Eric Part 3

Eric stood still, trembling with rage, while his eyes lightened scorn and indignation. "You hulking, stupid, cowardly bully,"--here Barker seized him, and every word brought a tremendous blow on the head, but blind with pa.s.sion Eric went on--"you despicable bully, I won't touch that cap again, you shall pick it up yourself. Duncan, Russell, here! do help me against this intolerable brute."

Several boys ran up, but they were all weaker than Barker, who besides was now in a towering fury, and kicked Eric unmercifully.

"Leave him alone," shouted Duncan, "or by heaven I'll get you a sound thras.h.i.+ng from some fellow."

"I won't; mind your own business," growled Barker, shaking himself free from Duncan's hand.

"Barker, I'll never speak to you again from this day," said Montagu, turning on his heel with a look of withering contempt.

"What do I care? puppy, you want taking down too," was the reply, and some more kicks at Eric followed.

"Barker, I won't stand this any longer," said Russell; and seizing him by the arm, he dealt him a swinging blow on the face.

The bully stood in amazement, and dropped Eric, who fell on the turf nearly fainting, and bleeding at the nose. But now Russell's turn came, and in a moment Barker, who was twice his weight, had tripped him up, when he found himself collared in an iron grasp.

There had been an un.o.bserved spectator of the whole scene, in the person of Mr. Williams himself, and it was his strong hand that now griped Barker's shoulder. He was greatly respected by the boys, who all knew his tall handsome figure by sight, and he frequently stood a quiet and pleased observer of their games. The boys in the playground came crowding round, and Barker in vain struggled to escape. Mr. Williams held him firmly, and said in a calm voice, "I have just seen you treat one of your schoolfellows with the grossest violence. It makes me blush for you, Roslyn Boys," he continued, turning to the group that surrounded him, "that you can stand by unmoved, and see such things done. You know that you despise any one who tells a master, yet you allow this bullying to go on, and that, too, without any provocation.

Now, mark; it makes no difference that the boy hurt is my own son; I would have punished this scoundrel, whoever it had been, and I shall punish him now." With these words he lifted the riding-whip which he happened to be carrying, and gave Barker one of the most satisfactory castigations he had ever undergone; the boys declared that Dr. Rowlands'

"swis.h.i.+ngs" were nothing to it. Mr. Williams saw that the offender was a tough subject, and determined that he should not soon forget the punishment he then received. He had never heard from Eric how this boy had been treating him, but he had heard it from Russell, and now he had seen one of the worst specimens of it with his own eyes. He therefore belabored him till his sullen obstinacy gave way to a roar for mercy, and promises never so to offend again.

At this crisis he flung the boy from him with a "phew" of disgust, and said, "I give nothing for your word; but if ever you do bully in this way again, and I see or hear of it, your present punishment shall be a trifle to what I shall then administer. At present, thank me for not informing your master." So saying, he made Barker pick up the cap, and, turning away, walked home with Eric leaning on his arm.

Barker, too, carried himself off with the best grace be could; but it certainly didn't mend matters when he heard numbers of fellows, even little boys, say openly, "I'm so glad; serves you right."

From that day Eric was never troubled with personal violence from Barker or any other boy. But rancor smouldered deep in the mind of the baffled tyrant, and, as we shall see hereafter, there are subtler means of making an enemy wretched than striking or kicking him.

CHAPTER IV

CRIBBING

"Et nos ergo manum forulae subduximus."--Juv. i. 15.

It must not be thought that Eric's year as a home boarder was made up of dark experiences. Roslyn had a very bright as well as a dark side, and Eric enjoyed it "to the finger-tips." School-life, like all other life, is an April day of shower and suns.h.i.+ne. Its joys may be more childish, its sorrows more trifling than those of after years;--but they are more keenly felt.

And yet, although we know it to be a mere delusion, we all idealise and idolise our childhood. The memory of it makes pleasant purple in the distance, and as we look back on the sunlight of its blue far-off hills, we forget how steep we sometimes found them.

After Barker's discomfiture, which took place some three weeks after his arrival, Eric liked the school more and more, and got liked by it more and more. This might have been easily foreseen, for he was the type of a thoroughly boyish mind in its more genial and honorable characteristics, and his round of acquaintances daily increased. Among others, a few of the sixth, who were also day-scholars, began to notice and walk home with him. He looked on them as great heroes, and their condescension much increased his dignity both in his own estimation and that of his equals.

Now, too, he began to ask some of his most intimate acquaintances to spend an evening with him sometimes at home. This was a pleasure much coveted, for no boy ever saw Mrs. Williams without loving her, and they felt themselves humanised by the friendly interest of a lady who reminded every boy of his own mother. Vernon, too, now a lively and active child of nine, was a great pet among them, so that every one liked Eric who "knew him at home." A boy generally shows his best side at home; the softening shadows of a mother's tender influence play over him, and tone down the roughness of boyish character. Duncan, Montagu, and Owen were special favorites in the home circle, and Mrs. Williams felt truly glad that her son had singled out friends who seemed, on the whole, so desirable. But Montagu and Russell were the most frequent visitors, and the latter became almost like one of the family; he won so much on all their hearts that Mrs. Williams was not surprised when Eric confided to her one day that he loved Russell almost as well as be loved Vernon.

As Christmas approached, the boys began to take a lively interest in the half-year's prizes, and Eric was particularly eager about them. He had improved wonderfully, and as both his father and mother prevented him from being idle, even had he been so inclined, he had soon shown that he was one of the best in the form. Two prizes were given, half-yearly to each remove; one for "marks" indicating the boy who had generally been highest throughout the half year, and the other for the test proofs of proficiency in a special examination. It was commonly thought in the form that Owen would get the first of these prizes, and Eric the other; and towards the approach of the examination, he threw his whole energy into the desire to win. The desire was not selfish. Some ambition was of course natural; but he longed for the prize chiefly for the delight which he knew his success would cause at Fairholm, and still more to his own family.

