For our Boys & Girls

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 478, 7 June 1890, Page 3

For our Boys & Girls

By Amelia E. Barr, Author of ‘A Daughter of Fife,’ ‘Master of His Fate,’ * Friend Olivia ’ (now running in the * Century Magazine’), etc.

EDITED BY MRS FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. [COPYRIGHT.] [All Rights Reserved.] When the Hour Strikes. A STORY OF A SHY BOY. ( >

[Copyright 1890 by S. S. McClure.] Many years ago there was a boy’s boardingschool at Ravenswood, a little hamlot off the groat highway leading from Keswick o Penrith. It was a large desolato house, with an enclosure round it known as * the playground.’ But in those days boys did not play very much at school. The clubs and gymnasiums, the sculling and rowing, which are now part of every boy’s education were then regarded as the special rights of men, and teachers generally looked upon a playing boy as a bad boy, likely to need an extra quantity of flogging and lessons. The master of Ravenswood School was a rough cruel man, but he was thought to be a fine disciplinarian, and he (aughthis boys to declaim the great speeches of ancient and modern orators. So the youths of that part of Cumberland who were destined for the law were sent to Ravenswood School ‘ to learn how to speak.’ And if a rich man had a son who might stand for a borough, the platform at Ravenswood was considered a good preparation for the future hustings. in the course of time this peculiarity became the special attraction of Ravenswood School, and thus it happened that Robert Foster was upon its list of pupils. For Robert was the only son of a lawyer who managed such portions of the Lonsdale estates as lay in that part of Cumberland, and he was anxious for the boy to follow his own profession. The great impediment to the success of this plan lay in Robert himself. He loved study, he was brave and affectionate, he had a sweet temper and a beautiful face, but a distrecsing shyness and timidity of manner negatived all these advantages. He stood lowest in his classes, though the best scholar in his school. Ho never could do himself justice, and he suffered incalculable misery from the injustice of others. It was thought then that the Ravenswood School might be a proper discipline for this unfortunate infirmity—that the rough elements of a place where each boy was always fighting for his own side, would develop in Robert that aggressive selfishness which English boys justify by their national motto, Mon D!ev. cl mon Droit ; and that the habit of declamation would cure that dumb timidity which was so unjust to his real acquirements. And so one autumn morning Robert Foster kissed bis pretty mother and little sisters ‘ good bye,’ and went with a sad and sinking heart into the small but cruel world of a boy's boarding school. His father took him to Ravenswood, driving him there in a gig, because thero were then no railways thought of in that part of tho country, and the mail coach did nob pursue the proper road excepting for a very short distance. Both were a little sad, for they tenderly loved each other, and the thirty miles of lonely mountainous country between home and Ravenswood seemed to Robert thirty miles full of heartache and hopelessness. In the giey twilight they came in sight of tho school building, standing gauntly out among a few old yew trees and the heather and boulders of the fell side. The boy looked into his father’s face, with eyes full of tears, and the father answered the look with one of loving sympathy, checking tho horse’s pace with it, and saying very slowly and gently, * Robert, you are big enough and sensible enough to bear the truth. I will not tell you that school is a happy place, and that you will soon be quite content there. I think myself that a school is as hard a bit of life-road as you will ever have to get over, and that school boys generally are cruel as Red Indians to each other. I fear you will have a great deal to endure. Be strong, my boy. When the hour for duty strikes, never mind how cowardly your body may be, order your soul to the front and stand there ; if need be, fight there. Give everyone their rights, but stick to your own also.’ Robert grasped his father’s hand tightly for answer, and as he did so they stopped before the gates which admitted them to the enclosure. Not a boy was visible. They were in the schoolroom preparing the next day’s lessons, and tho master exhibited the long hall full of desks and forms and sullen or giggling boys, with a great deal of pride. The next day Robert was formally entered among them. In the main they were not specially cruel, bub if there was any bad thing in a boy, it was suro to be developed in the boarding-school of that day. Betty tyrannies of all kinds were rampant there ; so also were petty deceptions. Favouritism dominated all rules and laws, and favouritism was usually bought in some way or other. It was easy for lads to be kind and brave, and honourable, in circumstances which would have demoralised any like number of men. Robert suffered at every point, and his natural timidity was aggravated by the knowledge that the master’s eyes were greedily watching for trips and blunders. When he had a lesson to write, it was always perfect; when he had one to recite, the words came to the tip of his tongue and then refused to be articulated. His dumb shyness was called 1 ignorance,’ * obstinacy,’ ‘idleness,’ or any other name which was warrant enough for a brutal punishment. The boys who could not conceive of a disposition so alien to their- own dubbed him ‘coward,’ and esteemed him so. Others, who would have sought his alliance, were offended at a nicety of honour winch refused partnership in seerpt disobedience. So that when even flagrant injustice was done him, the majority sided with the master. *He is so stupid,’ - so obstinate,’ ‘.so much better than other fellqws, 5 they said,

