to the disgust and envy of
those boys, for the Wilders, as they were called,
were the acknowledged leaders of the school.
Not only did they number among them the best
athletes and brightest pupils, but with them
started nearly every change in the public opinion
of Flemming, and although the other lads might
grumble a little at first, in the end they never
failed to follow in their footsteps. None of the
other cadets had cared to be on such intimate
terms with the teachers, satisfied to drift along
from day to-day, in pleasant enough relations
with the doctor and his assistants, but regarding
them only as very insignificant parts of their
school life, as compared with the ball-field or the
dinner-table.
// 082.png
.pn +1
As the cadets were leaving the armory, that
afternoon, Max and Leon were joined by Osborn
who overtook them on the steps.
“Come up to my room this evening in study-hour,
you fellows,” he said, in a tone too low to
catch the quick ear of Lieutenant Wilde who
was just ahead of them. “We’ll have some grub
and some games.”
“Can’t,” said Leon concisely.
“Why not? Won’t the dominie let you?”
asked Osborn, with a scornful curl of his lip.
“The dominie, as you call him, has nothing to
do with it. I don’t choose to get myself into a
scrape,” returned Leon loftily, for the slighting
allusion to his brother irritated him more than he
cared to admit.
“Just as you say,” responded Osborn indifferently.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Max?”
“Dässent,” responded Max, with an indescribable
flattening of the word. “I can’t afford to
get a rep, for the paternal has promised me a new
bicycle in the spring, if I’ll get up to a first lieutenancy
by that time. Here ’tis November and
I’m only a sergeant, so I don’t care to run any
risks. Besides, I’m saving up all my energy for
the game, next Saturday.”
// 083.png
.pn +1
“You’re getting slow, Max,” was Osborn’s comment
as he strolled off, leaving the others to go
on alone.
“He’s up to something,” Max said regretfully;
“and I’d like to be in it; but that Victor is too
much to be thrown away, and Lieutenant Wilde
is getting to watch Osborn’s room as a cat watches
a mouse-hole.”
“Osborn’s getting reckless, anyway,” answered
Leon. “He’s come out all right so many times
that he’s beginning to believe his luck will follow
him. Some day he’ll get left.”
“Hope ’twon’t be this time,” said Max; “for it
might mean extra guard duty next Saturday, and
he’s too good a half back to lose. It would ruin
our chances, if he didn’t play, for we haven’t a
single good substitute. I tell you, Leon, you’re
in luck. ’Tisn’t every fellow that gets in the
color-guard and plays quarter back, the first term
he’s here. You owe some of it to the start Hal
has given you, though.”
“Haven’t a doubt of it,” returned Leon, laughing.
“By the way, do you know why Osborn
hates Hal so?”
“He doesn’t hate him, exactly,” Max answered,
as he paused with his hand on the knob of his
// 084.png
.pn +1
door; “he only knows Hal is down on him, and
it doesn’t make him love the dominie, as he calls
him, any too well.”
“Hal does say he’s outrageously fast,” said
Leon meditatively. “He’s full of his larks, but I
don’t think he’s a bad fellow.”
The next morning Leon was a little later than
usual in taking his place at the breakfast-table. As
he seated himself, Max leaned forward to speak to
him.
“Osborn was skinned last night,” he said in a
low voice.
“What?” And Leon looked up in surprise.
“Yes, the lieutenant called on him last night,
and caught him playing cards in study-hour.
’Tisn’t the first offence, and they say it means a
reduction for him.”
This was evidently an unexpected announcement
to George Winslow who glanced up eagerly,
as if in sudden exultation over the degradation of
his superior officer. The quick motion did not
escape the keen eye of Max, who went on with an
increased distinctness of utterance,—
“Yes, and if he comes down to Private Osborn
again, the boys all say ’t will be Corporal Arnold
that will be taking his place as color-bearer. Are
// 085.png
.pn +1
you open to congratulation yet? What are you
kicking me under the table for, Winslow?” he
asked, suddenly turning to his neighbor. “If you
want anything, speak up and say so.”
“Beg pardon; didn’t know I hit you,” muttered
Winslow, discomfited to find that his sudden
angry motion had not passed unobserved.
“Well, your shoes must be made of cast iron,
then,” returned Max composedly. “It’s my belief
you’re nervous, Winslow, and oughtn’t to drink so
much strong coffee.” And before Winslow could
realize his intention, he had filled up his half-empty
cup from the contents of the water-flask which
stood beside him. That done, he moved back
from the table, leaving Winslow to growl in peace,
with the certainty that, true to the nature of the
genuine bully, he would never dare attack an
upper class man.
“What is it really about Osborn?” asked Leon,
joining Max in the hall, a few minutes later.
“Why, Lieutenant Wilde walked in on him
last night, about half-past eight. He suspected
something was up, so he took them by storm. He
found Osborn and Strong playing cards, and he
just walked them down to the doctor’s. I don’t
care for Strong; he’s no good, but I’m sorry for
// 086.png
.pn +1
Osborn. But I’ll tell you, Leon, we were well
out of it.”
“I’ve never been in it much with Osborn,” said
Leon thoughtfully. “Hal won’t let me have much
to say to him; but I shall miss him in drill, for
he’s a good fellow there, and I shall hate to lose
him.”
“Even if it gives you his place?” suggested
Max wickedly.
“’twon’t,” said Leon. “My chance isn’t as
good as Smythe’s; he’s sure to get it.”
“It’s a close call between you,” answered Max;
“but everybody says that, if it comes to a promotion,
you’ll get it. If you do, though, you may as
well prepare for a row with Winslow, for he’s
down on you already, and never will consent to
having you put over him. He wanted to go for
me, this morning; but he didn’t dare, for he knew
I was more than a match for him. We had one
little set-to last year, and that taught him a lesson.
He’s queer, anyhow; he can’t stand it to be
laughed at, so I just make fun of him whenever
I can.”
“I wish he were out of the way,” said Leon,
with an anxious frown. “He makes me wild, and
I’m afraid some day I can’t stand it any longer
and shall pitch into him.”
// 087.png
.pn +1
“I hate fighting as badly as you do, Leon,” said
Max candidly; “but there are some fellows that
need to be knocked down a few times to make
them endurable. The worst of it is, it’s likely to
knock yourself down at the same time and land
you with the privates again. Winslow is just
naturally ugly, and he hates you because he says
you laughed at him that first morning you saw
him. I don’t wonder; he’s enough to make a crocodile
laugh, sometimes.”
By noon, the rumors of Osborn’s disgrace were
confirmed, and the question of his probable successor
was discussed on all sides. It was the general
opinion of the boys that the office would fall to
Leon, though Smythe’s narrow, but literal scholarship
and slavish adherence to rules made him a
possible candidate. Of Winslow, strange to say,
there seemed to be no question.
Contrary to Leon’s expectations, Osborn, when
he appeared at dinner, seemed in no way cast
down by his late experience. On the contrary,
he carried it off with his usual gay good-nature,
and laughingly offered to bet as to his successor
who was not to be appointed until dress-parade,
on the following day.
“Whoever ’tis, he ought to be grateful to me
// 088.png
.pn +1
for stepping down and out,” he declared with a
careless laugh. “I’ve given somebody a chance
to go up, and I hope he’ll feel properly obliged to
me.”
Late that evening, Leon went to Lieutenant
Wilde’s room, to ask a question in regard to his
lesson for the next day. As usual when he was
there, he lingered for a time, talking of this matter
and that, with the perfect good-fellowship which
marked all the relations between Lieutenant
Wilde and his pupils. When, after half an hour
of lively talk, he stepped out into the hall, he was
surprised to come upon Winslow who stood a few
feet from the door, apparently waiting for someone.
“Hullo, Winslow! what are you up to here?”
he asked, for Winslow rarely went into his teacher’s
room.
But Winslow made no reply, and Leon went
away down the hall, quite unconscious of the
threatening glances cast after him by his rival.
He thought no more of the meeting until the next
morning when he and Harold King were strolling
about the grounds, between the early guard-mounting
and chapel, as the boys called the simple
opening exercises of the school. The two boys had
// 089.png
.pn +1
reached the foot of the hill and were just turning
to come back, when Winslow abruptly appeared
to them.
“What were you doing in Lieutenant Wilde’s
room last night, Arnold?” he demanded roughly.
“It’s none of your business,” returned Leon
coolly; “but I’d just as soon tell you. I went in
to ask him about to-day’s lesson.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Winslow doggedly.
“You went in to talk up this color-guard affair.”
“What an idea!” said Leon, with a disdainful
laugh. “Nobody but you would think of such
a thing.”
“You did, then,” insisted Winslow, although
without once meeting the clear, steady gaze of his
antagonist; “you went in there to try to get him
to give you Osborn’s place.”
“Oh, come, Winslow,” remonstrated Harold;
“don’t be a fool. That isn’t Arnold’s way.”
“You shut up, King!” returned Winslow brutally,
“I’m not talking to you.”
“No; but I am to you,” retorted Leon, who felt
his temper fast giving way. “I’ll thank you to
clear out and let me alone; you’ve been in my way
long enough.”
“I’ve been there long enough to see that you’ve
// 090.png
.pn +1
toadied to Lieutenant Wilde ever since you came;
and if you think you’re going to sneak, and get
promotions away from better fellows than you are,
you’re much mistaken.”
“What!” And Leon faced his foe with blazing
eyes, and his lips quivering with excitement. “I’ve
never taken unfair advantage of any fellow in this
school, George Winslow, and you know it.”
“That’s a lie.”
The insult was more than Leon could bear; and
the words were no sooner spoken than there came
one quick, decisive blow, and Winslow went
sprawling backward on the ground. Too thoroughly
cowed to rise, he lay staring up into the
flushed, angry face of his slender conqueror. Half
frightened at what he had done, Leon bent on one
knee to see that he had not materially injured his
fallen foe; then, when freed from any anxiety on
that score, he rose to his feet, saying haughtily,—
“Next time you want to tell any such stories
about me, Winslow, just remember that what I’ve
done once I can do again, and keep out of my
sight, unless you want a worse thrashing than this.
And now,” he added, with cutting sarcasm, “if
you aren’t afraid, you’d better get up and get
somebody to brush your back off, for it’s almost
// 091.png
.pn +1
chapel time, and being late might hurt your
chances of promotion.” And turning on his heel,
he went in search of his brother to whom he told
the story of the fight, with a strange mingling of
pleasure and shame as he recounted the insults of
Winslow and his speedy punishment.
“’Twas all you could do, Leon,” said Harry
admiringly, when his brother paused. “It had to
come, for he was going to walk over you till you
put a stop to his impudence. The worst of it is,
I’m afraid this ends your chance of promotion, for
the doctor is down on fighting. You’ll be well
off, if you get out of it without a week’s arrest.”
Leon groaned at the thought. Indeed, the idea
of a week spent in his room, only varied by going
to and from his lessons, was not an attractive one;
and moreover, this was Wednesday and on Saturday
came the long-anticipated football game. The
rest of the morning was spent by Leon in alternating
periods of hope and fear, which last was not
lessened by seeing Winslow go limping up the
steps to the doctor’s door, and later by overhearing
a summons to Harold King to go to the doctor
at noon.
Soon after noon his own call came, and he
slowly made his way to the doctor’s study, which
// 092.png
.pn +1
was always the scene of interviews of a like
nature. It was Leon’s first introduction to the
place and, as he glanced nervously about, it seemed
to him that the very writing-table took on an
austere frown, and that the copy of a Verestschagin
above the mantel looked unnecessarily vengeful
and destructive. Then he looked at the doctor,
and felt an immediate relief. Though unusually
grave, it was still the same kind, just, quiet
man whom he knew so well.
“Arnold,” said the doctor slowly, “I am told
that you have been fighting.”
Leon looked at him without flinching.
“Yes,” he admitted; “I knocked Winslow over.”
“But don’t you know that it is against the
rules of the school?”
Leon bowed in silence.
“Then why did you do it?” asked the doctor
again.
The boy hesitated.
“Because there wasn’t anything else I could
do,” he said at length.
“I can hardly believe that, Arnold. Fighting
is thoroughly lowering and brutalizing, besides
destroying the order of the school. Questions of
discipline must be left to me, not settled by each
// 093.png
.pn +1
one of you boys. I think you understood that
when you came here, although you have now
disobeyed the established rule of the school. Is
there anything you wish to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” replied Leon briefly.
In spite of himself, the doctor looked at the boy
admiringly. He had heard the story of the fight
from Harold King, and he appreciated Leon’s
silence in regard to the provocation he had
received, his proud reluctance to lighten his own
punishment by accusing a schoolmate. Memories
of a like scene in his own school life rushed into
the doctor’s mind, and made him long to pardon
the young culprit whose look met his so squarely;
but justice must be done, so he hardened his heart
and said, as severely as he could,—
“Very well, Arnold, you have willfully broken
the rules and been guilty of grave insubordination.
Since you have no excuse to offer, I shall order
Lieutenant Wilde to deprive you of your promised
promotion, and put you under two days’ arrest.
Now go.” And he waved Leon from the room,
not daring to prolong the interview, for fear he
might relent.
“What are you going to do with such a boy?”
the doctor said to his nephew that night. “He
// 094.png
.pn +1
just stood his ground and wouldn’t give in, though
he knew he had excuse enough, if he would only
tell it. It’s no easy work to punish a fellow like
that, for you or I would have done just as he did,
if we’d been in his place.”
“It strikes me that our color-guard is getting
demoralized about as fast as it can,” Max observed
to Louis, as they were going to bed. “With
Frank Osborn down, and Leon down, and Winslow
half-way in disgrace, Smythe can have it all his
own way, confound him! But I’ll tell you one
thing,” he added vindictively; “I’ll make it hot for
that Winslow. He deserves to be court-martialled
for his pains.”
// 095.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI.||VICTORIOUS NINETY-TWO.
.sp 2
“If bread is the staff of life, butter is the gold
head to the cane,” remarked Max profoundly, as
he waved the butter-knife.
“I say, Max,” inquired Stanley; “how long did
it take you to study that up?”
“I knew he had something on his mind,” added
Alex; “he has been unusually quiet all the
morning.”
“None of your impertinence, Alex,” Max was
beginning, with mock dignity, when Louis said,
from his seat farther down the table,—
“He made it up last night, before he went to
sleep. I was just dropping off when I heard him
mumbling, ‘Bread—staff of life—butter—hm—butter?—um—yellow—no,
gold.’ I fell
asleep just then, and left him still studying on
it.”
“You don’t appreciate really good jokes,” said
Max loftily; “and if you tell any more such
// 096.png
.pn +1
stories about me, I’ll leave you out of the next
lark I have on foot.”
“You don’t dare,” said Louis, laughing.
“What’s going on?” inquired Stanley curiously,
for he had caught a knowing glance which
passed between the room-mates, and felt sure,
from Max’s suppressed excitement, that there was
some frolic on hand.
“Nothing more exciting than the game to-morrow,”
answered Max evasively, as he moved away
from the table. “I only wish that Leon had been
ordered for extra duty in the afternoon, instead of
Frank Osborn. I’m afraid our side hasn’t much
chance, unless two days of arrest have undermined
Leon’s constitution. He’ll make trouble for us, if
it hasn’t.”
The boys separated for evening study-hour, and
soon afterwards quiet reigned over Flemming, for
the members of the eleven went early to bed, to be
ready for the event of the morrow, while the other
boys soon followed the example of their mates.
Long before “lights out” had sounded and Lieutenant
Wilde had made his round, Old Flemming
was as dark and silent as a deserted house, left
tenantless even by ghosts. However, if any ghostly
wanderer had been walking the halls of Old Flemming,
// 097.png
.pn +1
that night at midnight, he would have been
surprised to see a door swing slowly open and two
boys step stealthily out into the hall, their shoes
in their hands and a great, dark bundle under the
arm of one of them. With long, noiseless steps
they moved towards the head of the stairs, pausing
often to listen and peer into the velvety darkness
around them; then they stole down the stairs to
the outer door which they opened as cautiously as
they had done the other, closed it behind them,
and passed out into the night. At the foot of the
steps leading from the drive up to the level of the
armory door, they dropped down on the ground
and began to put on their shoes.
“All right so far, Wing,” said one of them in a
low tone, as he laced up his shoe and tied the
string in a complicated knot. “If we can carry
this thing through, we’re in luck.”
“And if we’re caught, it will be bad for us,”
returned Louis gloomily. “After all, though, the
chances are with us, for nobody has ever tried anything
of the kind before now, and they won’t be
on the watch to prevent it.”
“We’re all safe enough till we go in again,”
said Max; “as long as we don’t break our necks,”
he added provisionally, as he glanced up at the
// 098.png
.pn +1
armory which was dimly outlined against the starless
sky above.
“Fine night for us,” observed Louis. “But
come ahead; we don’t want to waste any time
talking.” And he led the way to the buttresses
which flanked the corner of a little wing near the
front of the building.
“I’ll go up ahead,” said Max; “and then you
hand up the colors. Bother the fellow that
planned this building!” he added petulantly.
“I’ve rubbed all the skin off my knee, trying to
get a purchase against this smooth stone. Why
couldn’t he have left it rough, I wonder.”
“He would, if he’d had the interest of ninety-two
at heart,” returned Louis. “But stop scolding
and hurry up there.”
Both the boys were as agile as monkeys, and by
bracing themselves against the angle of the buttresses,
they had soon climbed up to where they
could gain a slippery footing on the steep roof of
the wing. Once there, their way was easier, for a
row of small bars fastened to the slates, showed
where the janitor went up to the ridgepole, in the
rare event of trouble with the lines for raising the
colors. At the ridgepole the boys came to a halt,
and seating themselves astride the sharp comb of
// 099.png
.pn +1
the roof, they began to untie the bundle they had
so carefully brought with them. The next moment,
the roof at their feet was covered with something
large and dark, which lay in loose folds
along the tiles.
“Ready?” asked Max, after a moment of careful
adjustment.
“Ready,” answered Louis from his post farther
back on the roof.
“Let her go, then!” And there was a sound
of rasping cordage, as the dark mass slowly rose
into the air.
“Catch hold of me, while I make this fast,” said
Max. Then he bent forward over the edge of the
roof, for a moment. “Now,” he continued, as he
cautiously rose to a perpendicular once more, “if
they don’t stare to-morrow morning, when they go
to put up the colors, my name’s not Max Eliot.”
“Won’t Paul be wild, though, to think that
none of his men were bright enough to think of
it?” said Louis, with a chuckle, as he prepared to
descend.
Max followed him at a little distance, and half
their way was safely accomplished when Louis
heard a sudden slip, followed by a heavy thud and
a suppressed exclamation from Max.
// 100.png
.pn +1
“What’s the matter?” he asked, in the same
low tone in which all their conversation had been
carried on.
“Missed one of the steps and sat down,” replied
Max wrathfully. “I wouldn’t mind the thump;
but I hit on one of these beastly nails and I felt
something give out. If I’ve torn a hole in my
coat, it will give the whole thing away. I could
build a better armory than this, myself,” he added,
as he scrambled to his feet again.
“Safe!” ejaculated Louis, when the door of
their room had once more closed behind them.
“We’ve put the thing through, Max, and I don’t
see how we can get caught.”
“Unless my coat tells the story,” said Max ruefully,
as he pulled off the offending garment and
felt up and down the back. “Here ’tis,” he continued;
“a great three-cornered tear, large enough
to put my head through. However am I going to
mend it, so it won’t show?”
“You can pin it up,” said Louis hopefully. “If
you can just get through the morning, you can let
it go that was torn in a scrimmage. But do go
to bed, for we mustn’t be sleepy in the morning.”
Louis’s warning was unnecessary, for the excitement
of their escapade and of the coming game
// 101.png
.pn +1
kept the boys from sleeping soundly during the
few remaining hours of the night; and the first
light of the morning found Max, partly dressed,
sitting on the edge of his bed, with his mouth full
of pins, as he tried to repair the damages wrought
by his fall.
“How does this go, Wing?” he asked, slipping
on the coat and turning his back to Louis who
was still in bed.
“Like time,” responded Louis promptly and
concisely. “It’s all puckered up and looks worse
than the hole.”
“Then what can I do?” asked Max desperately.
“I never could sew it up, even if I had the tackle;
and it can’t go as ’tis, for ’t would tell the whole
thing. If I only had another fatigue coat! Help
me out, there’s a good fellow, for you’re in it as
badly as I am.”
“Let’s see,” said Louis, raising himself on his
elbow to contemplate the task before him; “my
sister mends her gloves with plaster; why not
doctor up your coat the same way?”
“Good scheme!” said Max approvingly, as he
dived into his pocket for a tiny silver case.
Then, possessing himself of the one pair of scissors
which the room afforded, he settled himself to
// 102.png
.pn +1
his novel tailoring with such good success that he
was enabled to put in a prompt appearance at the
breakfast-table, with but little trace of his adventure
of the previous night.
It was the unvarying custom of the school to
have the colors raised on the armory, every morning
at the hour for guard-mounting; but on this
particular morning, the eyes of the early stragglers
about the grounds were met by a new feature in
the landscape. From the top of the flagpole on the
armory, a flag was already waving in the morning
wind; but instead of the familiar stars and bars of
the national tricolor, there flaunted a huge blue
cambric banner, inscribed in golden letters with
the legend: ’92 AND ’94. The new colors were
promptly hauled down, but not before most of the
cadets had gathered around the armory to look
and laugh, and speculate as to the perpetrators
of the joke; but neither the boys’ speculations, nor
the doctor’s efforts to discover the offenders, ever
succeeded in bringing to light the mystery of the
midnight expedition of the loyal juniors.
The long-anticipated Saturday before Thanksgiving
was a cold, clear, bracing day, as if especially
designed for the annual football match.
According to the regular habit of the school,
// 103.png
.pn +1
lessons were over at eleven that morning, and a
light lunch was served immediately afterwards.
Promptly at two o’clock the procession formed in
front of the armory, headed by the school band
who banged and tooted away in their best style.
Back of them walked the two elevens, gorgeous
in their uniforms, the white jerseys of one side
adorned with a huge scarlet F. on the chest, while
the others wore a blue letter modestly surrounded
with a halo of little golden stars. This impressive
body was followed by the twenty or thirty
cadets who had no active part in the proceedings,
but went merely in the light of spectators. Lieutenant
Wilde and Mr. Boniface, walking arm in
arm, brought up the rear with befitting solemnity.
To the inspiring strains of “Marching
through Georgia,” the line moved off, turned
down the hill and marched twice around the
doctor’s house, while Mrs. Flemming and Gyp
watched them from the front piazza, and Maggie
O’Flarity, on the back porch, saluted them with
a flourish of her broom and poker. Then, with
the doctor in their ranks, they started for the ball-field,
while the band, with a delightful impartiality,
changed their tune to “See, the Conquering
Hero comes!” And the small village boys that
// 104.png
.pn +1
garnished the fence, waved their shabby hats in
pleased anticipation.
The doctor and Lieutenant Wilde took up their
positions as umpire and referee, for out of love
for their boys they cheerfully resigned themselves
to the somewhat doubtful enjoyments of these
honorary offices; the spectators arranged themselves
as best they could, and the players took their
places for the struggle. The seniors realized that
this was their last chance to cover themselves with
glory, so far as football was concerned, and Leon
was burning with a determination to efface the
memory of his recent disgrace; while, on the
other side, the juniors, secure in their faithful
training, viewed their opponents with scorn, and
encouraged their young allies to do their best.
Louis squared his shoulders, and stood very
straight, with the consciousness that his blue and
gold finery was extremely becoming, and Max
tossed a stray pine cone at the nearest village
urchin, a tow-headed youth who dodged and
chuckled in recognition of this especial mark of
attention.
At a signal from the doctor, the play began and
then—But why describe all the details of the
game to an audience of American boys who know
// 105.png
.pn +1
and love it so well, or to those older and wiser—and
duller heads, to whom the whole subject is
uninteresting, and its mysteries a sealed book?
It is enough to tell that there were the usual groupings
of wildly excited lads, the usual mad races
across the field, the usual wild onslaughts of the
rush line. Again and again Leon caught the ball
from the snapper and passed it on to Paul for a
run, again and again the fine punting of Max
saved the game for the juniors; but the intermission
had come and gone, and the issue was doubtful.
Slowly, as if reluctant to leave the busy
scene, the sun dropped towards the western hills,
and the battle was in favor of the seniors. The
critical moment had come, and the teams lined up
for a scrimmage, with the ball far towards the
junior goal. Very quietly and steadily Jack
Howard took the ball, though his face was white
with the intense excitement of the moment, as he
waited for the captain’s signal to play.
“One—four—three!” commanded Paul.
For one instant he balanced the ball on its end,
then snapped it back with suddenness and precision,
rising again in time to block his man in the
opposing rush line. With the same accuracy that
his centre had shown, Leon caught up the swiftly-moving
// 106.png
.pn +1
ball in the hollow of his right arm, and
with one quick swing, passed it on to the left
tackle who darted away down the field, only to
be met full in his course by the junior right tackle,
who leaped upon him with a suddenness that fairly
hurled the ball from his grasp into the clutches of
the junior men.
Again came the breathless excitement of awaiting
the signal to play. Then the cry of the junior
captain, “Five—six!” was followed by the answering
signal from Stanley, to warn the snap
back that he was ready. Swift as thought, the
ball rolled back to his hand, and went flying to
Louis who, seizing an unguarded opening between
the end and tackle, sprang forward and went dodging
down the field, half-way to the senior goal,
before he could be stopped. There was a moment
of deafening applause; then the tumult was
stilled, for all realized that the climax of the game
had come.
“Seven—two!” commanded the junior captain.
Again, as the ball rolled back to Stanley, the
lines were broken for a desperate, hand-to-hand
struggle. Then a triumphant shout from the
seniors was met by an answering groan from the
friends of the juniors. Stanley had passed the ball
// 107.png
.pn +1
to the “scrub” who was substituting for Frank
Osborn. Misunderstanding the captain’s signal, he
had fumbled in receiving it, and the seniors had
fallen on the ball.
For an instant, Paul surveyed the field. In
spite of their recent mishap, the juniors were playing
finely; still, when it came to a question of
brute force, the advantage lay with the seniors,
and he gave his orders accordingly. Massing their
men into a wedge about the precious ball, the
seniors ploughed their way down the field, offering
a resistless, impenetrable front to the baffled
juniors. Six yards, eight yards, eleven yards, on
they swept. Then Louis, who had been watching
for his moment to come, all at once plunged
through and over the human barrier, knocking the
ball from the hands of the man who was holding
it, and capturing it in the very midst of the
enemy, amidst the jubilant shouts of his allies.
Ten minutes more to play, on an almost even
score; but the advantage of position lay with the
junior team, as once again the elevens lined up.
“Seven—four!” commanded the junior captain.
Once more the ball flew from Stanley to Louis
who made a rush towards a weak spot in the opposing
line, then, seizing the moment when the
// 108.png
.pn +1
senior team had massed itself to protect the threatened
point, abruptly passed the ball to Max, who
shut his teeth together and punted as he had never
punted before. Up and out flew the ball, far over
the heads of the rushers, and away sprang the
boys after it, with Louis leading the juniors, and
the ends plunging along close at his heels. At
almost the same moment, Leon and Louis reached
the ball. Leon cast himself upon it, but Louis
hurled himself on top of Leon and knocked the
ball from his grasp. When they emerged from
the pile of wriggling boys, it was Louis who held
the ball and they were close to the senior goal.
Three minutes later, the victory lay with the
juniors.
The conquering eleven were immediately seized
and surrounded by their schoolmates, for both the
spectators and the defeated contestants united in
giving them hearty congratulations on their fine
play, although Louis was unanimously voted the real
winner of the game. There were a few minutes
of breathless, noisy chatter; then the band struck
up “Hail to the Chief,” and the procession reformed,
to march back to Old Flemming for a jolly
supper, presided over by no less a person than the
doctor himself, supported on either hand by the
captains of the rival elevens.
// 109.png
.pn +1
“I say, Hal,” said Paul, stopping him on the
piazza; “where’s that young brother of yours?
He played magnificently, and I want to tell him
so.”
“I don’t know where he is,” answered Harry.
“I haven’t seen him since the game. Perhaps he’s
gone up-stairs for something; I’ll go and see, if
you want.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Paul, turning away.
“He’ll be down to supper in a few minutes, and
I can see him then.”
But Leon failed to appear at supper-time, and
when Harry and Paul went to look him up afterwards,
they found him lying on his bed, looking a
little white about the mouth.
“What’s the matter, Leon?” exclaimed Harry
anxiously.
“Oh, nothing much,” answered Leon, sitting up
as he saw them enter; “only I twisted my foot a
little in that last rush. It felt sort of queer, and
I thought I’d keep still to-night; but ’t will be all
right in the morning, so don’t say anything about
it.”
However, morning found the ankle so swollen
and lame that Leon allowed his brother to ask
Lieutenant Wilde to come and look at it. Slight
// 110.png
.pn +1
as was his knowledge of such matters, Lieutenant
Wilde unhesitatingly pronounced it a severe
sprain, and the village doctor, who appeared a
little later, confirmed him in the statement and
ordered the boy to give his foot a rest for some
days.
“When you boys get a little sense of your
own,” the old man remarked vehemently, while
he bound up the foot with fingers as gentle as a
woman’s; “when you boys get a little sense of
your own, I say, you’ll leave off playing such an
abominable game as football. It’s come now to
where it isn’t much but a prize-fight, and all it’s
good for is to bring in an income to us doctors.
There! now you’re all right, but don’t you think
of stepping on that foot for the next week. Then
we’ll see!” And he took his departure, leaving
his patient looking rather forlorn.
“This is fine,” remarked Leon disconsolately,
when he had gone. “Here ’tis Thanksgiving
week, and everybody going off. Between this and
my row with Winslow, I am rather down on my
luck, just now.”
“Never mind, Leon,” said Alex, who chanced
to be in the room. “Everybody says the doctor
only punished you because he had to, for the looks
// 111.png
.pn +1
of it; and you can console yourself with the
thought that the seniors are all saying that you
did more than any other one fellow to save the
game for them.”
“Yes,” added Harry; “and you’d better be
thankful that you didn’t lay yourself up in practice.
Plenty of fellows have done it before now,
and there’s neither glory nor fun in that kind of
thing, you know.”
“Much good that does me,” returned Leon
ungratefully, though at heart he was proud of his
success. “I only hope daddy won’t think I’m a
hard case. But when you fellows are off eating
turkey, think of me, starving here on husks, with
only Dame Pinney for company.”
But Mrs. Flemming was far too motherly a
little woman to think of leaving Leon for a lonely
Thanksgiving with Mrs. Pinney, the housekeeper.
