St. Winifred's Part 16

"Eden!" said Kenrick with the least little touch of contempt in his tone of voice.

"Poor little fellow," said Walter smiling sadly; "so you, too, despise him. No wonder he doesn't get on."

"O! let him come by all means, if you like," said Kenrick.

"Thanks, Ken--but now I come to think of it, it's too far for him.

Never mind; let's go before dinner, and order some sandwiches for to-morrow, and forage generally, at Cole's."

Power and Daubeny gladly consented to join the excursion. At tea, Walter asked Henderson if he'd come with them, and he, being just then in a phase of nonsense which made him speak of everything in a manner intended to be Homeric, answered with oracular gravity--

"Him addressed in reply the laughter-loving son of Hender: Thou askest me, oh Evides, like to the immortals, Whether thee I will accompany, and the much-enduring Dubbs, And the counsellor Power, and the revered ox-eyed Kenrick, To the tops of thousand-crested many-fountained Appenfell."

"Grotesque idiot," said Kenrick, laughing; "cease this weak, washy, everlasting flood of twaddle, and tell us whether you'll come or no."

"Him sternly eyeing, addressed in reply the mighty Henderides, Heavy with tea, with the eyes of a dog, and the heart of a reindeer!

What word has escaped thee, the barrier of thy teeth?

Contrary to right, not according to right, hast thou spoken."

"For goodness' sake shut up before you've driven us stark raving mad,"

said Walter, putting his hand over Henderson's lips. "Now, yes or no; will you come?"

"Thee will I accompany--" said Henderson, struggling to get clear of Walter, "to many-fountained Appenfell--"

"Hurrah! that'll do. We have got an answer out of you at last; and now go on spouting the whole Iliad if you like."

Full of spirits they started after breakfast the next morning, and as they climbed higher and higher up the steep mountainside, the keen air exhilarated them, and showed, as through a crystal gla.s.s, the exceeding glory of the hills flung on every side around them, and the broad living sparkle of the sea caught here and there in glimpses between the nearer peaks. Walter, Henderson, and Kenrick, were in front, while at some distance behind them, Power helped on Daubeny, who soon showed signs of fatigue.

"Look at that pappy fellow, Evson," said Daubeny, sighing; "how he is bounding along in front. How active he is."

"You seem out of spirits," said Power kindly; "what's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing. A little tired, that's all."

"You're surely not fretting about having lost the head place."

"Oh, no. 'Palmam qui meruit ferat.' As Robertson said the other day in his odd, fantastic way of expressing his thoughts--'In the amber of duty you must not always expect to find the curious grub success.'"

"Depend upon it, you'd be higher if you worked less, my dear fellow.

Let me persuade you--don't work for examination any more."

"You all mistake me. It's not for the _place_ that I work, but because I want to _know_, to _learn_; not to grow up quite stupid and empty-headed as I otherwise should do."

"What a love for work you have, Daubeny."

"Yes, I have now; but do you know it really wasn't natural to me. As a child, I used to be idle and get on very badly, and it used to vex my poor father, who was then living, very much. Well, one day, not long before he died, I had been very obstinate, and would learn nothing. He didn't say much, but in the afternoon, when we were taking a walk, we pa.s.sed an old barn, and on the thatched roof was a lot of gra.s.s and stonecrop. He plucked a handful, and showed me how rank and useless it was, and then, resting his hand upon my head, he told me that it was the type of an idle, useless man--'gra.s.s upon the housetops, withered before it groweth up, wherewith the mower filleth not his hand, nor he that gathereth the sheaves his bosom.' Somehow, the circ.u.mstance took hold of my imagination; it was the last scene with my poor father which I vividly remember. I have never been idle since then."

Power mused a little, and then said--"But, dear Dubbs, you'll make your brain heavy by the time examination begins; you won't be able to do yourself justice."

He did not answer; but a weary look, which Power had often observed, with anxiety, came over his face.

"I'm afraid I must turn back, Power," he said; "I'm quite tired--done up."

"I've been thinking so, too. Let me turn back with you."

"No, no! I won't spoil your day's excursion. Let me go alone."

"Hi! you fellows," said Power, shouting to the three in front. They were too far in advance to hear him, so he told Daubeny to sit down while he overtook them, and asked if any of them would prefer to turn back.

"Dubbs is too tired to go any farther," he said, when he reached them, breathless with his run. "I don't think he's very well, and so I'll just go back with him."

"O, no; you really mustn't, _I_ will," said each of the other three almost in a breath. Every one of the four was most anxious to get on, and reach the top of Appenfell, which was considered a very great feat among the boys even in summer, as the climb was dangerous and severe; and yet each generously wished to undergo the self-denial of turning back. As their wills were about equally strong, it would have ended in _all_ of them accompanying Daubeny, had he not, when they reached him, positively refused to turn on such conditions, and suggested that they should decide it by drawing lots.