Wearily the days went by, brightened only by his mother’s weekly letter, and by the genuine delight he took in acquiring

knowledge. After the first two months he gave up all attempts to conciliate, or to make friends. In the midst of the noisy crowd of boys ho lived a life into which none entered, a life of mental boil, which he enjoyed, and of physical wrong and suffering, which he believed no one pitied. In the latter idea he was a little wrong. Onco or twice he had seen young Derwent's cheek flush with anger at his tormentors. and his eyes sent a quick message, which Robert could feel better than he could understand. Yet Derwent did nob sympathise with him openly, and ho never interfered in his behalf. But he was a haughty and reticent youth, who held himself very much aloof from the other pupils. Indeed, he had in the school quite a different position. He sat at the master’s private table, he had a horse of his own to ride, and a boy in the Derwent livery to wait upon him. Sometimes ho condescended to recite with his classes, more frequently a tutor was sent to his room to hear his lessons and correct his exercise.

From those facts any boy will imagine the kind of a life which Robert Foster had. Nothing varied it bub such change as the season brought—the cold, and the early snow, and tho difficulty of studying and reading by the few blinking candles allowed in the schoolroom.

One December afternoon Robert was sent to the nearest village on a message for the master. He was always ready bo bake such solitary walks, and this day several little circumstances made it a particular luxury. He stepped rapidly in spite of the melting snow and tho drifting vapours from the fells, for the cold was a wet cold, keen and penetrating, and his own heart-burning thoughts found relief in tho stubborn eagerness of his resolute movements.

When he returned it was nearly dark. He was tired and cold. His feet were wet, his fingers numb, and he had such a heartache that not even the thought of Christmas only 17 days off could comfort the gloomy hour. The boys were standing round the schoolroom in a crowd. James Musgrave, one of the tallest, had a news paper in his hand, and he had evidently been reading aloud from it, for Philip Kent held a candle near him, and the effect of the information was on every face. Some were talking eagerly, some whispering together, but at Robert’s entrance all became silent, and James Musgrave looked steadily at him.

Robert went towards the fire. He wa full of the physical misery of cold and fatigue. ‘Let me warm myself,’ he said with a painful smile. ‘ I think, boys, lam frozen all through.’ Musgrave ostentatiously withdrew from his vicinity and every boy followed his example. In a moment Robert had whatever comfort the fire could give him entirely to himself. Such antagonism could nob long be unfelc, and as soon as Robert was sensible of the comforting heat, he became sensible also of an atmosphere far from freezing. He looked with curiosity at his companions, and as they continued their avoidance and whispered conversation, the sense of their unkindness made him ask angrily—- ‘ What new offence have I given, Musgrave ?’ ‘This time it is nob you, Foster; it is your father.’ Robert laughed. ‘My father,’ he said, ‘ what have you to do with him ? He is a gentleman, and above and beyond your like at dislike. Do nob take up his name, if you please.’ ‘ Then he ought to behave like a gentleman. Hear what the “ Whitehaven Mercury ” says of him:—“Foster is still at large. It is now known that he has taken at least £IO,OOO with him, and the Earl of Lonsdale has offered £IOO for his safe delivery at Carlisle Castle.” ’ * What has that to do with mv father V * The runaway is your father.’