Early the next morning, she knocked at Leon’s
door, with a daintily-packed basket in one hand
and the latest boys’ book in the other.
“I just looked in for a minute,” she said; “to
ask if it wouldn’t be a good idea to have you carried
down to our house, Wednesday morning, to
stay till the boys come back, on Monday. Lieutenant
Wilde will be with us, and we should all
// 112.png
.pn +1
like this chance to get better acquainted with you.
Gyp is lamenting that we can’t have Harry, too;
but I suppose his plans are already made.”
Accordingly on Wednesday morning Leon was
waited upon by a “lady’s chair,” formed of Jack
and Alex, who marched down the hill to the doctor’s
house and deposited their burden in a reclining-chair
which was cosily drawn up in front of
the parlor fire, close to a little table covered with
the latest illustrated papers and a number of books
of travel and adventure, such as boys love. From
this luxurious retreat, Leon could watch his
departing friends with calm indifference; for was
he not to spend five whole days in the house with
the doctor and Lieutenant Wilde, with Mrs. Flemming
to coddle him, and Gyp to amuse him to the
best of her small ability?
// 113.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII.||HOW LEON SPENT HIS THANKSGIVING.
.sp 2
The next morning Leon lay on the sofa reading,
for at least the tenth time, the adventures of the
immortal Tom Brown, with as deep an interest
in them as he had felt when first he made the
acquaintance of that hero so dear to boyish hearts.
The doctor and his nephew had gone to walk up
an appetite which should do honor to the dinner
of state that Mrs. Flemming was superintending
in the kitchen, and Gyp sat on the floor in the
corner, robing the patient Mouse in the clothes of
her second-best doll.
“There! Doesn’t she look pretty, Leon?” she
inquired at length, triumphantly holding the cat
up to his view.
The usual melancholy expression of the poor
old cat was now set off by a rosy silk bonnet
cocked rakishly over one eye, while her long, lank
body was adorned with a green skirt, a pale blue
sash and a white waist. Mouse, however, was
// 114.png
.pn +1
evidently accustomed to such finery for, except
for an increased droop to the corners of her mouth,
there was nothing to show her disapproval of this
treatment. Leon laughed, as he dropped his book
by his side and, clasping his hands back of his
head, he turned to watch Gyp who was holding
Mouse out at arms’ length, tipping her head from
side to side, as she critically eyed her pet.
“There’s one good thing about Mouse, Gyp,”
he remarked lazily; “she’s a real good frame to
build a cat on, if you ever want to do it.”
“I don’t know zac’ly what you mean,” said
Gyp, with great severity; “but I ’most know
you’re making fun of Mouse.”
She was silent for a few moments, while she
added the finishing touches to the already elaborate
toilet of the cat. Then she seemed to repent
of her sternness, for she dropped Mouse into a
chair and went across to Leon’s sofa, where she
sat down on the edge of it and laid one chubby
arm across the boy’s shoulders, in a comically protecting
fashion. She surveyed him for a moment,
puckering up her small mouth, while her roguish
brown eyes grew gentle and the heavy curls
drooped till they brushed his cheek. Then, as if
satisfied that he was neither hurt nor angry, she
// 115.png
.pn +1
went on in a wheedling tone, as she nestled closer
to him,—
“I’m so sorry you hurt you, Leon. Don’t you
think you’d like to tell me a story?”
“A story!” groaned Leon despairingly, for as
the youngest of the family, he knew little of children.
“I’m afraid I’m not much good at stories,
Gyp.”
“Why not?” inquired Gyp remorselessly.
“Harry is. He says he used to have to tell
them to you lots of times, when you were little
and cross.”
Leon blushed, in spite of himself.
“What kind of stories do you like?” he asked,
willing to change the subject.
“’Most any kind,” answered Gyp, reaching up
to tuck the afghan around Leon’s chin and, at
the same time, slyly moving his book out of his
reach. “I like those best with ever so many wild
animals in them, eflunts and bears and things;
but they must always be true ones, ’cause mamma
doesn’t want me to learn ’bout things that aren’t
so.”
“But, Gyp,” remonstrated Leon, in dismay at
this literary program; “I don’t know any true
stories about wild animals.”
// 116.png
.pn +1
“I should think you could make up some,”
answered Gyp logically. “I make ’em up, sometimes,
and I’ll tell you one, if you want, by and
by, after you’ve told me yours.”
“Tell me now,” urged Leon, hoping to gain
time.
“No, you must tell first, ’cause you’re company,”
replied Gyp, with an uncomfortable regard
for the etiquette of the occasion.
“Hm!” sighed Leon. “Let me see, what shall
I tell you about? Do you know old Jerry,
Gyp?”
“Who’s he?”
“The old, old man with long, white hair that
comes around here, sometimes, to see if we’ll give
him something to eat or some clothes.”
“Yes,” nodded Gyp. “I know him. What
about him.”
“I was going to tell you how I went to see him
once,” said Leon, moving to make more room for
the child. “It was about two weeks ago, and
Max and Jack and I started off, one Saturday, to
go to his house. He lives way up beyond the village,
in the woods. His house is a queer little bit
of a one, made out of rough boards, with a piece
of stove-pipe for a chimney, and a little narrow
door, painted blue.”
// 117.png
.pn +1
“What’s that for?” inquired Gyp.
“Why, to go in at,” said Leon, rather surprised
at the question.
“No; I mean what for did he paint it blue?”
persisted Gyp.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Leon, with
the certainty that he was about to lose favor in
Gyp’s eyes, because of his lack of accurate information
upon this point.
“Well,” he went on; “we knocked at this blue
door, and by and by we heard a man say ‘come
in,’ and we went in and there was Jerry. He sat
there smoking a pipe made out of a corn cob, and
mending a hole in his boot with a piece of string.
There were ever so many funny things there, fish-poles
and box-traps and snares—”
“What’s that?” interposed Gyp.
“Oh, things to catch birds in,” explained Leon
lucidly. Then he continued, “And there were
some cages on the wall, some with birds in, and
some with squirrels, and one had a snake. And
there was a great black crow hopping around on
the floor, and three dogs, one yellow, and one
white, and one black and yellow. And—and—and—”
Leon hesitated.
“What did you do then?” demanded Gyp.
// 118.png
.pn +1
“We stayed a little while, and then we came
home again.”
“Is that all?” asked the child, and there was a
scornful ring to her tone.
“I’m afraid it is,” replied Leon meekly.
“Well, I don’t think that’s much of a story,”
remarked Gyp, with a frankness of criticism which
would have done credit to a professional reviewer.
“You tell me one now, Gyp,” suggested Leon,
feeling that his attempt at story-telling had resulted
in dismal failure.
“Well, I will,” said Gyp, with perfect readiness.
Curling up one foot under her, she turned so
that she could face Leon. When she was settled
to her liking, she began her tale which she emphasized
now and then by nodding her head, or
smacking her lips, with an air of relishing the
gloomy details.
“Well, once, ever ’n ever so long ago, there
was a duck and a squan, and one day they were
sitting on the bank in the sun to dry their feet,
and the duck said, ‘I love you; do you love me?’
and the squan said, ‘No, I won’t,’ and the duck
said, ‘I’ll make you.’ So he ran at the squan, and
the squan ran away and jumped into the lake.
// 119.png
.pn +1
The duck ran after her and, first thing he knew,
he had tumbled in, right head first over heels.
They began swimming round and round after
each other, and pretty soon the squan was tired,
so she turned into a crocodile with great, long
teeth and claw-nails, and climbed out on the bank.
Then the duck turned himself into another crocodile
and went out after her; but when he found
her, she wasn’t there, for she made herself back
into a squan and was clear off in the water. You
see, she was quicker ’n he was. He didn’t stop to
change, but went after her, fast as he could go,
and when he came up to her, he pulled out the
carving-knife and cut her into four pieces. ‘There,’
he said, ‘now I’ve killed you; that’s too bad.’
But the pieces sank down to the bottom and when
they hit the mud down there, they all grew together
again, so she could swim up. She came
up, just as quick, and pulled the carving-knife out
of his hand, and she took the carving-knife, and
stuck the points in and made little dents all over
him. So he died, and the squan pulled three
pink feathers out of his tail, to show she’d killed
him, and then she went home to her little chickens.
But she forgot the carving-knife, and when she
saw her chickens, she was so glad, that she dropped
// 120.png
.pn +1
the carving-knife right down on top of them and
cut all their heads off, and so they were dead as
could be, every one of them; and when she knew
they were dead and she had killed them, she felt
so badly that she went right off and was drowned,
and that’s all there is about them.”
“Where’d you get all this story, Gyp?” inquired
Leon, much impressed by the tragic end of the
tale.
“Out of my think-box,” responded Gyp, as she
slipped down from the sofa and ran to the door, to
meet her father and her cousin.
“Well, my boy; how goes it?” asked the doctor,
as he moved up a chair and sat down beside
Leon. “Has it been a long morning to you?”
“Oh, papa, we’ve had a real good time,” interrupted
Gyp, climbing on his knee and taking his
face between her hands, to enforce his attention.
“We’ve been telling stories, and Leon has been
telling me about an old man that lives alone with
a black canary and smokes pop corn; and please
wont you take me to see him?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, chatterbox,” said her
father, laughing. “How is the foot, Leon?”
“All right—”
“Won’t you, papa?” Gyp insisted.
// 121.png
.pn +1
“Won’t I what, you monkey?”
“Won’t you take me to see the old man?”
“I tried to tell her about Jerry’s house,” explained
Leon; “and she’s a little mixed up about
it.”
“Nothing unusual,” answered the doctor. “Is
it Jerry that you mean, Gyp?”
“Yes, I want to go to see his bird.”
“Some day, perhaps, when you are older; but
it is too far for you to go now, for you would get
all tired out. Now you mustn’t tease any more,
but run away and play with Mouse, because I
want to talk to Leon.” And as Gyp walked away,
he dismissed the matter from his mind although,
as it appeared later, the young lady did not.
Dr. Flemming devoted the next half hour to
entertaining his guest, and their pleasant, rambling
talk of Tom Brown, and the football game,
and the boys, and the winter sports of the school
gave Leon an even greater admiration for the
doctor than he had felt before, and made him forget
that he was a prisoner for some days. The doctor,
on his side, was making every effort to make
the time pass pleasantly, for not only did he
admire the straightforward manliness of his pupil,
but he was anxious to remove the memory of their
// 122.png
.pn +1
recent interview in the study when, against his
own will, he had been forced to punish the lad for
a breach of discipline which, in the eyes of the
school, was more than justified by its cause. He
succeeded so well that, when Lieutenant Wilde
came into the room, he found them discussing the
prospect for the spring regatta with the eagerness
and good-fellowship of a pair of children; and
Leon was almost sorry when Mrs. Flemming appeared,
a little later, to tell them that dinner was
ready.
“Now, auntie,” said Lieutenant Wilde, as he
rose; “as I said to you this morning, we don’t
want this young man to eat his Thanksgiving
dinner, in solitary state before the fire; so, with
his permission, I’ll escort him to the table.” And
before Leon had time to object, he was picked up
bodily and carried out into the next room, where
Lieutenant Wilde put him down in a chair between
himself and Mrs. Flemming.
It was one of the merriest dinners that Leon
had ever known, and the informality was decidedly
increased by Gyp, who insisted that Mouse, in all
her elegance, should come to the table and sit in a
high chair by the side of her small mistress, where
she was regaled on many a dainty morsel which
// 123.png
.pn +1
she received and swallowed with a stolid unconcern,
apparently quite unconscious of the fact that
her pink bonnet had slipped off from her ear, and
worked its way around until the eye on the other
side was in a state of complete eclipse.
Then they went back to the parlor again, and
while Mrs. Flemming drew together the heavy
curtains to shut out the gathering twilight and
the fine, soft snow which was beginning to fall,
the doctor piled the sticks high on the andirons,
and they watched the slow, curling tongues of blue
flame work their way up among them, and then
all at once turn to the bright red blaze which
lighted all the room. To Leon, after two months
in the large boarding-house, the quiet, homelike
air of the place was indescribably pleasant; and
he lay back in his deep chair, saying little, but
watching the flickering light and listening to the
conversation around him. Lieutenant Wilde sat
beside him, resting one elbow on the arm of Leon’s
chair. Suddenly he turned to the boy.
“Homesick or sleepy, Leon?”
“Not a bit of either,” declared Leon, laughing,
“I’m as lazy and happy as Mouse herself.”
“But it will never do to spend Thanksgiving
evening in this quiet fashion,” said Mrs. Flemming,
// 124.png
.pn +1
starting up. “We must have lights, so we
can have some games.”
“Don’t do it for me,” protested Leon. “I’m
having an uncommonly good time, now.”
“It isn’t for you, any more than for the rest of
us,” answered Mrs. Flemming. “We play games,
the doctor and I, almost every evening that we
are at home. It keeps us from getting old and
stupid; and then I’m a great believer in home
games, anyway. If I had twenty boys, I’d keep
open house for their friends, and play games with
them all, whenever they felt like it.” And she
went away to see about the lights, while Lieutenant
Wilde drew the card-table up to the fire, and
the doctor threw on fresh wood, preparatory to
settling himself for his evening game.
It was not strange that, after three or four days
spent in this pleasant home, Leon almost dreaded
the return to the regular hours and discipline of
Old Flemming. So heartily did the doctor and
his wife unite in making the boy feel at ease, that
he soon forgot he was a guest, and occupied much
the position of a favorite son of the house; for the
family life went on in its usual course, only widening
its boundaries enough to take him well inside
them, cordially welcome, yet free from all constraint.
// 125.png
.pn +1
The doctor himself was enough to accomplish
this, now entering into games with the zest
of a boy, now reading aloud interesting scraps
from his evening paper, now carrying off Leon for
a long, quiet talk in the study that, somehow,
lost much of its threatening aspect and became a
mere cosy den, under these new conditions.
On Sunday night they were comfortably established
there, alone, for Gyp was in bed and Lieutenant
Wilde had gone to church with his aunt,
when the doctor suddenly asked,—
“Did you know Winslow wasn’t coming back
after the recess, Leon?”
“No.” And Leon roused himself from his book.
“What’s that for?”
“Several reasons, none of them those that you
need to know. I had a long talk with him before
he went, however, and he finally admitted that he
was as much in the wrong as you were, in your
recent trouble with him. I thought it only right
to tell you this, as long as you refused to bring
any charges against him. But, after all, his fault
doesn’t do away with your own, and it’s only fair
that you should suffer the penalty for it. Next
to deceit, my strictest rules are against fighting,
for if all the boys were to settle their disputes in
// 126.png
.pn +1
that way, good by to the discipline of the school,
and then good by to the school itself. I know it
puts a boy into a hard place when he is annoyed
in such a way, for of course he doesn’t want to
come to me with complaints. Still, I have made
the rule, and I feel that I have the right to exact
obedience from my boys. If they have the honor
of the place at heart, they will see the reason for
it. Isn’t it so, Leon?”
And Leon gave a hearty assent.
// 127.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII.||MAX MAKES A TREATY OF PEACE.
.sp 2
“I don’t believe you fellows know how hard
you are making it for Mr. Boniface,” Lieutenant
Wilde had said to the boys who were gathered in
his room one night, not long before Thanksgiving.
“I told him so the other day when we were talking
about it, for I don’t think any one of you
would be mean enough to try to break up his
classes.”
The subject was unexpected to them all, and
for a moment they were speechless.
“Has he been complaining of us,” asked Jack
scornfully, after the pause.
“Yes and no,” answered Lieutenant Wilde. “I
saw that something was wrong, and asked him
about it. He told me then, and not till then.
You would all have been sorry for him, if you had
seen him that day, for he seemed to feel so keenly
that he was making a failure here. Now aren’t
you boys all of you loyal enough to the doctor to
// 128.png
.pn +1
feel that you must be polite and respectful to any
man he may choose to put in here over you?
Any rudeness to one of his teachers is an insult to
himself.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” confessed Max
frankly. “But Bony and the doctor are two
different people.”
“That may be,” responded Lieutenant Wilde,
as he pulled off his spectacles and fell to twirling
them by the slender, bent ends of the bows; “but
Mr. Boniface represents the doctor in his classes.
And moreover, he’s come here a stranger, and you
who know each other and the place, ought to try
to make him feel at home, instead of forming a
league against him, to torment him with childish
tricks that are more suited to Gyp than to cadets
of your ages. He is hired to teach you and is
paid for it, I know; but he has come here with as
true a wish to help you and be friends with you,
as the doctor himself, but you all treat him like an
enemy instead.”
“What makes him so queer and glum with us,
then?” said Jack, as he leaned forward to give the
coals a vigorous punch.
“Don’t you know yet, Jack, that everybody
isn’t just like everybody else? Mr. Boniface
// 129.png
.pn +1
would like to be pleasant and cordial with you;
but he hasn’t the gift of it, as the doctor has—”
“‘And you, Brutus,’” put in Max with a wink.
Lieutenant Wilde laughed, but took no other
notice of the interruption, as he went on with his
plea,—
“Besides, Mr. Boniface has one quality that
I’ve heard you all admire in other people.”
“What’s that?” inquired Paul skeptically.
“Stick-to-ativeness, in plain Saxon. I’ve often
heard you talk about it in the boys, when they
wouldn’t give up in some game, or the gymnasium;
and you all say that Louis, here, saved the football
match for the juniors in that very way. Mr.
Boniface is doing just the same thing with his
education. He has had disadvantages and setbacks
enough to knock down a dozen ordinary
men; but he has fought his way along till now,
and in the very last battle—scrimmage, if you
prefer—he is liable to be beaten and driven out
of the field by a dozen thoughtless boys, who
would some day be sorry to be responsible for
breaking down a man’s courage and spoiling his
life’s plans.”
“I don’t think we any of us started to be mean
to Bony, Lieutenant Wilde,” said Alex. “We’ve
// 130.png
.pn +1
sort of fallen into the habit of running on him,
for we don’t any of us like him. He is pretty
bad in class.”
“I didn’t suppose he really cared so much,”
added Max. “It’s mean to hit a fellow when
he’s down. I can’t like him, though, Lieutenant
Wilde.”
“Have you tried very hard, Max?” inquired
Lieutenant Wilde, laughing.
“Uncommonly,” responded Max with fervor.
“I can’t like him, I know; but maybe I can swallow
him like a very bitter pill, and he’ll be good
for me.” And he rolled up his eyes at his teacher,
with such wickedness sparkling in them that Lieutenant
Wilde’s dignity broke down, and he joined
the boys in their shout.
“But, Lieutenant Wilde,” remonstrated Paul
Lincoln; “why do you go for us about it? We
aren’t any worse than the other fellows.”
“Possibly not; but I doubt that. Even if you
aren’t, though, I have spoken to you about it,
partly because I know you better, and partly because
you are the most organized set in the school,
and so have more weight and influence. If you
nine boys would make up your minds to stand by
Mr. Boniface, you could carry the school along
// 131.png
.pn +1
with you, till he wouldn’t have any more trouble
at Flemming. Why not do it? Every young
knight must win his spurs by helping the poor
and oppressed. You won’t find many giants and
dragons in your way, so why not lend a hand to
help on Mr. Boniface? If you boys will treat him
like a man and a friend, you’ll be more than repaid,
for he is only waiting for a chance to know you
and help you. And in some ways, he’s the finest
teacher we have ever had at Flemming.”
Jack shook his head incredulously; then he
said seriously,—
“I’ll tell you what, boys, we ought to be willing
to do as much as this for Lieutenant Wilde’s
sake.”
“Thank you, Jack,” replied Lieutenant Wilde
quickly. “Start to do it for me, if you will; but
the time will soon come that you are doing it for
the sake of Mr. Boniface.”
The subject was dropped, but though no more
was said at the time, it was plain that the little
talk had had its effect, for matters were now going
on most smoothly. Alex and Stanley had always
been above any reproach of rudeness, although it
must be confessed that they had shown a keen
appreciation of the mischief of the others. Harry
// 132.png
.pn +1
had gone over to their side, as a matter of conscience,
and insisted upon Leon’s doing the same,
while Jack Howard openly stated that he “stood up
for Bony just because Lieutenant Wilde wanted
them to.” For one reason or another, the other
lads had followed their example, even to Max who,
like most impulsive, affectionate fellows, was easily
influenced by his friends for the time being, and
not even the persuasions of Frank Osborn had
been able to win him from his good resolutions.
The change in the situation was so marked that
it was small wonder that Mr. Boniface had confided
to Lieutenant Wilde his fear that it was too
sudden and too good to last.
“Even Eliot is behaving like a model boy,” he
remarked, the Tuesday night after Thanksgiving.
“He is a likable fellow at times, too.”
“Max is a splendid fellow,” answered Lieutenant
Wilde enthusiastically. “He’s freakish
and thoughtless in his fun, often a little too much
so, but he is the soul of honor and, in my opinion,
that covers a multitude of sins.”
“So it does,” assented Mr. Boniface a little
dubiously, for he was reflecting upon how large
an expanse it had to work in the case in hand.
“Eliot is a truthful boy, I think; but what a
// 133.png
.pn +1
comfort it would be, if all the boys were as steady
and as anxious to learn as little Smythe. That
boy is a perfect wonder.”
“Yes,” said Irving Wilde, in a tone of deep
disgust; “he’s a wonderful little prig. He learns
like a poll parrot, and his only desires on earth
are to show off what he knows, and to turn out
his toes at a proper angle, when he’s on parade.
The boys call him the King of the Fiends, and it’s
my private opinion that they’re about right. I’ve
no patience with him, and it just galls me to have
to promote him over the heads of much better
fellows than he. Let me take Max, with all his
sins, and with proper training and influences, I’ll
make ten times the man of him.”
“Well, I think I prefer Smythe,” replied Mr.
Boniface.
“You’re welcome to him; I don’t want him,”
answered Lieutenant Wilde. “Life is something
besides committing schoolbooks to memory; put
the two boys into the same emergency, and balance
the selfish conceit of Smythe against the quick,
impetuous generosity of Eliot, and tell me which
will do more to help on his fellow-men. Smythe
is just the boy to put behind a counter, to sell
ribbons and tape and spools of thread; Eliot, if he
// 134.png
.pn +1
keeps straight, will be a man from whom we shall
hear, sometime or other. In the meantime, he’s
neither saint nor sinner, but a genuine, healthy
American boy, and taken at its best, there’s no
better race in the world.”
The door closed behind him, and Luke Boniface
sat down to read, feeling unusually at peace with
the boys, even to Max himself. Fortunately he
knew nothing of the mischief which was just then
being plotted by the boy, who was restless with
the concentrated impishness developed by his four
days’ holiday. Had he suspected, his quiet, restful
mood might have been rudely disturbed; now,
as it was, he could enjoy it to the utmost.
Next morning, the lessons were under full headway.
In the large school-room, left in the charge
of Mr. Boniface, the seniors were having a recitation,
while the members of the junior and second
classes were deep in their work. Over in a sunny
corner by the window, sat Max, in his favorite
position, with his bent head held firmly between
his hands, covering his ears from disturbing sounds.
All at once, two or three of the boys near him
raised their heads and sniffed the air suspiciously.
A faint sickening odor began to be noticeable, and
rapidly increased, filling the air and penetrating
// 135.png
.pn +1
even to the teacher’s desk, at the far side of the
room. In his turn, Mr. Boniface raised his head
and looked wonderingly about, as if seeking the
source of this fragrance, whose mystery was only
equalled by its pungency. Nothing was to be
seen to account for the phenomenon. Although
some of the boys were beginning to choke, and
Louis sat with his nose buried in his daintily-scented
handkerchief, Max alone seemed undisturbed
in his work, and paid no heed to the
sensation in the room. At length it could be
endured no longer, and Mr. Boniface said,—
“Please open a window, Campbell.”
Stanley rose to do his bidding. As he moved
across the floor, he glanced at Max, surprised at
his unusual interest in his lesson; then, for the
first time in his whole school life, Stanley Campbell
lost all consciousness of where he was, and
burst into an irrepressible laugh. Carefully
arranged on the knee of Max, in the full glare
of the sunshine, lay a smoldering lump of india-rubber,
mounted on a bit of iron, and above it,
just where it would focus the rays of light upon
it, was a powerful lens, for the moment converted
from a magnifier into a burning-glass.
In a moment, too soon for Max to remove his
// 136.png
.pn +1
apparatus, Mr. Boniface stood beside him. Silently
he stretched out his hand; silently Max put into
it the glass and bit of rubber, noting, with a
naughty satisfaction, that his teacher winced as
the hot mass dropped into his palm. Then Mr.
Boniface said quietly,—
“Come to my room at three this afternoon,
Eliot.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Max, with unwonted meekness.
That was all. Mr. Boniface returned to his
class and Max fell to studying with a will, though
pausing now and then, while he turned over a leaf,
to speculate as to what direful punishment was
in store for him. There seemed something ominous
in the calm, collected manner of the teacher,
and Max wondered if he were aware of the
doctor’s strong prejudice against corporal punishment.
Like most boys, Max disliked the idea of
being whipped, not only on account of the hurt,
but also because he had a vague idea that it took
from his manliness, and put him on a level with
dogs and horses and very small babies. Still, he
would pay the penalty for his fun, and take the
consequences as easily as he could.
But Mr. Boniface was wily. He had watched
// 137.png
.pn +1
Irving Wilde’s methods with the boys, and had
come to the conclusion that they were worth
imitating. He was gradually schooling himself
until he had lost something of his old excitable
manner, and could more easily meet the little
annoyances that came to him, day after day. Now
at length he was to attempt his master-stroke and
see if he could win over his arch-enemy, for so he
regarded Max. Directly after dinner, he went
out for a long, rapid walk in the clear, cold air,
and came in with every sense so quickened and
refreshed from the hour of active exercise, that he
felt himself ready for the coming interview.
Punctually at three, there came a knock at his
door. For a moment the teacher’s courage failed.
He could more easily face the whole examining
board of a missionary association, than one solitary,
mischievous schoolboy. But it was too late
to draw back, so, as cordially as he could, he told
Max to enter.
Max strolled into the room, with his hands
stuck into his trousers pockets, and stood leaning
against the table with a carelessness which
somehow failed to agree with the little troubled
look in the blue eyes. Not only was Master Max
rather anxious to know what was in store for
// 138.png
.pn +1
him, but his conscience, too, was beginning to be
uncomfortably active. His burning the rubber
seemed not quite so funny to him as it had done
in the time of it, or as it would have done if Mr.
Boniface had been very angry, instead of so quiet
about it. He shifted his weight from one foot to
the other and back again, while he listened to
hear his teacher come to the subject in hand.
“Sit down, Eliot,” said Mr. Boniface, motioning
him to a chair.
Max obeyed, with an unhappy feeling that this
lessened his chance of flight. He pulled his hands
out of his pockets and carefully fitted the tips of
his fingers together, bestowing a little extra attention
on the thumbs. Suddenly Mr. Boniface
turned to him.
“Eliot, what am I going to do with you?” he
asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” answered Max,
half-defiantly, half-meekly.
“I don’t know as I do, either,” said. Mr. Boniface,
with a smile. Then he went on quite seriously.
“Eliot, suppose we forget for a while that
we are teacher and pupil, and have a little talk, as
one man would to another.”
Mr. Boniface had struck the right chord. At
// 139.png
.pn +1
this appeal to his manhood, Max straightened up
suddenly and looked his teacher squarely in the
eyes as he went on,—
“You’ll admit, won’t you, Eliot, that you were
guilty of a great rudeness this morning? I was
doing my best to carry on the work for which I
am here, and you deliberately and purposely tried
to break up my class. Isn’t it so?”
“I—I s’pose so,” said Max, glaring down at
his folded hands, as if they were in some way to
blame for his present position.
“But why did you do it?” went on Mr. Boniface,
pursuing his advantage unrelentingly.
“Fun,” answered Max laconically.
“Which was the fun,” inquired Mr. Boniface,
“to sicken us all, yourself among the rest, with a
disagreeable smell, or to interrupt the class for ten
minutes and make the school work so much longer
at noon? Whichever way you put it, Eliot, it
strikes me that the game isn’t worth the candle,
as they say, and the trick reacts on you and the
other boys, as much as on myself.”
Max raised his head at this.
“Honestly, Mr. Boniface, the other boys weren’t
in it a bit. Nobody else had anything to do with
it.”
// 140.png
.pn +1
“Is this your glass?” asked Mr. Boniface, taking
it from the table and pointing to the initials
H. P. A. cut in the handle.
“That’s Hal Arnold’s,” answered Max. “I
borrowed it of him yesterday; but I didn’t tell
him what I wanted of it. I knew if I did, he
wouldn’t let me take it,” he added, with an artless
confession that he knew he was in the wrong.
“That’s as much as to say you knew you were
doing something to be ashamed of,” said Mr. Boniface
slowly.
“I was; and what’s more, I believe I am a little
ashamed,” answered Max honestly. “I did just
want to see if that glass would burn rubber, and
it was a splendid place to try. The other fellows
did look so astonished; didn’t they?” And Max
laughed at the memory.
In spite of himself, Mr. Boniface laughed too.
That laugh settled the matter, for it won Max
completely. The boy put both elbows on the
table, rested his chin in his hands and remarked
with a frankness which took away the teacher’s
breath,—
“Mr. Boniface, now see here: I’m sorry for
what I did, and I won’t do it again—if I can help
it. I’m willing to say I’m sorry before all the
// 141.png
.pn +1
boys, if you want. It’s no use for me to promise
not to do that kind of thing again, though, for I
shall most likely forget and do something just as
bad, in a week or two. You see, when you just
came, I sort of got into the habit of teasing you,
and I’ve kept on. I promised Lieutenant Wilde
that I wouldn’t any more, but I’ve broken my
promise. Now I’ll try again. You said we might
talk together like two men, so I thought ’twas
fairer to tell you this, than to keep saying it about
you.”
During this clear, but surprising statement, Mr.
Boniface had looked first perplexed, then annoyed.
At length his face brightened and, with a smile
as cordial as Lieutenant Wilde’s own, he held out
his hand to the boy, saying,—
“Thank you, Eliot, for being so honest; now I
know just how we stand. I don’t see but we mean
to do the fair thing by each other, only, once in
a while, we both make mistakes. Shall we shake
hands on it, and try again in the future?”
What need to ask? As he put the question,
Max’s brown hand lay in his and the pressure of
the boy’s fingers upon those of the man told an
eloquent story of a newly-gained friend. No direful
punishment, no long, solemn lecture could have
// 142.png
.pn +1
done the work which this pleasant talk had accomplished,
and as Max sat there, he was resolving, in
his boyish soul, “to stand by Bony” in the future.