Power wrote the names on slips of paper, and Walter drew one at hazard.

The lot fell on Henderson, so he at once took Daubeny's arm, relieving his disappointment by turning round, shaking his fist at the top of Appenfell, and saying, "You be hanged! I wish you were rolled out _quite flat_ and planted with potatoes!"

"There," said Power laughing, "I should think that was about the grossest indignity the Genius of Appenfell ever had offered to him; so now you've had your revenge, take care of Dubbs. Good-bye."

"How very kind it is of you to come with me, Flip," said Daubeny; "I don't think I could manage to get home without your help; but I'm quite vexed to drag you back. Good-bye, you fellows."

Walter, Power, and Kenrick, found that to reach the cairn on the top of Appenfell taxed all their strength. The mountain seemed to heave before them a succession of huge shoulders, and each one that they surmounted showed them only fresh steeps to climb. At last, they reached the piled confusion of rocks, painted with every gorgeous and brilliant colour by emerald moss and golden lichen, which marked the approach to the summit; and Walter, who was a long way the first to get to the top, shouted to encourage the other two, and, after resting a few minutes, clambered down to a.s.sist their progress. Being accustomed to the hills, he was far less tired than they were, and could give them very efficient help.

At the top they rested for some time, eating their scanty lunch, chatting, and enjoying the matchless splendour of the prospect which stretched in a cloudless expanse before them on every side.

"Power," said Walter, in a pause of their talk, "I've long been meaning to ask you a favour."

"It's granted, then," said Power, "if _you_ ask it, Walter."

"I'm not so sure; it's a very serious favour, and it isn't for myself; moreover, it's very cool."

"The greater it is, the more I shall know that you trust my friends.h.i.+p, Walter; and, if it's cool, it suits the time and place."

"Yet, I bet you that you'll hesitate when I propose it."

"Well, out with it; you make me curious."

"It is that you'd give little Eden the run of your study."

"Little Eden the run of my study! O, yes, if you wish it," said Power, not liking to object after what he had said, but flus.h.i.+ng up a little, involuntarily. It was indeed a great favour to ask. Power's study was a perfect sanctum; he had furnished it with such rare good taste, that, when you entered, your eye was attracted by some pretty print or neat contrivance wherever you looked. It was Power's peculiar pride and pleasure to beautify his little room, and to sit there with any one whom he liked; but to give up his privacy, and let a little scapegrace like Eden have the free run of it, was a proposition which took him by surprise. Yet it was a good deal for Power's own sake that Walter had ventured to ask it. Power's great fault was his over-refinement; the fastidiousness which marred his proper influence, made him unpopular with many boys, and shut him up in a reserved and introspective habit of mind. By a kind of instinct, Walter felt that it would be good to disturb this epicurean indifference to the general interests of the school, and the kind of intellectualism which weakened the character of this attractive and affectionate, yet shy and self-involved boy. "Ah, I see," said Walter archly; "you're as bad as Kenrick; you Priests and Levites won't touch my poor little wounded traveller."

"But I don't see what I could do for him," said Power; "I shouldn't know what to talk to him about."

"O, yes, you would; you don't know how his grat.i.tude would pay you for the least interest shown in him. He's been so shamefully bullied, poor little chap, I hardly like to tell you even the things that that big brute Harpour has made him do. He came here bright and neat, and merry and innocent; and now--" He would not finish the sentence, and his voice faltered; but checking himself, he added, more calmly--"This, remember, has been done to the poor little fellow _here_, at Saint Winifred's; and when I remember what I might have been myself by this time, but for--but for one or two friends, my heart quite bleeds for him. Anyhow, I think one ought to do what one can for him. I wish I'd a study, I know, and he shouldn't be the only little fellow who should share it. I've got so much good from being able to learn my own lessons in Percival's room, that I'd give anything to be able to do as much for some one else."

"He shall come, Walter," said Power, "with all my heart. I'll ask him directly we get back to Saint Winifred's."

"Will you? I thank you. That _is_ good of you; I'm sure you won't be sorry in the long-run."

Power and Kenrick were both thinking that this new friend of theirs, though he had been so short a time at Saint Winifred's, was teaching them some valuable lessons. Neither of them had previously recognised the truth which Walter seemed to feel so strongly, that they were to some extent directly responsible for the opportunities which they lost of helping and strengthening the boys around them. Neither of them had ever done anything, worth speaking of, to lighten the heavy burden laid on some of the little boys at Saint Winifred's; and now they heard Walter talking with something like remorse about a child who had no special claim whatever on his kindness, but whom he felt that he might more efficiently have rescued from evil a.s.sociates, evil words, evil ways, and all the heart-misery they cannot fail to bring. The sense of a new mission, a neglected duty, dawned upon them both.