Just as Musgrave spoke the schoolroom clock struck five. Every reverberation was like a blow on Robert's heart—everyone seemed to ring his father’s words in hi 3 ears—‘when the hour for duty strikes, never mind how cowardly your body may be, order your soul to the front, stand there, and if needs be fight there.’

He stepped forward and answered, * You lie, Musgrave.’ ‘Say that again, if you dare.’ ‘ A thousand times over you lie.’

Then the crowd parted, and Musgrave strode with clenched hands towards Foster. There was a malicious smile on his lips, and he spoke with a marked emphasis. * Your father has run away with ten thousand pounds of the Earl of Lonsdale’s money. He is a thief.’ ‘ I say you lie— ’ And the words were uttered with a blow that threw Musgrave to tho floor.

Then what a hubbub of voices, of threats, and calls, and exclamations there was ! One of the pupil teachers ran for tho master, crying out as he went, ‘Master! master ! Come quick ; Foster has nigh killed poor Musgrave.’ Robert was not cold now. Ho was burning and blazing with passion. His heart was beating like a sledge hammer, and every pulse in his body was keeping its rattling time. ‘ When the hour strikes.’ The words were like a trumpet in his ears. In a few moments the master entered, fussing and fuming and striking his stick upon every object in his path. Musgrave had been assisted to bis seat, and the boys stood around him full of sympathy. ‘What do you mean, sir?’ cried the master, facing Robert. ‘ How dare you play the bully in my schoolroom ? I’ll—l’ll make you pay for it.” 4 Why did ho say my father was a thief ? I will strike anyone down who says that.’ ‘ See, master ! See here 1 Musgrave’s mother sent the paDer. Here it is.’ The master read the paragraph, and his broad white face flushed red at the news' ‘ Foster is a thief,’ he said, positively, * a runaway thief. He has robbed the man who has been his lifelong friend. Ido not know of any meaner kind of a thief than that;’ for he had a tutor on each side of him, and bluffing and badgering the poor boy was a safe enough pleasure, 4 My father is no thief. He would cut off his hands rather than steal a penny. You do not know my father. He is the truest gentleman in Cumberland.’ ‘Foster, your father is a thief, and you are a fool not to see it. ’ ‘Fosters are plenty in Cumberland, sir. It may be some other of the name.’ * This is the Foster in Lonsdale’s employ. Do you think he would offer one hundred pounds for any common thief of a Foster? A thieving lot are the Fosters—have been for centuries.’

‘ lb is a lie, a wicked,dastardly, measureless lie. The Fosters are Border gentlemen, and always have been.’ ‘ Come, sir, march off to your room. I will attend to you to-morrow. Beg James Muegrave’s pardon before yon go. 1 * I would rather bite out my tongue. Let Musgrave beg my pardon,’ A brutal blow from the master’s cane put the period to the sentence. Robert took it as if he felt it not, but into his eyes there leaped such an anguish and ind’gnant reproach that the master turned away and stammered out some order relative to the examination of the hurt which Musgrave had received,

. In the cold and darkness of the big bare room, which was shared with many other boys, Robert sat alone for more than an

hour. He heard the noises incidental to the serving of tho tea, and bread and butter, which was the usual evening meal of the boys, and he was aware by the silence which soon followed when the hour of evening study arrived. Bub he felt no hunger, nor yet was he conscious of the bitter cold, his heart was in a flame, and the passon of his suffering and indignation kept his blood at fever heat. For deny as ho would, a cruel doubt at intervals stole like a tongue of fire into his brain, what if it was true ? Then ho would ring hi 3 hands, and fall upon his knees and pray God to forgive him for the base fear.

‘For it is impossible,’ he kept saying. ‘ Oh, it is impossible ! My father ! My father ! It is impossible.’ While these words were on his lips the door of his room softly opened and someone entered. It was too dark to distinguish objects, but Robert perceived that the figure was tall, and that it came directly towards him.