Meanwhile in Louis’s room, the boys were restlessly
lounging about, while they waited for the
reappearance of the young sinner.
“He must be having a bad time,” said Jack,
taking out his watch for the twentieth time in the
last half hour.
“I’m afraid Bony’s giving it to him strong,”
added Paul.
“You don’t suppose Bony’d whip him, do you?”
suggested Leon, in an awed tone.
“Whip Max? Nonsense!” responded Harry.
“Don’t you be too sure, Hal,” said Jack. “Bony
looks as if he’d be ready for anything when his
blood is up. He’s just made up his mind that he
is not to be interfered with.”
“But Dr. Flemming doesn’t allow whipping,”
said Alex. “Bony’s much more likely to report
him. It’s mean to come down on Max, though,
for such a little thing, when we’ve all been as bad
as he.”
“Or would have been, if we’d been bright enough
and had dared,” added Harry, unconsciously striking
the two main causes of Max’s being singled out
to be the one in disgrace.
// 143.png
.pn +1
“The truth of it is,” said Louis; “Bony has been
holding off, this long time, and now at last, after
we’ve walked all over him, the worm has turned,
so I shouldn’t much wonder if he was pretty severe.
I only wish it hadn’t been Max. A little discipline
wouldn’t hurt Smythe or some of those fellows,
they’re such sneaks; but Max—”
“Here he comes!” interrupted Paul excitedly.
“Now we shall hear all about it.”
“Well,” remarked Max coolly, as he came into
the room; “this is quite an unexpected pleasure;
but I am delighted to see you, gentlemen, I am
sure.” And with a low bow of mock ceremony,
he crossed the room and sat down on the bed.
The boys waited eagerly to hear him speak, for
they felt sure that he would have an interesting
story to tell; but Max held his peace. His cheeks
were flushed, and his eyes looked a deeper, clearer
blue than ever; but otherwise there was nothing
to show that anything unusual had occurred. At
length Louis’s impatience could be restrained no
longer.
“Say, Max, what did he do to you?” he asked
anxiously.
“Who?” inquired Max, with a preoccupied air.
“Oh come, Max, that’s no go,” interrupted Jack.
“Bony, of course. Is he going to report you?”
// 144.png
.pn +1
“Report me? No, indeed,” answered Max
calmly.
“Did he scold you much?” asked Alex sympathetically.
“Scold me?” echoed Max. “Not a bit.”
“Well then, what the mischief did he do? Tell
us, Max, for we’re dying to know,” said Harry
persuasively.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Max slowly.
“He treated me like a gentleman that had made
a mistake, and I’m going to try to behave like a
gentleman, after this. Bony’s a good man, boys,
even if he is queer; and I mean to stand by him.
I’m ashamed of myself that I’ve carried on so,
and I told him I was. That’s all there is about
it.”
“I’ll tell you what,” remarked Harry, as he and
Alex went away together; “Bony must have had
a change of heart.”
“It’s much more likely that Max has,” responded
Alex Sterne.
// 145.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX.||IN THE STORM.
.sp 2
It was more than a week after Thanksgiving
when Dr. Flemming came hurrying into the
school-room one morning, and spoke to Mr. Boniface
for a moment. Then he turned to the boys
who were watching, curious to see the meaning of
his unwonted excitement.
“I should like to ask if any one of you have
seen Gypsy this morning.”
No one answered, but there was an immediate
sensation in the room, for from the doctor’s manner,
they all saw that something was wrong with
the child, and merry little Gyp was the pet and
plaything of all the boys.
“What is the matter? Is Gyp lost?” asked
Alex, who had chanced to be standing near the
desk when the doctor entered.
“I am afraid so,” her father replied, knitting
his brow anxiously. “Her mother just sent up
to see if she was here. Gyp went out to play,
// 146.png
.pn +1
early this morning, and she hasn’t been seen since
then.”
“Perhaps she may be with Lieutenant Wilde,”
suggested Mr. Boniface.
“A good idea! Thank you, Mr. Boniface,”
said the doctor gratefully. “Eliot, will you run
up to the laboratory and see?”
Max rushed away, but was soon back again with
the discouraging report that no one there had seen
the child since the afternoon before, when she had
brought Mouse to call upon her cousin.
The doctor took one or two hasty turns up and
down the room to collect his thoughts, for the
idea of any harm coming to the child unmanned
him. Then he faced the boys again.
“My boys,” he said; “I must call on you for
your help. Mrs. Flemming had looked about the
grounds before she came here, and now there is
no knowing how long the child has been gone.
How many of you will help me to hunt for her?
Any that are willing may leave their lessons and
come to me in the hall.”
With one exception, every cadet in the room
sprang up. The exception was Leon who was
still unable to use his foot freely, and who sat
there, gazing rather forlornly after his companions
// 147.png
.pn +1
as they hurried away, followed by Mr. Boniface
himself. The boy had taken his sprained ankle
very patiently; but now he was wretched enough,
as he glanced about the empty room, and listened
to the voices of his friends outside. Then he
hopped slowly over to the window and stood
there, watching the boys as the doctor divided
them into squads and sent them off, this way and
that. It was a bleak, cold day, with every promise
of snow. The upper limbs of the bare trees
waved and twisted in the wind like so many gray,
beckoning arms, and the dead brown leaves went
scurrying across the frozen ground, in search of
some sheltered corner where they might stop and
rest. Leon watched the group of boys, among
whom were Alex and Harry and Max, until it
was out of sight, then he looked up at the dull,
lead-colored sky and shivered, for it seemed as if
he could feel its chill, even inside the house. But
there was no use in his staying there alone, so,
picking up his cane, he hobbled over to his room
in Old Flemming and sat down to read.
For some reason, his book was unusually dull,
and out from its pages the face of Gyp kept
laughing up at him, just as it had laughed down
at him on Thanksgiving morning, when he lay on
// 148.png
.pn +1
the sofa and she told him her wonderful story of
the duck. All at once Leon threw down his
book excitedly. Strange he hadn’t thought of
it before! She had probably gone to see old
Jerry. He recalled how interested she had been
in his blue door and his crow. That was doubtless
the secret of the matter. For a moment he
rejoiced in the suggestion; but then he remembered
that he was alone in the house, for even the
servants had joined in the search. Careless of
his foot, he sprang up and started for the door,
thinking to go himself; but a dozen reckless steps
convinced him that such a proceeding was impossible,
and with an irrepressible moan of pain, he
threw himself on his bed and clasped his ankle
in both hands. There he lay for a long hour, forgetting
his throbbing, aching foot while he listened
for any sound from below, and meanwhile
glancing out, from time to time, at the heavy
flakes of snow which were beginning to whiten
the air. What would become of Gyp, he wondered.
It was more than four miles to the old
man’s house, a long walk for a little child, and
the road through the thick woods and along by
the lake was lonely, even to a grown person. He
fancied he could see the small figure trudging
// 149.png
.pn +1
wearily along, now and then starting at some
unexpected sound, and throwing an affrighted
glance back over her shoulder. And what if,
as was highly probable, Jerry should be away
from home? Any one who has been anxious,
alone and in pain, will realize how rapidly Leon’s
fears increased, and understand the relief he felt
when steps and voices were heard on the piazza
below. He rose and, though the pain in his ankle
turned his very lips white, he went to the window,
threw it open, and called loudly,—
“Who’s there? Come to fifteen!”
He waited for a moment until he heard the
steps coming up the stairs; then he closed the
window and dropped into the nearest chair, just
as Harry, Louis and Stanley came into the room.
“Did you find her?” he asked impatiently,
while they shook the snow from their shoulders
and looked at him inquiringly, too breathless to
speak.
“Not yet,” said Louis. “We thought there
were too many of us together, so we came back
to see if there was any news, and if not, to start
out again.”
“What do you want of us, Leon?” added
Harry. “Tell us quick, for we don’t want to
lose any time.”
// 150.png
.pn +1
“I think she’s gone to find Jerry,” answered
Leon, and then, while the boys rubbed their blue,
cold fingers, he went on to tell them his reasons
for such a supposition.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you were right,” said
Stanley, when they had heard him out. “It’s a
good idea, and we’ll start for there, straight.
Between the wind and the snow, it’s an awful
day, and the child must be found soon, or she’ll
freeze. But what makes you look so queer,
Leon?”
“Nothing, only I hurt my foot a little. Never
mind me, but go along. Bother my ankle! I
wish I could go with you.”
“What crazy thing have you been doing,
Leon?” demanded Harry sternly. “If you’ve
twisted your ankle again, it will be no joke. You
know what the doctor said.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Leon meekly; “I didn’t
mean to. But you go on now, for the storm is
getting worse, every minute.”
Harry looked at him anxiously. He was afraid
the boy had done more harm than he would admit;
but, in the meantime, as he had said, the storm
was increasing, and he felt that Leon’s clue was
too valuable to be neglected. With a reluctant
// 151.png
.pn +1
glance at his brother he turned away, and
followed the other boys down the stairs and out
to the road.
“This is a genuine blizzard, and no mistake,”
remarked Louis, as the boys paused at the gate to
button their coats tightly, turn up their collars and
pull their caps well down over their eyes, before
turning north, to face the cutting wind.
“I believe you,” responded Harry briefly.
“That baby couldn’t stand this long.”
Then they were silent, for the wind blew the
words back into their teeth, and they needed all
their energy to struggle onward against the driving
storm. The walking was comparatively easy
as yet, for the snow was soft and light, and only
a few inches had fallen; but it powdered the
fences and tree-trunks and threw a bluish-white
light over all the landscape, till it seemed as if
they were passing through a strange and ghostly
world. On they plodded, now facing the storm,
now turning to walk backwards for a few steps,
now stopping short to regain their breath. They
passed through the village street; quite deserted
it seemed to them, for even the hardy farmers
were staying inside their homes that day; then
they came out past the last house in the
// 152.png
.pn +1
street, went down the hill, crossed the brook at
the foot and struck out into the open country.
For a mile the road was quite unsheltered; then
it wound along under the trees, gaining a partial
protection from the storm; then again it came
out on the shore of the little lake, across which
the wind swept fiercely. They talked but little
on the way, so absorbed were they in reaching the
end of their journey, for not one of the lads had
the faintest doubt of finding Gyp curled up by
the fire in Jerry’s cabin. Leon’s suggestion had
seemed so probable to them that they had accepted
it as a fact, and felt quite sure that they would go
triumphantly back to Flemming, with Gyp in
their arms.
It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon when
they came in sight of Jerry’s well-known blue
door. Exhausted as they were, half-frozen and
faint with hunger, the sight of the cabin roused
them until they broke into a run. Harry reached
the door first, pushed it open and glanced in.
Then he stopped short, and his face grew deadly
pale. No Gyp was there; only old Jerry dozing
contentedly before the fire, with his dogs asleep
around him.
“She isn’t here,” he said faintly, facing the
others as they came up.
// 153.png
.pn +1
“Not here!” echoed Louis and Stanley, growing
white in their turn.
“No one here but Jerry,” repeated Harry; and
the three boys stood gazing at one another, in
blank dismay.
The rush of cold air had wakened Jerry, who
turned drowsily in his chair, caught sight of the
well-known uniform, and was on his feet at once,
to show his respect for his guests.
“How do?” he remarked. “Flemming boys;
Jerry knows. How do? Sit down.” And he
bowed so low that his yellow-white hair fell
forward over his wrinkled old face.
“We can’t stay, Jerry,” said Louis. “What
shall we do, boys? It’s plain she isn’t here.”
“I don’t know what next,” said Harry wearily,
as he took off his cap and wiped the melting snow
off the visor. “What do you say, Stan?”
“She may have been here and gone,” suggested
Stanley rather doubtfully, for indeed it did not
seem likely that the child would venture out into
such a storm, for the second time.
“We can’t have passed her on the way,” said
Louis. “I’m sure I should have seen her,” he
added, as if to reassure himself, for a vision of
little Gyp, lying chilled and alone by the side of
the road, had struck terror to his soul.
// 154.png
.pn +1
“Gyp has plenty of pluck,” said Harry. “If
she really made up her mind to come here, no
amount of storm could keep her away. Let’s ask
Jerry if she has been here. Do you suppose we
can make him know what we mean?”
“I’ll try it, anyway,” said Stanley.
This little conversation had been carried on in
a hurried undertone, while the old man was still
bowing and beckoning to the boys to approach the
fire. Stanley now turned to him and, following
the direction of his hand, went up to the stove in
the corner.
“Jerry,” he began, “do you know little Gypsy
Flemming?”
Jerry shook his head in hopeless bewilderment.
“It’s no use, Stan,” said Louis, in a low voice;
“you’ll never get it through his head, and we’re
only just wasting our time talking.”
“Wait a minute, Wing,” said Harry; “it’s
worth trying. Go ahead, Stan.”
“Listen, Jerry,” said Stanley firmly; “a little
girl with long brown hair, all curly, and a red
coat. Has she been here?”
The old man’s face lighted with a sudden
thought.
“Jerry knows,” he said, while the boys eagerly
// 155.png
.pn +1
pressed nearer him. “Little girl so high,” and
he measured with his hand; “long hair, red hat,
red coat, all cold, came here this morning and
played with Jim Crow.”
As Jerry paused, the boys were startled to hear
a hoarse caw from above their heads. Looking
up, they saw a black head and two bright, beady
eyes peering down at them from a beam of the
rough wall.
“That’s Jim,” remarked Jerry. “Jim knows
Jerry, heard Jerry call.” And in proof of the
statement, the bird just then swooped down to his
master’s shoulder where he stood, cocking his
head this way and that, as he lent a goblin-like
attention to the conversation.
“Where is she now?” asked Louis excitedly.
“Gone,” said Jerry, shaking his head, while the
crow bent forward and twisted his glossy neck until
he could look into his master’s face.
“Where did she go?” inquired Harry.
“Jerry do’ know.”
“Hold on, boys; too many of us asking questions
at once will only rattle him,” said Stanley.
“Now, Jerry, tell me when she was here.”
“Lit’ while ago.”
“How long did she stay?”
// 156.png
.pn +1
“Good while; got warm, played with Jim, then
said ‘good by’ and went out, do’ know where.”
“I suspect that’s all we can get out of him,”
said Louis. “We may as well go on, for if he
can’t tell time and doesn’t know which way she
went, we can’t gain much here.”
“At least, she’s been here,” said Harry thoughtfully;
“and it can’t be so very long since she left,
I should think. What shall we do next, Stan?”
“Let’s go on up the road a little farther,” advised
Stanley. “If only ’twere not snowing so
hard, so we could see her track! But that’s all
covered up.”
“Shall we all keep together, or shall we take
different ways?” asked Louis.
“Keep together,” said Stanley briefly. “It may
be that we shall find her somewhere that it will
take us all to see to her.”
Though the boys made no response, they realized
the awful meaning of Stanley’s words, and it
was with a dull, heavy ache in their hearts that
they sadly left the cabin. As Harry turned back,
to pull the door together after him, he got sight
of the crow who was hopping up and down on old
Jerry’s shoulder, croaking and chattering in a perfect
abandonment of mirth, as if in malicious enjoyment
of their trouble.
// 157.png
.pn +1
Even the short time they had spent talking
with the old man had made a great change out of
doors. It was now snowing furiously, and the
flakes, instead of falling, were driven straight before
the wind which had increased to a gale, here
sweeping the ground bare, there piling high white
drifts which, to the boys’ excited imaginations,
looked in the uncertain light like little mounds
heaped over a human body. Twice they started
out into the road; twice they were beaten back,
and stood breathless in the shelter of the cabin.
Then Louis said, as he shut his teeth tightly together,
to steady his voice,—
“This won’t do, come on.”
On and on they struggled, peering this way and
that, now and again stopping to call the child’s
name, then pressing onward once more. At length
Stanley halted.
“You’ll have to leave me, boys,” he panted.
“I can’t go on any farther.”
“You must,” said Harry decidedly. “It’s sure
death to stop here. Wing, you take hold one side
of him, and I will the other. Steady, old fellow;
keep up your courage and try again. We’ll get
to a house soon.”
Yielding to their encouragement, Stanley made
// 158.png
.pn +1
another effort, and the three boys went on, arm in
arm, floundering through the drifts which were
every moment growing deeper. The road had
come out into the open fields again, and it was
becoming difficult to keep in the track, while, to
add to the danger of getting lost, the early winter
twilight was settling down around them and they
could see but a few paces ahead. Stanley’s steps
were growing more and more uncertain, and the
other boys staggered under the weight of supporting
him. Their very eyelids were pressed together
with the sweep of the snow, and it was
well-nigh impossible for them to glance up, as they
plodded onward, with only chance—or a higher,
unseen power, to guide them.
All at once, Harry stopped abruptly.
“Listen!” he exclaimed.
They listened and heard, close at hand, the welcome
sound of a dog’s bark.
“There, Stan,” said Louis, trying to speak lightly;
“we’re all right now. All we have to do is to follow
our noses till we get to the house, and then
we can get warm and dry before we go on.”
They renewed their efforts, and twenty steps
more brought them to the farmhouse, only twenty
steps, but to the chilled and weary boys they
// 159.png
.pn +1
seemed like twenty miles. Without waiting to
knock, and only intent on finding warmth and
rest, they pushed open the heavy kitchen door and
stumbled in, dazed with the rush of light and heat
which met them. Two women sprang up as they
entered, leaving a small figure before the fire.
The figure turned and calmly remarked,—
“Hullo, Harry! Come see my kitties.”
It was Gyp herself, sitting on the floor and contentedly
playing with the cat and her family,
perfectly unconscious of the alarm and suffering
she had caused.
Too much exhausted to speak, now the stimulus
of their anxiety was gone, the boys sank into the
hard kitchen chairs, while Gyp ran up to them,
with four or five squirming kittens gathered up in
the skirt of her little apron.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pausing to
survey them doubtfully. “Are you cold, or only
just tired?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Louis
bent forward and caught the child in his arms,
with her warm cheek against his cold one. The
drops on his face were not all from the melted
snow, and his lips were quivering; but he only
said,—
// 160.png
.pn +1
“Oh, Gyp!”
But fortunately boy strength and spirits are
both elastic, and by the time the lads had taken
off their overcoats and drawn their chairs up to
the stove, they had rallied and were themselves
again. While their plump hostess and her rosy
daughter trotted up and down, setting out a bountiful
supper for the unexpected guests, the older
woman told them of Gyp’s coming.
“We was sitting here by the fire,” she explained,
as she brought out a great mince pie to adorn the
feast, “when we heard a little knock, low down
on the door. It was storming so that I was some
surprised, for I didn’t expect I’d see anybody to-day.
I went straight to the door, and there stood
this little shape, looking for all the world like a
great big snowball. We pulled her in and give
her some dinner and got her all het up, sos’t she
shouldn’t take cold. She told us she was Dr.
Flemming’s little girl; but there wasn’t anybody to
take her home, for our men-folks all went off
after cattle, this morning. But heart alive! did
you walk up here in all this storm?”
“So’d I,” put in Gyp; “at least, it didn’t storm
till I was ’most at Jerry’s. I meant to go home
again; but I was mixed up and came here instead.
// 161.png
.pn +1
I’m glad I did, though, for now I’ve seen the
kitties.”
“What time did you start, Gyp?” asked Harry,
taking her on his knee, while she helped herself
to his pie, unrebuked.
“Just when papa went up to school,” answered
Gyp. “I wanted to get to Jerry’s in time for
dinner; but he didn’t give me any. I had lots of
fun with the crow, anyway.”
“But, Gyp,” remonstrated Louis, half-vexed at
the child for being so unconcerned; “don’t you
know you were naughty to run away, and frighten
papa and mamma and all us boys?”
Gyp’s lip began to roll over, and she dropped
her pie.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I only wanted
to see the old man and the blue door that Leon
told me ’bout.” And she burst out crying.
The boys looked at one another in dismay. It
was easier for them to face the storm than Gyp’s
tears, and they hastened to console her with assurances
of pardon. The farmer’s wife came to their
relief.
“Poor little tyke!” she said, taking the child
into her motherly arms; “she’s plumb tired out,
and I’ll put her straight to bed.”
// 162.png
.pn +1
The supper completed the work the fire had
begun, and when their hostess came back to the
kitchen, she found the boys pulling on their rubber
boots again and buttoning their coats.
“Whatever are you going to do?” she asked,
in astonishment.
“We must get back now, as soon as we can,”
said Louis, who had regained all his usual grace of
manner. “Dr. and Mrs. Flemming will be anxious
to hear, and we must let them know Gyp is found.
We’re much obliged for the supper, and if Gyp
can stay here over night, somebody will come for
her in the morning.”
“I suppose you’d ought to go,” she answered
reluctantly; “but even if you do, you sha’n’t
walk, when we’ve got a horse standing in the
stable. I’d like you to stop first-rate,” she added
hospitably, as she started in search of a lantern.
It was the work of only a few moments to harness
the raw-boned old horse to the home-made
sleigh; the boys were rolled up in blankets. Harry
took the lines and they were off, with the wind at
their backs, while the two women encouraged
them with shrill words of cheer, as long as they
could see the gleam of the lantern.
To both Mrs. Flemming and to Leon, the day
// 163.png
.pn +1
had been a long one; and as one party after
another came back, took a hasty meal and went
out again, the suspense became almost unbearable.
With an utter disregard for the truth, the
lads tried to convince the anxious mother that the
storm was not severe; but she was too familiar
with the heavy snows which visit the hill towns,
to be deceived by their words. By afternoon it
had become impossible for her to keep still, and
she wandered restlessly from window to window,
gazing out in the vain hope of seeing the familiar
little red coat being borne home in triumph. How
cruel the darkness seemed to her, as it settled
down about the house! As the last light faded
away, she felt as if it were taking all hope with
it. When she could no longer see the outline of
Old Flemming, up the hill, she left the window,
but still kept moving about the room, now stirring
the fire, now changing the position of the light in
the window, and often stopping to open the front
door and listen intently. One by one, the searching
parties straggled in, each one stopping at the
doctor’s to give the same report, “No news yet,”
and then going on up the hill, to plan for their
next departure.
Dame Pinny was ready for them with a hot
// 164.png
.pn +1
supper, and they gathered in the dining-room to
eat and talk at once, for moments were precious.
Harry, Louis and Stanley had not yet appeared;
but the boys were expecting them at any minute,
for no one but Leon knew where they had gone,
and none of the boys had been up-stairs to see
him. In their excitement, nobody noticed that he
did not come down to supper.
The hurried meal was nearly ended, when the
doctor came into the room. At sight of his tired,
haggard face, there was a sudden respectful
silence.
“I want to thank you all for the hard work you
have done to-day,” he said, and it was plain that
it cost him an effort to speak. “And now I must
insist on your not going out again till morning.
My duty to your parents will not allow me to
expose you to such a storm.”
There was a murmur of dissent from the boys;
but it was stilled as the doctor went on,—
“I am grateful for your good-will, but I shall
forbid your going out again to-night. Besides, it
is useless to attempt anything in such darkness.
If Gyp is in some house, she will be perfectly safe;
if not—”
He paused abruptly, rather than speak the
// 165.png
.pn +1
words. The short silence which followed, was
broken by a sudden call from Jack Howard, who
had restlessly strayed to the door again.
In a second, the dining-room was deserted, and
seventy anxious boys stood bareheaded on the
piazza, straining their ears to catch any sound
above the roar of the wind.
“It’s sleigh-bells!” exclaimed Max.
“Hush!” said Lieutenant Wilde, laying his
hand on the shoulder of the lad who was madly
dancing up and down. “Listen again.”
This time there could be no mistake. The
strong north wind was bringing them the distant
sound of bells, and with the jingling, were mingled
shouts and whistles, cheers and cat-calls, all of an
unmistakably joyous nature. The sounds came
nearer and nearer, more and more distinct, until
above them all, could be heard Harry’s voice calling
out the welcome words,—
“Gyp’s found!”
And the ringing cheer from seventy throats
bore the news to the lonely, waiting mother.
// 166.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X.||THE HOLIDAYS.
.sp 2
Unlike another young woman who shared
Gyp’s taste for solitary and unexpected rambles,
and who was punished by being put to bed until
she was rested, justice descended upon Gypsy,
and after the first hour of enthusiasm over the
returned prodigal, she was informed that she must
spend the rest of the day in her own room, while
for a week she could not leave the house nor see
any one of the boys who came there. This was a
severe blow to the small sinner for she had been
regarding herself as the lion of the occasion and
expected to be petted and admired for her enterprise,
accordingly. However, she knew the firmness
of her mother’s discipline too well to rebel,
so, with one longing glance out at the hill where
the boys were coasting, she picked up Mouse
and slowly retired to her room. Once there, she
passed the time by telling her furry companion
the story of her wanderings, dwelling with an
// 167.png
.pn +1
unkind emphasis on the beauty and plumpness of
the cat and kittens at the farm.
But not even Gyp’s imprisonment punished her
half so much as did the sight of Leon, a week
later, when she met him one morning, hopping
over to the recitation hall on crutches. Gyp was
a tender-hearted child, and fond of Leon, so the
knowledge that her running away had been, even
indirectly, the cause of his fresh injury nearly
broke her small heart; and she tried, with all sorts
of coaxing, wheedling arts, to make amends for
the suffering she had brought him. The few
quick steps which Leon had taken, on that memorable
day, had done serious harm to his ankle that
had by no means recovered from the previous
sprain, and his using his foot was now delayed for
weeks instead of days. During the time that
Gyp was shut up, he too was a prisoner; but,
with no lessons, plenty of books to read, unlimited
dainties sent up the hill by the doctor’s wife and
the boys running in at all hours, a week spent in
bed was rather luxurious than otherwise. It was
not quite so much fun when, promoted to crutches
and allowed, after a day or two of experimenting
on them about his room, to slowly work his way
over to his classes, he could watch the fun from a
// 168.png
.pn +1
distance without being able to have a share in it.
Still, he was somewhat consoled by the doctor’s
assurance that he would be able to go home for
the holidays, and that he would be walking as
well as ever, long before winter was over. With
that he was forced to content himself; and, thanks
to a happy, sunny temper, he was enabled to
make the best of a rather bad matter, and bear
the trouble with such perfect good-nature that he
won the praise of all the boys and the sincere
admiration of his teachers, even to the phlegmatic
Herr Linden who said approvingly, one day,—
“So, mein sohn, you haf a brave heart.”
“What’s the use of having anything else, I’d
like to know, as long as it can’t be helped,” was
Leon’s comment, when he told Harry of the old
German’s praise. “It’s worth all the bother of it
to be fed up as I am, and have all you fellows at
my feet, to say nothing of the lieutenant and old
Bony himself. If ’twasn’t quite such splendid
coasting, I shouldn’t be in any hurry to get on
my feet again. I do hope daddy’ll let me come
right back after the holidays, though, and not
make me wait till I’m over it.”
A day or two later, several of the cadets were
strolling back from the armory where they had
// 169.png
.pn +1
their afternoon drill, now that the storms had
made the parade-ground unfit for use. Leon was
with them, for he had been over to look on, a
little enviously, it must be confessed, for the drill
under Lieutenant Wilde had been his delight, and
this was the first time he had seen it since his loss
of promotion, a month before. The boys came
slowly along, adapting their pace to his rather
uncertain one. As they reached the steps of Old
Flemming, Leon dropped down there in the warm
sunshine. The others followed his example.
“It doesn’t seem as if ’twere almost Christmas;
does it?” asked Alex, turning up his collar to
keep out the wind, and then bending down to do
the same by Leon, who sat on the step below him.
During the past month, a strong intimacy had
sprung up between the two cadets, so far apart in
age. Next to Harry, Leon adored Alex as a
superior being, and was never quite so happy as
when in his society. Alex, on his side, had been
attracted from the first by Leon’s wide-awake manner
and frank, open nature. Then came the boy’s
accident, and Alex had been completely won by
his pluck and uncomplaining endurance. He had
been most unselfish with him, giving up many an
out-of-door frolic to stay with him, until even
// 170.png
.pn +1
Harry was half-jealous at times, and laughingly
protested that Alex was cutting him out.
“Thanks, old fellow,” said Leon, turning
around, as he felt the hand on his collar. “I
don’t feel in any great hurry for vacation; I’m
well enough off here,” he added contentedly.
“You might petition the doctor to keep right
on,” suggested Max wickedly, while he appropriated
one of Leon’s crutches to knock down an
icicle near by.
“No,” said Leon meditatively; “I don’t know
as I mind going home for a few days for a change.
What are you going to do, Alex?”
“Stay around here, somewhere,” answered Alex.
“Vacation’s too short to make it worth while to
go clear to Denver and back.”
“Not go home? H’m!” And Leon thoughtfully
drew down his lips and raised his eyebrows,
in unconscious imitation of Mr. Boniface.
“Seems to me this has been an unusually exciting
term,” observed Paul. “With Winslow and
the football and Gyp’s getting lost and—”
“The Boniface rebellion,” added Jack, in a
lower tone.
“That’s mostly over now,” said Max. “There
are a few little sneaks left that walk over him, but
// 171.png
.pn +1
most of the fellows either like him or let him
alone.”
“How he’s changed!” said Paul. “He doesn’t
seem like the same man that came here in September.
He was a terror, then.”
“Perhaps the change is in us,” remarked Max,
in a sanctimonious falsetto. “Maybe we’re getting
good at last.”
“No danger for you, Max,” said Leon reassuringly.
“We didn’t treat him decently, though,” returned
Max, whose loyalty to Mr. Boniface had dated
from the day of their long talk together. “He
was queer and green and cross, and we made him
more so.”
“I like old Bony pretty well, now,” said Jack,
as he stretched out his arms along the shoulders of
the boys beside him. “He’ll always be too solemn;
but he’s improved immensely, and he’s a first-rate
teacher, anyway.”
“Even if we have been three months in finding
it out,” said Alex, as he rose and then stooped to
help Leon to his feet.
Two days before vacation, Leon was sitting in
his room, devoting one last hour to an approaching
examination, when Harry came in, with an
envelope in his hand.
// 172.png
.pn +1
“Here’s a letter for you from father,” he said, as
he tossed it over to Leon.
Leon caught it eagerly, tore it open and ran his
eye over the contents. Then he threw it down
on the table.
“Good for daddy!” he exclaimed. “Here, Hal,
you can read it; I’m going to find Alex.” And
he went hurrying away.
Harry picked up the letter and read the few
lines it contained; then his face grew as bright
as Leon’s had done, and he rushed off after his
brother. The note was evidently in reply to one
written by Leon, asking permission to bring Alex
home for the holidays; and it brought back a most
cordial invitation from both Mr. and Mrs. Arnold.