During the last week, an untoward circ.u.mstance happened, which, while it increased his popularity, diminished a good deal (as he thought) his chance of success. The fourth form were learning a Homer lesson, and Barker, totally unable to do it by his own resources, was trying to borrow a crib. Eric, much to their mutual disgust, still sat next to him in school, and would have helped him if he had chosen to ask; but he never did choose, nor did Eric care to volunteer. The consequence was, that unless he could borrow a crib, he was invariably turned, and he was now particularly anxious to get one, because the time was nearly up.

There was a certain idle, good-natured boy, named Llewellyn, who had "cribs" to every book they did, and who, with a pernicious _bonhommie,_ lent them promiscuously to the rest, all of whom were only too glad to avail themselves of the help, except the few at the top of the form, who found it a slovenly way of learning the lesson, which was sure to get them into worse difficulties than an honest attempt to master the meaning for themselves. Llewellyn sat at the farther end of the form in front, so Barker scribbled in the fly-leaf of his book, "Please send us your Homer crib," and got the book pa.s.sed on to Llewellyn, who immediately shoved his crib in Barker's direction. The only danger of the transaction being noticed, was when the book was being handed from one bench to another, and as Eric unluckily had an end seat, he had got into trouble more than once.

On this occasion, just as Graham, the last boy on the form in front, handed Eric the crib, Mr. Gordon happened to look up, and Eric, very naturally anxious to screen another from trouble, popped the book under his own Homer.

"Williams, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, Sir," said Eric, looking up innocently.

"Bring me that book under your Homer."

Eric blushed, hesitated--but at last, amid a dead silence, took up the book. Mr. Gordon looked at it for a moment, let it fall on the ground, and then, with an unnecessary affectation of disgust, took it up with the tongs, and dropped it into the fire. There was a t.i.tter round the room.

"Silence," thundered the master; "this is no matter for laughing. So, sir, _this_ is the way you get up to the top of the form?"

"I wasn't using it, sir," said Eric.

"Not using it! Why, I saw you put it, open, under your Homer."

"It isn't mine, sir."

"Then whose is it?" Mr. Gordon looked at the fly leaf, but of course no name was there; in those days it was dangerous to write one's name in a translation.

Eric was silent.

"Under the circ.u.mstances, Williams, I must punish you," said Mr. Gordon.

"Of course I am _bound_ to believe you, but the circ.u.mstances are very suspicious. You had no business with such a book at all. Hold out your hand."

As yet, Eric had never been caned. It would have been easy for him in this case to clear himself without mentioning names, but (very rightly) he thought it unmanly to clamor about being punished, and he felt nettled at Mr. Gordon's merely official belief of his word. He knew that he had his faults, but certainly want of honor was not among them.

Indeed, there were only three boys out of the twenty in the form, who did not resort to modes of unfairness far worse than the use of cribs, and those three were Russell, Owen, and himself; even Duncan, even Montagu, inured to it by custom, were not ashamed to read their lesson off a concealed book, or copy a date from a furtive piece of paper. They would have been ashamed of it before they came to Roslyn school, but the commonness of the habit had now made them blind or indifferent to its meanness. It was peculiarly bad in the fourth form, because the master treated them with implicit confidence, and being scrupulously honorable himself, was unsuspicious of others. He was therefore extremely indignant at this apparent discovery of an attempt to overreach him in a boy so promising and so much of a favorite as Eric Williams.

"Hold out your hand," he repeated.

Eric did so, and the cane tingled sharply across his palm. He could bear the pain well enough, but he was keenly alive to the disgrace; he, a boy at the head of his form, to be caned in this way by a man who didn't understand him, and unjustly too! He mustered up an indifferent air, closed his lips tight, and determined to give no further signs. The defiance of his look made Mr. Gordon angry, and he inflicted in succession five hard cuts on either hand, each one of which, was more excruciating than the last.

"Now, go to your seat."

Eric did go to his seat, with all his bad pa.s.sions roused, and he walked in a jaunty and defiant kind of way that made the master really grieve at the disgrace into which he had fallen. But he instantly became a hero with the form, who unanimously called him a great brick for not telling, and admired him immensely for bearing up without crying under so severe a punishment. The punishment _was_ most severe, and for some weeks after there were dark weals visible across Eric's palm, which rendered the use of his hands painful.

"Poor Williams," said Duncan, as they went out of school, "how very plucky of you not to cry."

"Vengeance deep brooding o'er the _cane_, Had locked the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the gentler tear to flow,"

said Eric, with a smile.

But he only bore up until he got home, and there, while he was telling his father the occurrence, he burst into a storm of pa.s.sionate tears, mingled with the fiercest invectives against Mr. Gordon for his injustice.

"Never mind, Eric," said his father; "only take care that you never get a punishment _justly_, and I shall always be as proud of you as I am now. And don't cherish this resentment, my boy; it will only do you harm. Try to forgive and forget."

"But, Papa, Mr. Gordon is so hasty. I have indeed been rather a favorite of his, yet now he shows that he has no confidence in me. It is a great shame that he shouldn't believe my word. I don't mind the pain; but I shan't like him any more, and I'm sure, now, I shan't get the examination prize."

"You don't mean, Eric, that he will be influenced by partiality in the matter?"

"No, Papa, not exactly; at least I dare say he won't _intend_ to be. But it is unlucky to be on bad terms with a master, and I know I shan't work so well."