‘ I am Reginald Derwent. Foster, I have often been sorry for you, but my father always said to me, Reginald, never interfere and never volunteer. Bub lam certain that Sir George will approve of my interfering to-night. I heard all about the row at the tea-table. You did just what I should have done. You did right, but you are going to get a terrific thrashing fordoing it. Run away to-night. Here are some crackers and meat. I always do have something decent to eat in my room, and here is half-a-crown. It is all the money I have. lam always strapped for money. Go at once, Foster. The dogs are in their kennels yet. The boys are at their lessons, and the master is asleep.’ ‘Oh! thank you ! thank you !’ Robert claspod Derwent’s bands. The unlookedfor sympathy was so sweet that he could hardly bear it. ‘You do not believe it, Derwent ?’

‘ I do nob believe a word of it, Foster. Bub that will not prevent you being flogged, nor keep the miserable cads in the schoolroom from bullying you, and then the suspense ! No fellow could bear it-! Get home as quick as you can ! If it should be true—mind, I do nob think it is true—but if it should be, then your mother and sister will need you. Eh ?’ * I will go ab once. Ho will send after me, no doubt.’ ‘To be sure he will. But do nob take the Penrith road ab first. Y r ou know the sheepfold across the burn, near Cuddie’s gap? 1 ‘ That is on the road to Kendal—the wrong way home.’ * But go there, until the house is settled for the night. Then double on your tracks and if you walk fast you may be a good many miles on the Penrith road by daylight.’ He laid the meat and crackers and money in Robert’s hand, and then left the room as softly as he entered it.

Ten minutes after wards Robert had cleared the burn, and was on his way to the sheepfold. It was about a mile straight up the fell side, and he did not rest until he had ere-' among the sheep cuddled in its shelter. From that point he could look down upon the school-house, and it was nob long ere he saw lights moving about the yard and up the Penrith road, and so he knew that his flight had been discovered. No one suspected his hiding place, and if his heart had nob been so heavy, he could have smiled ab the blunt reasoning of his pursuers. They straggled home in a couple of hours, and a 3 60011 as all tho lights were out, he ventured past the bouse, and soon found himself on the direct road to his home. He had eaten part of hi 3 crackers and meat as ho sat in tho sheepfold, and for the-first five miles the excitement of his position carried him bravely on, without much sense of fatigue. But his long walk in the cold, damp afternoon, and the shock and mental excitement following it, had exhausted him-very much, and as he passed the little hamlet of Allanbeck, and heard the church clock strike two, he felt as if he could go no further. He looked anxiously as ho went along for any cottage in which a light was burning. Even if it betokened sickness present, they would surely let him sit on the hearth and sleep an hour or two. Bub he saw no light anywhere, and the viilage was as still as the graveyard in its centre. He began to sob a little; long heavy sobs which moved his chest painfully, but to which he gave no audible expressions. Hitherto there had been bright starlight, but as he left Allanbeck behind him, great clouds came drifting up from the East, and tho night grew dark, and the rain began to fall.

He had passed several farm-houses and looked enviously at the barns and stables, but he knew that the dogs would be unchained, and that generally they were to be dreaded at night. Indeed, their constant barking, more or less near to the road he was taking, had been great a source of terror, and had insensibly subdued and wearied him. So he walked on, though very painfully, for his feet were wet and sore and the brave young heart in his breast was heavy a 3 lead.

Far more keenly tlian his own physical suffering ho felt the imputed stain on his father’s honour. Men talk much of their honour, bub indeed, it isin a boy’s heart that honour burns with the purest and strongest flame. Every suspicion of his father's honesty that flashed through Robert’s mind hurt him like tho thrust of a sword. He denied these suspicions passionately, almost before they could form themselves, but he suffered an agony of mortification and anger in so doing. In the midst of one of these mental paroxysms, he became aware of the swift padding of a dog’s feet behind him. He turned cold as ice with terror, but he knew it was useless to run. In a moment he had grasped his pocket knife, and unclasped its largest blade, and when the creature approached he stopped and spoke to it. Perhaps the darkness exaggerated its size, but it really was an immense mastiff, and Robert know his only safety was in conciliation.