But little urging was needed to make Alex consent
to so delightful a plan, and, two or three days
later, the Arnolds carried him home to Boston in
triumph.
Three jolly stage loads left Hilton that morning,
to board the train at the station eight miles down
the valley. Gathered at one end of the car, the
cadets formed a noisy, gay group, now chattering
and laughing until the rest of the passengers
smiled in sympathy; now rushing to the door at
a station, to give three ringing cheers for the
// 173.png
.pn +1
schoolmate who was leaving them; now quiet for
a moment while some member of the party pulled
the ever-present banjo from its green bag, and
played a few strains of a rollicking college air.
It is remarkable the effect a party of schoolboys
going home for the holidays, can have on a carful
of people. Gradually the men leave their politics,
the women their novels, and even the fretful baby,
who has been wailing for the past fifty miles, stops
its tired sobbing, while they all gaze with growing
interest on the happy group who are by no means
impressed by them in return. They catch at the
names, listen eagerly for the jokes which they
repeat to each other in undertones, and quietly
compare notes on their preferences. On this
particular day, opinions were divided, for the older
men declared themselves in favor of roguish Max,
the mothers beamed on steady Alex, the young
girls pronounced Louis “so elegant,” while Leon
scarcely relished the verdict of one country dame
who remarked to her daughter, with the full power
of her lungs,—
“For my part, I prefer the little lame one, he is
so peart.”
Mr. Arnold met the boys at the station, and
they drove directly to the house, to be welcomed
// 174.png
.pn +1
there by Mrs. Arnold and Dorothy, her pretty
daughter of eighteen. The next ten days were
given up to holiday merry-making, and the four
young people were continually together. Dorothy,
who was enjoying her first winter of social life,
would gladly have drawn Alex into her gay circle,
for she was by no means unconscious of the advantage
of introducing a handsome, well-bred
escort; but here Alex stood firm. Nothing would
tempt him to forget that Leon was his host, and
to leave him alone, for the sake of pleasures in
which he could have no share. So the days passed
in drives and a little sight-seeing for the sake of
Alex, who had never before visited the city, and
the evenings were given up to games and impromptu
theatricals with the young people who
dropped in, nearly every night. It was a pleasant
home party, for while Mrs. Arnold petted and
coddled Leon as only a mother can do, and Mr.
Arnold and his older son had the long, quiet talks
which so plainly showed the close intimacy between
father and child; in the meantime, Alex
and Dorothy had established a frank, cordial
friendship, and indulged in a mild flirtation varied,
now and then, by a merry war of words.
On the last evening of the vacation and as the
// 175.png
.pn +1
final frolic of the holidays, the Arnolds and Alex
went to the theatre together. The people around
them smiled sympathetically at their bright faces,
as Dorothy came in, followed by the three cadets,
all in full uniform, and the tall young cadet turned
from the daintily-dressed girl, to help the short,
slight lad at his other side.
“I say, Dorry,” remarked Leon, bending across
in front of Alex, to speak to his sister; “I hope
you aren’t easily puffed up. ’Tisn’t every girl
here that has a new frock and three elegant young
men to take care of her, and one of them a crippled
veteran of the last campaign, at that.”
Dorothy gave him a look of amused scorn.
“Three young men!” she echoed in disdain.
“You’d better say two young men and one little
boy. You’re nothing but a child, you know, and
only allowed to be up so late as a special indulgence,
just for this once.”
Leon’s answering shot was prevented by the
rising of the curtain, and from that time on, they
thought nothing more of themselves or the audience,
as they followed one of the most brilliant
young actors of his day in his changing fortunes,
now at the country farm, now in the excitement
of London life, then back to the quiet home once
// 176.png
.pn +1
more; now laughing almost convulsively at the
rustic’s struggles to attain the height of city
fashion, and now finding their eyes grow suddenly
dim as he turned from his scoffing friends to welcome
his good old mother, in spite of her strange,
eccentric garb. In reality, it was only for two or
three hours that they sat there; but as the curtain
fell, it seemed to them that months had passed
since they entered the theatre, and that they had
lived through the scenes which had gone on before
them, for with rare power and skill, the young
hero avoided any professional manner, but with
his rich touches of fun, his grandly simple pathos,
he stood in all their eyes, not as an actor, but as
a living, human man.
They did not talk much while they were driving
home through the quiet, snowy streets, for they
were thinking of the play, and of their parting,
the next morning. But the stir of getting out of
the carriage and going into the house had roused
them all, so that four rosy, wide-awake young
people entered the parlor, laughing and talking in
a blithe chorus. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold looked up
to greet them, as they came in.
“You ought to have gone, mother,” Harry
exclaimed. “It was too funny for anything. I
// 177.png
.pn +1
thought Leon would roll out of his chair, laughing.”
“After all,” added Dorothy, as she went up to
the fire; “funny as it all was, there was a cry
under the laugh, till I didn’t know whether ’twas
more funny or sad.”
“Come, Dot, stop your wisdom and give us a
song to top off with,” demanded Harry, who stood
leaning against the mantel, looking down on his
pretty sister with evident approval.
“I will,” said she, with her usual readiness;
“and I’ll choose this one because, if anything can
teach us to appreciate our homes and parents, it
ought to be the little story we have watched to-night.”
Dorothy spoke with a sweet, gentle seriousness
quite unusual with her, for she was much like
Leon in her bright, merry disposition, and inclined
to treat life as one long, happy frolic. Perhaps
the tender passages in the play had touched
her girlish heart, perhaps she had some dim realization
of what the future had in store for her.
However it might have been, she threw aside her
wraps, drew off her long, light gloves and, going
over to the piano, she sang the simple little song
from “The Water Babies,” which stood as the
motto for the play.
// 178.png
.pn +1
.pm verse-start
“When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.
“When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among;
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.”
.pm verse-end
“Bee-youtiful, Dorry!” remarked Leon, from
the easy chair, where he had thrown himself down
when he came in. “If you’d only just put a little
more feeling into the last part of it, you’d have
made me cry.”
“Don’t you mind his impertinence, Dot,” said
Mr. Arnold. “I’ll try to keep him quiet, and you
sing something else. No matter if it is late; it
is our last night together for some time.”
So Dorothy sang on, giving them one old favorite
after another, as they were called for; and to
// 179.png
.pn +1
Alex, as he stood leaning on the piano with his
chin in his hands, watching the group before him,
it seemed that no home could be happier than
this one, where parents and children were bound
together in such pleasant, lasting intimacy. It
was only an every-day home picture, it is true, but
one telling an eloquent story of father and mother
love, of respect and honor from the children,
well-deserved and freely given, of perfect understanding
and good-will on both sides.
“Now,” said Dorothy mischievously; “I’ll stop,
after I have sung one more for the benefit of the
boys.” And turning back to the piano, she sang
“Sweet Home.”
Her face at first was brimming with fun; but
the old familiar strains brought back her former
mood and, dropping her tone of exaggerated sentiment,
she sang it as simply and sweetly as a little
child, while her hearers, forgetting to laugh at
the trite old lines, took up the refrain of the last
verse, and the sound died away in a happy chorus
of “sweet home.”
No one broke the hush that followed, until
Leon said pensively,—
“I know I shall cry myself to sleep to-night,
after Dorothy’s harrowing me up in such style.”
// 180.png
.pn +1
.if h
.il fn=i176.jpg w=600px
.ca
An every-day home picture.—Page 176.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: An every-day home picture.—Page 176.]
.sp 2
.if-
// 181.png
.pn +1
// 182.png
.pn +1
“You’d better take an umbrella up-stairs with
you, Dot,” suggested Harry. “Leon is right over
you, you know, and if the ceiling should leak,
you’d get a ducking to pay for your song.”
“I wouldn’t go back, Leon, if I felt so badly
about it as all that,” said his father. “I confess
that I hate to have you go, myself; I’d much
prefer to have you here, in charge of Dr. Bruce.”
“Don’t go, Leon,” urged his mother anxiously.
“I’m afraid you’ll get a fall on your crutches, or
strain your foot again, in some way. You’d better
stay here at home, till you are over this.”
“Oh, mother,” remonstrated Harry; “Leon is
just as well off up there. We’ll take good care
of him, I promise you.”
“One thing is certain,” said his father seriously;
“that was the last game of football that either of
my sons will play, with my consent. You needn’t
groan, Leon, I mean just what I say.”
“Yes,” added Dorothy a little inconsiderately;
“we’ve had football enough for one family. This
sprain of Leon’s has spoiled all the fun, this
vacation.”
Leon flushed.
“Speak for yourself, if you please, Dorry,” he
said almost angrily. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a
// 183.png
.pn +1
drag on you; but, for my part, I’ve never enjoyed
the holidays so much. Have you, daddy?” And
forgetting his momentary temper, he laughed up
at his father, who stood thoughtfully studying
his son’s face.
Mr. Arnold roused himself at the question.
“The holidays have been a success, have they,
sonny? Well, I’ve hated to see you hopping
around in this way; but I’ve rather enjoyed it,
after all, for if you’d been quite well, you would
all have gone gallivanting off, and left the old
people alone at home.”
“This is more fun than gallivanting,” said Leon
serenely. “I’ll leave that till Easter, or till
mother and Dot come up to Flemming, next
month. But I think I’ll gallivant to bed now, for
I’m uncommonly sleepy. Come on, boys.”
He picked up his crutches, kissed his father and
mother good night in the same way he had done
ever since he was a little boy, and limped away,
laughing and joking with his brother and Alex.
As he passed the door, some impulse made him
turn back to add merrily,—
“Good night again, daddy. This is positively
the last time.”
How often both the words and the scene came
back to him, with the memory of that evening!
// 184.png
.pn +1
Bright and early the next morning, the lads
started on their journey, for they had prolonged
their vacation until the last possible moment.
The whole family drove to the station with them,
and as the train rolled away, the boys’ last glimpse
was of handsome, kindly Mr. Arnold, waving them
one parting salute.
The term opened on that morning, and nearly
all the boys were back, so the Arnolds and Alex
took the little journey by themselves. It seemed
a short ride to them all, for what with the past
vacation and the coming term, they had so much
to talk over that they were all rather surprised
when they came into the familiar station, and saw
the old stage waiting for them.
In spite of the good times they had been enjoying,
it was very pleasant to Leon to go to supper
in the great dining-room, and listen to the uproar
of seventy-five boys all talking at once; and when,
an hour later, he and Stanley and Max, with half
a dozen others, were gathered around the fire in
Lieutenant Wilde’s room, planning for a sleighing
party, it seemed as if the home he had left
that morning, were thousands of miles and countless
weeks away. It was not that he cared less
for his home than other boys do; but this happy
// 185.png
.pn +1
school life had already become so familiar to him
that he dropped back into it just as naturally as,
ten days before, he had settled into his old home
corner.
But when at last he fell asleep, on that first
night of the opening term, he found himself at
home again, lying on the sofa, with his father by
his side. And his father bent over and said something
to him. What the words were, he knew
not, nor yet the meaning; but he felt a strange,
deep sadness creep over him, and then his father’s
face faded away from his sight, and he was left
alone.
// 186.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI.||STANLEY CAMPBELL.
.sp 2
“Are you going to be busy this afternoon,
Campbell?” asked Lieutenant Wilde, as they came
out from dinner one Saturday noon.
“Nothing special,” answered Stanley. “Is there
anything I can do for you?”
“I wondered whether you would be willing to
go over to the laboratory, and help me get ready
for one or two experiments that I want to show
the class Monday morning. Don’t come, if you’ve
anything else on hand.”
“I haven’t a thing,” said Stanley eagerly.
“Really, I’d like no better fun.”
“Well, I’m going over at half-past two. Will
you be over there? Or come to my room for
me, if you like. I have a letter to write first.”
And Irving Wilde turned away to go to his room,
while Stanley joined a group of cadets who were
standing in the hall, to discuss their plans for making
the best of a stormy Saturday afternoon.
// 187.png
.pn +1
Punctually at half-past two o’clock, Stanley and
Lieutenant Wilde were walking across the grounds
to the recitation hall. It was a dreary, raw day,
with a heavy rain beating down, splashing on the
paved walks and soaking the earth until little
dark gray pools of snow and water lay here and
there, while an occasional patch of brown, dead
grass came up through its white covering. But
if it was cold and dismal outside, the little laboratory
was warm and comfortable enough to make
up for it, and Stanley gave his favorite inarticulate
grunt of content as he hung up his dripping cap
and overcoat beside Lieutenant Wilde’s. It was
no hardship for him to have to help Lieutenant
Wilde that day. The two were excellent friends,
and the lieutenant had often admitted to himself
that he found no one of the cadets more companionable
than this silent, slow boy of fourteen.
Though Stanley might lack the brilliancy of Max
or Leon, and had to work far longer at his lessons
than many another boy, yet he never stopped
until he understood his subject to its foundations,
and knowledge so thoroughly gained was never
lost. No skimming over the top of things, no
hasty cramming would satisfy Stanley Campbell.
He must and would know his subject through and
// 188.png
.pn +1
through, before it could make any lasting impression
on his mind. No matter, then, that when any
test came, he was found to lead his class. Such
boys as Stanley go far towards making the solid
men who are much more the real leaders of the
nation, than the brilliant talkers and thinkers that
float lightly along on the surface of events but,
like all other driftwood, lodge and stick fast when
they come to a rock in their passage. And moreover,
silent and unresponsive as Stanley was generally
thought to be, Lieutenant Wilde and his intimate
boy friends knew him better. True, the lad
could not talk easily, partly from shyness, partly
from utter inability to rattle off the random nonsense
which was the delight of the other boys; but,
under all his outward reserve, he kept up a strong
interest in the conversation, and his face would
grow merry or soften by turns, and often he would
give the speaker a quick glance of understanding
at some little point, too slight to catch the notice
of his companions. But however silent he might
be in general, he was always at his ease with
Lieutenant Wilde who saw and appreciated the
real fineness of his mind, and predicted a broad
and honorable future for the lad.
“I haven’t so very much to do, after all; only
// 189.png
.pn +1
a few sulphur experiments,” remarked Lieutenant
Wilde, with a laugh, as he began setting out an
array of flasks and beakers and rubber and glass
tubes, on the long, broad desk which ran across one
side of the room. “I’m afraid, if the truth were
told, Campbell, I wanted your company more than
I did your help, this afternoon. Still, you may
light the gas there, if you will.”
Stanley did so, and then stood watching his
teacher as he scientifically linked together his
flasks and tubes, now mixing innocent-looking
substances with a practised hand, now applying
the flame to this compound, or adding a few drops
of acid to that.
“There,” he said, after looking closely at one of
them for a moment; “that will begin to work
now. Bring up a couple of stools, Stanley; we
may as well make ourselves comfortable, for all
we can do at present is to watch this. I wanted
to see that they were all in order for next time,
and not have them fail me, as my chlorine experiment
did. Do you know,” he added, with an anxious
frown; “I am a little suspicious of some of these
last chemicals.”
“Why?” asked Stanley, as he seated himself
astride his lofty stool.
// 190.png
.pn +1
“They don’t act just right, and I’m not at all sure
that they are pure. Still, they came from the same
house that always supplies us, and they must be
good.” And Lieutenant Wilde bent his head, to
look more closely at the bubbling mixture.
“What if they aren’t pure?” inquired Stanley.
“Oh, they may explode; that’s the worst they
can do,” said Lieutenant Wilde, laughing at the
boy’s dismayed face and involuntary motion away
from the desk. “You needn’t worry, Campbell,”
he added reassuringly; “I think these are probably
all they ought to be.”
“I wonder how I’d like to be a chemist,”
remarked Stanley thoughtfully.
“You have rather a gift for it,” responded Lieutenant
Wilde, resting one elbow on the desk,
while he twirled his glasses by their bows, in the
other hand.
“I’m afraid I haven’t much gift for anything,”
said Stanley, and there was a little tone of regret
in his voice, as he went on, “I wish I could get at
things as quick as Max does. It seems as if he
knew everything, without studying it at all. He’s
an awfully bright fellow, Lieutenant Wilde.”
“Yes,” assented Lieutenant Wilde absently.
He was mentally weighing the two boys, as unlike
as boys could be.
// 191.png
.pn +1
They were silent for a few moments. Lieutenant
Wilde could see that the boy had something
on his mind. He moved restlessly on his stool,
while he leaned his elbows on the desk in front of
him, and fitted the knuckles of his left hand against
the knuckles of his right, with a frowning precision.
When he looked up, it was to meet his
teacher’s steady, inquiring gaze, and his face
suddenly brightened, showing one little dimple in
his smooth, round chin.
“Well, Stanley?” said Lieutenant Wilde;
laughing.
“Well?”
“You’ve something in your head; out with it!”
“How do you know?” asked Stanley rather
abruptly, surprised at being found out.
“How did I know? Why, everything about
you tells it, except your tongue, so that may as
well speak,” answered Lieutenant Wilde, smiling
as he watched the boy’s face.
“I believe you do know everything, Lieutenant
Wilde,” said Stanley. “You’ve told me so much,
you’d better finish, and say what it’s about?”
“Is it about Max?”
Stanley nodded.
“There’s nothing wrong with him, I hope.”
// 192.png
.pn +1
“No, I don’t know as there is; at least, nothing
special. No, there isn’t really,” answered Stanley,
who had a curious habit of thinking aloud, whenever
he was much absorbed.
“What is it, Stanley?” asked Lieutenant Wilde
quite seriously.
“It really isn’t anything; honestly, Lieutenant
Wilde,” said Stanley, supporting his chin on his
hands and looking straight into his teacher’s face.
“I truly hadn’t any business to say anything, for
I’ve most likely imagined it all; but you caught
me by taking me by surprise.”
“You’ve gone so far, Campbell,” said Lieutenant
Wilde, as he moved to light the gas under another
flask; “that it isn’t quite fair to Max not to talk
it over and let me judge whether or not you have
imagined some trouble that isn’t there. Come,”
he added persuasively; “you ought to be able to
trust me with it, Stanley. Have you boys been
having a quarrel, or has Max been shirking his
work?”
“Neither,” replied Stanley. “It can’t do any
harm to talk about it to you, Lieutenant Wilde;
it’s only this, have you noticed how Max is getting
in with Osborn and his set, lately?”
Lieutenant Wilde suddenly became very grave,
// 193.png
.pn +1
and frowned a little, as he sat with his eyes fixed
on the rain-streaked window across the room. Of
late, Osborn and his friends had been causing Dr.
Flemming more anxiety than all the rest of his
pupils. Their increasing disregard of discipline
and reckless extravagance threw little credit upon
the school, while their influence upon the other
boys was far from helpful. As they did just
enough work to keep their place in their classes,
and were wary enough to avoid any open outbreak,
there seemed to be no reasonable excuse for
sending them away from Flemming. But though
the doctor always hesitated about open expulsion,
since he knew well how difficult it would be for a
pupil whom he had dismissed, to gain admission
anywhere else, yet he was only waiting till the
end of the year, to give them a quiet hint to leave
Flemming, in search of another school.
“I hadn’t thought of it,” Lieutenant Wilde
answered, after considering the matter for a moment.
“Isn’t Max with your set, as much as he
used to be?”
“I don’t know but he is,” replied Stanley; “only
’tisn’t in just the same way. He’s all the time
running off to see some of them. I’m not a bit
jealous, Lieutenant Wilde,” and Stanley laughed
// 194.png
.pn +1
uneasily; “but they aren’t a good kind of fellows
for Max to be with.”
“That’s very true, Stanley,” responded Lieutenant
Wilde quickly; “they’re the worst possible
friends for an impulsive, good-natured boy like
Max, for he’s easily led, and before he knows it,
they’ll get him into trouble. How long has it
been going on?”
“All this term. He’s with us a great deal of
the time; but he and Osborn are both training for
the ninety-two crew, and besides, since the boys
started the quartette, that takes Louis and Leon
and Paul and Alex, with Harry for the banjo, and
it sort of leaves Max by himself. Then he doesn’t
have to study nearly so much as the rest of us do;
that gives him more chance for fun, and so he
takes up with them. They’re a jolly set and make
it lively for him; you see, they want to hang on
to him, for they know he’s in with the Arnolds
and Alex and those fellows that won’t have anything
to do with them. I don’t think Max is to
blame; but he may get into a scrape, for all that, for
they’re a reckless crowd, and Max is always ready
for a joke,” explained Stanley, not very lucidly.
Lieutenant Wilde stroked his silky moustache
and bit his lip thoughtfully.
// 195.png
.pn +1
“I don’t quite like it, Campbell,” he said; “and
I am very glad you spoke of it. I’ll try to get a
word with Max before long, and see if I can’t
break it up.”
“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Stanley hastily.
“Don’t you be afraid, I won’t say anything
about you. I only want to caution him, as I have
all of you, over and over again, to be careful in
choosing his friends. Max is a magnificent fellow
and would never mean to go wrong; but he is so
fond of fun that he loses his head a little sometimes,
and I will just put him on his guard, that’s
all.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Lieutenant
Wilde said, with one of his frank, boyish
laughs, as he put on his glasses and leaned forward
to survey the compound before him,—
“Do you know, Stanley, that I make myself
think now and then of a Japanese juggler with his
balls, when he is throwing them up by turns, to
keep them all in the air. It’s just about the way
I have to do with you boys, first one of you, then
another, to keep you going the way I want you to.
It would be ever so much easier for me, if I didn’t
care about you and just let you go on in your own
way; but I hate to see you go wrong, so I have to
// 196.png
.pn +1
put in my word occasionally. Perhaps we’re all
the better friends for it, though, and—I’ll see if I
can’t give Max a little start, to set him straight
once more. Now,” he went on, “I must see to
this. Will you just hand me the largest flask you
can find in that closet over there?”
Stanley slid down from his high stool and went
across to the closet, while Lieutenant Wilde hastily
pushed aside the low gas-burner, with its flaring
jet of colorless flame. The boy stood behind
the half-open door, comparing two or three of the
flasks before him, when he heard an ominous click
and a short, sharp exclamation from Lieutenant
Wilde. The next instant, the room echoed with
a loud explosion which jarred the windows and
doors in their casements, and set every flask and
funnel to dancing on its shelf; there was a rush
of suffocating vapor that filled the room and,
catching fire where it was densest, blazed up in
a dull blue flame about the desk. Then came
that sickening sound, the thud of a heavily-falling
body. For one moment, Stanley stood as if dazed
by the report; but it was for only one. Then this
boy who was counted as slow by his friends,
returned to his senses and, only conscious that
some accident had occurred and that there was
// 197.png
.pn +1
need of prompt action, turned to see Lieutenant
Wilde lying senseless on the floor, below the desk
which appeared to be enveloped in a mass of flame.
It was but the work of an instant to leap forward,
turn off the gas, then rush to the nearest window
and throw it open with an unconscious force which
shattered the glass; only an instant, but it showed
the stuff of which the lad was made, and proved
his ability to think and act quickly in an emergency
that would have paralyzed many an older
person. From window to window he hurried,
throwing them wide open to let in the cool outer
air, then back to his teacher’s side, where he
stooped to look at him closely and steadily, though
his heart sickened at the sight.
Lieutenant Wilde lay in the same cramped
position in which he had dropped when the rush
of gas had stifled him; his eyebrows and moustache
were burned half off, and his face was cut
here and there with the bits of flying glass. For
a minute, the boy’s courage failed, but he quickly
nerved himself again, when he remembered that
they were alone in the building and that immediate
aid must be summoned. No calling would do,
for the boys were all inside the house, and the
noise of the storm would drown the sound of his
// 198.png
.pn +1
voice. But, on the other hand, dared he leave
Lieutenant Wilde? He might then be dying, or
even dead. Desperately he tore off his coat, rolled
it into a sort of pillow and arranged it under the
young man’s head. Then he rushed away, bareheaded
and in his shirt sleeves, through the cold,
drizzling rain, down to the doctor’s house.
The doctor met him on the steps, for he had
heard the explosion, and, seeing him coming in
this strange plight, he at once imagined some
serious trouble, an impression increased at sight
of the boy’s drawn, ash-colored face.
“Come quick—to the laboratory—Lieutenant
Wilde!” panted Stanley breathlessly.
The doctor turned to his wife, who had followed
him out to the piazza.
“Send Maggie for Mr. Boniface,” he said
briefly; “you stay here till I send you some
word.” And he hurried away up the hill after
Stanley, who had rushed back to the laboratory
again.
When the doctor entered the laboratory, his
nephew had opened his eyes and was breathing
with short, quick gasps, as he lay with his head
and shoulders supported on Stanley’s knees, while
the boy bent over him, anxiously gazing down, in
// 199.png
.pn +1
the hope of receiving a glance of recognition. In
as few words as possible, Stanley told what had
occurred, adding pleadingly,—
“I did what I could, sir, and then called you,”
as if fearing he might in some way be blamed for
the explosion.
“I know you did,” said the doctor heartily, just
as Mr. Boniface came in the room. “I don’t
quite like the looks here, though,” he added, as
Lieutenant Wilde’s eyes closed heavily again, and
he gave a little moan. “Campbell, you’ve run
enough, but I shall have to ask you to go and
send either Keith or Lincoln for the doctor, and
then tell Mrs. Flemming what has happened and
to be ready for us to bring him down to the house,
as soon as he can be moved. Tell her to keep
you there and look out for you a little,” he went
on kindly, as he noticed the hard, strained lines
about the boy’s white lips.
“Do you think he—?” faltered Stanley.
“I can’t tell yet,” interrupted the doctor, as if
unwilling to hear the words; “but if he comes
out of this, he has you to thank. Go now, please.”
The news had already flown through the school,
and as Stanley went down the hill, with his coat
thrown carelessly over his shoulders, he was waylaid
// 200.png
.pn +1
and questioned by group after group of his
schoolmates who had rushed out, anxious to learn
the truth, even at its worst. But Stanley only
answered with a word or two, and hastened on to
give his messages for, now that the reaction had
come, he felt strangely weak and sick.
The rest of the afternoon was to him like a
long, confused dream: the half hour of anxious
waiting, when kind Mrs. Flemming, in the midst
of her dread and her hurry, made him lie down on
the sofa and take the stimulant of which he stood
so sorely in need; then the sound of heavy steps
as the doctor and Mr. Boniface, Jack and Alex
brought the young man into the house and up to
the room which Mrs. Flemming had made ready
for him; then the quick trot of the doctor’s horse,
as he came hurrying up the hill; all the stir
throughout the house, that comes with any sudden
illness. Then followed the dreadful stillness,
when the old doctor went into the room and the
door closed behind him, and Stanley, Alex and
Jack sat on the stairs outside, listening oh! so
intently for any sound that might tell them what
was passing within. They did not speak, not
even to whisper a syllable to each other, but sat
silently gazing at the opposite wall, in an agony
// 201.png
.pn +1
of waiting. No harm to one of their schoolmates,
to Mr. Boniface, or even to the doctor himself
could have moved them as did this sudden fear of
losing Lieutenant Wilde. They felt as if they
had never before appreciated him; and in their
minds, they were going over and over again the
many pleasant hours they had spent together,
with a vague feeling that it all was ended now.
But someone was moving in the room, and now
and then a low voice could be heard. Then all
was still again; but presently the door opened and
Mr. Boniface came out. He was smiling a little,
and to the anxious lads, his homely face looked
like the face of an angel of light, as he came down
to them and seated himself at Stanley’s side.
“It’s not so bad as we thought,” he said, in a
low tone. “He was stunned by the explosion and
half-suffocated with the gas; but he’s come to himself
now, and the doctor says the worst is over.
He’s badly cut with the glass, and burned; but
his spectacles saved his eyes, and the rest is painful,
rather than dangerous, so it won’t be long till
he’s as well as ever.”
As Stanley gave a deep sigh of relief, Mr.
Boniface put his hand on his shoulder, while he
went on,—
// 202.png
.pn +1
“And the doctor, Dr. Rowe, I mean, says that
if this boy hadn’t kept his wits about him as he
did, we shouldn’t have had Lieutenant Wilde
with us now. Nothing but his quick thought in
turning off the gas and letting in more air, could
have saved him. We can’t thank you, Campbell;
but we can congratulate you, and admire you for
the part you have played. And now I must leave
you to tell the others, while I go back up-stairs.
Don’t let the boys make any noise outside, for
they want Lieutenant Wilde to get to sleep.”
And he quietly left them.
“You’re the hero of the school, Stan,” said
Jack, as the boys stood up, with a queer, dizzy
feeling, now that their anxiety was at an end.
“I knew you had it in you, though,” added
Alex, as they put on their caps. “There isn’t
another fellow in Flemming that would have done
as well, and I’m proud to call you a friend of
mine.”
And they went away to tell the good news.
// 203.png
.sp 2
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII.||MIDWINTER REVELS.
.pm verse-start
“‘She sleeps, she sle-eps, my la-a-ady sle-e-eps.’”
.pm verse-end
But my lady was not sleeping; quite the reverse.
After the excitement of an evening spent
in her brothers’ room, Dorothy was still lying
awake, thinking over the events of the day, when
the boyish voice fell upon her ears. Rising cautiously,
so as not to disturb her sleeping mother,
she threw a heavy shawl across her shoulders and
stole noiselessly across the room to the window.
There was no moon, but the white snow below and
the clear stars above made it easy for her to distinguish
the scene before her. But for once,
Dorothy’s eyes were heedless of the long lines of
hill and valley, as she bent forward to peer down
on the lawn below. It was a most romantic-looking
figure who stood there, banjo in hand; and
though the voice was quite unfamiliar, Dorothy
was sure she could recognize the dark, oval face
// 204.png
.pn +1
and flashing eyes raised towards her window as,
after a short interlude, the singer went on,—
.pm verse-start
“‘Wind of the summer night.’”
.pm verse-end
“Boo-o!” shivered Dorothy, as the incongruity
between the words and the frost which was nipping
her bare, cold feet, flashed into her brain.
“That must be the only serenade he knows, or
else they never have cold nights down south.
But what’s the matter?”
A sudden sound like splashing water had succeeded
an abrupt pause in the serenade, and the
next moment, the air below was thick with flying
snowballs that dashed against the singer’s back
and shoulders, covering him from head to foot
with a soft, light powder. However, he stood his
ground valiantly, and with one proud glance
towards the spot where he supposed his unseen
enemies to be, he strummed another short interlude,
and began on the last verse,—
.pm verse-start
“‘Mo-o-on of the su-ummer night.’”
.pm verse-end
But a carefully-aimed ball, which struck the
back of his neck, just above his upturned collar,
was followed by a second volley so determined
that the cavalier took to his heels, regardless of
// 205.png
.pn +1
his lady, who stood peeping between the curtains
and laughing at the fate of her tuneful guest.
