"I [hold] it truth, with him who sings, To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things."
TENNYSON.
"Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side.
* * * * *
Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified." - LOWELL.
The turning-point in our hero's school career had now come, and the manner of it was as follows. On the evening of the first day of the next half-year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who had just been dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into the matron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when they first get back, however fond they may be of home.
"Well, Mrs. Wixie," shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active, little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linen of the boys who had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, "here we are again, you see, as jolly as ever.
Let us help you put the things away."
"And, Mary," cried another (she was called indifferently by either name), "who's come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How many new boys are there?"
"Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know you promised to get it for us if you could," shouted Tom.
"And am I to sleep in Number 4?" roared East.
"How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?"
"Bless the boys!" cries Mary, at last getting in a word; "why, you'll shake me to death. There, now, do go away up to the housekeeper's room and get your suppers; you know I haven't time to talk. You'll find plenty more in the house. --Now, Master East, do let those things alone. You're mixing up three new boys' things." And she rushed at East, who escaped round the open trunks holding up a prize.
"Hullo! look here, Tommy," shouted he; "here's fun!" and he brandished above his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. The kind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitching with aching hearts little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the young head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and snatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them.
"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go," said she; "there's some capital cold beef and pickles upstairs, and I won't have you old boys in my room first night."
"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy--come along, Smith.
We shall find out who the young count is, I'll be bound. I hope he'll sleep in my room. Mary's always vicious first week."
As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and said, "Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you."
"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute, East. Don't finish the pickles."
"O Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, "you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and I've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep there this half."
Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was aware of a slight, pale boy, with large blue eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take in the youngster, and then let him shift for himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to get this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they would be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat's novels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nickname.
The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. "Poor little fellow," said she, in almost a whisper; "his father's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma--such a kind, sweet lady--almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so--"
"Well, well," burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort, "I suppose I must give up East. --Come along, young un.
What's your name? We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study."
"His name's George Arthur," said the matron, walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making a chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. "I've had his books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the door" (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was contributing largely to the partnership comforts). "And Mrs.
Arnold told me to say," she added, "that she should like you both to come up to tea with her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, I know."