He gave him his hands to smell, and then took from his pocket the remains of the crackers and meat Derwent had given him. The so-called 4 brute * was not ungrateful He ate, and then offered his companionship, and for two miles they went onwards together. How it happened Robert never could understand, but ere long he found himself telling the dog all his trouble, and weeping like a child. Now if there is anything a good mastiff likes to do it is to give help or comfort, and as Robert talked and wept he iound the big black muzzle pushed into his hands and breast, and felt such pity and sympathy as he had looked in vain for among his human companions.

About three o’clock they came to a large farmhouse, and the dog not only went through the gate, but in a manner not to be mistaken invited Robert to come on with him. The boy was at the last point of endurance and he accepted the offer. In a few moments they reached a large open shed, 'where there were cattle and sheep sheltered. A quantity of straw in one corner, and Robert lay down upon it with the mastiff by bis side.

He slept heavily until a man entered with a candle in a horn lantern and began to cub up turnips. He called the mastiff ‘ Sultan,’ and bid him 4 good morning,’ and asked him ‘ how ho had spent the night,’ and Ihe noble fellow took him by the hand and brought him to where Robert lay.

* Why, my lad, what art thou doing here ? Art thou fagged out, or ailing ?’ * I have run away from school, and I am cold, and hungry, and tired to death.’ *My song ! Run away from school! Thou caps me ! What school ?’ * Ravens wood.’

‘I wouldn't wonder. Old Jardine’s school, W ell, to be sure ! Where art thou going?’ ‘I am Lawyer Foster’s son, and I am going to beyond Penrith, a few miles.’ I To be sure ! To bo sure ! I have seen thy father, and thou takes after him more than a bit—nay, then, don’t thee whimper. Come thy ways in and rest, and have a bit of meat. Thou looks tit to drop.’ It was true that Robert had begun to ‘ whimper ’ or cry a little, bub it was because the man said nothing wrong of his father ; bub surely if that dreadful etory was true, it must be known to everyone in the country side. He rose gratefully from his bed of straw, and ere he left the stable, threw his arms around the Sultan’s neck, and kissed the great honest face which was pushed so kindly against his own. The farmer’s wife was just coming downstairs, and she stirred the fire into a blaze and made the boy some boiled bread and milk, and then took him to a libt’e chamber, and told him to ‘go to sleep, and fear nothing from old Jardine.’

‘My master will be too much for him ; if he comes here looking for little lads to thresh,’ she said, 4 happen he’ll get a taste of a horse whip himself.’ So Robert let his weary body and soul rest without a fear, and he sank into such a.deep sleep that it was broad noon when he awoke. Ho found his clothing had been dried and brushed, and he soon dressed and went downstairs. No one was more pleased to see him than Sultan, though the farmer’s wife gave him an excellent dinner, and the farmer said, ‘ I’ve been wanting to look at a little mare that Tom Hawkins has for sale, and I’ll go and see her to-day. Tom lives three miles this side o’ Penrith, so I can give thee a lift in my tax cart that far.

Robert was delighted at this offer, and when ho had eaten a plateful of roast hoof the farmer’s wife wrapped him up in a warm horse blanket, and the farmer took the reins with a laugh at ‘ old Jardine,’ and the sturdy Suffolk paunch showed a clean pair of heels, and carried the tax cart after her as if it had been a toy carriage. ‘ He’s a nice lad - a varra gentlemanly make of a young fellow, isn’t he, Sultan?’ said the good woman to the big dog, who was watching his master and Robert out ot sight, and sure as sunriaing, the creature’s brown eyes filled with tears, and though he only said ‘ Um-m, Um-m,’ anybody with a particle of dog sense knew that he answered ‘ a varra nice lad indeed !’ Three miles distant from Penrith farmer Tyson bad Robert ‘good-bve.’ He had then only seven miles bo walk, and he hurried along until he reached Ponrith. Through the churchyard, by the Giant’s graves, and up the long street going to the Beacon, ha went with rapid steps Indeed the nearer he reached home the faster he walked, and at length he could see the sycamore trees that made a circle around his father’s house, and as he drew closer the lights from the parlour windows. He reached the main gateway and opened it. There was a broad lawn and his mother’s flower garden to cross, but he scarcely knew how his feet passed them. Hie eyes were fixed upon the house. It had in every respect its usual aspect. His hand was upon the door ; it opened readily to his touch, he was in the warm lighted hall, he heard his mother’s voice in the household sitting room.