She watched him until he had vanished in the
darkness, and then was about to creep back into
bed again, when her quick ear caught a crunching
of the snow beneath, and in a moment more, she
saw four figures standing under her window, in
place of the one who had gone. A second glance
told her that the shortest of the group was leaning
on crutches, and that the tallest had in his buttonhole
a flower singularly like the carnations she
had worn in her belt, that evening. Then they
began to sing; but before she had time to recognize
her brother’s clear, high voice, and the deep
bass notes of Alex, it had dawned upon her that
the Flemming quartette had come to serenade her
and, finding someone else upon the scene before
them, had taken the quickest and surest means of
driving away the intruder.
.pm verse-start
“‘Good night, good night, beloved!
I come to watch o’er thee,’”
.pm verse-end
They were singing; and in spite of the beauty of
the familiar strains, Dorothy smiled to herself, as
she thought of the undercurrent of meaning which
lay beneath the words. She knew that neither
// 206.png
.pn +1
of her brothers approved of Osborn’s evident
admiration for her, and were probably exulting
in this opportunity to drive their unsuccessful
rival from the field.
As the last words died away upon the still night
air, she hastily snatched from a vase near by, the
flowers she had been wearing, softly opened her
window and, with one quick sweep of her arm,
dropped them directly at the feet of the tallest
singer. He stooped a moment to gather them up
from the snow, then bowed low in acknowledgment,
as the four voices took up the sadder,
sweeter melody of the “Soldier’s Farewell.”
That was all: only a school-boy frolic, and three,
at least, of the singers had no more thought of
sentiment than they would have done in listening
to the band on parade. But if it were all child’s
play, why did Dorothy’s fair face grow suddenly
wistful, under cover of the darkness, as she watched
them move away down the road; and why was
she conscious of her heart’s giving a quick throb
of pleasure, when she saw the tallest cadet slacken
his pace and stretch out a hand to help support his
shorter comrade, as he limped slowly along over
the slippery crust? What a true knight he was,
she said to herself; and then felt the hot blood
// 207.png
.pn +1
rush to her cheeks, at the thought of that unqualified
pronoun, “He.”
True to their promise made to Leon in the
holidays, Mrs. Arnold and Dorothy had come up
to Hilton for a week, and Dorothy was holding
high carnival among the cadets. Captivated from
the first by her pretty face and dainty gowns, the
boys had besieged Harry with requests for introductions;
and the acquaintance, once begun, was
followed up eagerly, as they came to know more
of her. Her frank liking for them all, and her evident
enjoyment of the little entertainments they
prepared for her, quite won their hearts, and
Dorothy soon had the Wilders at her feet, while
Frank Osborn, to Harry’s great disgust, insisted
upon lavishing on her the countless little attentions,
which he knew so well how to render
acceptable to a young and charming girl.
Mrs. Arnold was a model chaperon, and Dorothy
enjoyed the week to the utmost, entering into
all the frolics with a heartiness which was, however,
never quite so apparent as when Alex was
included in them. There were grand coasting
parties in the clear, cold starlight, when Mrs.
Flemming and Mrs. Arnold were each the centre
of a little group whose members had been too late
// 208.png
.pn +1
to carry off Dorothy instead; there were long
hours of skating, on the little pond at the foot of
the hill; there was the daily expedition to the
armory with Leon, to watch the drill which was
now in charge of Adjutant Sterne, while Lieutenant
Wilde was still confined to the house, as a
result of his accident; and there were impromptu
spreads and euchre parties in the different rooms,
after evening study-hour. Day by day, Harry
was becoming more and more proud of his sister,
while Alex and Paul and Louis and Jack and a
dozen more were eagerly contending for her
smiles.
The last evening of the visit was to be given up
to a dinner at the doctor’s, although Mrs. Flemming
had said, rather apologetically, as she invited
her guests,—
“I’m afraid we’re hardly in good order for company.
My nephew will be able to be down-stairs,
but he doesn’t sit up much yet. Still, if you can
excuse his lack of manners, we shall all enjoy your
being with us.”
It was a pleasant, informal evening, and when
Harry, and Alex came to take the guests home,
they found Dorothy sitting by the sofa, chattering
gayly with Lieutenant Wilde, who looked very
// 209.png
.pn +1
handsome and manly, in spite of his undress uniform,
and a most undignified strip of plaster running
down his left cheek. It was the first time
the boys had seen him since his accident and,
made to feel at home by Mrs. Flemming’s cordial
welcome, and her assurances that it was too early
for her company to break up, they established
themselves by the sofa, full of boyish solicitude
for his health, and eager questions as to his getting
out among them again.
Quite too soon the evening was over, and Dorothy
found herself bidding her hostess good night,
then going out into the clear, frosty air, with Alex
at her side. They walked on in silence for a little
way, then Dorothy said enthusiastically,—
“Such a pleasant evening! It has been a fit
ending to our visit here.”
“How did you like Lieutenant Wilde?” asked
Alex. “Had you seen him before to-night?”
“No; this was my first glimpse of him, and
I don’t wonder that he’s Hal’s hero. He’s every
inch a man and a soldier. But do you know,
Mr. Sterne,” she added, with a laugh, “I’ve
become so used to uniforms, since I came up here,
that I shall find it very hard to see nothing but
plain black coats, when I go home. You’ve all
// 210.png
.pn +1
done so much to make me have a good time, that
you have quite spoiled me.”
“We have the worst of it,” Alex assured her.
“We have to settle down now for two months of
steady grind, without the prospect of seeing a soul
outside the school, till the Easter holidays. Your
being here has been a perfect blessing to us; I
only wish it hadn’t been quite so short.”
“I’m glad it seems short to you,” she answered
frankly. “It has been delightful, every moment
of it; but I began to be afraid that Hal’s friends
would be heartily tired of entertaining me.
You’ve certainly done it right royally, and I wish
I didn’t have to leave Hilton in the morning.”
There was another little pause. Then she
added, as they drew near the gate where Harry
and his mother stood waiting for them,—
“One more word I want to say, Mr. Sterne,
before we say good night and good by. Leon has
told me, and I have seen how kind you have been
to him, since he hurt his foot. Let me thank you
for it all, please, and say how we appreciate it.”
And she put out her hand impulsively.
Alex raised his cap, as he bent over the little
hand.
“It was nothing,” he answered simply. “I was
// 211.png
.pn +1
glad to do it for him—and for you.” And as he
walked back to Old Flemming, he was conscious
that the coming weeks would seem long and
lonely to him, after the happiness of the last one;
and he found himself looking forward to June
and Commencement with an interest hitherto unknown.
It had been hard work for the Wilders to settle
down to routine again, the day after the Arnolds
went home; and, as Alex had said, they had two
months of uninterrupted work before them. The
new term was, by this time, well on in its course,
and the day was fast approaching when Leon was
to be allowed to give up his crutches and to use
his foot again, though with a little care at first.
While athletics were out of the question for the
present, it would be such a delight to be able to
walk again, that he accepted the rest without a
thought of complaint. Lieutenant Wilde, too,
had quickly recovered from his injuries and resumed
his usual place in the school where he was
more than ever idolized by his boys, who knew
how near they had come to losing him.
In the meantime, January had drawn to a close,
and Leon’s birthday had come. The Wilders,
with whom he was a general favorite, had put
// 212.png
.pn +1
their heads together to make the day merry
enough to atone for any good times he might
have lost, as a result of his sprain, and with Alex
and Max at their head, the boys had not been
slow to plan the jokes and surprises which kept
appearing from early morning until late at night.
A long drive with the doctor kept Leon out of
the way during the whole afternoon; and while he
was gone, the lads busied themselves in making
ready for the spread which was to be the grand
climax of the day. The village store and the
local bakery—pie-foundry, as Max called it—had
been ransacked, and the servants had received
a generous bribe to do a little extra cooking, when,
as if in furtherance of their plans, a huge box
had arrived from home, and Harry had unpacked
a tempting array of goodies, in the midst of the
admiring plaudits of the boys.
As seven o’clock struck, Harry appeared at
Lieutenant Wilde’s door, to escort his brother to
his room, for Leon had not been allowed to return
there, after his drive in the afternoon. With due
ceremony, he was marched down the hall, between
his brother and Lieutenant Wilde, and ushered
into the room which was strangely transformed
for the reception. The beds had been taken down
// 213.png
.pn +1
and piled into Louis’s room across the hall, while
additional tables had been brought in and arranged
in a row, to form one long one, which was
literally covered with the feast that the lads had
collected, to do honor to the occasion.
As Leon came inside the door, his guests rose
to welcome him, and here the surprise was perfect;
for instead of the usual unbroken array of
gray uniforms, there were several fine ladies present
to grace the feast. This idea had come from
Max, who had spent much time and shown considerable
ingenuity in devising the costumes from
the material at hand. A short curly bang, a
great bath-sponge fastened to the top of his head,
eyeglasses and a sheet gracefully draped into a
robe and enlivened with a crimson portière, by way
of court train, transformed Miss Margaret Eliot,
as she was introduced, into a very fair type of
society girl; while Harold King’s delicate face
and slight figure were set off by a red tablespread
for a skirt, surmounted by a pale blue dressing-gown
belonging to Louis. Louis himself appeared
in a trailing blue gown, garnished with as many
watch chains and scarf pins as the entire force of
the Wilders could afford, while a stuffed owl
adorned one shoulder, a huge bunch of red paper
// 214.png
.pn +1
roses rested on the other, and his head was covered
with Dame Pinney’s second-best cap which
Max had in some way managed to coax her into
lending. Stanley Campbell’s freckled face and
short, straight brown hair were unmistakably boyish;
but Max had done his best to disguise the
work of nature with a dark green skirt whose
cambric breadths were insecurely basted together
with long white stitches, a gay orange and blue
blazer and a broad straw hat, from which waved
a garland of peacock feathers. However gorgeous
was the result, when Max had added the finishing
touches to his work, he had been moved to confess
that Stanley looked far more like an Indian on the
war-path, than the pretty girl for whom he was
intended. But proud as the boys were of their
own costumes, one and all agreed that Baby was
the real success of the evening. Jack Howard’s
long white cotton gown was tied in at the waist
by a broad blue cambric sash, blue bows fluttered
airily on his shoulders where a wide hem and the
letters F. H. in indelible ink made their appearance,
and a blue band caught together the long
golden curls of a wig that Lieutenant Wilde had
worn in some West Point theatricals.
“The gentlemen will please escort the ladies to
// 215.png
.pn +1
the table,” called Harry, who had been chosen
floor-manager of the occasion. “The hero of the
evening can have first choice.”
Leon advanced a step, and appeared to be hesitating
between the overgrown infant and the
jewelled Louisa, when Stanley’s wonderful headgear
caught his eye.
“Thanks, I’ll take Lo,” said he, bowing before
the appalling vision.
“Very well, take your places,” commanded
Harry, pointing to the head of the table; “and
don’t forget to look out for the leg of that end
table, because it’s ricketty. Lieutenant Wilde, it’s
your turn next.”
Lieutenant Wilde chose Max, and the others
paired off in turn, until they were all seated at the
table. It was a wildly hilarious party, and in
spite of wooden plates, paper napkins and no serving,
they enjoyed their supper as only hungry,
healthy boys can do, though the maidens present
were by no means left behind. And while the
knives and forks were busy, the tongues kept pace
with them, and the jokes flew up and down the
room till the walls echoed with the laughter, and
the boys in the farthest corner of the house wondered
enviously “what on earth the Wilders are
at.”
// 216.png
.pn +1
“My dear,” Dr. Flemming had said to his wife,
that evening, “if you have nothing else to do,
suppose we go up to see Irving to-night. We
haven’t been up there since he went back.”
Mrs. Flemming agreed and, at a little before
eight o’clock, the doctor and his wife climbed the
stairs of Old Flemming, and knocked at their
nephew’s door. All was dark within, but on the
door was a card: “In Number Fifteen.” The
doctor read it.
“Fifteen? Let me see, that is the Arnolds’
room.”
“How good of Irving to go in there!” said Mrs.
Flemming. “I suppose he was afraid that Leon
would have a dull evening for his birthday, and
has gone in to stay with him for a while.”
“Leon has had rather a bad time this winter,”
answered the doctor; “worse than any of us know,
I fancy, for he has taken it so as a matter of
course, that he hasn’t had half the sympathy he
has deserved. Well, as long as Irving isn’t here,
I suppose we may as well go home again.”
“Let’s go in to see Leon for a few minutes,”
suggested Mrs. Flemming. “He would be so
pleased to have you call on him, and now we are
here, we can do it as well as not.”
// 217.png
.pn +1
As they approached the door of number fifteen,
they heard a burst of laughter from inside. Mrs.
Flemming laughed too.
“Evidently he isn’t having a very dismal evening,”
she said. “What can they be doing in
there?”
“That remains to be seen,” said the doctor, as
his knock interrupted a fresh shout.
There was a chorus of “come in” from several
voices, and the doctor, throwing the door wide
open, appeared on the threshold, with Mrs. Flemming
at his side. There was an instant of perfect
silence, while the astonished boys gazed at the
doctor who was no frequent visitor in their rooms,
and the doctor’s eyes roved from the loaded table
to the remarkable guests who were seated about
it. However, before the pause had lasted long
enough to be embarrassing, Harry came to his
senses and, shaking his head at Stanley, who was
plucking wildly at his feathers without being able
to remove them, he sprang up, went to the door
and invited the unexpected guests to come in and
have a share in the feast. The doctor accepted,
with a manifest enjoyment of the fun, and while
his wife was laying aside her wraps, two more
chairs were brought in, and Harry led Mrs. Flemming to
// 218.png
.pn +1
the table, as Jack rose and offered his
arm to the doctor. If the fun had been great before,
it was perfect and complete now, for the
Flemmings entered into the frolic as heartily as
did their young hosts, tasting all the goodies and
laughing at all the jokes with as much enthusiasm
as if they had been fourteen, instead of forty.
They had not spent twelve years in work among
boys to no purpose, and they understood just how
to meet them on their own ground without loss of
dignity or lessening of influence. Suddenly the
doctor rose to his feet, with a glass of lemonade in
his hand.
“I call on you all to drink a toast with me,” he
said; “in honor of one of our boys who, although
almost the youngest present, has yet shown himself
a true knight and soldier, by his patience in
bearing a trouble that would have made too many
of us fretful and unhappy. I drink to the health
and happiness of the guest of the evening, Leon
Arnold.”
A wild burst of applause and a clinking of
glasses followed the toast. Then came the cry,—
“Speech! Speech!”
But, for a moment, Leon was speechless. The
unexpected praise from the doctor had touched
// 219.png
.pn +1
him keenly, and brought the hot blood to his
cheeks and a lump into his throat. However, the
boys were determined to have a response from
him, so he controlled himself with an effort, stood
up and began falteringly,—
“I thank you all for the spread, and for the
toast, and for making my birthday such a jolly
one that I shall always remember it. You’ve all
been so good to me, since I sprained my ankle,
that I haven’t minded it much, now honestly, and—and—and—”
Leon hesitated for a minute,
in the hope of further inspiration; then added
desperately, “and please take some more grub.”
It was scarcely the ordinary form for an after-dinner
speech; but it was sincere enough to make
up for any other faults, and the boys received it
with acclamation, while Mrs. Flemming said to
Harry, as she helped herself to another piece of
the birthday cake,—
“What a pity your mother and Miss Dorothy
couldn’t have been here! But tell me, where did
you ever get such wonderful costumes for your
young women?”
Harry laughed.
“You’ll have to ask Max about that,” he answered.
“He’s taken possession of everything he
// 220.png
.pn +1
could lay his hands on, from the sheets off his
bed to the dame’s cap. He’s made us some pretty
fair-looking girls, though,” he added, glancing
complacently at Max who was coquetting with
Lieutenant Wilde, quite regardless of the fact
that his top-knot had fallen off on the floor, back
of his chair.
Just then the doctor leaned forward as if to say
something, and there came a pause.
“Speech, sir?” inquired the irrepressible Max,
turning his eyeglass on him.
The doctor laughed.
“Not exactly a speech, Max. I only want to
say, before I go, how much I have enjoyed my
evening. And now, as long as I don’t often see
all the Wilders, as the boys call you, together, I’m
going to take just a minute to talk to you. Some
of you only have a few months more to stay here,
and then your days at Flemming will be ended.
I dread the changes as they come, for not even
twelve years of teaching have hardened me to
having one class after another go away from me.
You know you are all my boys, and wherever you
go in the future, whatever you do, you will still
be ‘the boys’ to me, no matter how old and gray,
or how famous and renowned you may become.
// 221.png
.pn +1
And so I want my boys to always be as true and
pure and high in their aims, as honorable in their
every-day lives as they are to-day. I have been
looking around at you since I have been sitting
here, and I am proud and glad to see that every
one of you looks me squarely in the eye, and holds
up his head like a man and a soldier. It’s not a
bad test for a boy, after all; and I’ve watched
you closely enough to know that I am not deceived
in it. So remember, whether you go away from
Flemming this year or next, while you are here
and after you have left us, make up your minds to
live so that I can be proud of you; so that you are
doing honor to the old school; and, above all, so
that you may never shrink from looking your
mothers and sisters and, some day, perhaps, your
wives too, straight in the eye when you meet
them. Then I shall know that I made no mistake
when I gave my boys the uniforms of soldiers, for
a soldier’s first duty is to be true, true to himself
and to his Maker. That’s enough sermonizing
to-night; but I am so happy in my boys now,
that I must never be disappointed in them in the
future.”
As the doctor paused, Max impetuously sprang
up, waving his glass of lemonade with such recklessness
// 222.png
.pn +1
that he splashed it in a sticky tide down
over Lieutenant Wilde’s forehead and glasses.
“I say, boys,” he cried; “here’s three cheers
for the doctor and his wife, and may they live long
enough to teach school till there isn’t a boy left
in the country!”
“That’s hard on you, uncle,” called Lieutenant
Wilde, across the table. “Are you going to kill
them all off as you go along?”
In the jesting that followed, the doctor and his
wife took their departure, leaving the boys to
prolong the fun until “lights out” put an end
to Leon’s birthday spread.
And when they did go to bed that night, there
was not one of them but lay awake for a few
moments, thinking over the little talk the doctor
had given them, and resolving, in his boyish heart,
to be worthy the trust a good man placed in them,
worthy to be an honored son of Flemming Hall.
// 223.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII.||THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
.sp 2
“Oh, do hurry up, Wing!” said Max impatiently.
“Yes, in just a minute,” responded Louis.
“You’ve said that three times already, in the
last quarter of an hour; and besides, if you don’t
come soon, you’ll crack that glass, see if you
don’t.”
“None of your impudence, Max,” returned
Louis serenely, while he brushed his coat and then
turned his attention to his shoes.
“But you’ll be late.”
“Don’t care if I am. Girls are never ready,
and I can’t go looking like an old clo’ man.”
“What’s in the wind?” inquired Harry, strolling
into the room without the formality of knocking.
“I’ve heard Max hurrying you up for the
last hour, Louis; and Leon and I are getting
curious to know what’s going on. What’s the
whyness of all this prinking, I’d like to know?”
// 224.png
.pn +1
“Louis thinks the fate of the nation is hanging
on his getting his hair smooth,” returned Max.
“He wants to put in a fine appearance, for he’s
asked the girls to go to ride, this afternoon. The
worst of it is, he insists on my going too, for
ballast. Shouldn’t you think he’d be afraid I’d
hoodoo him? I say, Wing, why didn’t you put
your hair in papers over night, to give it an aristocratic
curl?”
“It’ll have to go as ’tis,” replied Louis complacently,
as, with his eye, he measured the points
of his collar, to see that they were even.
“I don’t really see, myself,” continued Max
gloomily; “the use of playing the agreeable to a
girl old enough to be your maiden aunt. One of
these damsels is eighteen and the other is twenty-two;
and they most likely regard you as a promising
infant, Wing. Why can’t you be sensible
and leave them to Lieutenant Wilde and Bony?”
“I don’t care for little girls, myself,” said Louis,
once more picking up his hairbrush. “If I’d
known you felt this way about it, I’d have asked
one of the other fellows to go in your place, and
left you to play dolls with Gyp.”
“You didn’t dare,” chuckled Max; “you were
afraid they’d cut you out; but you knew there
// 225.png
.pn +1
wasn’t any danger of my doing it. Now you see
here, you told me to be ready at half-past two.
Here ’tis three, and we have to go up to the stable
to get the horses. How soon are you going to be
ready, I’d like to know?”
“I’ll be ready to leave the house in exactly five
minutes,” answered Louis.
“All right; I’ll be back by that time,” and Max
went out of the room, leaving Harry and Louis
alone.
“Look out for yourself, Wing,” advised Harry.
“Max is up to some mischief, I know, for his eyes
never look that way when he’s innocent. He’ll
probably do something to pay you for your
prinking, all this time.”
“What can he do?” asked Louis, looking a
little alarmed.
“Trust Max for getting himself up in some
absurd way, if you particularly want him to look
his best. I never knew him slow to discover a
way to tease.”
“I wish he wasn’t quite so bright,” said Louis,
laughing uneasily. “I want the girls to have a
good time, as long as the doctor let me ask them.
I’ve hired the only decent rig in Hilton, Searle’s
bays and the double sleigh; and now, if Max does
// 226.png
.pn +1
anything to spoil it, I’ll cut his acquaintance, see
if I don’t.”
“Where are you going?” asked Harry. “We
ought to know, so we can send an exploring party
after you, in case you get lost or run away with.”
“Up the river, somewhere,” replied Louis, as he
pulled on his overcoat and plunged his hands
into his sealskin gloves.
“The roads are abominable, that way,” said
Harry. “Why don’t you go south?”
“I’ll risk the roads,” said Louis. “Now, where’s
Max? He’s the late one, this time.”
“Here he is,” responded Max; “sharp on the
minute. Come on.” And he marched into the
room, trying in vain to look unconscious of
Louis’s expression of consternation and Harry’s
evident amusement.
“Max, you sha’n’t! You aren’t going to!”
began Louis despairingly.
“To what?” inquired Max innocently.
“To wear those—those things.”
“What, these?” And Max raised his hand to
the bridge of his nose, on which triumphantly
rode a huge, bulging pair of black goggles.
“Yes, those. Where’d you get them?” demanded
Louis.
// 227.png
.pn +1
“They’re little Smythe’s. I borrowed them
because the sun was so bright, and you’ve no idea
how comfortable they are,” returned Max, while
Harry laughed unfeelingly.
“But Max, you aren’t going out to drive with
the girls, with those things on!” protested Louis.
“They make you look like a cuttle-fish, or an
octopus, or a—soft-shell crab. Do take them off.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Max solemnly. “They
feel very good, and Smythe wears them when he
goes to walk with Bony, so they ought to look
well enough for you. Besides, my eyes feel very
tired to-day. I studied two good hours this morning,
and they aren’t used to the strain.”
“Max Eliot, you deserve to be thrashed!” said
Louis wrathfully. “But come on; I can’twaste
any more time talking. You’ll have the worst of
it.” And he stalked out of the room, followed by
Max who pulled off his goggles long enough to
wink at Harry, and then settled them in place
once more, as he went down the hall.
Quarter of an hour later, a sleigh was driven
up to the doctor’s door, and Louis, after passing
the lines to Max, jumped out and ran up the steps.
After a short interval, he reappeared, followed by
two tall young women, helped them into the
// 228.png
.pn +1
sleigh, and the party drove off, while Gyp gazed
forlornly after them from the front steps.
It was a month after Mrs. Arnold and Dorothy
had gone home, and a fresh interest had come to
Flemming for, two weeks before this time, the
school had been thrown into a ferment by the news
that two nieces of the doctor were about to come
up from New York, to make him a visit. Guests
rarely came to Hilton during the winter months,
and this second excitement, following so closely
upon the other, had roused even the least susceptible
of the boys; so it was surprising how many
of them had chanced to be out on the hill, one
rainy afternoon, when the old stage deposited two
waterproofed figures and two large trunks upon
the doctor’s steps. There was but one subject of
conversation in the dining-room that night, as the
cadets cast envious glances at the vacant chair of
Lieutenant Wilde who, in virtue of his cousinship,
was privileged to dine with the fair strangers
down the hill. Naturally enough, the Wilders
were among the first boys to be introduced to Miss
Bernard and Miss Alice Bernard; and from that
time on, they vied with one another to make the
girls’ visit a pleasant one. However, Louis had
soon distanced them all in the race for popularity,
// 229.png
.pn +1
for a note had come from his mother, introducing
him to these daughters of an old schoolmate; and
aided by this and by his easy, charming manners,
Louis had succeeded in cutting out his mates.
The young women, amused by the boy’s devotion
and regarding him, as Max had suggested, as a promising
infant, had accepted his attentions as frankly
as they were given, so Louis had been the fourth
in most of their good times with Lieutenant Wilde.
But the last day of their visit had come, and
Louis had asked and obtained permission from the
doctor to invite his young guests for a long sleigh-ride.
Now, at length, there was no Lieutenant
Wilde in the way and, for the first and only time,
Louis could monopolize the society of Miss Bernard,
leaving her younger sister to the care of Max,
whom he had repeatedly warned to be on his good
behavior.
It would be hard to say why it is that every
boy passes through the stage of adoration for a
woman years older than himself; but such is the
fact, and now, for Louis, that stage had come.
He was conscious of a wild thrill of pride and
pleasure as he helped pretty Miss Bernard to her
seat, and then tucked the robes closely about her,
noticing, as he did so, the becomingness of her
sealskin toque and jacket. And he too felt very
// 230.png
.pn +1
elegant and grown-up as he gathered up the reins,
touched the horses with the whip, and went dashing
away down the hill and out into the main road
which led to the village. If only it had not been
for Max and those atrocious goggles, Louis would
have been quite content.
“Do your eyes trouble you, Mr. Eliot?” Alice
had inquired sympathetically, as Max bent over to
arrange the robe around her.
And Max had made answer, with perfect seriousness,—
“Very much, at times. You see, I suppose I
study more than I ought, and it keeps them a little
weak. It’s very trying, I assure you.”
“I feel very sorry for you,” said Miss Bernard,
turning to face the goggles behind her. “It must
be such an interruption to your work, besides
being so very painful.”
“It is, very,” replied Max, in a tone so suggestive
of patient suffering that Louis had a momentary
longing to drop him out into a snowdrift, as he
saw the compassionate glance which Miss Bernard
gave the young deceiver.
But the clear, crisp air, the dazzling sun that
blazed and sparkled over the snowy crust and,
above all, the pretty young woman at his side,
// 231.png
.pn +1
soon restored Louis to his usual good-humor, and
he exerted himself to be as entertaining as possible
while they sped away up the valley. Miss Bernard
responded to his efforts, for both she and her
sister had a genuine liking for this lad, who had
put himself and his resources so entirely at their
disposal during their visit at the school, so they
chattered away pleasantly like the oldest of friends,
while an occasional burst of laughter from the
back seat, showed that his friend was successfully
amusing Alice, who was as gay and full of fun as
Max himself.
To the happy party in the sleigh, it seemed as
if the sun were in an unusual hurry to hide himself
behind the western hills, and it was with a
feeling of unmixed regret that Louis turned the
horses’ heads toward home. The afternoon had
been so short and so full of enjoyment to the lad,
and soon he would have left only the memory of
what Miss Bernard had just called their “perfect
drive.” To his eager young mind, it had all
appeared to be created on purpose for his plans,
the bright, cold day, the fine sleighing, even the
spirits of the horses who arched their necks and
tossed their heads with a pride far above their
origin, as coming from a mere country livery
stable. As the sun went slowly down towards
// 232.png
.pn +1
the trees, the conversation had ceased, and Miss
Bernard was leaning quietly back in her seat, gazing
at the constantly-changing views of mountain
and river. How pretty she looked, with the fresh,
bright color in her cheeks, and the dreamy expression
in her eyes! If he were only a little older,
Louis thought, and if—
“Wing,” said Max abruptly; “I don’t want to
complain, as long as I’m only a guest; but my
nose is simply congealed, and I know Miss Alice
is starving. Please remember that it’s almost
supper-time and wake up those horses; they’re
only just somnambulating.”
Alas for sentiment! There was never an opportunity
for it, when Max was within reach; and
Louis roused himself from his reverie, to start up
the horses once more. Max’s sudden remark had
set them all to talking again, and they went briskly
on towards warmth and supper. With a sinking
heart, Louis noted how they flew past one familiar
landmark after another, now the upper cross-road,
now Jerry’s cabin, now the lake and now the old
turnpike. Then, as the sun threw one last golden
beam over the white landscape and then lazily slid
down out of sight, they reached the little bridge
at the foot of the long hill leading up into the
town.
// 233.png
.pn +1
Max breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now the sun’s gone, I think I can take off my
glasses,” he said, as he pulled them off and deposited
them in his side pocket, blinking meanwhile
at the sudden change.
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry,” Louis cautioned
him grimly.
“No,” answered Max seriously; “but it will
be dark soon, so I don’t think I shall need them
any more. But, say, Wing,” he added, in a hollow
tone, as he pointed to one of the tiny burial-grounds
which were scattered about the town;
“aren’t you afraid to go past this spooky graveyard
at this time of night?—Hullo! What’s
up?”
How it happened, Louis never knew, for it
was all so sudden that no one of the party saw
the catastrophe coming in time to warn the
driver, or even to cry out; but the exclamation
from Max found them all sitting in the snow
by the roadside, in various undignified attitudes,
and gazing stupidly after the sleigh which went
frisking away from them on its side until, all of a
sudden, it righted itself and left the horses to
draw it after them at their ease, as they trotted
quietly away to their accustomed stable. Fortunately,
// 234.png
.pn +1
except for the blow to Louis’s pride, no
one of the young people was hurt in the least, and
after staring at the sleigh until it vanished in the
distance, and then turning absently to look at
each other, they suddenly came to their senses and
sprang up, with a general laugh over their upset.
“But I say,” remarked Louis ruefully, while he
helped Miss Bernard to brush the snow from her
shoulders; “here’s a go!”
“Well, no; I should call it a stay,” returned
Max unsympathetically, as he performed a similar
service for Alice.
“Oh, come, don’t laugh at a fellow,” implored
Louis; “but help me find some way out of this
mess. Here we are two miles from home, not a
house in sight, and almost dark; what’s the best
thing to do? Confound those horses!” he added
vindictively, as he drew off his glove, in order to
wipe his face which, in spite of the weather, felt
uncomfortably warm.
“No use to wipe your eyes for spilt milk, much
less for spilt humanity,” said Max philosophically.
“I don’t see but two things that we can possibly
do: either Miss Bernard and Miss Alice and I will
sit here on the fence and wait while you run up to
the village for another team; or else we’ll all walk
// 235.png
.pn +1
home. Which do you prefer?” he asked, turning
to Alice who looked like a feminine Santa Claus,
with her shaggy black fur coat whitened here and
there with the tiny lumps of snow which had
frozen into the curls.
“Walk, by all means; don’t you say so, Nell?”
she answered, while Louis bit his lip, and turned
away his head to hide his vexation over the unexpected
end to his drive.
Miss Bernard, too, declared herself in favor of
walking, so they set off for home, while Alice
gayly maintained that she had “always longed to
be tipped over just a little, for the fun of it.”
Her sister, thoroughly sorry for the evident annoyance
of their young host, joined her in turning the
whole affair into a joke, so, in spite of the merciless
teasing of Max, the brisk walk homeward in
the short twilight was by no means the dullest
part of the afternoon, and it was a jovial party
that looked in on the astonished men at the stable,
to assure them that all was well. Their coming
was only just in time, for the owner, alarmed by
the appearance of the empty sleigh, was bestirring
himself to drive down to the school, and inform
the doctor of the probable accident to his young
charges. Congratulating themselves that they
had escaped this exposure of their absurd plight,
// 236.png
.pn +1
they climbed into the sleigh which was still standing
under the shed, and were driven home in
triumph by good-natured Mr. Searle, who promised
to say nothing of the matter, thus sparing
Louis the mortification of being laughed at by the
whole school.
Mrs. Flemming had the daintiest of dinners
awaiting their return, and insisted that the boys
should stay and spend the evening. Lieutenant
Wilde, too, was of the party; but Miss Bernard,
anxious to restore Louis’s self-respect, for the once
neglected her handsome cousin, in order to devote
herself more exclusively to the boy at her side.
Accordingly it was no wonder that Louis, as he
went up the hill in the starlight, had lost the
memory of his brief mortification, in the thought
of the pleasant hand-clasp which accompanied the
words,—
“Till we meet in the Easter holidays then, Mr.
Keith.”
“I say, Wing,” said Max, ruthlessly breaking
in upon his meditations; “did you hear what
Lieutenant Wilde was telling me, on the way up
the hill?”
“No,” answered Louis, rousing himself from a
vague but blissful dream of the future; “No;
what was it?”
// 237.png
.pn +1
“Nothing very important,” said Max wickedly.
“He only just happened to mention that Miss Bernard
is going to be married next month.”
“What!” And Louis was all attention.
“Yes,” pursued Max remorselessly; “she’s going
to be married to a man named Hiram Budge.
Pretty name, isn’t it? Maybe she’d like to have
you on hand, to act as one of the little boys that
open the floral gates, to let the bride go through.”
This last thrust was more than Louis could
bear. Pulling off his coat, he tossed it into a
chair, with a carelessness quite at variance with
his usual methodical precision. Then, turning on
Max, he picked him up, kicking and struggling,
laid him carefully in his bed, piled the blankets
over him, threw the pillows on top of the blankets
and seated himself on the pillows, saying,—
“Now, Max Eliot, I’m going to sit here till you
promise never to speak of this day again, either to
me or to anybody else, if I have to sit here till
morning. Now promise.”
And Max promised.
Three weeks later, both the boys received the
wedding cards of Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Budge;
and not all of Louis’s remonstrances could prevent
Max from sending, as his gift, a silver bonbon dish
in the form of a tiny sleigh.
// 238.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV.||SERGEANT-MAJOR ARNOLD.
.sp 2
The winter term had passed rapidly, and again
the boys were within ten days of their vacation.
The term had been a pleasant one; but in spite of
all their good times, Leon was eagerly looking forward
to his two weeks at home, for once more Alex
was to be with them, and the Arnolds were full
of plans for his entertainment, which it had been
impossible for them to carry out at Christmas, owing
to Leon’s temporary lameness. Every day
since Mrs. Arnold’s note of invitation to Alex had
come, the boys had added to their program, which
had become full and varied enough to satisfy the
most difficult of guests, much more Alex, who was
ready to enjoy it all, however simple. Dorothy,
too, had carried her point, and invitations were
already out for a grand party, on the night after
Easter, at which, as a crowning happiness, Lieutenant
Wilde was to be among the guests, going down
from Hilton on the Saturday beforehand, and staying
// 239.png
.pn +1
at the Arnolds’, to come up with the boys,
three days later. What wonder that even quiet
Harry was excited over the brilliant prospect;
while at home, pretty Dorothy was planning a
wonderful gown of the pale, creamy yellow which
Alex had once chanced to say was his favorite
color.
“It doesn’t seem as if I could wait, Hal!” Leon
kept saying. “I almost know something will happen
to spoil it all.”
And Harry would ask in reply,—
“But what can happen, Leon?”
Old Flemming was deserted, one afternoon, for
the boys had just gone over to a dress-parade in the
armory; and they still stood grouped about the
door, while they waited for Lieutenant Wilde’s
coming, before taking their places. The cadets
were all in a state of ill-suppressed excitement, for
Captain Curtis, an old class-mate of Lieutenant
Wilde at the Point, had suddenly appeared to him,
and the boys were to have the honor of parade before
a soldier fresh from active service among the
Dakota and Montana Indians. None of the cadets
had seen the hero who had only reached Hilton
that morning; but his fame had gone before him,
and the boys, forgetful of his years, were picturing
// 240.png
.pn +1
him as a seamed and scarred veteran who would
burst upon them in all the panoply of war, and
were conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment as
they put on their dress uniforms and hurried across
to the armory to await his coming.
“Alex says he came east on furlough, after the
Sioux pow-wow, last December,” said Leon.
Leon’s sleeve was now decorated with the three
stripes and block of his rank, for since he had been
able to resume his drill, six weeks before, his mental
and physical standing had kept him constantly
in the line of promotion, and Corporal Arnold was
now Sergeant Arnold, with a fair prospect of rising,
so soon as there should be a vacancy in the
ranks.
“How jolly! Then he’s seen Sitting Bull and
his men. I wish I could get in at West Point, and
have a chance for a little fun,” sighed Max enviously.
“Much fun it is!” said Jack. “It’s mostly living
in garrison on the plains, for we don’t get an
Indian war every day. This man was promoted
after the battle at Wounded Knee Creek. He was
shot there; but he stayed round in camp, and
wouldn’t give up and come home, till the Indians
surrendered. He’s been at home ever since, getting
// 241.png
.pn +1
patched up again, and now he’s stopped over a
day with Lieutenant Wilde, on his way back to his
company.”
“After all, it must be fun to be out there. I
should think it would make Lieutenant Wilde
crazy to go,” said Louis, whose ideas of frontier
army life were largely derived from Captain King’s
novels.
“Not much!” returned Jack scornfully. “I’d
rather be a first-class cowboy, myself. But here
they come.” And the cadets scurried into position
and saluted, as Alex came into the armory, followed
by Lieutenant Wilde and a stranger.
At the first glance, the boys were a little disappointed
in the appearance of this yellow-haired,
blue-eyed young officer, who looked so like a boy,
in his citizen’s dress; but there was something in
his soldierly carriage, in the firm lines about his
lips which made them realize that they stood in
the presence of one accustomed to command, while
a long scar on his right cheek bore witness to
his having seen service, outside of the more ornamental
duties of garrison life.
As the companies formed for inspection, the
stranger walked slowly across the floor and took
up a position where he could watch the cadets
// 242.png
.pn +1
when, at adjutant’s call, they fell into line. Then,
while the music sounded off and the adjutant
received the reports, he closely scanned the faces
before him, now and then giving a quick nod of
approval at some well-executed detail of the drill.
As the sergeants returned to position, Alex faced
about, saluted Lieutenant Wilde and reported
the absentees. The lieutenant acknowledged
the salute and added, according to the usual
form,—
“Publish the orders, sir!”
Again Alex faced about to the battalion commanding,—
“Attention to Orders!”
There was no need for the command, for the
cadets always looked upon this as the crowning
moment of the parade, and waited eagerly to hear
the promotions and appointments; while, on this
day in particular, they were all on the alert
to do credit to themselves and their commanding
officer.
Some sudden memory of his own cadet days
made the young captain smile to himself, as Alex
read:—
// 243.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.dv class=box
.nf c
Form No. 23.
.nf-
.nf r
Headquarters
Flemming Hall Battalion,
March 18, 1891.
.nf-
.ni
General Orders, No. 116.
.pi
The following promotions of Officers and Non-com.
Officers is announced for the benefit of all concerned,—
.in 10
.nf l
1st Lieut. Keith to be Capt.
2nd Lieut. Walker to be 1st Lieut.
1st Sergt. Eliot to be 2nd Lieut.
1st Sergt. Arnold to be Sergt.-Major.
Corp. Lockwood to be Sergt.
.nf-
.in 0
The following appointment is also announced,—
.ti +10
Cadet Reed to be Corp.
.nf c
By order of the Commandant.
Alex P. Sterne, 1st Lieut. and Adj.
.nf-
.dv-
“I say, Leon; you’re in luck,” said Harry, seizing
his brother’s arm, as they left the armory after
parade. “I didn’t suppose you were in for a promotion
now, anyway; and then it’s so jolly to get
it under the eyes of an army officer, too. I heard
him asking Lieutenant Wilde which you were,
for he said he met father in Helena, two years
ago. He remembered the name, because father
knew all about Lieutenant Wilde; and he’s coming
to our room this evening to see us.”
// 244.png
.pn +1
“I’m going over now to write to daddy,” said
Leon. “I want him to know about this right
away, because he was awfully cut up about my
row with Winslow, even if he didn’t say much
about it.”
“All right,” returned Harry; “I’ll be over by
and by, to help get things into shape for the captain.”
And he strolled away with Max and
Louis, who were greatly elated over their new
honors.
True to his promise, Captain Curtis did call
upon the Arnolds in their room, that evening;
and for half an hour he held the boys in a state
of breathless interest, with his stirring tales of
frontier life, in camp and in the field. He had
been detailed for service here and there in the
West until he was familiar with every phase of it,
among the Black Hills or in the Alkali deserts, in
campaigns against Sioux, Blackfoot or Apache.
Two years before, while on a brief furlough, he
had met Mr. Arnold at Helena, and some slight
favors which the older man had done him, had
ripened the short acquaintance into a friendship
that made him doubly glad to meet the young
cadets. At length he rose, to return to Lieutenant
Wilde’s room; but at the door, he turned
back to say cordially,—
// 245.png
.pn +1
“Don’t fail to tell your father how well I remember
our meeting at The Helena; and say
to him that the next time I come to Boston, I
shall surely call on him. I’m glad to have the
chance to get acquainted with you for his sake,
for he is a man whom every one must delight to
honor; and I am so much indebted to him that I
can only hope the time may come when I can do
something either for him or for his sons.”
He paused while he shook hands with Harry;
then he turned to Leon, whom he had been studying
closely, during the evening.
“Let me congratulate you most heartily on your
promotion,” he said. “So far as I can judge by
what I have seen to-day, you deserve it, for you’ve
the making of a soldier in you. Some day, perhaps,
we may meet again in service out on the
plains.”
“Oh dear! I wish he meant what he said, and
there was any chance of it,” said Leon, as their
guests took their departure.
“Why, you wouldn’t really like to go into the
army?” And Harry looked at his brother in
surprise.
“Wouldn’t I, though!” echoed Leon. “I’d like
it better than anything else. I believe I was
// 246.png
.pn +1
meant for a fighter; not fisticuffs, like the time I
knocked Winslow over, but regular army service.
I wonder if daddy would let me do it.” And
Leon gave his more peaceful brother a look which
was anything but blood-thirsty, as Harry asked
again,—
“How would you like it to have to give up
college and just go to West Point? Life there
isn’t anything but states-prison discipline.”
“Give me a chance to choose, and I’d show you
what I’d do. But ’tisn’t so easy to get in at West
Point, and I shall never get the chance. I shall
most likely end by being a minister, or a lawyer,
or something else that’s poky.” And Leon went
to his desk, to add a postscript to his letter to his
father, telling him of their call from Captain
Curtis, and of the captain’s answer to his own
unspoken longings.
Three days later, the Wilders had been out for
a long walk up to the lake and back. It had been
an unusually merry walk, too, for the boys, excited
by the near prospect of vacation, were all full of
fun; while Max, in particular, had invented a
dozen different pranks to amuse and torment the
others, until Harry had suggested dropping him
into the lake and leaving him there, to meditate
// 247.png
.pn +1
upon his sins. An hour before supper, they came
trooping home, as hungry and hearty as nine lads
could be, all laughing and talking at once. As
they separated, to go to their rooms, Alex paused
at the stairway window long enough to see the
doctor walking hurriedly up the hill, with an open
letter in his hand, and his head bowed, as if in
deep and painful thought. For a moment, the
boy watched him anxiously, for he knew that the
doctor rarely came to Old Flemming, and never
at this hour in the day, when he was usually
preparing for dinner.
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” he said to himself,
as he went on. Then he dismissed the matter
from his mind, for Stanley Campbell had overtaken
him, with a question about the next day’s
plans.
Alex would have been still more anxious, could
he have seen the doctor enter his nephew’s room,
and heard the short, hurried conversation which
took place there.
“Do it if you can, Irving,” said the doctor, at
length. “You can tell them better than I, for the
boys are both so fond of you.”
Irving Wilde rose to do his bidding; but his
face was deathly pale, and his knees were trembling
// 248.png
.pn +1
beneath his weight. He took off his glasses
and wiped them, before he could see clearly. For
the first time in his young life, he was to be the
bearer of a sad message, and the thought unmanned
him. Then he shut his teeth together, mustered
all his strength and said briefly,—
“I will. Let me take the letter, please.”
His uncle silently handed it to him; silently he
turned away and walked down the hall towards
number fifteen. At the door he stopped, with his
hand raised, just ready to knock. He could hear
the boys laughing inside the room, while he stood
there outside, waiting to put an end to all their
frolic. He longed to go back to his uncle, to beg
him to take his place; but it was too late, he must
go on. He rapped desperately.
“Come on in!” shouted Leon’s voice.
Slowly the knob turned and the door swung
open, showing Lieutenant Wilde on the threshold.
The boys had turned to the door, expecting to see
one of their mates, Max perhaps, or Jack, come to
continue the fun. At sight of their teacher’s wan
white face, Harry sprang forward.
“Lieutenant Wilde!” he exclaimed in alarm.
“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
With an effort, Lieutenant Wilde rallied.
// 249.png
.pn +1
“No,” he said; “I’m not ill, so don’t be frightened.
I only came to bring you a message from
the doctor.” And he dropped into a chair, while
his fingers closed upon the letter in his hand with
a nervous pressure which left the nails white and
bloodless. The boys watched him anxiously, sure
that something was amiss.
“The doctor has had a letter from your home,”
Lieutenant Wilde went on, after a moment, with
a vain attempt to assume his usual quiet manner.
Leon’s hand was on his shoulder, and he felt
the boy’s fingers grow rigid, as they clutched
him.
“Who is it?” he asked abruptly. “Some one is
ill, I know.”
Delay was useless, and Lieutenant Wilde answered
at once, feeling that it would be cruel to
waste words.
“It is your father,” he said gently.
Again the boy’s thought had rushed on in advance
of the words.
“He is dead,” he said excitedly.
Irving Wilde could not speak. For his only
answer, he rose and put his arm around the boy.
He was none too soon for with a cry,—
“Oh, Hal! Oh, daddy, daddy!” Leon reeled
where he stood.
// 250.png
.pn +1
With the help of Harry, who until then had
remained speechless and dazed, Lieutenant Wilde
laid him gently on his bed and sat down by his
side, with one hand on his, the other arm around
Harry’s shoulders. There was comfort and
strength in his touch; but he sat there silent,
while the twilight in the room slowly changed
to darkness, for he knew only too well that, as
yet, no words could comfort the sorrowing hearts
before him.
At length Harry raised his head.
“Please tell us,” he said brokenly; “when was
it?”
Then Lieutenant Wilde told, as gently and
quietly as he could, and pausing, now and then,
until the fresh wave of boyish grief had spent
itself, and he could go on with his sad story.
There was but little to tell, for in the hurry and
confusion of their sudden grief, the letter was
short. During the early part of the evening before,
Mr. Arnold had seemed to be unusually bright
and full of fun. At about nine o’clock, he had
gone into the library to write to the boys; and
he had been away from the room for more than two
hours, before they wondered at his absence. Then
Mrs. Arnold went in to speak to him, only to
// 251.png
.pn +1
find that he had left them, never to come back
to his pleasant earthly home. He sat there,
leaning back in his chair, as one fallen asleep,
with a quiet smile on his genial face which had
so rarely known a frown. Under his hand, still
stretched out upon the table before him, was a
sheet of paper, on which he had written,—
“My dear boys,—Only a week before you
come back to your old daddy again, but Leon’s
letter, with its good news of his promotion and
of your seeing Captain Curtis, makes me write to
you once more. Captain Curtis is a good man,
and if either of you could be as true a soldier
as he, I would gladly give my consent, though I
had never thought of that life for my sons. We
were all delighted over the news from Leon; in
fact, your daddy is thoroughly proud of both of
his boys wh—”
Then the nerveless fingers had relaxed their
hold, and the pen had dropped. Mr. Arnold’s
last thought on earth had been given to his boys.
// 252.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV.||ON THE LAKE.
.sp 2
The opening of the summer term found the
Arnolds back in their old places at Flemming, for
it had seemed best not to interrupt their school life,
much as Mrs. Arnold longed to have them
with her. She was not the woman to sacrifice to
her own inclinations the best good of her children,
and not even Harry’s entreaties to be allowed to
stay with her and Dorothy, had moved her from
her original plan. Moreover the boys were too
young, she felt, to have their lives saddened by
the constant sight of her grief, so with the unselfishness
of the true mother, she gave them up once
more, to go back to their happy school life among
the New Hampshire hills.
And the change was good for them. The past
three weeks had worn upon them both, and they
needed the association with their old comrades to
rouse them from their sorrow. At home, everything
had suggested to them their loss; their
// 253.png
.pn +1
father’s easy chair, his favorite books, even the
very walls of the rooms seemed to speak of him
and of his absence. Once back at Hilton, it was
different. It was not that either Harry or Leon
forgot their father or mourned for him any the
less; but the reaction had come, as it naturally
would do, and the fresh every-day interests
crowded into their lives and, in a measure, replaced
the one absorbing thought of their trouble.
Hilton was very beautiful, that year, with the
on-coming of the spring; and the seniors watched
it lovingly, with a tender regret that, for them, it
was the last opportunity to see the buds swell into
fresh green leaves, to hear the songs of the birds
returning to the Hilton woodlands. A year from
that time, they would all be scattered, while the
familiar life of the old school would be going on
just as usual, only without them.
One Saturday afternoon, early in May, Flemming
Hall was quite deserted; not a face appeared
at any of the windows, not a cadet was to be seen
in any part of the grounds. It was the day of
the annual regatta between the junior and senior
classes, and the Flemming world had betaken itself
to the lake.
Lake Hudson, as the cadets had named it, in
// 254.png
.pn +1
honor of the river which rolls below the West
Point bluff, lay two or three miles to the north of
the village, in a small valley among the surrounding
hills. It was a beautiful sheet of water, more
than six miles long, and only broken by one little
island near the southern end. Learned professors
who had visited the spot, had examined it well,
surprised at its lack of inlets, and had come to the
only possible conclusion, that it was fed from
underground sources. This gave an air of mystery
to the little lake, which was heightened by a
hollow, rumbling echo, to be heard at certain
points along the shore, that suggested rocky
caverns far below the surface. Lake Hudson had
had its tragedy, too, like many another peaceful
inland lake. The boys were all familiar with the
sad story of the famous young musician who had
been caught in a squall one day, while fishing in
company with his older brother; how the boat had
been overturned, and the older man had clung to
its side in safety, only to see his brother struggle
and sink before his very eyes.
But the lake looked quiet enough to-day, in the
warm spring sun which lay over the water, turning
it to a sheet of dazzling silver, broken here
and there into the tiny golden ripples which came
// 255.png
.pn +1
nearer and nearer, to creep through the rushes by
the shore and splash up against the pebbles on the
margin, with a gentle, lapping sound. Away to
the north, the valley opened out before the eye,
showing ranges of hills growing more and more
distant until their green sides turned to a hazy
blue, and then lost themselves against the hazier
blue of the sky. The wooded shores sloped down
to the road which ran along the very borders of
the lake, affording scanty room for the throng of
carriages which had gathered there, for the day of
the regatta was a gala day for the surrounding
towns, and ever since noon, the quiet country
roads had been gay with the crowd that had
assembled from far and near to watch the contest.
Soon after dinner, the cadets had left Flemming,
to walk up to the lake, and a little later the doctor
and his wife, Lieutenant Wilde and Mr. Boniface
had driven away in the same direction.
The three-mile course lay along beside the western
bank, within full view of the road, and started
from a point about half a mile from the foot of the
lake, near the southern end of the little island, to
take advantage of a long, unbroken sweep of shore
which afforded an uninterrupted view of the boats,
as they moved along parallel with the road. Far
// 256.png
.pn +1
out, beyond the line of gayly decorated stakes
which marked the half-mile points on the course,
the water was dotted thickly with the little boats
of every shape and color, in which the boys were
paddling about as they waited for the crews to
take their position at the starting-line.
“Rah! F. L. E. M. M. I. N. G! Fszt! Rah!
Rah! Rah! Rah!”
The Flemming cheer came up from the lake, in
a stormy chorus, as the doctor, with a tiny morocco
case in his hand, stepped into the boat which was
awaiting him, and was rowed away towards the
upper end of the course, where a stake, adorned
with the colors of the two classes, marked the goal.
For a time, the Flemming was the centre of interest;
then, as it slowly came round into position
and dropped anchor, every eye was turned back, to
look away to the southern end of the lake, where
the crews were still hidden in the lee of the Flemming
boat house.
To the eager watchers, it seemed as if they
would never start out into sight; and they
strained their eyes to catch the first glimpse of
the red and blue jerseys. In all the history of
Flemming regattas, there had never been so exciting
a race as this one, for it was agreed on all
// 257.png
.pn +1
sides that, in any event, it must be a very close
victory. Both crews were in perfect condition,
for they had been in training for months, and had
taken to the water so soon as the spring thaws had
cleared the lake of floating ice, and allowed them
to go up for their daily pull over the course.
Moreover, the seniors were resolved to wipe out
the stain upon their football record, while the
juniors were no less determined to maintain the
advantage they had gained, and leave untarnished
the name and glory of the class of ninety-two.
Some trifling collision between two of the little
boats had directed the attention to the upper end
of the lake, when an enthusiastic cheer from a
tiny blue boat, turned every eye towards the boat
house. Slowly the junior crew rounded the side
and came into view, followed, at a little distance,
by the seniors, and both rowed lazily down to the
starting-point. The regular sweep of the oars, and
the almost mechanical precision of the motion of
the backs, as they rose and fell in perfect unison,
were the only hints they gave of their power, as
they came down towards their waiting schoolmates,
who received them with loyal shouts,—
“Nine-ty-one! Rah! Nine-ty-one! Rah!”
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
// 258.png
.pn +1
But the shouts died away, as the crews took
their places. The light shells lay motionless upon
the water, while the rowers sat with their oars
poised in air, their gaze bent on Lieutenant Wilde,
as he stood waiting to give the signal. Not
a breeze stirred the air, and the lake was only
broken by the tiny ripples that just roughened
its glassy surface. The very water seemed to
feel the hush of waiting, and to be holding itself
motionless, like the human life around and upon it.
Then the shouts rang out again, for the signal
was given and each shell, answering to the sudden
tension of eight pairs of arms, leaped forward on
its course. The race had begun.
The shells passed the first half-mile post in
excellent style. Ninety-two was leading by a
boat-length, and rowing twenty-eight strokes to
the minute. The senior stroke was a little slower,
and it was plain that both crews were reserving
their best efforts until farther on in their course.
Keeping pace with them, the carriages drove along
up the shore of the lake, while beyond the course,
on the outer side, the little fleet of boats shifted
their positions and moved on, to keep their favorite
crews well in sight. There was little outward
show of enthusiasm as yet, for the course was
// 259.png
.pn +1
long, and the boys were saving their throats for
the final demonstration; but they watched with
eager interest the steady rise and fall of the shoulders,
the quiet, even play of the muscles which the
light jerseys could not conceal, and the smooth
stroke as the oars struck the water, cut their way
through it, then were feathered in the air, before
falling again for the succeeding stroke. In the
meantime, occasional scraps of comment could be
heard, tossed from boat to boat as the groups continually
shifted and changed.
“Ninety-two has a fine stroke.”
“Wait till ninety-one gets after her.”
“I’ll wait; ninety-one won’t be in it to-day.”
“Don’t you believe it, she’s only holding off
now.”
“The blue’ll have it; she’s more than three
lengths ahead.”
“Red’s spurting. There she comes!”
True enough, as they approached the one-mile
stake, the seniors quickened their stroke to thirty
to the minute, and little by little their bow crept
forward, lessening their distance by half a length,
just as they reached the second stake.
“Nine-ty-one! Rah! Nine-ty-one! Rah!”
answered the friends of the seniors, in an encouraging
// 260.png
.pn +1
shout, while the loyal adherents of ninety-two
sent back the cry,—
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
The first mile stake once passed, the crews
settled to work in earnest. Ninety-two still kept
the lead, with a long, steady stroke which not
even the occasional spurts of ninety-one could pass.
Three lengths, at the end of the next half-mile,
showed that the juniors were more than holding
their own, and made their friends exultant over
the prospect of an easy victory. But the seniors
and their friends, whose eyes were fixed on
Captain Howard’s face, felt that the real test had
not yet come; and they were content to wait, for
they believed that the juniors were using their
most finished stroke, while ninety-one still held
herself in reserve. Even as they watched, the
change came, a change too slight to catch the
attention of any but a trained eye; and as ninety-one
entered on the last half of her second mile,
she slowly gained upon her adversary. Line by
line, inch by inch she approached the leading
shell, not a spurt this time, but a steady gain,
slow but resistless, and the crews swept past the
second mile stake with but two and a quarter
lengths between.
// 261.png
.pn +1
“Hold your ground, blue!”
“Hurrah for red and ninety-one!”
“Ninety-one gains!”
“She can’t hold out!”
“Ninety-two’s stroke’ll win yet!”
“Ninety-one! Rah!”
But the cries died away again, for the boys were
too eager in watching the straining muscles, the
set, resolute faces of their champions, to waste
any thought on mere class cries. Ninety-two was
pulling magnificently, but ninety-one still continued
to decrease the distance. At the end of the
next quarter-mile, there was less than a boat-length
between them, and both crews were putting forth
their best energies, as they came sweeping down
towards the goal. The next quarter-mile did its
work, and the senior crew were still gaining: a
length, three-quarters, half, one-third, one-eighth,
and the crews were side by side with scarcely ten
inches start for the juniors, as they entered upon
their final half-mile, amidst the deafening cries
which rose from lake and shore.
All at once, there came a sudden stillness which
turned their jubilant shouts into a sort of low moan.
The junior shell swerved slightly in her course,
and for an instant her speed was checked. The
// 262.png
.pn +1
next moment, ninety-one swept proudly past,
leading her by two or three feet as she righted and
resumed her stroke. The change was so sudden,
that even the most distant on-looker realized that
some accident had occurred, while the boys in the
nearest boats had seen Frank Osborn’s oar snap in
two, under the strain he had placed upon it.
“Nine-ty-one! Rah! Nine-ty-one! Rah!”
shrieked the triumphant seniors, for they already
fancied the prize in their hands. Indeed, it seemed
an impossibility that the junior crew, crippled by
the loss of an oar, and by having to carry the
weight of a useless man, could regain its lost
advantage.
No one knew what was to follow.
For one instant, the junior shell lay motionless
as Frank Osborn rose, with a hasty word of warning,
turned his handsome, scornful face towards
the senior crew, in one flash of defiance, and then
jumped far over the side of the boat into the cold,
blue water below, as the lifted oars fell again and
the lightened shell darted onward, amid the loud
cheers that rose on every side.
The third quarter post of the last mile flashed
past them, and ninety-one was still leading by a
half length. Ninety-two had recovered from her
// 263.png
.pn +1
shock and, with thirty-four strokes to the minute,
was cutting the water like a knife, close in the
rear, so close that Captain Howard made a final
spurt.
Ninety-two answered with another, gained a
little, lost a little, gained again, and for a second
the boats stood bow to bow, and the goal was close
at hand. Not a cry rose from bank or boat; nothing
could be heard but the sound of the oars and
the labored breathing of the men, as the boats
swept past the stake, not eighteen inches apart.
There was a hush, as the crowd drew one long,
deep breath; and then came roar after roar, louder
and yet more loud,—
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
“O. S. B. O. R. N! Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“Rah! F. L. E. M. M. I. N. G.! Fszt! Rah!
Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
The race was over, and the blue had won.
Once more, ninety-two was triumphant; but the
junior captain was not half the hero in the boys’
eyes that Frank Osborn was, when he was landed,
dripping, from the boat which had picked him up,
and stowed away in the doctor’s carriage, for a
quick drive homeward in the sunset.
// 264.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI.||IN THE RAVINE.
.sp 2
It was two weeks after the regatta, and again
the boys were on the water. Six of the Wilders
had taken advantage of a pleasant Saturday afternoon
to walk up to the lake, and take out the
Flemming for two or three hours’ fishing. For
some time they had been watching their lines with
a patience which was but ill-rewarded, for they
had only a meagre number of worthless little fish
to show for their waiting. Now, at the suggestion
of Max, they were about to seek a fresh ground,
and with their light anchor still dragging, they
were slowly rowing up to the northern end of the
lake, to try their fortunes in a deep, quiet pool
which they had known of old. Suddenly Harry
paused on his oars.
“Halt! I say,” he exclaimed. “This place is
too cool and pleasant to leave; let’s lie off here
for half an hour and enjoy it. We shall have time
then for all the fishing we want.”
// 265.png
.pn +1
“Only four weeks more,” sighed Jack; “and
then where’ll we be?”
.pm verse-start
“‘We’re goin’ ’ome; we’re goin’ ’ome;
Our ship is at the shore;
An’ you may pack your ’aversack,
For we won’t come back no more,’”
.pm verse-end
warbled Max sentimentally, from his seat in the
bow. “We’ll be the seniors then,” he added complacently,
“and you’d better believe we’ll show
you how to do things.”
“No use to put on airs, Max,” retorted Jack.