He did not stop an instant to make reflections. He went straight into his mother's presence. When she saw him she stood up with a cry and he ran to her, and threw his arms around her neck, and amid his tears and kisses, could say nothing at all but ‘Mother ! mother ! mother!’

‘ Robert, Robert, my boy, what has brought you home ?’ ‘ They called my father a thief—told me that he had run away with the eail’s money. I said it was a lie. I knew it was a lie, and I struck Musgrave, and the master was going to flog me. I have come to my father for protection.’ 4 Said your father was a thief ?’ 4 Said that he had taken ten thousand pounds of the Earl’s money and run away. How could I bear it? I, who know my father’s true heart! I, who could swear my father’s hands were clean as mine are !’ and he threw upward his glowing face and spread out his young hands, palms upwards, as if to ask Heaven to witness them. Neither mother nor sen had noticed that while Robert was 3peaking his father had entered the room. He stood behind them, listening to the boy’s words, and he comprehended at once the meaning of his presence and his passion. With a pale face shining with emotion, he now stepped forward, and taking hie son’s hands he laid them in his own.

‘ Robert,’ he said, ‘ mine are as clean as yours. They have never touched a dishonest penny. Who has dared to say different ?'

‘They all said different—the master and the boy3—all but Derwent. They’ called you a thief—a runaway thief. They said I was a fool to deny it. Oh, father ! Oh, mother ! If I could tell you all I have suffered !’

4 Speak out, Robert—tell us everything.’ Then Robert’s heart flowed over his lips. All the injustice and wrong he had borne found words —all the loneliness and cruelty, the cold, the brutal punishments, the insufficient food and light, the hourly misery he had endured, was painted like a magic picture before his parents’ eyes. He stood between them, his face, his hands, hiswhole body giving an irresistible rhythm and expression to his sad or angry complaining, and in that hour Robert, as well as his father and mother, knew that he had the gift of a mighty eloquence. 4 You need not go back to Ravenswood, Robert, to learn how to speak. Sorrow has touched your lips as with fire, and love has opened them. How did it happen ?’

4 Do you remember last spring, father, when we stood at the top of Skelwith Force, and heard the waters heave and groan under the ice, and then with a great crash break it to pieces, and go leaping down the rocks in a living sheet ? That was how I felt. They called you, my father, a thief, and I thought for a moment my brain and heart would burst. Then the schoolroom clock struck, and I remembered your words and X said to my soul, 44 This is the hour of duty, go to the front and fight there,” and I forgot all about speaking, and the words came just like the waters went over Skelwibh Force.’

4 They went over in a good cause, Robert. You will never defend a man more innocent in this matter than I am. It is Richard Foster, the Earl’s banker, at Whitehaven, who has taken away with him ten thousand pounds. We found out to-day that he has sailed for Australia. He has, unforbunataly, our name, bub he is neither kin, nor friend, nor even acquaintance. Oh, Robert, you have given me this h«ur the greatest joy of my life ! You have spoken such power that your mother’s heart and mine burns with indignation, and see, my boy, in both our eyes are the tears of love and sympathy.’ And like an irresistible torrent Robert’s

words came ever afterwards at his call, so that at this very day anywhere, or everywhere, when Robert Foster is to speak there is a great sea of human faces lifted to him. He is almost an old man now, and he writes Q.C. after his name ; but long ago he married Derwent’s youngest sister, and he has many sons and daughters, whom he dearly loves. One by one; hey have had to leave his side to go into the world to fight their own battle, bub to each he says just the words which his own father said to him, words which have been his watchword all his life, his strength in every woak moment, and the foundation of all his fortune and success :

‘ When the hour for duty strikes, never mind how cowardly your body may be; order your soul to the front and stand there, or, if need be, fight there.’