“There’ll never be another class like ninety-one,
and you may as well make up your mind to it.”
“Conceit, thy name is—Howard!” paraphrased
Max, dropping his oar and bending over the edge
of the boat, to paddle in the clear water.
“Oh, Hal,” asked Alex, all at once; “how comes
on the poem?”
Harry groaned, as he lay down on the narrow
seat and turned his face up to the blue sky above.
“It doesn’t come,” he said, “I’ve a few ideas,
but I can’t make them rhyme. I don’t see why, in
the name of all common sense, you fellows put me
in as class poet.”
“Probably because there wasn’t anybody else to
do it,” suggested Max benevolently. “When we
// 266.png
.pn +1
come to our class day plans, though, we sha’n’t
have any trouble over our poet, we have one all
ready and waiting to step into office.”
“Who is it?” inquired Leon curiously.
“Wing, of course,” responded Max. “Didn’t
you know he wrote poetry? He does, ever so
much, and grates his teeth, and his eyes roll like
anything while he’s doing it. Then he tears it up.
I saw one bit of it, though. I’ve forgotten just
how it was; but it went something like this:—
.pm verse-start
“‘Oh, Miss Bernard, gentle sperrit!
For you I sigh, beyond your merit—’”
.pm verse-end
“Max Eliot, you hold your tongue,” interrupted
Louis, blushing and wrathful. “You make up
stories faster than you can tell them.”
“What’s struck you to-day, Max?” asked Alex.
“You’re even wilder than usual.”
“Aren’t we all Wilders, I’d like to know?
But I feel unusually hilarious; I’m invited to a
great and glorious spread to-night, and it excites
me, don’t you see?”
“Who has a spread?” queried Jack idly.
“Frank Osborn. It’s his birthday, I believe;
anyway, he’s going to have a great time of it.”
“Say, Max, I wouldn’t go,” said Alex persuasively.
// 267.png
.pn +1
“Not go! Why not, I’d like to know?” returned
Max.
“Osborn isn’t any sort of fellow for you to be
with,” Alex answered, with a troubled look on his
pleasant face. “I thought your liking for him
had died the death, anyway.”
“So it had, for we had a little row; but that’s
all over now,” said Max carelessly. “I don’t
think Osborn’s a bad fellow, though, Alex.”
“He’s not my style, and I don’t like him at
all,” returned Alex; “I think he’s fast, and I
hate to have him think he’s going to get in with
any of our set. I’d cut his acquaintance and let
him go, Max.”
“Maybe I will, after I’ve had a taste of his
spread,” answered Max, laughing. “You seniors
don’t like him because he won the race for ninety-two;
but it was a magnificently plucky thing to
do, you know it was.”
“If you want my candid opinion of Osborn,”
said Jack deliberately; “he’s a low-bred sneak
and a disgrace to Flemming. He did do a plucky
thing when he jumped overboard; but he’s been
insufferably conceited about it ever since, too
cockahoop for anything.”
For a minute Max glared at Jack, with an
// 268.png
.pn +1
angry gleam in his blue eyes; but Harry interrupted
them,—
“Oh, come now, you fellows, don’t get into a
row. There isn’t room here. Besides, I’ve never
noticed that the fish came down the lake to look
for us, and if we’re going to try our luck up above
here, it’s time we were starting.” And he took
up his oar, letting its blade fall into the water,
with a splash which sent the drops flying into the
faces of the belligerent boys around him.
It had the desired effect of cooling their tempers;
and the boys rowed away up the lake, the long,
steady sweep of the oars sending the tiny waves
far to the left and right of their track. The shadows
from the bank had grown long upon the water, as
the boys skirted the little island and then struck
off towards the eastern shore. As they neared
the bank, Max rose and peered eagerly over the
bow of the boat.
“Slow!” he commanded. “I want to be sure
when we get there. Steady! We’re in the
shallows. Start her up a little; it’s more than ten
feet ahead.”
Forgetful of their anchor which was still
dragging, the boys at the oars made a sudden
spurt. The little boat sprang forward for a few
// 269.png
.pn +1
feet, then stopped with such suddenness that Max
was sent plunging forward, into the clear, bright
water below. For a moment there was a panic,
and as the boy disappeared under the ripples, his
companions sprang to their feet in alarm.
“Sit down!” commanded Alex instantly. “Do
you want to upset the boat, and give us all a
ducking? Max is all right; he’s a good swimmer,
and here he comes up again, anyway.”
As he spoke, there was a miniature whirlpool at
a little distance from the boat; and the forehead,
eyes, nose, mouth and chin of Max slowly rose to
their sight. Then one arm appeared, as Max
made a hasty snatch at his cap which was floating
past him.
“Can you keep up a minute, till we get to
you?” called Jack.
“Keep up; I should say so,” answered Max,
spluttering and wiping the water from his eyes.
“I’m standing on the ground all right; but I can’t
wade over to you, for I’m just across that hole I
was looking for. Told you I’d find it,” he added,
with a triumphant chuckle.
“All right, we’ll come over to you,” said Leon.
“You didn’t go out quite as gracefully as Osborn,
but ’twasn’t so bad for a first attempt. Is it wet
any, over there?”
// 270.png
.pn +1
.if h
.il fn=i264.jpg w=600px
.ca
Max was sent plunging forward.—Page 264.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: Max was sent plunging forward.—Page 264.]
.sp 2
.if-
// 271.png
.pn +1
// 272.png
.pn +1
“I should think ’twas, slightly,” returned Max,
as he rubbed away the streams which were trickling
from his yellow hair. “If you doubt it, come
in and see. Do hurry up with that boat, though,
for I am nearly frozen.”
For again and again the boys had bent to their
oars, but the boat remained motionless.
“Confound the old tub!” exclaimed Jack.
“What’s the matter with her? She can’t be
aground, for I can’t touch bottom with my oar.
Pull again, boys, and start her up.”
They did pull, but with no more result than
before, while Max, his teeth chattering from his
chill, stood fifteen feet away, railing at their
efforts.
“It’s the anchor,” said Leon suddenly. “We
forgot and left it dragging, and it’s caught on
something. Back her, some of you, till I get
this loose.”
“Anything you please, only do hurry up,” said
Max. “I’m getting a little damp about the ankles,
and besides, I shall be late for the spread.”
“I shouldn’t much mourn about that,” said
Jack, in an undertone, as he went forward to help
Leon in his efforts to free the anchor. “From
what I’ve heard, Osborn is getting ready to have
// 273.png
.pn +1
a high time to-night. Max,” he added, as a few
powerful strokes sent the boat over to the
drenched and shivering boy, “now you tumble
in here, and let us get you home as soon as ever
we can. If you didn’t have more lives than a cat,
Max Eliot, you’d be dead long before this. Now,
boys, pile your coats over him, and we’ll run him
home in a hurry.”
Max came to the breakfast-table, the next morning,
complaining of a severe headache for which
not even his unpremeditated bath of the afternoon
before, seemed sufficient to account. His unusual
pallor and the dark lines under his eyes were
proof enough of his not being well, so no one was
surprised at his excusing himself from church, and
spending the morning in his room. Soon after
dinner, however, he appeared at the door of the
Arnolds’ room, yawning and stretching, and
invited Leon to go out for a walk. In spite of
the unseasonable warmth of the day, the clear
May sunshine was too attractive to be resisted, so
Leon gladly enough laid aside his book and went
away with him.
Half an hour later, Alex put his head in at the
door.
“Do you know where Max and Leon are, Hal?”
he asked.
// 274.png
.pn +1
“No,—wait a minute, though; I think they
said something about going up to the ravine, but I
didn’t pay much attention. What do you want?”
“Nothing special,” answered Alex lightly. “To
the ravine? Well, perhaps I’ll walk up that way,
on the chance of meeting them.”
Alex went on his way; but instead of going
directly to the ravine, he paused irresolutely in
front of the doctor’s house. Then he went up the
steps and rang the bell. The doctor himself came
to the door. He looked tired and anxious; but at
sight of Alex his face brightened.
“Oh, Alex,” he said cordially; “I’m glad to
see you. Come in.”
“May I have a little while to talk to you?”
asked Alex, with simple directness.
“Yes, indeed; I am always glad to have a call
from you.” And the doctor led the way into his
study, where they could be free from interruption.
“Sit down,” he said; “and tell me about it.”
“It?” said Alex inquiringly.
“Yes, it,” returned the doctor, smiling. “You
look as if something were wrong.”
“So there is,” replied Alex, anxiously knitting
his brows; “and the worst of it is, I don’t know
whether I have any business to be here, it seems so
like telling tales.”
// 275.png
.pn +1
Dr. Flemming bent forward and laid his hand on
the boy’s shoulder.
“Don’t you know, Alex, that I always want to
hear all that concerns my boys, whether for good or
ill? I can rely on your sense of honor, I am sure, for
you have proved yourself far above the meanness
of ordinary tale-bearing. If you wish, I promise
you that whatever you say shall remain a secret
between the two of us.”
“Thank you.” And Alex met the doctor’s
steady gaze without flinching. “Of course you
know how gossip flies, in a place like this, and
won’t be a bit surprised when I tell you it’s common
talk that you had an interview with Osborn this
morning.”
“I didn’t expect it quite so soon,” replied the
doctor quickly. “But go on.”
“Well, the boys all think it means expulsion for
him and his set; but very likely that’s wrong. Now,
what I wanted to ask you was—” Alex stopped
for a moment, then went on in a lower voice;
“whether you knew Max Eliot was at the spread
last night.”
The doctor started; this was unexpected news.
“Please understand the reason I’m telling you
this,” Alex continued hastily, as if to free himself
// 276.png
.pn +1
from any charge of meddling with another’s concerns.
“I knew you’d hear of it sooner or later,
perhaps from Osborn himself, for he’s always spited
our set, and would like to hurt us through Max.
But if you heard it that way, you would never
know what a mere chance it was that Max was
there. If he was in the scrape, it’s the first time
he’s done anything of that kind, for he isn’t a bit
fast, like the others.”
“And what then?” asked the doctor kindly.
“Just this,” replied the boy, with a quiet dignity
all his own; “if it should come to where you have
to punish the other fellows, please remember that
Max isn’t quite one of them. He’s gay and full of
his pranks; but he’s not fast, and last night is the
first time he’s ever been at one of their wine
spreads. He’s broken off with them lately, and we
were all surprised at his saying, yesterday afternoon,
that the friendship was on again. But upon
my honor, Dr. Flemming,” here the blue eyes were
again fixed on the master’s face; “on my honor as
a Flemming boy, it is Max’s first offence, and I
hope you’ll be as easy on him as you can.”
The doctor closely studied the earnest face before
him; then he rose and took one or two turns
up and down the room.
// 277.png
.pn +1
“Alex,” he said, as he came back to his chair;
“I can trust you, and I am going to talk plainly
to you. The boys did have a very wild time at
their spread, last night, and one or two of them
were the worse for the champagne. For some
time I have been suspicious of their spreads, but
this was the first time I could prove anything
against them. This morning I saw them, and
quietly told them not to come back here, after the
close of this term. I have been thinking for
months that this must come, but the year is so
nearly over that I thought best not to make a public
expulsion of it. I had no idea that Max was
there, or he might have shared the same fate. But
if you can tell me on your honor that this is his
first offence, I will let him off this time. Max
isn’t a bad fellow, only too full of fun and a little
weak, too easily made by his companions of the
moment. I will give him another chance, but I
must have a long talk with him. Can you see him
this afternoon, tell him what has occurred and ask
him to come to me this evening?”
Alex tried to thank him; but he interrupted,—
“Never mind the thanks, Alex; they come to
me in the perfect freedom you have shown in talking
with me. If only all my boys had felt to me
// 278.png
.pn +1
as you do, this miserable affair need never have
taken place. But don’t go; stay and tell me about
yourself, for it’s a long time since I’ve had a
chance to talk with you.”
“I’d better not,” Alex answered. “I want to
see Max, if I can, before he gets wind of this.”
“Go, then; perhaps you’d better. I am glad
you came to me as you did, for if I had heard that
Max was there, and nothing more, I might have
been unwisely severe.”
As Harry had suggested, Alex found the two
boys in the ravine. After the heat of the May
afternoon and his rapid walk, the coolness around
them was a great relief, and Alex was glad to drop
down on the coarse, uneven turf by their side, and
rest for a few moments, before beginning upon the
subject which was weighing so heavily on his mind.
The ravine, as the boys called it, was a deep gorge
in the hills, worn away by the swift mountain
brook that hurried through it, to seek the calmer
waters of the Connecticut and go with them to the
sea. The brook was so narrow and the slant of its
sides so abrupt that the branches of the trees on
either side mingled overhead to form one common
shade; while below them the water now plunged
over a little precipice, now raced along the shallows,
// 279.png
.pn +1
breaking into a lacelike foam over its rocky bed,
now flowed smoothly and silently through the
still pools, so dark and deep, where trout love to
hide under the shelter of the over-hanging ferns,
then rushed away, to go on racing and plunging
and eddying, over and over again, till it joined the
quieter current of the mighty river, three miles
and more away.
“Max,” Alex began abruptly, after the interval
of silence which had followed their greetings;
“you went to that spread last night, didn’t you?”
Instantly Max was on the defensive.
“Yes, I did,” he replied curtly, as he threw a
stick into the whirlpool below him, and watched
it circle round and round in the swirling eddy.
“What then?”
“I hear you had rather a lively time,” said Alex,
trying to approach the subject so gently that Max
should not be roused to anger.
“Well, as I said, what then?” said Max defiantly,
as he tried in vain to meet the kind blue
eyes so steadily fixed upon his own. “I don’t
know as it’s any of your business, if we did.”
Leon looked up in surprise, for in his ignorance
of the matter, he was at a loss to account for
Max’s unwonted irritability.
// 280.png
.pn +1
“Perhaps it is my business,” Alex replied, and
he went on to tell of his talk with the doctor.
As Max listened, his face slowly lost a little of
its frown, and he rolled over on his back, to stretch
his hot hand up to Alex.
“You’re a good fellow, Alex,” he said, with a
new and softer light in his eyes. “You’ve done
me a good turn to-day, and I know it.”
“Prove it by letting those fellows alone, in the
future,” responded Alex quickly.
“I will, honestly, now. I didn’t stay as late as
the others,” confessed Max penitently; “I did
take some of the stuff, though, but when I saw
how ’twas going, I sneaked out and came home.
I wish I’d come earlier, so I needn’t have had
this abominable headache. Truly, though, Alex,
I only took a little.” And his voice was almost
pleading, as he spoke. “I’m sorry I did that, but
it wasn’t enough to do the least bit of hurt.”
Once more the silence was only broken by the
rushing water below them, and the bird-songs from
the branches above their heads. Then Alex spoke
again, but slowly and as if with an effort.
“Max,” he said, “I’m not over fond of pulling
family skeletons out of their closets, and you fellows
all know that I’m not much given to talking
// 281.png
.pn +1
about my own affairs. I suppose you all have
wondered at my being here, when I’m so much
older than the rest of you. I think I’ll tell you
all the story now, for it can’t do any harm, and it
may save you a little something by and by.”
As he paused, there was a slight catch in his
breath. Leon rose, as if to leave them alone.
“Don’t go, Leon,” he went on. “Except for
the doctor and Lieutenant Wilde, Hal is the only
one here who knows this, so you may as well stay
and hear it out, too. It isn’t a pretty story, but
I’ll try to make it as short as I can.”
Leon dropped back into his former place beside
Alex, who continued, with his eyes fixed on the
water below,—
“You see, in the first place you must remember
that life in Denver isn’t much as it is here in the
east. Out there, everybody drinks wine, as a matter
of course, and it comes into everything from a
business contract to an evening call. You have
it here, I know; but not near so much. Well, my
father, when he went out there, was a gay, handsome
young man with a splendid reputation in his
profession—he’s a doctor, you know—just the
kind of a man to be popular and in demand in a
social way. Being in society out there means,
// 282.png
.pn +1
almost as a matter of course, taking more or less
wine; and father was just like all the rest of
them, only he couldn’t stand as much as some
others. From a little and a little, he went on
until the little had come to be a great deal, and
he had grown to depend on it, as a daily need.
Even then, his old patients stuck to him, for ’twas
a saying that they’d ‘rather have Dr. Sterne
drunk than any other doctor sober.’ But it had
gone too far to stop, and slowly—What’s the use
of dwelling on it? Father finally reached the
point where he was a common street drunkard,
without practice and without money. I tell you,
Max, those were bad times, and I remember them
well. They aren’t the kind of thing one wants to
live through, or to talk about, either. It went on
so for several years, and then, eight years ago, the
change came. People said ’twas miraculous and
wouldn’t last, and even we never knew what
started him; but all at once father braced up a
little. He had a few good friends out there,
among the solid, true men of the city, and with
their help, he scrambled up on his feet again.
They wanted him to go away, and start fresh
somewhere else; but he said no, he’d gone under
there, and there he’d come up, till he’d lived down
// 283.png
.pn +1
the past. There aren’t many men strong enough
to do it, and the fight was a terrible one; but now
he has won back his old place in the city, and his
reputation is higher than ever. Still, it has made
an old man of him; and it all started from just
such light social drinking as you tried last night.”
Max had rolled over and turned his face away
from his friends. He lay very still.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it,” said Alex, in
a lower tone. “As far as a man can do, father
has left the past behind him; but there is one side
of it that can’t ever be set right. I’ve a brother
about ten years old; I don’t believe you ever
heard me say much about him.”
Leon shook his head.
“Poor little Jack! He’s had the hardest of it
all to bear. He was born just in the most dismal
days, when father was at his worst, and mother
was overworked and worried till she didn’t know
which way to turn to get us food and clothes, for
she was too proud to ask help from her old
friends. You ought to know my mother, Leon.
Well, I suppose that affected Jack; anyway, his
mind has never been quite right, so he couldn’t go
to school or anything of that kind. He’s a dear
little fellow, but he’ll always be like a baby; and
// 284.png
.pn +1
father has to watch him, year after year, and know
that he alone is the cause of it, that Jack has to
take the penalty of his father’s sins. That’s all
there is to the story; but if you’d lived through
what we have done, you wouldn’t want to play
with wine-drinking, for it’s easier to go down than
up, and where one comes up again, one hundred
stay down. Besides, if you can bring yourself up
out of the rut, you don’t know what harm you
may be doing to the next generation who aren’t to
blame, but can’t help themselves and just have to
grin and bear it. Keep out of it, Max, if you
want to be a happy man.”
There was another silence, a long one this time.
Max did not move, so Alex beckoned to Leon, and
together they stole quietly away, leaving the boy
to himself.
The boys never knew what passed in the doctor’s
study, that night. Max was gone for a long
time, and when he went back to his room at bed-time,
his eyes were red and his voice unsteady.
With scarcely a word to Louis, he went to bed,
but not to sleep. Far into the night, he lay staring
at the darkness, while Dr. Flemming’s last
words still echoed in his ears,—
“But above all, my dear boy, you will never be
// 285.png
.pn +1
a full-grown man until you have learned to stand
alone, without leaning on your friends. Whenever
the question arises, make up your mind, once
for all, where the right lies, and then go towards
it, even if your path leads across the bodies of
your dearest friends. Right is always right; and
I am here only just to help my boys to find it out
and march steadily towards it. That done, I need
no other reward. Now, bless you, my boy; and
good night.”
// 286.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII.||COMMENCEMENT.
.sp 2
Quickly, far too quickly, the remaining weeks
of the year had passed, and the commencement
season had come. Little had occurred to mark
the four weeks, for the work of the school had
gone smoothly on to its close, without disaster or
incident to mark the every-day routine. For a
week after the spread in Osborn’s room, the school
had buzzed with more or less incorrect reports of
the affair; but, except for Alex and Leon, none of
the cadets knew how near it had come to being
disastrous to careless, mischievous Max. Then it
was slowly forgotten by every one but the disgraced
lads, and by Max who had gone to work
in earnest, anxious to prove to the doctor that
he was worthy of his continued confidence and
friendship.
The seniors, one and all, were busy with their
plans for commencement; and although they
were clinging fondly to all the old associations;
// 287.png
.pn +1
yet in spite of it all, they were eager for the coming
of the great day to which, for four long years,
they had been steadily pointing. The juniors, too,
caught something of their spirit, for the hour
which transformed the senior boys into men,
would in turn advance themselves into the coveted
position of seniors, to be admired and looked up to
by the whole school; so that only the lower classes
were free from the excitement which reigned at
Flemming, as the June days slowly passed away.
At last the time had come, and Hilton was filled
to overflowing with the guests, who had assembled
to watch the young soldiers march past their first
milestone. The quiet village street was swarming
with gray coats, and the elaborate gowns of stately
mothers, and pretty sisters and cousins; while
portly fathers gathered on the piazza of the little
hotel, to exchange confidences in regard to “my
boy,” with an ill-concealed pride.
Commencement week at Flemming always began
with the anniversary sermon in the village
church which, once a year, was beautified with
masses of the pink laurel that softened the bare,
barren walls of the dreary little place. The following
day was given up to the social pleasures of the
ivy-planting, and the evening hop at the doctor’s,
// 288.png
.pn +1
together with the dress-parade which came in the
late afternoon.
On Sunday evening, the boys had gathered in
the Arnolds’ room, for a few minutes before
“lights out.” They had been speaking of the
young clergyman who had made the annual address,
a simple, earnest appeal for a manly life,
which had roused the boys to quick enthusiasm.
“I’d like to know that man,” Harry was saying;
“he strikes me as being a friend worth having.”
“Yes,” answered Max pensively, and without a
thought of joking; “he must be a pretty good
man, for such a young one; for he made even me
feel sort of good.”
There was a moment of silence; then Harry said
restlessly,—
“I do wish to-morrow would be over, for I’ve
been dreading this class-day circus for more than
six weeks.”
“I’ve seen his old poem, though,” observed
Leon; “and it really isn’t so bad, considering Hal
wrote it.”
“Thank you, my patronizing infant!” returned
Harry, with a sweeping bow. “You’d better go to
bed, on the strength of that. Let’s hope ’twill be
pleasant to-morrow morning, for I don’t care to
stand out in the rain and spout my production.”
// 289.png
.pn +1
“That would be a waterspout, with a vengeance,”
said Max, before Louis could suppress
him and drag him off to bed.
The next morning was pleasant enough to satisfy
even Harry; and by half-past nine o’clock,
the guests had assembled in front of the recitation
hall, to await the coming of the boys. It was an
attractive sight as they marched across the familiar
lawn, with the band gayly playing at the head of
the procession,—the last time that those same boys
would be marching together, under the green old
elms of Flemming. On the next day, the breaking-up
must come and the friends be scattered,
some, perhaps, never to meet again.
There was an expectant hush as the seniors
grouped themselves in their places, and Jack
Howard, as president of the class, made his little
address of welcome. Harry’s turn came next, and
as he stood there waiting, he glanced down into
the front row of guests, where Leon had stationed
himself at his mother’s side and, back of them,
Alex, moving slightly from his place in the ranks,
had taken his stand beside Dorothy. The girl
looked very delicate and pretty in her black
gown, as she gazed steadily and proudly up at
her brother, then turned to speak to the tall cadet
// 290.png
.pn +1
at her side, with a perfect unconsciousness of the
envious glances cast upon her by the less favored
girls in the rear.
But Harry had stepped forward and, with one
anxious, troubled look down at the little home
group, as if beseeching them to be as merciful as
possible in their judgment, he began to read. As
the last words were spoken:—
.pm verse-start
“Boys of our ninety-one, now and here must we leave our boyhood,
Here at the quiet school, with the old granite hills watching o’er it.
Glorious and brave and true, and all that can honor our teaching,
This let us make our manhood,”
.pm verse-end
.ni
and Harry moved back to his place behind Jack,
there was a short silence, and then a burst of
applause so enthusiastic that even modest Harry
could not forbear stealing one happy, exultant
glance down at his mother and Dorothy. Then,
when all was done and the ivy planted in its appointed
place, hosts and guests scattered, to pass
the time as best they might, until four o’clock
should bring them together again at the parade-ground.
In the meantime, the Wilders and their
friends assembled in the Arnolds’ room, where
// 291.png
.pn +1
Harry received general congratulations for his
success of an hour before.
.pi
It was a very flushed and happy-looking Dorothy
whom Alex escorted to the parade-ground, that
afternoon, after a long drive, and left in charge of
her mother, while he hurried away to change his
fatigue coat for the dress uniform which added so
much to the dignity of his appearance.
Then assembly sounded, and, at the sergeants’
command, the companies fell into line on their
separate parade-grounds. As the signal ceased,
the order Left—Face rang out and the cadets
turned sharply in their places before being brought
to support arms, by order of the first sergeant. A
few moments later, the trumpets sounded the
quick notes of adjutant’s call, and Adjutant Sterne
and Sergeant-Major Arnold, with their markers,
marched across to the regimental parade-ground,
where they took up their positions, Alex to the
right, Leon on the left, while company after company
was led forward by its captain, dressed in
line and brought to support arms. As Lieutenant
Wilde took his place, as commanding officer, at a
little distance in front of the battalion, the adjutant
ordered the captains to bring their companies
to parade rest, the butt of every piece fell to the
// 292.png
.pn +1
ground, its barrel grasped with both hands before
the breast, and the cadets stood at parade rest,
while the band sounded off, marching along the
line from right to left and back again.
It was all so beautiful, with the warm June sun
glowing down over the grounds and buildings,
and touching with a golden light the uniforms
and gleaming bayonets of the cadets, that the
lookers-on were hushed in admiration. Not a
sound broke the stillness, but the gay notes of the
band, not a motion disturbed the absolute quiet of
the ranks, but the flutter of the stars and stripes
which were softly stirred by the little breeze that
stole down from the hills. Dorothy’s eyes moved
up and down the line, rested proudly upon Leon’s
slim, straight figure, then turned to the opposite
side of the parade-ground, where Adjutant Sterne
stood resting his clasped hands upon the grip of
his sword.
But the band had returned to its former position,
and Adjutant Sterne stepped forward to
order the ranks opened, verify the alignment of
officers and men, and bring the cadets to present
arms, before saluting Lieutenant Wilde, and making
the report,—
“Sir, the parade is formed.”
// 293.png
.pn +1
“Take your post, Sir!” ordered Lieutenant
Wilde, and Alex moved to his place behind him
and at his left, as Lieutenant Wilde drew his
sword and issued a succession of quick orders from
the manual of arms.
The drill was a creditable one, both to commandant
and cadets, for the months of training had accomplished
their work, and officers and men were
on their mettle to do their best, before the assembled
guests. With the precision of well-adjusted parts
of a great machine, the rifles were shifted up and
down, to right, to left, then dropped to the ground
in order arms, as the adjutant once more advanced
to receive the reports from the first sergeants and
drum major, who stepped forward to salute and report,
then fell back to position, while Adjutant
Sterne saluted Lieutenant Wilde again, before
making the general report,—
“Sir! All are present or accounted for.”
Then came the concluding ceremony of the
parade. At the order, Parade is dismissed, the
officers returned their swords to the scabbards,
marched towards the centre of the line, then forward,
to halt six yards away from the commandant
and salute. For an instant they paused, with their
hands raised to their visors, while Lieutenant
// 294.png
.pn +1
Wilde acknowledged their salute; then, at the
same moment, every hand fell to the side. The
officers dispersed, the first sergeants marched their
companies back to their own grounds, and ninety-one
had ended its last parade.
Evening found the doctor’s rooms gay with
lights and music and dainty evening gowns. Out
on the piazza overlooking the lawn, Dorothy was
holding a sort of court, surrounded by a dozen
loyal admirers; for the Wilders, one and all, had
agreed in pronouncing her the prettiest girl present.
As she rested there, with the full moon
shining down on her golden hair and white gown,
Alex sat on the rail at her right, Louis stood at
her left, toying with her great bouquet of white
roses, and Harry, Jack, Max and Stanley were at
her feet.
“It has been a successful day,” she said, and
she lingered over the words as if they held some
new, sweet meaning to her which, as yet, the
others could not know. “I wonder if any other
class was ever quite so fine as ninety-one.”
“That’s an amiable remark to make, Miss Arnold,”
protested Max, from his place on the floor
at her feet. “Here you have the three finest
minds of ninety-two under your very eyes, and
still you declare for ninety-one. That’s not fair.”
// 295.png
.pn +1
“But you couldn’t expect me to forsake my
allegiance to ninety-one, when it has been giving
me such a good time,” she answered contentedly.
“And besides, haven’t I a brother in this year’s
class, and hasn’t he done us all proud to-day?”
“Only wait till our turn comes next year,” said
Louis, as he slyly abstracted a rose from the great
bunch in his hand.
In a moment, the eye of Max was upon him.
“No poaching on those preserves, young man,”
he called. “Miss Arnold, I advise you to look
out for your bowpot, for Louis is helping himself
to it.”
“You’d better pass them around, Miss Arnold,”
suggested Jack, laughing up at Louis who was
gazing sentimentally at the flower in his hand.
“That will make it even, and prevent our coming
to blows later.”
Dorothy laughed, as she held out her hand for
the flowers.
“Give them to me please, Mr. Keith,” she said.
“Soldiers don’t usually wear posies in their buttonholes,
when they start out into battle; but I will
decorate you all, in honor of the happiest day I
have ever spent.”
“What’s going on?” inquired Leon, strolling
// 296.png
.pn +1
up to the group. “I demand my share of the
booty too, Dot, so pass over. What’s the meaning
of this unusual generosity?”
“Your sister is giving her colors to her true and
lawful knights,” answered Alex lightly, as, in his
turn, he bent down while Dorothy fixed the large,
full-blown flower in his buttonhole.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Leon. “Well, if
that’s the order of the day, mother’ll have to do
the same by Bony, for he’s stuck to her like a burr,
all the evening, and he’s quite playing the society
man. See there!”
As he spoke, Leon pointed in at the open window,
opposite which sat Mrs. Arnold, with the
young teacher at her side. Mr. Boniface was
talking with an animation and an earnestness
which lent an unwonted ease to his ordinarily stiff
manner. Harry surveyed them approvingly.
“I knew ’twould be so, when I introduced him
to her,” he said. “Trust my mother for always
finding out the softest side of people and getting
at it, in spite of their hard shells.”
Just then there was a general movement of the
people inside the parlor, and Mr. Boniface rose,
offering his arm to the woman at his side. A
moment later, Lieutenant Wilde appeared in the
doorway.
// 297.png
.pn +1
“Miss Arnold,” he said; “may I take you in to
supper?”
For a moment, Dorothy’s eyes rested on him
admiringly. Lieutenant Wilde was unusually resplendent
that night, for he was in full army
uniform and the lights shone out on his blue coat,
and glittered and winked over the brass buttons
and epaulettes which were so becoming to the
firm, manly figure and handsome face. Then the
girl rose and passed her hand under the arm of
Alex, who stood ready at her side.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Wilde,” she said
gently; “but Mr. Sterne had asked me before.”
Again, the next morning, they all gathered in
the little church, for an hour or two. Then, just
as the golden noontide had come, the doctor spoke
his few last earnest words, and the class of ninety-one
had marched from quiet Flemming, out into
their wider field of service.
// 298.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII.||FORWARD—MARCH!
.sp 2
The next evening the Wilders were gathered
on the steps of Old Flemming. It had been a
hurried, confused day, for the morning had been
devoted to departing friends, and the afternoon to
packing, since they were to leave Flemming Hall
early the next morning. Now all was done, and
they had gone down from their forlorn, dismantled
rooms, to enjoy the still, warm night.
“I believe this has been an unusually moony
commencement,” said Louis thoughtfully, as he
watched the white light on the lawn and buildings
before him.
“It most certainly has,” responded Leon fervently,
while he stepped on Alex’s toe, under
cover of the shadow around them.
“I wish we could be as lucky, next year,” said
Stanley. “Most likely we shall have a rainy
week, to make up for this.”
“Never mind if we do,” said Max consolingly.
// 299.png
.pn +1
“We don’t need the help of the weather, as this
year’s fellows do. We can stand on our own
merits.”
“What are you all going to do, this summer?”
asked Paul.
“Our plans are only just made,” Harry answered,
as he took off his cap and ran his fingers through
his hair. “We’ve been so unsettled since father’s
death that we haven’t known what to do. Mother
didn’t feel as if she could go back to the old place
in Lenox this summer, so we’re all going abroad
for the season. Jolliest of all, Alex is going with
us.”
“Alex! Why didn’t you tell me, old fellow?”
asked Stanley, turning to his friend.
“I only knew it myself yesterday,” Alex answered;
“and it didn’t seem worth while to discuss
an uncertainty.”
“I wish I could go too,” sighed Jack enviously.
“Where shall you go, Hal?”
“England, mostly. Leon and I both want to
go to Eton and Harrow-on-the-Hill and Rugby,
and see the places it tells about in Tom Brown.
Mother and Dot care for the Cathedral towns, and
then we shall take in France and Germany. We
shall have to be back by the time college opens, so
// 300.png
.pn +1
we can’t do much. It won’t make much difference
if Leon is a week or so late, coming back here.
Lieutenant Wilde has just decided to go over on
the steamer with us, so we shall have quite a
party, just by ourselves. Where are you going to
be, Paul?”
“Home, through July; then Jack and I are
going camping in the Adirondacks for a month.”
“What a mixed-up set we’ll be, in a year or
two!” remarked Jack. “When we’re scattered
through all the different colleges, we shall come
back here as rivals, to fight our battles. If you go
to Columbia, Paul, and Alex and Hal to Harvard,
and I to Cornell, that’s something of a break up.
Where shall you go, Max?”
“Yale, every time,” responded Max promptly.
“Louis?”
“I’m not sure yet; but most likely Yale.
Father is a Yale man and he wants me to follow in
his footsteps. What do you do, Stan?”
“I’m going to Cornell for the electrical engineering,”
replied Stanley. “Give me the red and
white for my colors!”
“We’ll be patriotic, at least, with our red, white
and blue,” said Max, laughing. “We sha’n’t have
any stripes, though, for we’re every one of us
bound to be stars.”
// 301.png
.pn +1
“Gyp has been in her element this afternoon,”
observed Harry, after a pause. “She’s been wandering
back and forth between our room and
Louis’s, with Mouse in her arms, offering all manner
of suggestions to help us in our packing. She
wanted me to give Mouse the sash of my tennis
suit for a parting gift, and was quite disgusted
when I refused to bestow it on her.”
“Mouse came near being a dead cat this afternoon,
though,” said Louis. “I had my trunk all
shut and locked once; but I heard a dismal, lonesome
little noise inside, so I suspected something
was wrong, and went on an exploring expedition.
There was Mouse, carefully put to bed in the
deepest box of my trunk-tray, on top of all my
collars and cuffs. Gyp had stowed her away in
there and forgotten all about her, till I rooted her
out. She was so distressed, that I gave her that
little old lambswool rug of mine, and sent her off
home, to put Mouse to bed.”
“Mouse is getting old,” remarked Alex; “and
I’m afraid that, if we come back here next June,
there won’t be any Mouse to welcome us.”
“She ought to be perfect through suffering,
long before this,” said Leon. “With the best
intentions in life, Gyp has tormented the very hair
// 302.png
.pn +1
off her head. I don’t know what she will do,
when Mouse dies.”
“Do you know,” said Paul reflectively; “I
believe this has been the jolliest year we have
had. I shouldn’t have been half so sorry to leave
Flemming, a year ago, as I am now. We nine
boys have had uncommonly good times together.”
“Especially after the football game,” suggested
Leon maliciously.
“You did get rather the worst of that, Leon;
but then, you did by far the best work on our side,
and I’d be content to make such a record as you
did, on almost any terms,” said Jack admiringly.
“But do any of you lads know what Bony is
going to do, next year?”
“I’m afraid he’s getting ready to leave,” said
Max regretfully. “I’m no end sorry, for now I
know him, I like him. He’s a good man, through
and through, and it will be a long time before we
get anybody to fill his place.”
“That’s true,” assented Louis; “but it took us
long enough to discover it.”
“I told you, in the first place, he was like an
olive,” retorted Max. “He’s puckery, the first you
get of him; but if you keep at him, you’ll want
more and more. I do wish he’d stay another year,
to finish us off.”
// 303.png
.pn +1
Just as he spoke, the boys caught sight of two
figures coming up the hill from the doctor’s house.
“Is it a farewell-session of the Wilders?” called
Irving Wilde’s voice.
“Yes, and we only need you to fill up the number,
you and Mr. Boniface,” said Alex, as he
moved to give them a place on the steps beside
him. “We were just talking about you, Mr. Boniface,
wondering if you were to be here another
year, or not.”
“And devoutly hoping you were,” added Max.
Mr. Boniface turned to him gratefully.
“Thank you, Max,” he answered. “I don’t
really know, myself. I had expected to go away
at the end of this term, to finish up my studies;
but the doctor is urging me to stay at least one
more year. If I thought I could do good work
here and be of any help to you boys, perhaps—”,
he hesitated, then went on; “but whatever comes,
I know that I shall be better through all my life,
for having come to know and care for my boys,
here at Flemming Hall.”
Lieutenant Wilde broke in upon the pause that
followed.
“Well, Leon,” he asked; “what do they say to
your news?”
// 304.png
.pn +1
“He hasn’t told it yet,” interposed Harry.
“He’s been waiting till he could have the floor,
and make his announcement with proper effect.
Go it now, Leon; we’re ready.”
“What’s up with Leon?” asked Max curiously.
“Tremendous honors are showered upon the infant,”
answered Harry. “Speak and tell us,
Leon.”
Leon laughed; but even in the moonlight, the
boys could see the quick color come into his
cheeks, and his voice trembled a little with excitement,
as he said,—
“You fellows all remember Captain Curtis,
Lieutenant Wilde’s friend that was here in March.
He knew daddy, and after daddy died, he wrote to
us. I answered the letter, and since then he’s
written to me three or four times. Last Saturday
I had another letter from him, and he’s offered to
get me in at West Point, when I’m old enough.”
“What!” And Max started up eagerly.
“Yes, isn’t it fine? He has a cousin that’s congressman
from Pennsylvania, and their district
will have a vacancy the summer after I’m seventeen.
Captain Curtis says he can get me the
appointment, if I want it. Daddy would have
been willing, I know, so, if nothing happens, seven
// 305.png
.pn +1
years from now, I shall be Lieutenant Arnold, of
the United States Army. Don’t you all envy me,
though?” And Leon smiled complacently around
at the group.
“Just my luck!” sighed Max. “Another fellow
is always sure to get the blessings I deserve.
Why couldn’t Captain Curtis have taken a liking
to me? Still, I’m no end glad you have it, Leon,
for it’s just the thing for you.”
For an hour longer they sat there, now talking,
now silently watching the moonlight as it lay
caressingly over the doctor’s house, and over their
little group as they lingered on the piazza, where
they had so often sat before. It was far past their
usual bed-time, yet no one of the boys made the
move towards going into the house. The next
morning would end it all, so why not prolong the
evening as far as they might? But, little by
little, the light talk of past frolics and future
hopes and plans had died away, and they sat there
quiet. Perhaps they were growing sleepy; perhaps
they were thinking of the morrow, and of the
days and years to come. Then, all at once, Leon’s
clear, high soprano voice took up the air of one of
the Harrow songs which Lieutenant Wilde had
brought back to them after a vacation tour to
// 306.png
.pn +1
England. It was a song that the boys knew and
loved, both for itself, and for that vague feeling of
romance which overhangs all that pertains to life
at an English public school. Often and often had
they sung it together, when driving, or rowing on
the lake, or when, as now, they sat on the Old
Flemming steps; but never had it meant to them
all that it did to-night, on the eve of their parting.
One after another, the boys joined in the chorus,
until the sound swelled on and upward, as if to
carry out to the waiting world their promise for
their future lives:—
.pm verse-start
“Like an ancient river flowing
From the mountain to the sea,
So we follow, coming, going
To the wider life to be.
On our course,
From the source
To the wider life to be.
“Is it naught, our long procession,
Father, brother, friend and son,
As we step in quick succession,
Cap and pass and hurry on?
One and all
At the call,
Cap and pass and hurry on?
// 307.png
.pn +1
“One by one, and as they name us,
Forth we go from boyhood’s rule,
Sworn to be renowned and famous,
For the honor of the school,
True as steel
In our zeal
For the honor of the school.
“So to-day—and oh! if ever
Duty’s voice is ringing clear,
Bidding men to brave endeavour,
Be our answer, ‘We are here.’
Come what will,
Good or ill,
Be our answer, ‘We are here.’”
.pm verse-end
.if h
Listen:
[MP3]
[MIDI]
.if-
Clear and true, the last notes lingered upon the
air, and then slowly died away into the stillness
of the summer night. Then Jack Howard’s voice
led off in one parting cheer:—
“Rah! F. L. E. M. M. I. N. G.! Fszt! Rah!
Rah! Rah! Rah!”
// 308.png
.pn +1
.if h
.il fn=music1.jpg w=455px
.if-
.if t
[Music: “Here Sir!”
.nf c
Words by E. W. Howson.\_\_\_ Music by Eaton Faning.
Allegro moderato. \_\_\_♩= 112.
.nf-
Chorus.
.pm verse-start
Like an an-cient ri-ver flow-ing
From the mountain to the sea, So we fol-low
.pm verse-end
.if-
.sp 2
// 309.png
.pn +1
.if h
.il fn=music2.jpg w=431px
.if-
.if t
[Music:
.pm verse-start
com-ing, go-ing To the wid-er
Life to be—On our course From the source
To the wi-der Life to be!
.pm verse-end
]
.if-
// 310.png
.pn +1
.if h
.il fn=music3.jpg w=430px
.ca
Reprinted in America by permission of Mr. Eaton Faning, music
master of Harrow School, at Harrow-on-the-Hill, England.
Through the courtesy of Mr. Geo. L. Fox,
Rector of Hopkins Grammar School, New Haven, Connecticut.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
[Music:
.pm verse-start
Here sir! Here sir! Here sir! Here sir!
On the top of Har-row Hill, Here sir! Here sir!
Here sir! Here sir! In the wind-y yard at Bill.
.pm verse-end
]
.if-
.sp 2
// 311.png
.pn +1
// 312.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.pb
.sp 2
.nf c
NEW BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
.nf-
.hr 25%
TOM CLIFTON; OR, WESTERN BOYS IN GRANT
AND SHERMAN’S ARMY. By Warren Lee Goss,
author of “Jed,” “Recollections of a Private,” etc. Fully illustrated. 12mo,
$1.50.
Mr. Goss has the genius of a story-teller. No one can follow the fortunes of Tom
Clifton and his friends either in their experiments in farming in Minnesota or in the
Western army, without the deepest interest. It is the best boys’ book of the year,
and has, besides, permanent value from a historical standpoint.
FAMOUS TYPES OF WOMANHOOD. By Sarah K.
Bolton, author of “Poor Boys Who Became Famous,” etc. Lives of Marie
Louise, Queen of Prussia, Madam Récamier, Jenny Lind, Miss Dix, etc.
With Portraits. 12mo, $1.50.
Mrs. Bolton here gives in an entertaining style vivid pictures from the lives of
some notable women who have won undying fame in art, philanthropy, and other
fields of usefulness.
MIXED PICKLES. By Mrs. Evelyn H. Raymond, author of
“Monica, the Mesa Maiden.” Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.
Under this mysterious and alluring title Mrs. Raymond describes the queer and
amusing adventures of a number of bright German boys and girls and their cousins
in a quiet Quaker farmhouse.
THE RIVERPARK REBELLION, and A TALE OF
THE TOW PATH. By Homer Greene, author of “The
Blind Brother,” “Burnham Breaker,” etc. 12mo. Illustrated. $1.00.
The first is the story of an episode in a military school on the Hudson, and it
simply glows with life and energy. In the “Tale of the Tow Path” Mr. Greene
takes the reader out of the usual environment and shows him new scenes described
in his own inimitable way.
IN BLUE CREEK CAÑON. By Anna Chapin Ray, author
of “Half a Dozen Girls,” “Half a Dozen Boys,” etc. Illustrated. 12mo,
$1.25.
Miss Ray transports to the Rocky Mountains a party of her happy, wholesome
boys and girls, and depicts photographically their pleasures during a summer in a
mining camp. The story is full of atmosphere and life.
THE CADETS OF FLEMMING HALL. By Anna Chapin
Ray, author of “Half a Dozen Girls,” “Half a Dozen Boys,” etc. Illustrated.
12mo, $1.25.
Schoolboy life has not been often depicted in colors that will more surely delight
the reader than in this volume. It is a story full of enthusiasm, with exciting adventures,
genial fun, and of high purpose.
THE MOTHER OF THE KING’S CHILDREN. By the
Rev. J. F. Cowan, author of the “Jo-Boat Boys.” With an introduction by
the Rev. F. E. Clark, D. D. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.
A book of much merit, quite above the average, and will do good wherever read.
Especially will it deepen an interest in practical religious work.
LITTLE ARTHUR’S HISTORY OF ROME. By Hezekiah
Butterworth, author of the “Zigzag Books,” etc. A companion
volume to “Little Arthur’s England and France.” Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.
No one better understands the requirements of the young than Mr. Butterworth,
and his book will foster an appetite for classical studies.
SHORT STUDIES IN BOTANY FOR CHILDREN.
By Mrs. Harriet C. Cooper. Fully illustrated. 12mo, $1.00.
Many teachers and parents have found that Botany may be made attractive to very
young children. Mrs. Cooper’s little volume contains a practical demonstration of
this.
.tb
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers. Catalogues sent free upon application.
.nf-
.tb
.nf c
T. Y. CROWELL & CO.,—New York and Boston.
.nf-
// 313.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.nf c
PUBLICATIONS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
.nf-
A SCORE OF FAMOUS COMPOSERS. By Nathan
Haskell Dole, formerly musical editor of the Philadelphia Press and Evening
Bulletin. With portraits of Beethoven, Wagner, Liszt, Haydn, etc. 12mo, $1.50.
No pains have been spared to make this volume of musical biographies accurate, and at
the same time entertaining. Many quaint and curious details have been found in out-of-the-way
German or Italian sources. Beginning with Palestrina, “the Prince of Music,”
concerning whose life many interesting discoveries have been recently made, and ending
with Wagner, the twenty Composers, while in the majority of German origin, still embrace
representatives of England and Italy, Hungary and Russia, of France and Poland.
Free from pedantry and technicalities, simple and straightforward in style, these sketches
aim above all to acquaint the reader, and particularly the young, with the personality of
the subjects, to make them live again while recounting their struggles and triumphs.
FAMOUS ENGLISH STATESMEN. By Sarah K. Bolton,
author of “Poor Boys Who became Famous.” With Portraits of Gladstone,
John Bright, Robert Peel, etc. 12mo, $1.50.
Mrs. Bolton has found a peculiarly congenial subject in her latest contribution to the
series of “Famous” books. Nearly all of the English statesmen whose biographies she
so sympathetically recounts, have been leaders in great works of reform; and with many
Mrs. Bolton had the privilege of personal acquaintance. She has given succinct, yet sufficiently
detailed descriptions of the chief labors of these statesmen, and the young reader
will find them stirring and stimulating, full of anecdotes and bright sayings.
THE JO-BOAT BOYS. By Rev. J. F. Cowan, D.D., editor of
“Our Young People,” etc. Illustrated by H. W. Peirce. 12mo, $1.50.
The shanty boats which shelter the amphibious people along the banks of the Ohio are
called Jo-Boats, and Dr. Cowan has chosen this original environment for the earlier
scenes of his remarkably lively and spirited story. It will appeal to every boy who has a
spark of zest in his soul.
AN ENTIRE STRANGER. By Rev. T. L. Baily. Illustrated.
12mo, $1.25.
The heroine of Mr. Baily’s naïve and fascinating story is a school-teacher who is full
of resources, and understands how to bring out the diverse capabilities of her scholars.
She wins the love and admiration of her school, and interests them in many improvements.
It is a thoroughly practical book, and we should be glad to see it in the hands of
all teachers and their scholars.
THROWN UPON HER OWN RESOURCES; OR,
WHAT GIRLS CAN DO. By “Jenny June” (Mrs.
Croly). A book for girls. 12mo, $1.25.
Mrs. Croly, the able editor of The Home Maker, in this book for girls, shows in her
practical, common-sense way, what chances there are open to young women, when the
necessity comes for self-support. The wise, prudent words of one who has had so much
experience in dealing with the problems of life will be welcomed by a large class of
readers.
LED IN UNKNOWN PATHS. By Anna F. Raffensperger.
Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.
A simple, unpretentious diary of homely, every-day life. It is so true to nature that it
reads like a transcript from an actual journal. It is full of good-humor, quiet fun, gentle
pathos, and good sound sense. One follows with surprising interest the daily doings, the
pleasures and trials of the good family whose life is pictured in its pages.
HALF A DOZEN GIRLS. By Anna Chapin Ray, author of
“Half a Dozen Boys.” Illustrated, 12mo, $1.25.
A book for girls displaying unusual insight into human nature with a quiet, sly humor,
a faculty of investing every-day events with a dramatic interest, a photographic touch,
and a fine moral tone. It ought to be a favorite with many girls.
// 314.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.nf c
WAR STORIES BY WARREN LEE GOSS.
.nf-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A PRIVATE. A Story of the
Army of the Potomac. By Warren Lee Goss, author of “Jed.”
With over 80 illustrations by Chapin and Shelton. Royal 8vo.
Cloth, $3.25; seal russia, $4.25; half morocco, $5.00.
Among the many books about the Civil War there is none which
more clearly describes what took place among the rank and file of the
Union Army, while on the march or on the battle-field, than the story
given by Mr. Goss in this volume.
It is one of the handsomest, as well as one of the most valuable works in
American war literature.—Boston Globe.
No volume of war history has given the reader more graphic descriptions of
army life.... The writer speaks from knowledge and not from theory.—Chicago
Inter-Ocean.
.nf c
From General Rosecrans, Register of Treasury
Treasury Department, Register’s Office.
Washington, D.C., Sept. 24, 1890.
.nf-
... It may seem strange, but it is true, that I have had comparatively little
time to devote to war literature, but I derived much pleasure from the perusal
of this book. Its raciness of style, accuracy of statement, and often pathos of
the story, so much interested me that I devoted a whole evening to it. It is all
the more pleasant because from my own knowledge, I believe it to be a fair representation
of the spirit of that great body of patriotic men, the private soldiers
of the Union Army; and I hope it may be largely read, not only by old soldiers,
but also by other citizens, young and old.
.rj 2
Yours truly,
W. S. Rosecrans.
JED. A Boy’s Adventures in the Army of 1861-’65.
A Story of Battle and Prison, of Peril and Escape. By Warren
Lee Goss, author of “The Soldier’s Story of his Captivity at Andersonville
and other Prisons,” “The Recollections of a Private”
(in the Century War Series). Fully illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
In this story the author has aimed to furnish true pictures of scenes
in the great Civil War, and not to produce sensational effects. The
incidents of the book are real ones, drawn largely from the writer’s
personal experiences and observations as a soldier of the Union during
that war. The descriptions of life in the Southern prisons are
especially graphic. It is one of the best war stories ever written.
Boys will read it with avidity.
Of all the many stories of the Civil War that have been published it is not
possible to mention one which for sturdy realism, intensity of interest, and range
of narrative can compare with Jed.—Boston Beacon.
A book that every boy in the country will want to read the moment he sees
it, and it is as instructive as entertaining.—Brooklyn Union.
A thrilling story of bravery, endurance, and final success.—Boston Home
Journal.
.tb
For sale by all Booksellers. Complete Catalogue sent to any address
upon application.
.tb
// 315.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.nf c
PUBLICATIONS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
.nf-
.hr 25%
1 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS
By Thomas Hughes. With 53 illustrations engraved by Andrew, carefully
printed from beautiful type on calendered paper. 12mo, cloth, $2.00; full gilt,
$2.50. Edition de luxe, limited to 250 numbered copies, large paper, Japan
proofs mounted, $5.00.
Praise or comment on this classic would be a work of supererogation. Every
parent sooner or later puts it in his children’s hands. We can only say that the
present edition is by all odds the best that has ever been offered to the American
public. Printed from large type, well illustrated, and handsomely bound, it makes
a book worthy of any library.
2 FAMOUS EUROPEAN ARTISTS.
By Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton, author of “Poor Boys Who Became Famous,”
etc. With portraits of Raphael, Titian, Landseer, Reynolds, Rubens, Turner,
and others. 12mo, $1.50.
In this handsome volume, Mrs. Bolton relates sympathetically, and with her usual
skill in seizing upon salient points, the lives of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Turner, and
other artists, whose names are household words. The sketches are accompanied by
excellent portraits.
3 FAMOUS ENGLISH AUTHORS OF THE 19th CENTURY.
By Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton, author of “Poor Boys Who Became Famous,”
etc. With portraits of Scott, Burns, Carlyle, Dickens, Tennyson, Robert
Browning, etc. 12mo, $1.50.
During a recent visit abroad, Mrs. Bolton had the opportunity of visiting many of
the scenes made memorable by the residence or writings of the best known English
authors, and the incidents which she was thus enabled to invest with a personal
interest, she has woven into the sketches of Tennyson, Ruskin, Browning, and the
other authors of whom she writes. These two companion volumes are among the
best of the famous “Famous” Series.
4 GOSPEL STORIES.
Translated from the Russian of Count L. N. Tolstoi by Nathan Haskell
Dole. 12mo, $1.25.
Count Tolstoï’s short sketches of Russian life, inspired generally by some pregnant
text of Scripture and written for the masses, perhaps even more than his longer
works show the man’s real greatness. Sixteen of these, selected from various publications,
are here presented in a neat and attractive volume.
5 PHILIP, or What May Have Been
A story of the First Century. By Mary C. Cutler. 12mo, $1.25.
An appreciative notice of this story contains the following words:—“Reverence,
accuracy, a chastened feeling of perfect sincerity, pervade this book.... We have
read it through, and can confidently recommend it as in every way fitted to give the
old familiar facts of the gospel history a new interest.”
6 HALF A DOZEN BOYS.
By Annie Chapin Ray. 12mo, illustrated, $1.25.
This is a genuine story of boy life. The six heroes are capital fellows, such as
any healthy lad, or girl either for that matter, will feel heart warm toward. The
simple incidents and amusements of the village where they live are invested with
a peculiar charm through the hearty and sympathetic style in which the book is
written. It is a book quite worthy of Miss Alcott’s pen.
// 316.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.nf c
NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS.
.nf-
THE EVERY DAY OF LIFE. By the Rev. J. R. Miller,
D.D., author of “Silent Times,” “Making the Most of Life,” etc. 16mo, gilt
top, parti-cloth, $1.00; 16mo, white and gold, gilt edges, $1.25; levant morocco,
flexible, gilt edges, $2.50.
Hearty words of love and sympathy designed to help and cheer those who are
weary with the treadmill of daily cares and perplexities.
WORDSWORTH’S POEMS. (Selections.) Illustrated in
photogravure by E. H. Garrett. Printed on fine deckle-edge, laid paper.
12mo, cloth, ornamental design. Gilt top, cloth box, $2.50; full leather, gilt
top, $3.50.
This is the selection made by the late Matthew Arnold and includes the cream of
Wordsworth’s verse. Mr. Garrett, the artist, has here found a peculiarly congenial
field, and his admirable drawings in the interpretation of the text will be fully
appreciated.
WALTON’S ANGLER. New edition. Complete in two volumes
with all the original 86 illustrations of Major’s edition and photogravure
frontispieces. 2 vols. 16mo, cloth, gilt top, $2.50.
Even those who do not fish love the quaint style of the “divine Izaak,” and there
is no better edition than Major’s, or this reproduction of that time-honored classic.
POLLY BUTTON’S NEW YEAR. By Mrs. C. F. Wilder.
12mo. Unique parti-cloth binding, .75.
Miss Polly Button, reduced in fortune, makes herself a power in her church by
applying her Christianity to every-day life.
EQUITABLE TAXATION. A series of Prize Essays by
Walter E. Weyl, Robert Luce, Bolton Hall, and others. Introduction
by the Hon. Jonathan A. Lane. Biographical sketches and portraits. 12mo, .75.
Nothing is more evident than that there is a crying need for change in our unjust
tax laws. A most stimulating and valuable book.
DAILY FOOD. New illustrated edition, with 12 photo-engravings.
18mo. Parti-cloth, gilt edge, .75; 18mo, lavender and gold, gilt edge, .75; 18mo
French silk, gilt edge, $1.25.
Thousands of this little classic have been sold. The present edition is most
attractive in appearance, neatly printed from new plates, exquisitely illustrated, and
handsomely bound.
A PLEA FOR THE GOSPEL. By the Rev. George D.
Herron, author of “The Message of Jesus,” “The Larger Christ.” 16mo,
parti-cloth, gilt top, .75.
The author’s previous volumes have been hailed by men of all denominations as
the work of a writer intellectually and spiritually cast in the mould of Maurice, Mulford,
and Brooks.
MONICA, THE MESA MAIDEN. By Mrs. Evelyn H.
Raymond. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.
Monica is a Spanish girl of Southern California, who lives in a quaint old house
of adobe, surrounded with vines and flowers. She meets with strange adventures
which result in the unravelling of a complicated chain of destiny.
LES MISÉRABLES. By Victor Hugo. Translated by Isabel
F. Hapgood. New edition. Complete in two volumes, with 32 full-page illustrations.
12mo. Cloth, gilt top, boxed, $3.00. White back, fancy paper sides,
gilt top, $3.00.
TENNYSON’S POEMS. New edition. Complete in two
volumes. Illustrated with two photogravures and numerous wood engravings
by the best artists. 2 vols. 12mo. Gilt top, $3.00; white back, fancy paper
sides, gilt top, $5.00.
.tb
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers. Catalogues sent free upon application.
.nf-
.tb
T. Y. CROWELL & CO.,—New York and Boston.
// 317.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.nf c
MRS. BOLTON’S FAMOUS BOOKS.
.nf-
.hr 25%
“The most interesting books to me are the histories of individuals and individual
minds, all autobiographies, and the like. This is my favorite reading.”—H. W.
Longfellow.
“Mrs. Bolton never fails to interest and instruct her readers.”—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
“Always written in a bright and fresh style.”—Boston Home Journal.
“Readable without inaccuracy.”—Boston Post.
.hr 25%
POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS.
By Sarah K. Bolton. Short biographical sketches of George Peabody, Michael
Faraday, Samuel Johnson, Admiral Farragut, Horace Greeley, William Lloyd Garrison,
Garibaldi, President Lincoln, and other noted persons who, from humble
circumstances, have risen to fame and distinction, and left behind an imperishable
record. Illustrated with 24 portraits. 12mo. $1.50.
GIRLS WHO BECAME FAMOUS.
By Sarah K. Bolton. A companion book to “Poor Boys Who Became
Famous.” Biographical sketches of Harriet Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, Helen
Hunt Jackson, Harriet Hosmer, Rosa Bonheur, Florence Nightingale, Maria
Mitchell, and other eminent women. Illustrated with portraits. 12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS MEN OF SCIENCE.
By Sarah K. Bolton. Short biographical sketches of Galileo, Newton, Linnæus,
Cuvier, Humboldt, Audubon, Agassiz, Darwin, Buckland, and others.
Illustrated with 15 portraits. 12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS AMERICAN STATESMEN.
By Sarah K. Bolton. A companion book to “Famous American Authors.”
Biographical sketches of Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Hamilton, Webster,
Sumner, Garfield, and others. Illustrated with portraits. 12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS ENGLISH STATESMEN.
By Sarah K. Bolton. With portraits of Gladstone, John Bright, Robert
Peel, Lord Palmerston, Lord Shaftesbury, William Edward Forster, Lord Beaconsfield.
12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS EUROPEAN ARTISTS.
By Sarah K. Bolton. With portraits of Raphael, Titian, Landseer, Reynolds,
Rubens, Turner, and others. 12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS AMERICAN AUTHORS.
By Sarah K. Bolton. Short biographical sketches of Holmes, Longfellow,
Emerson, Lowell, Aldrich, Mark Twain, and other noted writers. Illustrated with
portraits. 12mo. $1.50.
FAMOUS ENGLISH AUTHORS OF THE 19th CENTURY.
By Sarah K. Bolton. With portraits of Scott, Burns, Carlyle, Dickens, Tennyson,
Robert Browning, etc. 12mo. $1.50.
STORIES FROM LIFE.
By Sarah K. Bolton. A book of short stories, charming and helpful. 12mo.
$1.25.
.tb
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers. Send for catalogue.
.nf-
.tb
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO., Publishers, New York.
.pb
\_ // this gets the sp 4 recognized.
.sp 2
.dv class=tnbox // TN box start
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Music files have been provided for the song presented in Chapter XVIII,\
“Here Sir.” If your browser supports it, clicking on the MP3 link\
will play the music; clicking on the MIDI link may open a program that\
can play MIDI files; or it may just download the MIDI file to your computer.
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-
.dv- // TN box end
\_